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Turtle, it has to be turtle to describe authentic Caribbean food. When I traveled to Grand Cayman Island years ago, serving on a student missions' team with other college or high school students who had been selected for a pioneer venture, I wondered what food would be served to us. We lived in the manse, we were preparing the church for a new pastor by holding daytime Vacation Bible School and evening meetings for the congregation, the island was primitive in 1966 with no cruise ships, no hotels and certainly no high-dealing financiers or banks. The ladies graciously prepared dinner meals for us. In came cooked turtle.

I looked at it, I was hungry, I remembered someone saying it might taste like chicken and I ate it. It did taste like chicken and it was great! Years later, I tried to order it back in the Midwest and never thought about "Missouri River" turtle instead of what I assumed would be Caribbean turtle meat. Out it came with a yucky green sauce over it. Maybe it was shipped in from the Caribbean but I never asked. I thought my date would pass out on the spot. He was so "beef and potatoes" that he was not sure what he was getting into on a first formal date with my ordering turtle from the riverboat menu. I did not enjoy it as much as down on the island, either.

Another authentic Caribbean food is breadfruit although the natives laughed at us kids so much when they heard that one of our girls figured out triumphantly how to turn it into french-fried food with plenty of catsup poured over it. I clearly remember when she brought it to our little table that night. We were so excited to have something familiar to add to our supper! We could not convince the natives to try it. They considered it useless.

A third food has to be conch sea animals that are tucked inside the beautiful, large shells. Seafood. Everything in those primitive years on the island seemed to revolve around turtle or conch. On one of our last evenings on the island, some of the church men took all of us guys and gals with our older sponsor leader to the beach. I think it is called "Seven Mile Beach" and it is now filled with hotels. When I saw a recent photo, I was shocked. Back in August of 1966, this area was totally pristine with no buildings anywhere, just a thatched roof shelter as the lone resident on the beach. It was incredibly beautiful with shades of blue or green water radiating out from the shoreline. The deeper the water, the more the hue changes.
The church guys were young adults and they dove into the ocean, leaving us Americans alone on the beach. I did not understand what was happening but very soon, they all returned, swimming with just one arm, clutching something under the other arm.

Conch shells, filled with our supper. The men proceeded to clean and cook the meat. We had a wonderful time eating together. By the time we flew out of their tiny airport later that week, I had purchased a large, brown and tan and white striped polished conch shell from the local store and a tiny preserved real turtle in the form of a pin because it was unlike anything I had ever seen. To this day, I have both mementos and people recoil when they see the now deceased tiny turtle attached to a pin. I do not think I ever had the aesthetic courage to wear the poor little thing. It is just a memory of Grand Cayman Island where we got our dinner from the sea each day.

Learn more about this author, Dorothy Marie Kucera.
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