Tag Archives: Seafood

The Reward System, Walk & Eat

The walk ends in the old town where it started. It wasn’t a long walk, about 10 kilometres, but it was sweaty going, straight up the hillside on a rocky old trading route that ran parallel to a solidified lava flow which had engulfed the town three centuries earlier. Then, after skirting the ridge for a brief section,  it was back down again by a different path, another trading route, which snaked its way along the  green slopes to return us to the town.

The aroma which greets us as it dances through the old streets identifies exactly what our reward will be; seafood. Lapas to be exact, washed down with an icy beer.

I don’t eat nearly enough of these grilled limpets drizzled with a mix of olive oil, garlic, cilantro and white wine. And to think on the island I grew up on we used these as fishing bait. What a waste.



Rejecting the Fishers of Men

I think I might have moaned.

I’m engulfed in an invisible pleasure cloud.

The whole town smells of freshly fried fish; every last, narrow alley.

I’m in the hunger lanes and desperate to sink my teeth into a chunk of crispy cherne.

There’s a slight problem. More accurately, there are two problems.

One of my dining amigos won’t eat fish or seafood and this is a fishing village. A fishing village where the inhabitants like fish, fish or fish.

There are plenty of restaurants and we scan menu after menu. Not one of them contains even one meat dish. The restaurants are busy and I look on enviously like a starving pauper as diners enthusiastically try to reduce the world’s marine population.

Two women emerge from one that is clearly very popular.

“Es muy bueno,” one says.

“Y barato,” the other adds, laughing.

Cheap and good the restaurant might be but we won’t be eating there unless they ‘do’ meat. A waiter at the entrance looks at us expectantly. There are no meat dishes on the menu but you never know.

“Do you have any meat dishes?” We ask. Two of us – the eaters of fish and seafood – shuffle our feet and look at the ground, too embarrassed to meet the waiter’s wide-eyed expression.

“This is a fish restaurant…” he states the obvious. “… in a fishing village.”

We’ve been blighted by our friend’s fussiness. Tainted by his restrictions. The waiter will no doubt tell his compadres later of the four foreigners seeking steak in a village that specialises in fish.

The next place has one meat dish; chicken. It makes it a possibility.

We pass lively restaurant after lively restaurant where there is hardly a table to be had amidst the hanging nets, driftwood and boats.

Finally, up a quiet side street we strike beefy gold. A restaurant with a steak menu. In this one place the fish selection is limited.

We enter; it’s empty.

My friend orders steak. He’s happy.

We order a fish and seafood mixed grill.

My friend’s steak is good, our seafood is only okay.

This village has a reputation for great seafood restaurants. We’re not in one of them.

I hate eating out with fussy eaters.

I think I might have moaned.