It has been the dryest dry season on record in Trinidad since 1947, but I'm hoping for a bumper mango year. Here's a frosty recipe my children adore. They even 'steal' it out of the freezer. Warning this snack can get a little messy but it's oh so tasty!
Mango Ice
6-7 large ripe to over-ripe July (or other sweet) Mangoes
1 tsp white sugar (opt)
Water enough to thin mixture slightly
2x ice trays
Method: By hand, peel and remove all 'mango meat' into a bowl, add sugar and water. Stir and mash the thick pieces slightly. Add enough water to make the mixture easy to pour or spoon into ice tray.
Freeze and serve as cubes
Tip: Cover trays with a plastic food bag so the ice doesn't dry out in the freezer.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Sweet and stupid 16
Just finished watching an old American teen movie "classic" from the 80s: "Pretty in Pink". This was a movie me and my Trini grilfriends adored. Now looking at it in adulthood it saddens and actually angers me to think that young teenage girls think that love is instant and that it can triumph over adversity while its victims only know each other on a superficial level. Every conversation the lovers have revolves around how she is not accepted and how he "loves" her anyway...at first sight I might add. They never actually have a conversation. And yet we teenagers were satisfied that the "look" they gave each other was enough to confirm that theirs was an instant, permanent love that would conquer all. Such is the shallowness of American dreams.
And why do young girls fall in love so easily? Taylor swift has a song; the line is "When you're 15 and someone tells you they love you, you're gonna believe it". Why is this true because acting on these feelings will surely one's future life.
And why do young girls fall in love so easily? Taylor swift has a song; the line is "When you're 15 and someone tells you they love you, you're gonna believe it". Why is this true because acting on these feelings will surely one's future life.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
J’Ouvert Confessions 2010
8:00a.m. Nature's PlanJ’Ouvert Confessions 2010
…with Caribs RFC “Crapauds”
Since the dawn of Trini-time on Carnival Monday, we ready for the road…
J’Ouvert is a wet, messy dream. Sometimes it’s a cold, borderline dangerous affair warmed only by canned beers and rum from a sack dangling round the neck…but more importantly, it’s hard to wash off.
In childhood days I was advised against my now favourite Carnival ritual: “People get stabbed and robbed. Pickpockets, two-bit gansta-wannabes, deceptive transvestites and other real-life “devils” come out to play….j’ouvert is for the jammet!” So why do I like it so much? Of course after playing at my 5th episode, I am no J’ouvert virgin anymore, yet I am far from jaded by the event. To me J’ouvert is the purest form of Trinidad ‘mas there is, right up there with ole ‘mas and the long, oft drawn out pre-soca calypso from the tents. Grown men aren’t afraid to wear negligees, even senior citizens are in this commesse, some throwing Ammen’s powder on you when you least expect it.
4:02a.m. On time this time
We’re downing our first scotch at the club when, surprisingly, a Caribs RFC pack leader calls us to take to the street where Silver Stars is impatiently tapping their feet. Some years ago it was us J’ourevellers complaining 4:30 had reached and we hadn’t embarked to the savannah yet because our pan side was tardy. But Silver Stars won this and last year’s competition and we glad for their sudden attention to time.
4:30 Pan is not a minor
This small band of JOuvert rugby boys started over a decade ago with less than 100 members has since burgeoned to 700+ Big numbers for a band with only one steelband truck. Would we even want a DJ then? I don’t know but there’s just something very honest about strictly-come-chipping to pan music at J’Ouvert.
An architecture lover myself with a penchant for old colonial styles, I take pleasure in admiring them as we swan through St. Clair. Every now we pass a derelict one with crumbling yet gorgeous fretwork still visible. It would be disrespect to put our painted handprints on the outer walls these historic and replica buildings, so we stamp the guys bare backs and busted up t-shirts instead.
5:00 Trouble in the dance
The vampires are out. We’ve taken an unfortunate turn onto Ariapita where we clash with Coco Devils and some smaller bands and another pan side—in the old days this could have turned ugly, but that isn’t as worrying as the young gansta vamp girls and rasta boys who slide into our band and bully “Ay boy, ah wanta beer!” or would actually grab them out of your hand. A tourist up to mischief squirts her supersoaker gun full of muddy water at a woman on the sidelines who’s less than impressed—there could be bacchanal. My husband is more than worried about the crowd we’re seeing and sits me on a drinks cart and follows it til we turn off the bloodthirsty avenue.
5:30 Rum til we cry
Like schoolchildren, we’ve reached the point of chasing each other with mud, club soda and aaagh someone splash rum in my eye which stuns me for a few seconds…normally I’d be pissed off but this morning we all agree that “Rum in Mih Eye” will be next year’s calypso. Whoever had on bandanas threw them on the road (this is one time I don’t mind littering—hey, Cepep depends on it). Whoever had cares about their looks, kicked them to the curb. It is this surrender to the ugliness, uncouthness, the utter baseness of behaving like a street urchin for a few hours (with drinks on call) that I love.
7:00 Silver Starboy
Feet growing weary and alcohol levels high, a grown man standing on the Silver Stars pan section truck shoves down a mud-dipped woman. Seconds before, caught up in the spirit of merriment, Mudwoman affectionately pelted a handful o’ mud at him. Might I add Silver Starboy was not playing pan and moreover standing right in front of the ceremonial mud-bath (which is Carib’s trademark)? Her offender’s push is double-handed and tough, but Mudwoman manages a graceful fall just missing the porcelain bath and some men nearby help her up. Now I try to contain my upset as no man offers to beat or even cuss Starboy who now feels justified for his wajang actions.
This is another of the two times tonight I wouldn’t have minded seeing a man get good and proper beaten…but Starboy would have deserved it more than the vagrant camera thief who was to come, in my opinion. Alas, I’m not the right gender to confront the belligerent Starboy, but wish I could put an itchy hex on him from now til the end of Lent.
7:30 Heavy-structure gyals
J’Ouvert Jammets hauling heavy-T ‘bumpers’ come into the light wearing sliced-up stretch-marked black tights and lace brassieres. These women will surely cuss you like a sailor if you venture even one free touch. The J’Ouvert jammet is ubiquitous now the sun is up, but methinks the heavily painted, crystal tattooed face of Tuesday’s ‘mas, is the same jammet, but with a gym membership and better diet. If pretty ‘mas represents the commercial and the shallow (though ever evolving) topsoil of Carnival then J’ouvert is the deeply embedded razor grass that even a heavy dose of gramaxone just can’t kill.
7:45 Round 2
This rounds I should know what to expect but I am still always thrown when I witness a fight. This time as I did 3 other times I played with Caribs RFC which is a relatively “safe” band due to the sheer brawn of its members and their friends; the band’s mostly male to boot. We recognize a smart-man right away…he’s been slinking around the band too close to the drinks cart, he just isn’t scrubbed up right and bears a slight smell of being 3 days shy of a bath and he’s trying to put his arm around any woman looking lost. We tolerated him since he joined the jaunt about 5a.m. but right now he’s chosen to snatch a camera out of Miss Tourist’s t-shirt pocket. A scuffle ensues with a few guys and one of our friends joins the fray. Camera salvaged.
8:00 Nature’s plan
Risking tetanus and impropriety two girls scale the broken gate of an empty lot to relieve a hot wee-wee. The overall indignity of J’Ouvert assures me it’s still a primitive custom. Now we spot an Aussie tourist with a digital camera and beg for a portrait of us in our terrible beauty. When I see the email from him I realize the jokey sign in the background: “Dumping of Rubbish”. Ah, and the irony when we get back to the SUV to realize our friend has made a garbage bag dress for her husband not to stain the car upholstery! Thank badness we don’t have a photo to prove that.
9:00 Cleanse us of our skins!
Encrusted mud on our skins is iitchyyee! We hoping that somebody remembered to buy Dettol soap and put it in the shower. Hmm, the condition we in now, I think the garden house is the yard is the best option—maybe even the power washer. WASA forgive us; we will heed the water ration tomorrow. Wait…isn’t it tomorrow already?
…with Caribs RFC “Crapauds”
Since the dawn of Trini-time on Carnival Monday, we ready for the road…
J’Ouvert is a wet, messy dream. Sometimes it’s a cold, borderline dangerous affair warmed only by canned beers and rum from a sack dangling round the neck…but more importantly, it’s hard to wash off.
In childhood days I was advised against my now favourite Carnival ritual: “People get stabbed and robbed. Pickpockets, two-bit gansta-wannabes, deceptive transvestites and other real-life “devils” come out to play….j’ouvert is for the jammet!” So why do I like it so much? Of course after playing at my 5th episode, I am no J’ouvert virgin anymore, yet I am far from jaded by the event. To me J’ouvert is the purest form of Trinidad ‘mas there is, right up there with ole ‘mas and the long, oft drawn out pre-soca calypso from the tents. Grown men aren’t afraid to wear negligees, even senior citizens are in this commesse, some throwing Ammen’s powder on you when you least expect it.
4:02a.m. On time this time
We’re downing our first scotch at the club when, surprisingly, a Caribs RFC pack leader calls us to take to the street where Silver Stars is impatiently tapping their feet. Some years ago it was us J’ourevellers complaining 4:30 had reached and we hadn’t embarked to the savannah yet because our pan side was tardy. But Silver Stars won this and last year’s competition and we glad for their sudden attention to time.
4:30 Pan is not a minor
This small band of JOuvert rugby boys started over a decade ago with less than 100 members has since burgeoned to 700+ Big numbers for a band with only one steelband truck. Would we even want a DJ then? I don’t know but there’s just something very honest about strictly-come-chipping to pan music at J’Ouvert.
An architecture lover myself with a penchant for old colonial styles, I take pleasure in admiring them as we swan through St. Clair. Every now we pass a derelict one with crumbling yet gorgeous fretwork still visible. It would be disrespect to put our painted handprints on the outer walls these historic and replica buildings, so we stamp the guys bare backs and busted up t-shirts instead.
5:00 Trouble in the dance
The vampires are out. We’ve taken an unfortunate turn onto Ariapita where we clash with Coco Devils and some smaller bands and another pan side—in the old days this could have turned ugly, but that isn’t as worrying as the young gansta vamp girls and rasta boys who slide into our band and bully “Ay boy, ah wanta beer!” or would actually grab them out of your hand. A tourist up to mischief squirts her supersoaker gun full of muddy water at a woman on the sidelines who’s less than impressed—there could be bacchanal. My husband is more than worried about the crowd we’re seeing and sits me on a drinks cart and follows it til we turn off the bloodthirsty avenue.
5:30 Rum til we cry
Like schoolchildren, we’ve reached the point of chasing each other with mud, club soda and aaagh someone splash rum in my eye which stuns me for a few seconds…normally I’d be pissed off but this morning we all agree that “Rum in Mih Eye” will be next year’s calypso. Whoever had on bandanas threw them on the road (this is one time I don’t mind littering—hey, Cepep depends on it). Whoever had cares about their looks, kicked them to the curb. It is this surrender to the ugliness, uncouthness, the utter baseness of behaving like a street urchin for a few hours (with drinks on call) that I love.
7:00 Silver Starboy
Feet growing weary and alcohol levels high, a grown man standing on the Silver Stars pan section truck shoves down a mud-dipped woman. Seconds before, caught up in the spirit of merriment, Mudwoman affectionately pelted a handful o’ mud at him. Might I add Silver Starboy was not playing pan and moreover standing right in front of the ceremonial mud-bath (which is Carib’s trademark)? Her offender’s push is double-handed and tough, but Mudwoman manages a graceful fall just missing the porcelain bath and some men nearby help her up. Now I try to contain my upset as no man offers to beat or even cuss Starboy who now feels justified for his wajang actions.
This is another of the two times tonight I wouldn’t have minded seeing a man get good and proper beaten…but Starboy would have deserved it more than the vagrant camera thief who was to come, in my opinion. Alas, I’m not the right gender to confront the belligerent Starboy, but wish I could put an itchy hex on him from now til the end of Lent.
7:30 Heavy-structure gyals
J’Ouvert Jammets hauling heavy-T ‘bumpers’ come into the light wearing sliced-up stretch-marked black tights and lace brassieres. These women will surely cuss you like a sailor if you venture even one free touch. The J’Ouvert jammet is ubiquitous now the sun is up, but methinks the heavily painted, crystal tattooed face of Tuesday’s ‘mas, is the same jammet, but with a gym membership and better diet. If pretty ‘mas represents the commercial and the shallow (though ever evolving) topsoil of Carnival then J’ouvert is the deeply embedded razor grass that even a heavy dose of gramaxone just can’t kill.
7:45 Round 2
This rounds I should know what to expect but I am still always thrown when I witness a fight. This time as I did 3 other times I played with Caribs RFC which is a relatively “safe” band due to the sheer brawn of its members and their friends; the band’s mostly male to boot. We recognize a smart-man right away…he’s been slinking around the band too close to the drinks cart, he just isn’t scrubbed up right and bears a slight smell of being 3 days shy of a bath and he’s trying to put his arm around any woman looking lost. We tolerated him since he joined the jaunt about 5a.m. but right now he’s chosen to snatch a camera out of Miss Tourist’s t-shirt pocket. A scuffle ensues with a few guys and one of our friends joins the fray. Camera salvaged.
8:00 Nature’s plan
Risking tetanus and impropriety two girls scale the broken gate of an empty lot to relieve a hot wee-wee. The overall indignity of J’Ouvert assures me it’s still a primitive custom. Now we spot an Aussie tourist with a digital camera and beg for a portrait of us in our terrible beauty. When I see the email from him I realize the jokey sign in the background: “Dumping of Rubbish”. Ah, and the irony when we get back to the SUV to realize our friend has made a garbage bag dress for her husband not to stain the car upholstery! Thank badness we don’t have a photo to prove that.
9:00 Cleanse us of our skins!
Encrusted mud on our skins is iitchyyee! We hoping that somebody remembered to buy Dettol soap and put it in the shower. Hmm, the condition we in now, I think the garden house is the yard is the best option—maybe even the power washer. WASA forgive us; we will heed the water ration tomorrow. Wait…isn’t it tomorrow already?
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
The fruit-vendor's daughter
My usual fruit vendor is a pleasant Indian lady. I never asked her name although we make small chit chat whenever I pass. She isn't the cheapest, but her produce is superb. This convenient drive-by on the way from school is a perfect stop for my daughter who has always delighted going there in portugal season to order a heap of citrus, a hand of bananas or a huge wedge of watermelon which vendor-lady will happily cut so my eager primary schooler could get a few runny chomps on our way home.
Anyway, the other day we stopped to find her revising spelling homework with her own daughter (age 7) calling out words like extremely, busy and many others which the child spelled to perfection (even though the pronunciation was a bit countrified). I was a little surprised to see the child was wearing the uniform of a private school with a very good reputation in Port-of-Spain. I complimented her daughter's academic ability and was pleased to hear the mother tell me that she was indeed pleased that the school took reading very seriously and gave special help to those children who were behind the class. Duly impressed when I considered that this mild mannered fruit-seller on the corner of a dangerous 'ghetto' neighbourhood, also a terrible place to be at Carnival for the fete Deejays noisy boom, boom, booms, worked early hours setting up from 8 sharp and working late into the afternoon to make sure her daughter got a sound local education.
Dare I optimistically suppose that such humble people in Trinidad will someday inherit this country--those who work consistently to ensure that their children succeed not just because they want better for them than their own meagre existences but also because they have made the decision to care and to love.
Anyway, the other day we stopped to find her revising spelling homework with her own daughter (age 7) calling out words like extremely, busy and many others which the child spelled to perfection (even though the pronunciation was a bit countrified). I was a little surprised to see the child was wearing the uniform of a private school with a very good reputation in Port-of-Spain. I complimented her daughter's academic ability and was pleased to hear the mother tell me that she was indeed pleased that the school took reading very seriously and gave special help to those children who were behind the class. Duly impressed when I considered that this mild mannered fruit-seller on the corner of a dangerous 'ghetto' neighbourhood, also a terrible place to be at Carnival for the fete Deejays noisy boom, boom, booms, worked early hours setting up from 8 sharp and working late into the afternoon to make sure her daughter got a sound local education.
Dare I optimistically suppose that such humble people in Trinidad will someday inherit this country--those who work consistently to ensure that their children succeed not just because they want better for them than their own meagre existences but also because they have made the decision to care and to love.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Marriage: not for the shallow hearted
As the words of a sappy song go, "Why doesn't anybody ever stay together anymore? And if love never lasts forever, tell me, what's forever for?"
Nowadays married break up for having "grown apart". Too often people use this excuse for separation or divorce. What message are you sending to your children? Or is it that people don't care as much about children nor the damage they do to them for the sake of adult personal desires? For those who support this 'emancipation of self' in the midst of a young and childed marriage, I find their thinking borderline hedonistic. Marriage is not a fete that you can just leave when the music stops or the drinks run dry, it is a serious commitment, meant for life...raising children even more so. Please do not marry if you have a short attention span for true love, which goes way beyond physical attraction and "hobbies in common". It is supposed to be for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, boredom and enthusiasm. However, the way the institiution of marriage being corrupted I can understand why same-sex marriage legislation is imminent. Marriage is no longer for procreation...it has gone primitive and is now about sexual pleasure.
Nowadays married break up for having "grown apart". Too often people use this excuse for separation or divorce. What message are you sending to your children? Or is it that people don't care as much about children nor the damage they do to them for the sake of adult personal desires? For those who support this 'emancipation of self' in the midst of a young and childed marriage, I find their thinking borderline hedonistic. Marriage is not a fete that you can just leave when the music stops or the drinks run dry, it is a serious commitment, meant for life...raising children even more so. Please do not marry if you have a short attention span for true love, which goes way beyond physical attraction and "hobbies in common". It is supposed to be for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, boredom and enthusiasm. However, the way the institiution of marriage being corrupted I can understand why same-sex marriage legislation is imminent. Marriage is no longer for procreation...it has gone primitive and is now about sexual pleasure.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
I fired a client today
I had a phone call tonight from a very paranoid, possibly alzheimec client who once about 2 years ago threatened me with legal action because she couldn't find a deposit slip from a deposit I made for her. She actually put her 'lawyer' on the phone. I countered that as per her instructions I gave the slip to her nephew. In a few days the nephew who was out of the country at the time came back to ease her hysteria by showing her the deposit slip with the correct amount I deposited. Needless to say she never apologised. So tonight, 2 years later, she had the nerve to call me asking for help her with some issues at her rental apartment. I was shocked to hear her on the phone but not too shocked to calmly tell her she was on her own now and that I would never represent her again due to her past insinuation she would sue me.
Someone asked me if I felt good after I told her off and the answer to that is a firm no. I hate telling people off because it feels uncomfortable. The last employee I fired for stealing left me upset, angry and mostly disappointed. I don't like 'sticking' it to people even if they deserve it and do it so rarely I don't see the pleasure in it but understand its necessity.
Someone asked me if I felt good after I told her off and the answer to that is a firm no. I hate telling people off because it feels uncomfortable. The last employee I fired for stealing left me upset, angry and mostly disappointed. I don't like 'sticking' it to people even if they deserve it and do it so rarely I don't see the pleasure in it but understand its necessity.
Quick relief from a liquid burn!
If cooking and you splash HOT cooking oil, water, soup, tea or coffee on yourself the first thing you should do is IMMEDIATELY wipe the liquid off your skin with a clean tea towel or napkin DRAG, don't pat, the towel over your skin. I am guessing this works because you remove the liquid before it has a chance to burn through skin layers.
Many people are inclined to run their affected area under cold water or grab ice cubes, which prolongs the suffering later. But before you reach the sink or freezer, grab that nearby rag and wipe off the heat. It has worked for me many times and I have avoided burn marks and lengthy pain...hope it helps you!
Many people are inclined to run their affected area under cold water or grab ice cubes, which prolongs the suffering later. But before you reach the sink or freezer, grab that nearby rag and wipe off the heat. It has worked for me many times and I have avoided burn marks and lengthy pain...hope it helps you!
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