Sweet discoveries

So It Go

One of the most substantial planks in the structure of life is that of blind discovery – that sudden encounter with something so delightful that almost always the consequent thought is “Why didn’t I know about this before?”

These new awarenesses come to us like a gift, adding small enhancements or significant ones to the fabric of our lives. Also, while many of these epiphanies obviously occur in our growing up days, what is especially wonderful about them is that they continue to happen all through your life. You will be 75 years old and discovering some new sweet addition to your life’s canvas that you did not know before.

They will come to you from your own curiosity, or by sheer chance, or by someone saying to you, “Check this out.” and, lo and behold, you’ve come into possession of something you will enjoy forever.

About 25 years ago, living in the Cayman Islands, I discovered what I consider the best continuing programme on television anywhere – the Charlie Rose Show in America. It’s a very simple format: one man, Charlie Rose, interviewing usually just one man or woman, for 30 minutes. No cutaways, no video footage, no fancy set.

Conversation around a table, that’s all it is, but what conversations. Some of the most fascinating and most accomplished people in the world are there, opening up spontaneously, as Charlie manages to draw them out in searching, intelligent conversation.

Many of the guests are people you rarely see on probing TV interviews (Naipaul; Jayzee; Norman Mailer; George Steinbrenner; etc) and many are people you have never heard of but who are doing significant things in the world – last week, an engineer producing affordable electric cars in Israel.

The show is available here, at 9pm every night on cable. Check it out. You will meet mankind at his/her best.

These discoveries come randomly – words you read or hear spoken somewhere; a view of something; a taste or a physical sensation. Another one for me took place many years ago in Boston.

I had just finished an engagement, and was back in my hotel room. Contrary to what people think, musicians are not always running woman every chance they get. I was alone. I turned on the television, cruising the channels, and I was suddenly transfixed by some music, coming from the television set, that literally froze me standing where I was. I remember it like yesterday. It was the striking and unusual music of a group called Bela Fleck and the Flecktones that I never knew existed.

In Bela Fleck you have some of the most accomplished musicians in the world (the bass player Vic Wooten is incredible), and the technical wizardry of the group’s leader, Bela Fleck, who plays scintillating jazz and classical music on a banjo, is simply brilliant.  It sounds like an odd combination – banjo, bass, guitar, drums – but the music these four musicians create, a hybrid of several strains, has to be heard to be believed. The technical virtuosity alone is outstanding, but it is the sheer force of the music that is most gripping. They have many CDs out; a particular gem is their live 2-CD set called LIVE ART.

Dating from my carnival days with Tradewinds in Trinidad, I love pelau and I’ve had it in different combinations over the years, but I urge you to check out a version I encountered a couple years back – oxtail pelau.  Here’s how to make it: You need 2 or 3 pounds of oxtail. Use a very sharp knife and cut off all the fat. Be patient; it’s not easy. Cut the oxtail into small pieces, ¾˝ or so – you’ll need a heavy chopper.

In a medium-sized heavy pot, heat about three tablespoons of vegetable oil, medium heat, and add 3 heaping tablespoons of brown sugar. Allow the sugar to melt and get frothy, but not burn; you have to watch it. Add the oxtail, stir to coat evenly, then add a large chopped onion and about 6 cloves of garlic chopped.

Cover and simmer for about 10 minutes. Add enough water to cover the oxtail, salt and pepper to taste, and cook at a brisk simmer until the meat is tender (this can take a couple hours; add water if necessary). Remove oxtail from pot, and measure the amount of liquid left, usually a cup. Add enough water to the liquid in the pot to make 3 ½ cups, add 2 cups of raw rice, about 2 cups of raw pumpkin cut in cubes, 2 or 3 wiri wiri peppers chopped, and 1 can of pigeon peas with its liquid. Return the oxtail to the pot, and taste the mixture for salt and pepper.

Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to very low, cover the pot, and don’t lift the lid (repeat ‘don’t’) for 20 minutes. The pelau should be done to perfection, with the rice a lovely brown colour, and it should be slightly moist. If it’s too dry, learn from that: next time use more liquid.

Guyana is known for wonderful hardwoods, but time and again we cover up these beautiful textures and colours with dark stains or varnishes and sometimes, God forbid, even paint.

Years ago in Canada I discovered a furniture-finishing product called Danish Oil that works wonders on our local woods.
Next time you’re having some furniture made, you will be amazed at the finish you get from Danish Oil.  The bad news is that it’s not cheap, but the good news is that it is very easy to use.

Once the wood is sanded thoroughly – that’s critical – just wipe on the Danish Oil finish (it comes in several shades from light oak to mahogany), let it dry for 20 minutes, wipe off the excess with a clean cloth, apply another coat, wipe that off in 15 minutes, give it a strong final buff, and you’re done.

The oil seals the wood and leaves it with a soft lustre, and the colour and beauty of the grain stand out. In this hot climate you may have to apply another coat in about six months, but you’ll be showing off those Guyanese wood patterns as never before. By the way, it’s available here; you don’t have to ask your family to send some in the next barrel – you know how that can go.

I started out intending to steer you to some more of my discoveries, but the editor’s scissors looms. However, I must squeeze in a recommendation that you check out the work of American writer Cormac McCarthy – author of  All the Pretty Horses and No Country for Old Men. His novels are starkly violent at times, but the man is a master of description – you can see in your mind what he is depicting – and he is a genius at writing dialogue in that marvellous convoluted way in which people speak in real life.

If you’re reluctant about checking out my suggestions, I urge you to at least take a stab at the oxtail pelau.  I guarantee you will thank me for the push. Just be careful not to burn the sugar.

This column by Mr Dave Martins, that previously appeared in our Monday edition will from now on be carried in our Sunday paper.