DIY seafood platters
- Jo Kafer
- Apr 19, 2020
- 6 min read
Jalista turned one last week. She was born on the back of a truck at the Tagabe roundabout in Vila. Her mum, Lewi had been staying in Bladinier, an outer suburb of Port Vila, waiting to give birth at the hospital. Sila and Mary were with Lewi. They’d tried to get a bus when the labour pains intensified but none came by. Eventually they flagged down a truck and climbed up onto the tray at the back. Five minutes down the unsealed, lumpy Bladinier road, just as they reached the Tagabe roundabout, Mary heard a baby’s cry, reached under Lewi’s dress and came out with a baby. Lewi named the baby Jalista in honour of the truck driver whose name was Jali (Charlie). I am surprised she wasn’t named Tagabe. My friend Janet says it’s lucky she wasn’t called Ranabaot.
Jalista’s actual birthday was the week before last but the celebration happened a few days later which isn’t unusual here in Vanuatu. Often, birthdays aren’t celebrated or even remembered and it’s easy to miss adding a few years to your tally. I’d probably only be 46 years old if I was ni-Van.
On Sunday afternoon, Grenley popped in to ask Tim to dress a wound. While he was being attended to, I gave Grenley a piece of lemon slice that I’d just made. When he finished it, Grenley mentioned that Lewi wanted to make a cake for Jalista’s birthday celebration tomorrow.
Earlier in the day, Lewi had spent an hour on my verandah, chatting, and hadn’t mentioned a celebration or a cake.
After careful surveying I discovered that there was going to be a picnic down by the reef tomorrow, sometime after lunch.
“Tell Lewi to come up tomorrow morning and we’ll make a cake,” I told Grenley.
I knew from previous experience with The Family that any plan will be subject to change. After Grenley had gone, I knew that I’d need to go and see Lewi first thing tomorrow to make sure that the plans were actually happening as described. If a cake was required, I needed to know what time it would be expected as it takes three hours to bake and cool then ice a cake.
At eight o’clock the next morning, Silas came up to confirm that the celebration was going ahead and to ask if I would come down to the picnic place at 1:30 pm with the cake.
Before he left, Silas asked me if I liked to eat local chicken or chicken pieces. Local chicken translates to a rooster that has been running for its life, all its life and has consequently developed an athlete’s body, lean around the chest with legs that resemble an emu; long and skinny. Chicken pieces come frozen in a 2kg bag, sometimes from New Zealand. Those chickens wouldn’t have ever cracked a sweat in their short lives. They are succulent. Local chicken is usually inedible. I was honest with Silas.
I got to work immediately on the cake, a chocolate cake with pink vanilla icing and sprinkles. I didn’t have any birthday candles but I found a tea candle that would do nicely.
Lewi holding Jalista at the picnic place by the reef, Joylcy and Smol Michel behind
I thought I knew the spot where they would be having the party. The jungle goes right down to the water’s edge but there are a few clearings where people like to camp out on special occasions such as Easter. The Family favoured a shady place near a small swimming pool eroded from the coral. It was just as well that Silas came to escort me to the picnic at precisely 1:30 pm. We walked down a track that I’d never noticed before, arriving at a clearing that was unknown to me. A shelter had been erected and decorated with flowers and a chair had been carried all the way down for my sitting pleasure. Everyone else sat on mats or logs. A table was loaded with food and everyone was waiting for the cake. As soon as it arrived, we sang happy birthday to Jalista. Joel said a prayer and then we fell upon the food. Janet from Bethel had cooked chicken legs which were superb. We ate it with rice using our hands then walked down to the water to wash off.
Jalista holding her first knife, using it to cut the cake while her great-uncle Big Michel looks on with pride
I was surprised to see quite a lot of people walking on the reef. Usually it is deserted. Small spires of smoke rose at intervals along the coast indicating campsites. It was Easter Monday and just as people in Australia like to do, villagers like to holiday at the beach, fishing, eating and relaxing.
It was low tide and people were looking for food in rock pools or in the drop-off where the waves were breaking at the edge of the reef. The water was ankle to knee deep depending on the surge of low waves. You needed to watch out for deeper pools, otherwise you’d be thigh deep. The main concern is not to cut yourself on the sharp coral if you fall. Those cuts can quickly lead to tropical ulcers if you fail to treat them with the utmost care. Everyone was concerned about me falling, but to my surprise, I didn’t. I stood tall while those around me lost their balance.
Many people, including the kids, had long, thin, metal stakes which were sharp at the end. These were used to ferret around in rock pools, poked into crevices or under coral ridges to root out anything that was hiding in there. Others had face masks and spear-guns which are called muskets. They were used to hunt for fish, clams and lobsters out in the drop-off. A few people were fishing with hand-lines, standing on the reef at the edge of the deeper water. The reef looked healthy and had a lot of animal life which were all desperately trying to hide from the hungry human horde. Nobody was concerned about walking over the reef. Joseph managed to run on the reef despite it being slippery with seaweed. I winced when I saw Michel balanced on top of a pink coral growth.
Live clam in a rock pool on the reef
I commented to Joylcy (Chelsea), who was walking with me, that we weren’t allowed to walk on coral reefs in Australia because when you do that, it kills the coral. She was surprised to hear that rule. I sometimes find myself telling locals about the rules in Australia, for instance, you are not allowed to ride on the back of a truck or travel in a car without wearing a seatbelt or have children sitting on your lap in the front seat of a car or carry knives when you walk along the road or bring knives to school. No spitting, no hitting children with sticks at school and no throwing chunks of coral at them either. No littering and no lighting fires without official permission. No fishing without a licence. People are incredulous when I tell them these things.
There was a shout of excitement further down the reef. Emily had found an octopus! She winkled it out of a rock pool whereupon it latched onto her arm.
Before it could bite her with its beak, she’d ripped it off her flesh, and whipped it inside out, stripping it of its guts, leaving a cloud of black ink in a pool at her feet. It was a brisk and brutal business. Remind me never to piss off Emily.
The occy has given up the fight
People had collected turban shells, limpets and crabs amongst other things, an exotic seafood platter.
It took ten minutes for Terry, Emily & Joycy to collect this food
The little kids swimming in the shallows near the picnic spot
Back at the campsite, Mary had put clams onto the fire to broil inside their shells. I was invited to join the clam feast but declined as I’d eaten them in Malekula years before and remembered that they were like fish flavoured rubber. My father says that the best way to cook clams is to beat the flesh with the base of a bottle of beer then drink the beer while boiling the beaten clams in a pot of water. When the beer is finished, throw the clams away.
It was late afternoon as I wandered back up the track to head home. I’d had a wonderful afternoon. Everyone else was spending the night by the beach. Some people stayed on for the whole week, ducking back to their gardens to grab fruit, manioc and island cabbage to supplement the feasting.
The next day Grenley arrived at our house bearing a freshly cooked lobster. I had it for lunch with avocado and garlic mayonnaise. It’s a hard life in the jungle.
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