Pepsico, clean up your act

I retrieved this from an otherwise pristine Bahamian coral reef last Saturday afternoon. Otherwise pristine, I said. The reefs of the Bahamian Out Islands are a treasure and the real wealth of that country sits just offshore --in a timeless realm that's very much uncharted, unseen and to the naked eye at least; untouched by disrespectful hands. Or so it seemed until I found this not-too-flattering advertisement for Pepsico's ugly spawn bobbing against a head of brain coral that had to be hundreds of years old.

A case could be made that some careless slob dropped this bottle of unneeded and and unwelcome consumerist flotsam overboard and failed to retrieve it. So, the fault lies with the user. And to an extent it does, but it goes deeper than that.

Bottled water is a joke, especially in The Bahamas. The well water in that country is some of the most sweet and pure available anywhere in the world. Companies like Pepsico, Coca Cola and Nestle have been working overtime for the last couple of years to convince the tourists who visit that country that there's something wrong with the water there. Worse still, those same companies spend a lot of time and energy trying to convince Bahamians that their water supplies are bad and that they can be more like people in the developed world by drinking overpriced, filtered American tap water out of an undegradeable and unsustainable plastic bottle.

The Bahamian people don't need to be told that there is something wrong with either their resources or their culture. That country and former colonies the world over have been crapped on by the west for four-hundred plus years and the assault of bottled water is a continuation of the same nonsense.

Bottled water is a bogus product sold to fulfill an entirely manufactured need. It degrades the public trust in public resources and clutters the landscape with detritus. Stop drinking it, stop buying it and Pepsico, take a look at the mess wrought by your hands. Unless of course, you're looking for a reeturn to this page in company history:

I will never complain about palmetto bugs again

From Saturday:

This my friends, is what tries to sneak through the sceen doors in the middle of the night. Sheesh!

A Bahamian breakfast

Here's what I had for breakfast on Sunday morning with my new pal Kermit Rolle.

Kermit is the 74-year-old proprietor of Kermit's Airport Lounge in Exuma. I told Kermit that I wanted to eat like a Bahamian and that I had a some time to kill. So he pulled up a chair, got me some sheep's tongue souse and johnny cake and proceeded to tell me his life story. Sheep's tongue souse is incredible by the way and I'm looking everywhere for a recipe but alas I am striking out. Anyone? Anyone? I know it was made with the boiled entrails of either a sheep or a goat, lime juice, potatoes, onions, allspice and Bahamian Bird Peppers. Man, who knew boiled organ meats could taste so good?

But more than the food, Kermit Rolle is the best story-teller I've ever come across. He told stories of a life so distant from mine it was hard to believe. Experiences like Sunday morning's at Kermit's Airport Lounge are why I travel. An hour spent with that man had me bowled over with gratitude for how easy I've had it when I compare my life with someone in the developing world. And at the same time I was struck with a deep admiration that someone could have the life he's had and be so happy and grateful as he looks back on it and talks to strangers like me. His joy ought to be counted as an ingredient in the incredible sheep's tongue souse.

Good InSinkErator story

This is an InSinkErator Evolution. If It's possible for a garbage disposer to be sexy, this thing is and then some. It is the Cadillac of disposers and worth every penny. I specify them for a reason.

My good friend Tom bought a swank apartment in Chelsea last year. It's in a new, uber modern building and it's packed with the kinds of stuff I fantasize about putting into someone else's home. His place is gorgeous, all clean lines and European appliances.

Tom had a party on Sunday afternoon and after his guests left, he started cleaning up. He did the dishes and once the sink was empty, he flipped the switch for is glorious InSinkErator Evolution and it started growling and grinding very loudly. The Evolution is a nearly silent machine when it's running, so he knew something was down inside his disposer that shouldn't be down in his disposer. Consummate Manhattanite that he is, he resigned himself to calling a plumber the following morning and didn't think much more of it.

Tom has two friends I'll call Jim and Jerry. Jim and Jerry are getting on in years and Jerry is starting to show some unmistakable signs of dementia. This must be heartbreaking to watch, as he was once a brilliant captain of industry and in the last years of his life he's been reduced to a shadow of his former self.

Tom got a phone call Sunday evening from Jim, and he informed Tom that there was a "minor emergency." It seems that Jerry left the party earlier that afternoon without his lower denture and last remembered taking it out to rinse it in the kitchen sink. In an instant, Tom knew what had fallen into to his InSinkErator.

You have to excuse the rinsing out the dentures in the kitchen sink thing when you consider the source, but still...

I told the slick and smart Manhattanite Tom to get out a flashlight and to look into his disposer. He did, and with the help of a pair of kitchen tongs fished out what remained of a $4000 lower plate. In the process of this delicate surgery, Tom learned that "the flappy thing" in the bottom of his kitchen sink detached to make cleaning easier. So Jerry's out a denture and Tom didn't need to call a plumber on Monday after all.

So remember, if you have an InSinkErator, the "flappy things" pop on and off. Just so you sound like you know what you're talking about if it comes up, those "flappy things" are called baffles.

Paris is burning

“Paris is done, Miami is done,” he said. “ St. Pete is wide open.”

That's is a quote from an actual Frenchman in last Sunday's New York Times. And he's talking about my St. Pete, not that other one on the Baltic either. The Frenchman in question is the Leon-born Raphael Perrier who, along with his wife, opened the fantastic coffee house Kahwa earlier this year. Kahwa is two blocks from me and is a site where I've written this very blog on more than one occasion.

Let's see, I've written this blog at Kahwa before; and last weekend, the New York Times mentioned Kahwa. I'm going to have this be yet one more example of that Newspaper's attempts to speak to me directly. I'm here guys! And yes I'll write for you. It's OK, just pick up the phone and call me already.

OK, now that that's out of my system, back to the article. The whole thing is a love letter to my beloved, adopted hometown. This is the second time in about a year-and-a-half that they've written a nice feature about this place. This is good!