in praise of sardines

Behind the paper: pouring it on

Before we started construction, my contractors warned me that there would be a lonnnng period when my restaurant space would seemingly look the same from day to day. If you're wondering why you haven't read a Contigo update in nearly 6 weeks, that's the reason. If Contigo were a ship, she would be adrift in the doldrums. A crew of six to eight guys come on board every day for eight or so hours. They pound, bang, saw, drill, dig, heave, ho, curse, grunt, sing pirate songs (okay, I made that last bit up). The work they're performing is vital. Plumbing and gas lines have been installed; foundations laid; framing, seismic upgrades, and some roofing and HVAC (duct work for the ventilation system) work has been completed. Unfortunately for this blog, these accomplishments aren't so photogenic. How many more artsy photos of nails and drains can I expect you to tolerate?

There is one exception: the concrete pours. I already documented the first one, performed just before Christmas. Since my last "Behind the Paper" post, there have been two more pours. The exciting news is that Contigo now has floors. Woohoo! The bummer is there are still two more pours to go.

Which begs the question: "Why so many separate pours? Why not do it all in one go?"

The answer lies in the elevation of the property. If everything were on one level, one or two pours would have sufficed. Unfortunately, that's not the case. While the building that houses Contigo is all at street level, the backyard is a couple of feet higher. In order to get enough seats to make this construction worth my investment, I need to be able to use the back patio for additional restaurant seating. Nearly a third of Contigo's seating will be outdoors. The restaurant is only permitted to use the backyard if it makes the area accessible to diners who use a wheelchair. Of the two possible solutions — lowering the backyard to street level or installing a ramp to access the higher backyard — the latter proved less expensive. My architect decided to split the dining area into two tiers with two access points, one by three stairs and one by ramp.

The second pour filled in the upper dining area at the back of the restaurant, including the stairs and part of the wheelchair ramp. The bulk of the ramp and the lower dining area were filled in with the third pour at the end of last week. As I was looking at the space over the weekend, I had a thought. If this whole restaurant thing doesn't pan out, I can always turn Contigo into a skateboard park.

Next up: more HVAC work, roofing, the beginning of electrical rough in, closing up the walls. The last item is the one I'm waiting for. Then things will really start to heat up.

Eating locally in Belize means (part 3)...

local chocolate!

(An unintentionally timely topic just days before that favorite chocolate orgy, otherwise known as Valentine's Day!).

Whenever I travel, I like to visit local markets to see what's available and in season. In Guatemala, my travel companion and I ventured into the labyrinthine covered and outdoor markets of Santa Elena and cobbled together the fixins for a tasty lunch that made a certain salad lover a happy woman. We also bought a sweet orange that was halved and rubbed with salt and ground toasted pepitos (pumpkin seeds), and a bag of sour green mango mixed with salt, lime, and chili. On a 90 degree day, both were as rejuvenating as a frosty bottle of Gatorade.

In Belize, we didn't come across any outdoor markets during our travels, but we did visit a few local grocery stores. My favorite was Wallen's market in Placencia. Walking down the candy aisle, which was dominated by imported British Cadbury and American Hershey, you would have no idea that the cacao tree, theobroma cacao, is indigenous to the area and closely associated with the local Mayan heritage. Along with Guatemala and the Yucatan peninsula of Mexico, Belize is part of what some call the Cradle of Chocolate. Which prompted a question: why wasn't I finding any locally produced chocolate?

As I was paying for a bottle of water at Wallen's, a shiny golden object on a shelf behind the cashier grabbed my attention. It was as bright as one of Willy Wonka's precious tickets. I did a double take when I read the sign. The golden wrappers contained chocolate bars made from organic cacao and conventional cane sugar, both locally grown in Belize. The clouds parted and the angels sang. Local chocolate actually does exist! It's even organic. And it's appropriately packaged like precious gold ingots. This aspiring locavore felt as lucky as a photographer snapping a picture of a lake at the exact moment when the Loch Ness Monster emerges with the Yeti riding on its back. I could gorge on chocolate and feel smug in the knowledge that I was supporting local Mayan cacao farmers and a local chocolatier.

The miracle bars are made by a company called Goss Chocolate. I bought one of each chocolate bar (US$1.50 each) — dark and milk — then rushed them from the air-conditioned store to my beachside cabana before they melted.

I fully intended to stow the bars in my fridge and nibble on them over the next few days — no really, I swear — but my curiosity got the best of me and I unwrapped each of the bars to try a bite. Tearing open those golden foil wrappers made me feel just like Charlie Bucket. One nibble led to a second, then a third, and, well, let's just say those little buggers never made it into the fridge. I mean, c'mon, how often can you eat chocolate and simultaneously feel virtuous? I had to go back the next day to buy two more bars for my photos. Then maybe a couple more just to make sure they tasted as good as I remembered them tasting the day before. Oh, the hardships I endure for you all, more concerned about chronicling stories and photos for my blog than my own health! First lobsters, now chocolate. What next?

The dark chocolate (pictured above) was quite good. The mouth feel was rich and silky smooth, more French-style than Spanish, and the flavor nicely fruity with a hint of roasted coffee and caramel. The bar was correctly labeled "dark," as it is what is sometimes called semisweet, not the bittersweet that I tend to prefer. Surprisingly, the milk chocolate (pictured at top of post, somewhat melted because the second store was not air-conditioned) was even better. Far more chocolate flavor and complexity than you usually find in a milk chocolate bar. I later learned that the cacao solids make up a whopping 49% of the milk chocolate bar. The dark hovers between 60-65%, depending on the intensity of the cacao beans used in each batch.

Eating locally in Belize means (part 2)...

... lobster for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

The Caribbean spiny lobster, panulinus argus, is on every restaurant menu in coastal Belize, the small Central American nation that lies east of Guatemala and south of the Yucatan peninsula of Mexico. Two locations renowned for the quality of their lobster are Placencia and Caye Caulker, both of which host annual lobster festivals every June and July, respectively. These two places — villages where tourism has in the last couple of years supplanted lobster fishing as the leading source of income — happened to be where my travel companion and I spent most of our time in Belize. Coincidence?

Caye Caulker

Rainbow Restaurant
This was by far the most traditional of the restaurants we sampled in Caye Caulker, an island off the northern coast of Belize. I tucked into a tasty lunch special of lobster with coconut sauce on a terrace overlooking the Caribbean while sipping a refreshing glass of watermelon juice. On Front Street, north of the dock.

Rose's Cafe
Every evening at sunset, many of Caye Caulker's restaurants set up grills on the street. The most popular of these grill restaurants is Rose's Cafe. The popularity of the place is due in equal parts to the restaurant's display of impeccably fresh lobster and snapper and to the talents of the hawker that cajoles you to try the restaurant's goods. Fish and lobster alike are brushed with Creole spices and butter and served with a choice of sides, including the ubiquitous (and much beloved throughout Belize) cole slaw and delicious pan-fried bread fruit. On the dock street.

Rasta Pasta
The Jamaican-style jerked lobster sandwich I ate for lunch one day was so tasty, I persuaded my travel companion to return with me that same night for dinner. Rasta Pasta's menu is enticing and original and the bar, in particular, is popular with local artists, kite surfers, and divers. Be sure to try a glass of their homemade ginger beer, either on its own or mixed with the local dark rum and lime juice to make the freshest Dark & Stormy on the planet. On Middle Street.

Wish Willy
If you were to eat at only one place in Caye Caulker, it should be Wish Willy. Truth be told I didn't have lobster at this funky gem, a place so unassuming and informal I hesitate to call it a restaurant. There is no written menu, and you dine seated at mismatched picnic tables scattered around a grill outside the chef's bungalow, all while listening to a delightfully eclectic playlist. I'm confident that anything that the dreadlocked local celebrity chef Maurice Moore cooks — lobster included — will be as delicious as the gingery shark he prepared for my travel companion and me. To give you an idea of how laid back this place is, when I mentioned that I was opening a restaurant, Maurice put me to work julienning the chayote, pumpkin, and carrots that served as our dinner's side dish. Off Front Street near the Split.

Eating locally in Belize means (part 1)...

... drinking the water from coconuts plucked from the tree above your hammock, 20 feet from the Caribbean Sea.

Coconuts and hammock courtesy of Coconut Cottage, Placencia, Belize. For more photos from my recent trip to Guatemala and Belize, click here.

Helpful hint: if you lack a straw, borrow a wine glass from your host.

Etiquette note: hold your tongue regarding your host's choice of stemware.