Bar-B-Que
The secret with a barbeque, of course, was to place the pits upwind, so that the smoked aroma helped oversight and excuses for the paltry side dishes, whether potato salad or plantain chips. The Lions’ dedicated volunteer wives offered home-made standards of barbeque for fundraisers at their functions.
As a loyal, true barbeque enthusiast, my nightmare stories of Bar-B-Q fiascos would make Edgar Allan Poe’s stories unfit for the local TV tripe. In 1962, Old Year’s night, the rain fell non-stop from around 8 pm until 5 next morning. I remember this distinctly as my neighbour rode to the Chinese laundry on Broad St to pick up his suit and returned home at 5 am. He still insisted that his wife, dress and they go out, so he could impress his neighbours with what a great time he had on the town.
Our party drove to Pilot Hick’s revels in Kitty – more rain than Noah’s deluge; the Bar-B-Q served was floating like dumpling in soup, so you flipped your plate to get rid of the water while eating.
On another occasion at the sea wall, the dam damp coals wouldn’t light for hell. Can you imagine 500 partying Guyanese leaving the f
