Nassau, Bahamas - Paradise in a nutshell

Hello from the Island of Paradise...truly, it's called Paradise Island. Astonishingly, this 2 x 1/4 mile stretch of land is predominantly owned (80%) by the Atlantis Paradise Hotel I've been housed in for a few days. I was informed by our taxi driver that celebrities can stake out their piece of paradise from Atlantis for $8-9 million (the lowest rate). Paradise is starkly distinct from the main island Nassau (pronounced with the emphasis on the first rather than second syllable as I learned by confusing my airline attendant). The island represents all that Western culture has associated with "paradise" from the towering, thin palms and fresh in-shell coconut juice venders along the beach, to man made interpretations of the underwater city of Atlantis. From my 9th floor balcony, I have an open view of the Bahamian waters, aqua enough to rival the artificial blues of the 7 or 8 pools, lazy rivers, and water slides that are wound into the landscape of Atlantis.

Along with its grandeur visage, Atlantis charges a grandiose price. Nothing can be found below $1 in the hotel / casino / mini marts / restaurants, even the two packaged 50 cent stamps pass the mark at $1.25. I made my escape, following the enthusiastic if not slightly confusing directions of a hotel clerk, and made my way from mini Paradise back to the main island of Nassau. Along the underpass of the toll bridge into the city are stalls of local fishermen, colorful food shacks, and produce stands of fresh tubers, tomatoes, oranges, and bananas. A large juicy (navel?) set me back $1 and a few smiles; it nevertheless quenched the fresh fruit juice that I craved. Although the food is fresh and not difficult to find, few to zero tourists joined the native costumers. The prepared foods had yet to open by midmorning but I watched men scale the daily catch and shuck enormous fleshy conch from their pink shells.

Conch is a specialty of the island and can be prepared 12 different ways. My taxi driver to a local joint called the Fish Fry could only list off 4 methods: chilled salad, grilled salad, fried conch, and stew, but assured me that there were many more. The Fish Fry is where the natives enjoy hanging out and true to the description of my hotel informant we found groups casually clustered before a row of gaudily painted shacks (think of Jack the merchant of many trades from the Enchanted Forest Chronicles who likes his house painted with unfading eye-popping colors). Nearly all the shops serve nearly an identical version of fried conch, fresh snapper or grouper, fries, rice and beans, and mac and cheese. An impressive dinner platter of a whole fried and seasoned snapper, a mound of rice and peas (similar in style to fried or 'dirty' rice), a side of beets, and a hunk (like from a shovel) of mac and cheese casserole was well worth my $10 and the taxi fare. Simple, delicious, and filling. You can also walk the 7 miles from Paradise if you're starving (I think the locals exaggerate the distance actually, probably less than 5 miles).

More to chew on from the other side of the Atlantic.

The First Bite

In the past four months I have truly dug into my passion for food. With my housemates' blessing, I prepared three weekly house dinners and threw in the occasional (semi)glamorous dinner party for feasting and socializing. Much to my hope and delight, our initially tentative conversations warmed to hearty debates over the shared meals, and the difficulties of juggling menus to accommodate six distinct appetites and schedules became well justified. My mission to encourage eating consciously, in the company of others, and well within our abode taught me flexibility and efficiency while nurturing my creativity in approaching new recipes and crafting menus. Additionally in the company of my friends-turned-guinea-pigs, I was able to incorporate substantially more ingredients and styles than I ever would have managed as a solitary eater.

My social-culinary meanderings in these next four months will take me on a voyage across 12 countries, spanning 5 continents. Aiming to glimpse into the different attitudes towards food around the world, I seek to engage with street food vendors, some of the most resourceful and inspiring contributors to the evolution of a country's food culture. With my hands out of the kitchen and my feet into the local roads, I hope to bring you the first bite of countless dishes and experiences.

My next greetings will be from Cadiz, Spain. Cheers!

For those of you kind enough to pity the fate of my organs as I will doubtlessly introduce them to questionable microorganisms, take heart in knowing that I've loaded up on the average stock of pepto bismo, immodium, and even some natural probiotic gut-lovin' bacteria from the local Trader Joes as triple backup. Here goes.