A billionare's beach party

In the taxi ride from the airport the owner listened to to the description of the local island tradition – an oil down.

Oil downs are basically beach parties where a large pot of food is cooked over the fire while revelers party the night away. Layers of local fruit and veggies, as well as a bewildering array
of meats are packed in the pot, and this is then cooked in coconut cream. It is a poor man's feast. Breadfruit, christophene's, green banana's and calaloo might seem exotic ingredients to the the outsider, but these and most of the other ingredients are staples that would be found in many islanders back garden.

The owner was most intrigued by the description and requested that arrangements be made for his family to have an oil down the next day. He was going to go off the beaten path a little and have a true taste of island life.

All of us where involved in preparation for this event. We carefully planned for all the things he might possibly need for his epic journey. Fine linen table cloth & cutlery and crockery, mosquito spray, all the beverages they might possibly need, candles, lamps, ice and such. And naturally we could not expect the family to be without servers to make sure that the necessary standards are upheld. The captain and myself, his stewardess, went ahead to make preparations.

The oil down was arranged at a spot where such events are regularly held – often for up to a hundred people. We sanitized the tables, created a little bar, and I did the formal table setting they are used to. The jovial if somewhat tipsy local prepared his pot and fire with gusto. He glanced longingly over to the J & B whiskey.

The owner arrived shortly after with his wife and son. They smiled and nodded as they stood around the fire and the chef explained his concoction. This did not hold their interest for long. A quick stride over to the beach for a glance at the view and a few photo ops. A light rain sprinkle sent them fleeing for the table setting that was under cover. We covered the wooden benches with towels, could not have their nice clothes ruined.

I poured everyone their desired drinks and realized this party was pretty stiff. Thus I encouraged
the taxi driver to move his car closer and turn up the volume on the local music he was playing. The volume of course in moderation, we would not want to overwhelm the owner . . .

I finally relented and poured the chef a J & B on the sly. I think he found the concept that the captain and I where working and not touching alcohol a little strange. And the fact that there was no table setting for us.
“You not eating?”
“No, not with the owner. If he invites us to eat now we will, but alternatively we will pack a little left overs for us to take back to the boat.”

I am sure the chef must have been thinking - “Dem rich white folks strange people”. He did become alarmingly well lubricated and to our horror came to chat with the owner waving around the glass of whiskey I poured him. He had no idea that the owner would be mortified to know he was sharing his glassware and whiskey. At least he provided humor to a rather formal occasion as
waved his arms and proudly discussed his prowess as island style chef.

As the captain and I sat on more modest chairs around the fire and tried the cuisine out we had a quiet snicker. We where imagining the same location with a hundred islanders dancing to blaring
music. Perhaps, if they saw the owner and his rather formal beach party, they would envy him his money. But in truth, they have far more quality of life and have a much better idea how to let their hair down and simply have fun.

In the end we asked the owner, did you enjoy you oil down sir?
His reply: “The location was great – the food disgusting.”

O well. I guess back to the five star dinner the chef prepares for him rather than a venture into the unknown for him.