Without shame
In primary school I remember a teacher asking my class about our hobbies. One girl bravely stood and said “eating and reading” with a flat matter-of-factness that surprised our teacher. The appalled then immediately questioned the seven-year-old girl’s sanity. Witnessing that shock on our teacher’s face disgusted me. It was unnecessarily critical of a young person’s truth. I felt ashamed for her. Lord knows who else felt similarly: I can only estimate the shame my classmate felt. I couldn’t even look at her for fear of what she might confirm in her expression. I also felt that if I added my protest then it would not have mattered much. I might have met the cane for speaking out of turn. So I kept quiet and decided that personal indulgences should be kept private lest I suffer a public stoning. When I did manage to look at that suddenly pallid girl who stood alone unaware of the solidarity she confirmed in me, her silent shame calcified in my bones.
Now, at thirty-fine years old, I’ve long cast aside that kind of shame around my own preferences and confidently believe that like my old classmate, we all like to eat and we each have our own private indulgences that people have no right to judge.
To avoid awkward confrontation and outta-timing silences I like to mindlessly scroll the feed in search of content that spikes my interest around food. And, fortunately, nobody is present to harass me. I know I am not alone in this particular practice of consuming content and food–we nourish ourselves thus to stave off the anxiety. Eating and drinking act as a needed buffer and cushion in our often rattled cages.
I do question the origin of this love of food when in the dark corners of the collective mind there exists a shame in admitting our personal preferences. A herd mentality with regard to food has roped us together to follow where a select few would claim any slop for worthwhile consumption. I do know where my shame comes from–where I am unsure is whether others share a similar spectral embarrassment. To carry the conversation further, here is something I am often ashamed to say: I sometimes struggle to properly state whether I truly like Caribbean cuisine in the first place. Because what is Caribbean Cuisine? From what I see on feeds; what we have is usually drowned in a wetness. Apart from the soggy and soupy ripplings atop many island plates I’ve seen, I do like strong flavours in thoughtfully prepared sauces. The gloss of spicy oil slicked noodles for example sends my tongue wagging. I’ll yield my disdain for too wet dishes in this instance. The ancestors and spirit move me so.
I’m aware that my scorn echoes with irony but my irascible mood aside, very rarely do I see anyone adding anything new or innovative to the food conversation. Eating and drinking well, and with novelty, is a paradoxical gateway into pleasures that feel distant despite any savoured immediacy. Perhaps this is why we keep most indulgences out of view from disparaging eyes. Opinions like mine can inspire shame–making me guilty of the same thing my primary school teacher did. Yet, this persistent question around Caribbean cuisine plagues me and requires further research on my part. I am not prepared to tackle that head on just yet. In this early round I might be knocked out of the ring too soon. To share my side of the argument where Caribbean cuisine is concerned is to swing at the open air with fighting words. I’d look stupid and like a mad man. Instead of throwing fists, I want to share one particular dining experience that helped me to understand my relationship with local eating culture as a naive person with adult money to spend.
Get Bekim Betoni’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
I like spice. And hot food. The first time I really had a satisfying sample of this particular preference was at Hakka Restaurant with a group of friends from TTHTI. We saddled up for our reservation with a brief understanding of Hakka cuisine. We were all participants in the culinary arts associate’s degree programme learning about the French technique. In other words: we were ready to judge. Bold flavour is the promise of Hakka cuisine. East Indian spice added to foods turned within a Chinese wok over an intense flame found its way from South Asia to us in +1868. Surprisingly, the menu featured some well described dishes with a few local ingredients that jumped out. There was intensely-seasoned chadon beni shark bite as bar cutters for example. The scintillating promise written beneath each dish name stirred the appetite. The descriptions were accessible and not at all too far from my own narrow-mindedness (which I snuck through the door).
Hakka Restaurant first set up its first main dine-in restaurant at Taylor Street, Woodbrook in what used to be an old residential structure. The house was transformed into an austere black and red lacquer box choked by an ambiance of ornate oriental decoration. The striking edifice made its bold statement on what used to be the quieter end of Ariapita Avenue. Hakka Restaurant has since made confident strides into quick services, establishing 16 Hakka Express locations with a set menu and a few limited time offers best suited to everyday eating. The original location of the sit-down restaurant has since relocated to Brentwood Avenue, Chaguanas. I have not been there yet but I plan to visit soon.
In the 2010s the Trinidad’s restaurant & bar scene, from what I do remember,went through a kind of glow up. Many new restaurants established their culinary claims within the parameters of the west almost every month. Some eateries have come, gone, made a u-turn at the light to venture the westbound lane because they’ve missed a turn but Hakka Restaurant was different. The place offered aspects of already beloved cuisines in a brand that excited people. It made going out for a drink fun. Younger folk (like me) were eager to pile up around a reserved table and put our small money towards fancy cocktails and spicy bites. I certainly felt like I was somewhere foreign. The place was exotic. Heat was the subtext of the atmosphere: Flaming drinks, peppery food, and sexy-looking people. The lighting was dim and the red interior made everybody appear slightly more seductive than when they first walked through the main door. The main dining layout offered each patron an entrance–you could get “make out” from any table. On entry the scene was bustling. People endlessly chattered over countless plates and clinking glasses.
Perhaps I am remembering this vibe while longing for something equally as exciting to happen somewhere on the island again. Perhaps my bias has too narrow a focus–one that excludes the reality that most restaurants face: a customer’s whims–which can be as carelessly strewn like my primary school teacher’s sense of her own maturity.
Apart from the novelty of Hakka, in the following years other restaurants opened their doors to an expanded appreciation for Asian cuisine. Meaning: places like Sombat and Chhai-Thai found a little room on the island too. I have enjoyed my belly-full of their dishes too and what I appreciate the most is that with this expanded lexicon of food I have learned more about Caribbean cuisine. Still, I am not convinced I have eaten enough to definitively explain what makes Caribbean cuisine. When we reach there we will reach there. I can say that I have enjoyed the new and how traditional recipes from far corners of the world have been adapted just for us in Trinidad and Tobago.
I believe restaurants, cafes, and eateries are the backbone of the local economy. There is a low barrier to entry in business since almost anyone can start with a handful of recipes. One only needs to believe one has something good to offer before jumping in for the win. To stand atop a culinary empire (whether mountain or mound) gives anyone the vantage of infallible victories. Mind you, the resto-biz is an unforgiving equalizer. The many stakeholders involved in the restaurant world turn the field into a battle ground where the heaviest fists don ego crushing gauntlets which are always poised to deliver on deadly swings. Returning to my concern earlier (to not appear as a mad man throwing hands in the wind): this is my experience. I do not intend to drag businesses into that glaring spotlight–I’d leave that kind of brutality to professional boxers.
What I will do is listen, speak out, and write without shame.
