A Four ‘n Twenty was inappropriate for various reasons, the main one being I don’t like them, the second, I’d sound like an idiot. How would a French girl know anything about iconic Australian food? My craving for Vegemite on toast was growing daily. She read my mind, or maybe I uttered the word.
She grinned, ‘Oh Vegemite? Oui, it’s ‘ere for your breakfast.’
‘Sorry. We have an early flight.’
‘Do you like feesh?’ she asked. ‘We’ll get some at zee market. My boss’s wife’s cousin’s cousin’s uncle runs a feesh stand there. Fresh in today.’
I was dubious yet brave. The ocean around the area was pristine, however an international flight in the morning with food poisoning is not a great idea. There were five tables, loud ceiling fans but no air-conditioning. Two of the tables were set for dinner, mosquito coils discreet. I wasn’t happy but smiled. Dinner was included, otherwise we would have left. I figured the other guests were eating out.
A huge bowl of pea and mint soup arrived, which was beautiful, although we’d had pea and mint soup four days in a row, obviously a popular dish. Later two gigantic snapper swarming with boiled carrots and beans arrived, then a mountain of rice and five different sauces. I don’t like my fish un-filleted. I don’t like snapper. I could have been at home displaying better plating prowess, after all I watch MasterChef. The dessert was ice cream. I’m lactose intolerant but didn’t have the heart to say that.
They were devastated as I left three-quarters of the meal untouched, though I have the talent to make it look otherwise. I hoped they had a cat or a dog out the back to eat the leftovers. Cats are obligate carnivores so wouldn’t eat the beans and carrots. The fish remains were a pile of bones, skin and scraps of scales, the remaining flesh obscured. No cat I know would bother with that offering unless desperate.