Bathway
Remembering Grandma & Beach Days
Grandma is standing in the kitchen — working with a stove that only she could tame. She is making chicken pilau (a dish not unlike arroz con pollo). The sweet and savory aroma of well-seasoned meat fills the house. The rice almost gives off light with its saffron-infused, rich yellow glow. She doesn’t use measuring cups or spoons. The quantity for each ingredient is fixed in her heart. This is cooking with love. She makes this dish from memory — and always in the same pot.
She is a woman going about her business. She has been up since it was still dark. The roosters did not wake her. She had already been cooking for hours when they began their main call and response.
Grandma is only cooking for three: Granddad, herself, and me — just a child. But you wouldn’t know that from the bounty of her pilau pot — its sheer massive size. The contents of that pot could feed a small village. It will take the three of us (all voracious eaters) two days to devour.
Today is Wednesday. Grandma is cooking the pilau for our weekly trip to Bathway Beach. We make this journey to the other side of the island because it is the only beach my grandfather will swim in. He’s very particular. And when he says, things like, “I’ll never touch the waters of Grand Anse Beach again,” he means it. In fact, he won’t even venture onto…
