local meal

i could start a lot of funny stories with that title: the goat back or sheep back or "turkey" (which we think is actually goat) mystery parts (spinal cord and all), or the fact that every st. lucian stops us to inform us that we are truly eating a "local meal" said with more pride than we would assign to eating vertebrae...

but what i'm actually thinking of is the new delicacy of "st. lucian sandwich," which consists of my blogmate sandwiched between two dancing dreadlocked lucians last night at the gros islet jump-up. there we were, laughing at my silly guidebook that says you need a local guide to take you to this every-friday-night block party if you're a girl, munching our way through barbecue chicken and "bakes" (which are actually fried and delicious) -- we finally had enough piton to start dancing when we realized the actual problem with being a girl at the jump-up: not allowed to dance without someone else's pelvis heading your way. that being said, these pelvises (pelvi?) are fairly benign, as they were located inside the very high-watered pants of a steve-erkel-esque man with his tongue hanging half out of his mouth.

again, we congratulated ourselves on a job well done.