Issue link: http://digital.canadawide.com/i/406441
(opposite) jen judge, (top) barbados tourism W I N T E R 2 0 1 4 | g o i n g p l a c e s 35 the exchange of ideas and the food fusions that result. it's almost impossible to reconcile the afternoon and evening experiences, except for the sultry heat, the throb of salsa- and reggae- tinged beats and the free flow of beer and rum. as the night wears on and the banquet floor transforms from fine dining hall to full-on dance party, i feel the familiar and welcome Bajan haze clouding my head. e flavours of Barbados, it turns out, transcend its food scene, and i find myself hoping the night will go on and on. i wake the next morning with a headache stronger than a bottle of mount gay. i'm due for brunch at a well-known local eatery but decide to postpone because the thought of stale restaurant air and big crowds makes my head throb. instead, i hop a local taxi down the coast to miami Beach, where i'm told you can find some of the most authentic food on the island. i arrive expecting a chirpy little colonial building with a breezy verandah but find only a broken-down-mercedes-bus-turned-eatery with a few plastic tables and chairs scattered in palm shade. the sign on the grille reads "mr. Delicious snack Bar." i'm ready to head elsewhere when i remem- ber something that marcus samuelsson said on day one of the festival. "wherever you travel, go to both sides of town. e really local food . . . that's often where you can find the most intense flavours." another seemingly immobile old woman takes my order. i ask for two flying fish cutters. "Yah want roti?" she asks without flinching. "what's that?" i ask. she doesn't move, doesn't speak. i start to wonder if she's dozed off. "sure," i say, just to break the impasse. "and a beer. Banks," i add. i wander over to a ramshackle table to wait. afternoon sunlight filters through the hibiscus leaves, and a puff of breeze click- clacks the palm fronds. an elderly man with dreads sitting in a rickety folding chair, one of the only other people nearby, suddenly bursts into an impromptu song about the bird in the treetops. my mind goes momentarily blank, like a trance, until i hear a voice. "Banks. Banks." e old woman is speak- ing. "Banks!" me? i realize my order is ready, grab it from the bar and walk to a slatted wooden bench by the sea. inside the oil-stained brown paper bag, i find two local favourites: fried fish filets swaddled in spongy white bread rolls, complete with relish, mayonnaise and Bajan hot sauce, as well as a fist-size dollop of curried chicken and potatoes wrapped up in a flaky indian flat- bread. e flying fish is crispy and succulent at once, and the yellow curry is an ideal counter- point to the cold, clear Banks lager. it isn't fancy by any means – at home it would be just another fish sandwich and wrap. But here, next to the ocean, after a long night of dancing and drinking, bathed in dappled Caribbean light, it tastes like vacation. at's the thing about culinary tours: food is always better in a stunning place minus the stress of home. and though Barbados may not have the most refined culinary tradition, the dawdling pace makes you slow down and savour what you eat. i lie back on the bench and listen to the rhythmic thrum of the sea, and before long i'm fast asleep. when i wake, the sun has set and the ocean air is cooler. i've already missed a cocktail party and i'll probably be late for dinner. But i walk back over to mr. Delicious to place another order anyway. GP Beach pastimes include watching skilled surfers; (left) a cook at Mr. Delicious Snack Bar, next to Miami Beach.