Zebulon’s Weblog

I added a new page that will be entirely devoted to pictures from my service. Look of the left sidebar and you should see the page entitled gallery. There you can find pictures of the spoon makers, me, Accompong, Cockpit Country, and other more or less important things.

I like the idea of space travel more than anything right now. I can even say that NASA should take over our nation’s budget. There was a time not long ago when I would have told you that investing in the unknown nothingness that is space is a complete waste when there are still so many problems we have with our own planet. That was before I learned how to fry plantain though.

I remember when going to Wal-Mart was an all-American endeavor – when pizza was still considered some kind of exotic, international cuisine. We used to even chat like “good fellas” when simmering a pot of Ragu. I must have been about 13 years old when I walked into Wal-Mart and found this big, green, triangular looking banana in the produce section. I remember everyone thinking pretty much the same thing as me – “What the hell is that?” Of course nobody was about to buy one – that’s because they weren’t there for us – the Americans. They were there for the little brown men in cowboy hats. Everyone called them Mexicans, but lots of them were actually from other places like Guatemala. Same difference – right?…Wrong – that’s another country you idiot…Well, let’s just settle for calling them aliens, because when it comes down to it, even though Wal-Mart did their best to accommodate them, their still pretty alienated.

I spent about the next seven years of my life referring to this fruit in question as a big, green looking banana like thing. That was until meeting some aliens at an institution of higher learning whom called them plantains. It was in the university cafeteria that I ate my first plantain. Just like Wal-Mart, the cafeteria was doing their best to accommodate the aliens. There numbers were ever increasing and it was becoming more and more difficult to ignore them – much more see them as anything other than guests. Well, I tried some, and you know…plantain is pretty good. It’s so good in fact, that I decided I was going to be “Senior Espinoza” and buy me one to cook and eat. Fortunately, I knew just the place to find them.

There I was, standing in the produce section at the Super Wal-Mart looking down at a display of plantains, trying to look like I knew what I was doing. I was hoping some aliens would come along and I could watch the whole plantain selection process, but instead they just fingered through avacodos while peering at me through the corner of their eyes – perhaps the first time they had seen an earthling buy a plantain. In a timid act to avoid their scrutiny I left to buy bread and returned when the coast was clear to nonchalantly chuck one in the cart.

Bananas are likely a bullet on every American’s shopping list – mostly because everyone can afford them. We can thank the aliens for this low price, because they have been volunteering their time for many years on their home planet (where the bananas grow) so companies like Dole and Chiquita can keep their contract with Wal-Mart. So it should be no surprise to us that the aliens have landed here and are shopping at your neighborhood Wal-Mart, where they can actually buy the bananas they farm for a lower price than they give to grow them. Wal-Mart even outbids the local farmer’s price at the markets on their home planet – one more reason to do all your shopping at Wal-Mart.

So every American knows about bananas, and for every one of us who has bought a plantain, we most likely tried to peel it like a banana. We grip the knob on top and pull it down expecting the peeling to uncover the revelation of soft sweetness that we know as a banana. Those attempting this have probably been left a stem with string attached – foreshadowing a struggle. The struggle reaches its climax as you dig your fingernails into the peel at the tip, still determined to find a banana inside, only to pluck away little chunks. Slowly, you realize you must be doing something wrong, as the point at which the peel ends and the fruit begins has been lost. Eventually a stopping point is reached. There is no pride, nor closure felt in the termination of a labor whose end product is shaped something like a turd – only a blank stare of disappointment followed by the consternation of why anyone could possibly want to eat such a thing.

So goes my first experience with a plantain. They are actually not much different than a banana except that they take quite a bit loner to ripen. That explains the difficulty in opening what I hoped to be a ripe fruit. Even so, they were meant to be consumed green, and that is how most aliens eat bananas and plantains, because on their home planet, if you waited for a whole cluster of bananas to ripen then you would only eat about 5 or 6 before the rest started to rot.

It was sometime still before I learned the proper way to prepare the plantain. Before this time I would merely give them a wicked glare in passing on my way to the banana stand. It wasn’t until Jamaica that I experienced the true potential of the plantain. It was actually during tropical storm Gustav. I had been locked up inside for at least twenty-four hours and decided for some fresh air, so I went for a walk up the road. Raincoat on and umbrella in hand, I strolled up the deserted, one-way street of Accompong. One shop was open. Da and John sat around a single flame of candlelight – undoubtedly discussing the piece of zinc missing from John’s roof. I continued a little further and almost decided to turn back when I caught the scent of a cook-fire that quickly departed with a gust from Gustav. The smoke was squeezing though the cracks Dowdy’s shop. I gave a quick call in Jamaican style, but there was no reply. I pictured Dowdy sprawled out on his floor by the dwindling coals of his cook-fire sleeping with a full belly, and I had already turned to go back home when I received the echo that I was waiting for. It was Dowdy standing in the open doorway with a plate full of fried plantain. He invited me inside, poured out some white rum, and we stood there eating plantain and talking about when this Gustav character was going to go away and pester somebody else.

At this time I had been in Jamaica for one year – long enough to have developed a love for ripe plantain, but I was just now trying fried, green plantain. I liked it so much and it was so easy to cook that I put it on the menu for that night. Furthermore, I invited Dowdy to come over and share some with me. Like most Jamaicans Dowdy is very serious about the science of Jamaican cuisine. From the moment I first picked up the fruit I could see Dowdy out of the corner of my eye with that “what the #%$ are you doing” look on his face. In just a few more seconds, he had taken over the plantain frying business, and I was sitting aside watching. Actually, that’s a great way to get a Jamaican to cook for you. Just invite one over for dinner and prepare the food in their presence. One thing a Jamaican can’t tolerate is somebody doing something different than “Jamaican Style”. In no time flat you’ll have them cooking for you. Even so, the process is very simple. A green plantain is best opened by making a couple slits from the top to the bottom of the peel. Then, you just open it like a door to reveal the fruit inside which, remember, is not sweet unless you wait for it to ripen. Cut the plantain in half and put it into the frying pan to let it simmer until it seems slightly soft, because when it reaches this state you take it out of the pan, put it on top of its peel, and mash it down flat. Finally, throw some salt on either side and toss it back in the pan to cook for about another three minutes – not long, because it should really be about done by now. To be honest, it’s kind of like French fries, and I enjoy eating it with a little ketchup on the side. But don’t let Jamaicans see you do that.

You might be wondering what frying plantain has to do with space travel, or at least why it has anything to do with my endorsement of the institution. Well, from the Holy Crusades, to illegal immigration, culture has always seemed to change under the exposure of other alien lifestyles. Just think of how valuable of an influence bathing has had on our culture. Thank the Arabs for that one. As I am here in Jamaica, enjoying my fried plantain, I can’t help but think about the time that I looked at the fruit with curiosity and suspicion. It makes me think even more about how disconnected the other, less inquisitive, Wal-Mart shoppers are over the whole thing. I guess we will know that Hispanics and other tropical cultures are fully assimilated to America whenever you open a Betty Crocker cookbook and see a recipe for fried plantain.

So that’s pretty much it. Next time your in neighborhood Super Wal-Mart go check out some of the green plantains. I know that it is a little strange to think of eating alien food, but just remember that the aliens think were pretty strange too. It’s really exciting to think about something like the green plantain becoming a staple of the American culinary arts, because one day it will be just that. One day those little brown men in cowboy hats are going to be you uncles, cousins, fathers, and…well, you get the point I think. So I endorse space travel enthusiastically. There’s no tell’in what kind of crazy cultures are out there that we haven’t met yet, and there is no American value greater than that of obliterating frontiers, so let’s have at it. Our food will only get more interesting.