Gitmo four, Caribbean Cuisine
Sitting in front of the computer this morning, smelling my wife’s good cooking. What’s for breakfast Granny? While I was waiting my turn to be called to the
table, I got to thinking back to when I was a kid, living on the Naval Base in Cuba.
Guantanamo Bay, was a restricted base. We couldn’t just leave the base to go to the store. Even if we could have, there weren’t any stores to shop at.
Our main source of groceries was the Navy Commissary. Supply ships came in twice a month. The fresh foods would leave the shelves almost as fast as
they were stocked.
Military people are resourceful. We had food a plenty. In fact, I never missed a meal. We just didn’t eat the same kind of stuff most folks stateside got to
enjoy. We just learned to improvise. Each day before school, Mom always made sure we took our daily salt tablets because of the heat. 90 degrees was
considered a cold snap. We didn’t have air conditioners in those days, just a ceiling fan with one speed. Slow.
Before I forget, it got so hot everyday that you couldn’t touch anything made of metal without caution because you would get sun blisters in an instant. The
daily temperature was around 110 degrees. We were let out from school every day for a two hour lunch break. A siesta, so to speak. During these times
when everyone else was napping, my brothers and I would run wild.
Our maid Silvia, was from Port au Prince Haiti. She was a whiz at concocting Caribbean dishes using bananas, plantains, mangoes and other tropical fruits
that you never heard of, such as momasitos, tamarind tea, pomegranates, avocados, and papayas…so many more I can’t list them all. She even made prickly pear
jelly, from Cactus apples. If we were out and about and decided we wanted a snack, we had our own stash of C-rats. We would wash them down with coconut milk,
available practically everywhere we went. Shucking a coconut is easy once you learn how to do it.
Lunch was always something light because of the heat. Mom would serve a variety of soup and sandwiches for lunch, usually we had Kool Aid for beverage.
There was plenty of sugar available, but there were times when we had to be thrifty with our water. You never could predict when Castro would cut water
supplies to the base. When it was needed, the Navy would bring a large ship to desalinate sea water, for drinking purposes. Operation NEGDEF. Water
Condition BRAVO.
Milk always arrived frozen solid. My parents would get two cases, 6 half gallons in a case, to last us two weeks. Cereal was our mainstay for breakfast. The
milk wouldn’t last that long with a family our size, so Dad would set out a half gallon of frozen milk at night to thaw out and mix it with powdered milk to
stretch it out.
Cuba was in the Tropic of Cancer Zone. The sun rose early usually about 5:05 every morning. At 5:15 we had a small tremor, just a little earthquake to wake
everybody up. No need to set the alarm. The windows would rattle, dishes in the cabinet would shake a little for about 5 to 10 seconds and then it was
over. Rise and shine.
The bus for school didn’t arrive until 8 am, that left my brothers and I plenty of time to get up and scurry down to the beach to see what treasures the tide had
washed up on the beach from the night before.
A single flip flop, a broken pair of sunglasses, broken sea shells, a wooden box with Czechoslovakia stenciled on the side, a virtual gold mine for adolescent
boys, who needed toys?
Our usual destination was the man made reef that extended out past Radio Point. Designed as a break water for the Navy ships that docked to unload, or seeking
shelter from open seas of the Bay.
Once we got to the reef, we would search the tidal pools for sea life that had been trapped by the outgoing tide. Sea urchins galore, small fish that we would gig
and put on a stringer, moray eels, some times we dug for clams or would catch fleeing crabs. A coconut crab was as big as a basketball.
We were told not to go out on the reef without permission. When we had permission, Mom would walk down to Commander O’Rourke’s house on the cliff and observe us
through his mounted binoculars. She could see clear across the Bay with them. A ringing on the ship’s bell hanging from a nearby frame, was our signal
to bring it home with the quickness.
Almost any time we needed them we could dig for turtle eggs, always in abundance. Fresh eggs were in short supply. Turtles lay 2 to 3 hundred eggs. We
could get a basket full and cover up the rest.
Turtle eggs taste just like chicken eggs, if you hold your nose. Silvia would break them into a bowl first to make sure they weren’t developed yet, then mix them
with a formula of our powdered milk and serve them for breakfast along with some fresh oysters or fried bananas. She called them “mystery omelettes,” when I
asked her what were the ingredients. She would say, “Come, you must be very hungry, eat, growing boys must eat.” Once you got use to the color green,
eating turtle eggs, well, they weren’t too bad.
Family fishing outings supplemented our diet. After Dad came home from work, we would load up our gear and find a good fishing spot. Our favorite of course
was Longustina and Red Snapper. We gigged for Flounder and sometimes caught Grouper. Dad threw the Grouper back most of the time. He said that
they were bottom feeders. They ate the trash that other fish wouldn’t. We caught mullet and shrimp for bait, using a cast net.
My brothers and I found out that the Filipino population on the base would buy almost any animal that was fresh killed. The fresher the better. In fact
they preferred them alive. We would sell them game that we caught and watch them hang whatever, upside down over a cooking pot while they cut its throat to catch
the blood.
Snakes of all kinds were popular with the Filipinos but Dad would tear our butts up when he found out we were hunting pythons and boas. He knew were to find
us when we went into the jungle because we would leave our bikes near the mouth of the trail. We would look for them sleeping on a branch in the sun and try
to get them in a burlap sack or wrapped around a branch. Dad would be waiting for us when we emerged from the jungle. He usually had switches cut and
would be waiting for us. Mom would try to keep us out of the jungle by telling us about the jungle monster, “Yahooty.”
We got to be pretty good hunters. There was a plentiful supply of Caribbean fauna. We looked for hummingbirds with a nest, (The older Filipino men would boil
them alive, nest and all, considering them as aphrodisiacs) bats, banana rats (up to 3 feet long), javelina pigs, lizards, chukka (wild chickens) and
iguanas. I even raised pigeons, when they got big and fat, Dad would butcher them and we ate roasted squab.
Taste like chicken. Ever hear that? Well that’s what iguanas taste like. There are many different kinds. Big and little, tree climbers, rock
climbers and ocean dwellers. Yes, we even caught iguanas that would swim down to the bottom of the ocean floor to eat the green slime off the rocks. Our
favorite method of catching iguanas, was using home made bolas. Some sailors that worked for my Dad showed us how to make and use them.
Iguanas like to hang out around rock and coral formations. Places where they could find a hiding spot quickly if they needed or bathe in the sun light.
Our favorite spot to hunt them was near the golf course. It was surrounded by rocks. I once got to caddy for Bob Hope during his stay for an annual USU
Tour. He fainted when a pretty good sized iguana ran up to his golf ball after he made about a 10 foot putt. Before it could escape to it’s hidey hole, I was
able to capture the iguana with my bolas. Mr Bob didn’t get a chance to see it. He had fainted. He told everyone that it was because he had been
drinking rum and the hot sun was too much for him.
Almost every weekend, the base would sponsor a “cookout” at one of the two available beaches. Either Kittery Beach for the Officer’s and their families or at
Windmill Beach for the Enlisted men and their families. Since Dad was a Division Officer, we were always invited to the Enlisted men’s cook outs too.
Hotdogs and hamburgers, along with plenty of cold drinks (not coke or pepsi but plenty of orange, grape and root beer) were always in the cooler.
The Officer’s Wives Club would sponsor a “Luau” about once a month. Roasted pig, decorated with sliced pineapple and seasoned with plenty of Rum on a spit,
with the Japanese lanterns for decoration. The luau included a performance by the Navy Steel Band, a Caribbean form of entertainment. Some times
sailors would wear grass skirts and mimic Hawaiian dancing girls.
I can’t say we didn’t get a chance to eat, because we ate plenty. It just wasn’t the same type of food everyone stateside is use to eating. Speaking of
which Bonnie is calling me to breakfast. Sure smells good. It’s been better than fifty years since I had to hold my nose to eat a “mystery omelet.”
It looks like it might be a scorcher today so don’t forget your salt tablets.
