Anyone who knows us very well knows we like to eat. We aren’t finicky; we like everything from good old down-home comfort food to gourmet cooking. Our first night vacation dinner was delicious, but one look at the bill told us that the restaurant apparently believes their chef is cooking with gas at $3.40 per gallon. We quickly decided we would have to find the local eateries.
The first night’s rest did us a world of good, and the next morning we decided to do a little exploring before hubby headed off for the dive boat. We walked about a mile from the hotel to the Punda section of downtown Willemstad, Curacao. Punda is a mix of retail shops, street vendors, banks, restaurants, and tourist traps.
We rounded a corner and immediately found ourselves in a sea lover’s dream. Loaded fishing boats were docked next to street vendors selling the fresh catch of the day. 
A sailboat docked in the bay captured hubby’s attention. Thankfully that area of the dock was behind a locked gate or I suspect we might still be there. 
As we walked on, we saw a row of fresh produce; stand after stand of fruit and vegetables. Now my wheels were turning.
Our hotel room had a kitchenette stocked with plates, silverware, a tea kettle, and one skillet. We had our own balcony with a table and two chairs from which we could see the ocean. Our own ocean-view table for two with no waiting, shoes optional, what could be better? Hubby had an afternoon dive, so I concocted a plan to return downtown. The hotel shuttle made two trips to town each day, once in the morning and again in the afternoon. I could go on the afternoon shuttle and pick up the supplies I would need for dinner for a couple of nights and we’d be set. I could hardly wait to get back downtown. I made a quick mental list of what I would need and got on the shuttle. The shuttle stop was just about a block from the market. I rounded the corner and …
They were gone! No fishing boats, no street vendors; the fish stands were bare, surfaces clean with not one hint of a fin or a scale. I walked on down the street and realized that the produce stands were still open, so all was not lost. I just had to find the main course. I had 2-1/2 hours before the shuttle was back. A challenge; if that guy on Dinner Impossible can do this, so can I!
I explored the streets adjoining the street vendors and spotted a grocery store. Surely a grocery store would have bought fish from the vendors! I could pick up a few other staples there and then go back to the street vendors for fresh produce. How hard could this be? I could taste our good dinner already.
The first aisle was drinks and juices. There I found tea bags and sweetener. I also found chocolate, instant fruit drinks, and coffee, but most of the packaging on those items was neither recent nor in English. Some of these packages had apparently been around for awhile. I went on to the next aisle and found staples such as flour, sugar, rice, and pasta. I studied the options carefully and decided on a box of macaroni shells and cheese mix. I couldn’t read the information on the package, but the picture on the box looked similar enough to what I would find at home that I figured this to be a reasonable choice. All this time I had been observing some local shoppers at the meat counter. They didn’t appear to be buying much. When they stepped away, I made my approach.
The only items on the meat counter that looked familiar were cheese and lunch meat, sliced thinner-than-newspaper thin, and bacon. The other meat was labeled in the local language and didn’t look like anything I’d encountered anywhere in the States, roadsides included. Try as I might, there was no recognizing what was in these packages. I decided to try the frozen section. There, I found pre-packaged fish and chicken legs, aged a little beyond perfection, and unlabeled chicken breasts. When I noticed the local shoppers turning away, I decided I should probably find another meat source. On the next aisle over I found fresh bakery rolls, good for dinner and snacking. I also found tea biscuits and chocolate sandwich cookies for dessert. I didn’t find much else, so I paid for my purchases and continued my reconnaissance.
A few streets over I found the local fast-food row, complete with an American take-out chicken brand. Potential meat source located, I headed for the street market to buy produce. The produce stands looked pretty much alike, so I settled on one and began to make my selections. I selected a package with three tomatoes and another with five potatoes. I asked for a cucumber and the proprietor looked at me. I tried to explain what I wanted and finally, he said “cu-kom-bre?” “Yes!” I nodded. He looked at the proprietor immediately to his right and rattled off something unintelligible, to which the gentleman responded by tossing a cucumber over from his stand. Looking at my watch, I headed back to KFC for the meat course. I made it back to the shuttle pickup point with about 20 minutes to spare.
Two ladies from the hotel had also ridden the shuttle downtown for the afternoon. They arrived back at the pick-up point a few minutes after I did. One of the ladies carried an elegant looking bag from the duty-free shop, with an equally elegant looking box inside.
I carried a bucket of chicken and a bag of groceries.
The bags were thin plastic. Try as I might, there was just no way of making produce and chicken look like anything other than produce and chicken. We got on the shuttle. The ladies chatted in some language I didn’t understand, which was probably just as well.
We had a delicious dinner of fried chicken, shells and cheese (liquid coffee creamer can be substituted for milk in a pinch, by the way), tomato-cucumber salad, rolls, and iced tea. Hubby pronounced dinner good and satisfying. When I explained the absence of fresh fish, he said “ah, I knew that! Fishers only sell in port in the morning.” My wheels started turning again; tomorrow was another day.
fresh day… fresh fish…
Copyright 2011 Sherry Hathaway All rights reserved.