Exactly seventeen years ago to the day, just a few days after the turn of the millennium, my wife, Joy and I were preparing to fly back from a most wonderful holiday on the of Grenada.
It came about because my mother sadly passed away in early 1999 and bequeathed me some money. She’d known that she was about to die, when she told me that she would be leaving me enough cash to either pay a small chunk off my mortgage or to go on the holiday of a lifetime. Naturally, I chose the latter and booked an all-inclusive Caribbean holiday at the Spice Island Beach resort.
We had a fantastic time and were waited on hand and foot. Three months prior to our visit, there had been a tremendous storm in the area which had washed away much of the beach and blown down many of the trees. So the guests were privileged to be invited to plant a new, young tree on the beach. You can see Joy and I labouring away in the photograph.
At midnight on 31st December 1999, I took my shoes and socks off, and stood in the shallows of the bay, wearing my kilt and raising a glass of whisky to the memory of my Mum. The guests and staff joined the toast.
Earlier, we’d had a ten course gala dinner which was too much for some of the guests, including Joy, as the story of the omelette relates. I hope that it makes you chuckle out loud (COL). I have duplicated it here, but you can also find it along with a few other amusing stories and my pathetic attempts at poetry, on my Titbits page.
Top Notch Omelette
“Oo dare to order plain omelette from zee keetchen of zee greatest chef in zee ‘ole Caribbean?!” yelled Jean-Paul at the terrified Grenadian waiter, waving his hot spatula inches from the poor boy’s nose.
“Twenty years of ‘ard graft in zee ‘ottest restaurants in Paree so I can prepare zee best New Year Gala Dinner menu ever seen in zees ‘emisphere, to be insulted by some reech American touriste!”
Five days later, most of the guests had departed and Jean-Paul sat chatting to the friendly, unassuming British couple who remained.
“No, no. Please. I like to ‘ear zee feedback,” insisted Jean-Paul.
“Well, it might please your guests if you could mix your haute cuisine with some laid-back Caribbean,” suggested the gentleman, tentatively. “For example, my wife resorted to just a plain omelette on New Year’s Eve.”
“Ah! YOU are zee geelty wan!” exclaimed Jean-Paul, leaping to his feet, waggling his finger threateningly in the direction of the terrified lady’s face.