Fiji Roadside BBQs
Driving the roads of Fiji, I keep seeing the hand-painted BBQ signs on the roadside in front of a bare wood, tin roof shack, a promise of some homemade, local, authentic, Fijian style food. Time to stop and smell the flowers and the barbeque.
Time to do the BBQ tasting on the roadsides of Fiji. What are they cooking? What are the differences? Whose is the best? What is the cultural atmosphere? I have visited the wine tasting venues in Southern California and become a trained “wine snob”. Time to become a Fiji BBQ snob, an oxymoronic title, actually. A bit like a mac-’n’-cheese connoisseur. But a great window into the local culture.
So culturally unprepared, I stopped on the way home at a stand in Talanoa that advertised BBQ and Fried Fish Smoothie. They meant Fried Fish, next item, smoothie.
So, by BBQ, they meant Fried Fish. We ordered one serving for each of us, $10 FJD each (less than $5 US). “It will be 5 minutes”, the pretty young Fijian girl said.
We found the new addition to their shack, a covered wooden deck, no walls, nice and airy and outdoorsy. They had gone upscale. We sat at one of the 4 tables with plastic tablecloths. Out came the nice girl with a plate with a small tomato, cucumber, spicy onion, lettuce salad, casava pieces and two fried fish on top. It looked like a good amount for a lunch. Then she came out with another identical plate and a French dressing! The first plate was only the first order!
The very fried, battered fish were about 8 inches from head to tail, literally, since all parts, including fins, were attached. My wife doesn’t like the experience of eating something recognizable as a previously living creature. But such is nature.
I began to eat the fish with the fork and knife provided, but soon began picking it apart with my fingers. I knew Fijians eat with their hands when at home in their villages. And, sure enough, when other Fijians came in to eat, they used their hands. I found once you eat the one side of the skeleton, you could lift the tail and separate it from the meat on the other side, leaving a nice boneless fillet. Strangely, to me, not a napkin in sight, and, yes, they wipe their hands on their pants.
The fish tasted good and fresh but not really flavorful the salad, fresh and tasty. I liked a bite of the spicy onion with a bite of the plain, starchy casava because they balanced out each other so well. A small dish of cut limes and red-hot pepper offered additional flavor if desired. Before the meal, I put a small piece of their red pepper in my mouth and suffered painfully the red-hot sting throughout my whole mouth, breathing in air forcefully to cool it, until the meal arrived.
While waiting for the meal a dog yapped over and over, but the Fijians had no response, as if to say, “nothing unusual here”. Part of the deal of living in a village, I guess. A tabby cat came over, waited patiently, rubbing up against our legs, and jumped up on our bench to see what we would give her. Receiving nothing, she quietly left.
Over all, it was an experience of how locals do it. Inside-the-reef fish, battered and fried, eating with your hands, wiping your hands on your pants, freshly picked vegetables, outdoors with the air and the animals.