\u201cCoconut custard pie. I’m sorry I missed it on Monday. It looked super!\u201d <\/p>\n
This was in response to the question, \u201cWhat would you like for dessert at lunch?\u201d The question was posed at 9:15 in the morning as I was tucking into perfect over easy eggs, plump sausages, lofty toast and a divine wedge of papaya. I loved the way the morning sun filled the small dinning room of the Desert Rat. Ten tables spaced nicely apart, and\u00a0as long as\u00a0the weather was hospitable, the glass doors to the patio were taken down to provide an uninterrupted view of the lagoon, the coral breakwater and the Caribbean Sea beyond. Ceiling fans moved the\u00a0soft sea air. I was told by James that there was no need for air conditioning, even in the summer<\/em>. <\/p>\n Summer? I am not sure that it is an important\u00a0designation when you are a mere 15 degrees north of the Equator.\u00a0 My Father told me you could get a suntan in your room in Barbados. He got that right.<\/p>\n It was a\u00a0brilliant morning. The sea breeze drifted into the room, as did Robbie… she who asked for my dessert preferences. Constance Robinson, Robbie<\/em> to all who met her. She was the proprietor of the Dessert Rat, a small\u00a0Inn <\/em>in Saint Lawrence Gap, Christ Church Parish, about half way between Oistins Bay and Bridgetown.<\/p>\n Robbie and her husband\u00a0Colonel Westerleigh\u00a0“Westy” Robinson (now deceased)\u00a0settled in Barbados after he had finished fighting the Hun in WWII. Colonel\u00a0Robinson was the Commander of the 3rd<\/sup> Regiment of the Royal Horse Artillery, of the 7th<\/sup> Armoured Davison that served nobly at the gates of Al Alamein and relieved the siege of Tobruk.<\/p>\n Robbie sipped her Campari and soda making note of the other guests having breakfast.\u00a0 Choose any time of day and if you caught sight of Robbie there was always a glass in her hand.\u00a0 Campari and soda before noon, Pink Gin after lunch, Dry Vermouth on the rocks with a twist during the afternoon hours, a Gimlet before dinner and a good\u00a0Claret for the balance of the waking hours.\u00a0 It was an amazing display of tolerance.\u00a0 Honestly I don’t know how she did it, and<\/em> manage to run the Desert Rat.<\/p>\n I guess the secret (the open<\/em> secret) to her success was the incredible staff in her employ.\u00a0 They <\/em>ran the Desert Rat.\u00a0 James checked you in.\u00a0 Took your bags to one of the 12 guest rooms in the main house, or to one of the two\u00a0suites in the bungalow.\u00a0Mixed your Martini. Played the piano.\u00a0 And James was just one of a dozen souls who were responsible for taking care of the rooms, preparing their tremendous fare and serving the guests.\u00a0 And most important, they took care of Robbie.<\/em><\/p>\n Robbie’s lone responsibility was to drink all day and “supervise” the kitchen staff.\u00a0 This latter duty was also somewhat of “wink”.\u00a0 Chef Martin took care of the kitchen; but Robbie did put on an apron every day and made a cake and a pie for the dessert menu.\u00a0 This activity was done mid-morning after she had\u00a0visited with\u00a0the breakfast guests, and <\/em>after she had two or three Campari’s.\u00a0 Don’t be fooled… even with the Campari’s, Robbie was a splendid baker… and I think that’s why Chef Martin accepted<\/em> her into his domain.<\/p>\n I was told that it wasn’t Robbie’s habit to ask<\/em> what a guest wanted for an upcoming dessert.\u00a0 James noted soto voce <\/em>to me, as my coffee was topped up, “Miss Robbie makes what she<\/em> wants to make.\u00a0 It’s her calling<\/em>.\u00a0 On Monday Miss Robbie saw the disappointment on your face when you were told that we had no more coconut custard.\u00a0 I think she<\/em> wanted to make another coconut custard today… she willed <\/em>you to ask for that pie.\u00a0 You see, Mr. Jim… you may think otherwise; but you had no choice<\/em> in the matter.”<\/p>\n Robbie continued to make the rounds, she visited the table of Fred Magrin and his Mother Margaret.\u00a0They were yearly regulars<\/em> of the Desert Rat.\u00a0 Fred was from Toronto, he never married.\u00a0 His Father had died years ago when Fred was still in College, and he had promised the Senior Magrin that he would always\u00a0take care of\u00a0his Mother.\u00a0 I can’t imagine that\u00a0Fred’s Father\u00a0meant for Fred to give up his life.\u00a0 But there you are, and Fred scored high marks with the other regulars for his tenderness with regard to his elderly Mother.\u00a0\u00a0Robbie smiled, made a brief comment, pointed her Campari to the sea, allowed a small laugh and then nodded in my direction.\u00a0 Maybe she did will <\/em>it. \u00a0I gave it no further thought; but\u00a0I was certain that coconut custard pie would be on the dessert menu for lunch.<\/p>\n I am sure there were many things that could occupy one’s time between breakfast and lunch in Barbados. Call it my heritage.\u00a0 I come from parents who worshiped Ra. <\/em>This was in the day before we identified over exposure to the sun with skin cancer.\u00a0 Let others patrol the sights of this island paradise, I would take my book, a\u00a0plastic bottle of Coppertone, and a towel to the edge of the lagoon.\u00a0 I was there for the sun.\u00a0 I was there to get a tan.\u00a0 I spent my morning reading, applying a coat of Coppertone, swimming, drying out and repeating this\u00a0sequence… numerous times,\u00a0’til the lunch hour neared. <\/p>\n On occasion\u00a0I would catch sight of Robbie in the late morning.\u00a0 And if I did, there she\u00a0would be\u00a0on the \u201cpatio deck\u201d: a broad picture hat of light straw to shield her\u00a0face from the sun, a floral smock and espadrilles. And <\/em>a glass of Campari.\u00a0\u00a0She looked into the brightness of the day.\u00a0 She would lift her head slightly, close her eyes, pivot to the direction of the sun to accentuate her majesty and then simply smile.\u00a0 No.\u00a0 It was not the Campari.<\/p>\n Westy Robinson was a hero. Commander of a regiment whose history stretched\u00a0back to\u00a0the Napoleonic Wars.\u00a0 You do your job. His job took him to North Africa.\u00a0 His job took him\u00a0to help stop\u00a0the Axis advance in the Mediterranean. Which he did. With distinction.\u00a0And with the loss of one eye.\u00a0\u00a0While Colonel Robinson dealt with the Afrika Corps, Constance Robinson supported the war effort in\u00a0the Nursing Corps. You do your best.\u00a0 Which she did.\u00a0 Sometimes your best is not enough.\u00a0 Why does your child die?\u00a0 Not to the bombs of the blitz.\u00a0 She died to a sickness.\u00a0 The stink of death was all around… in the North African Desert, in the London streets; but why the child?\u00a0 The answer\u00a0was\u00a0not understood to Westy outside of Tobruk, nor to Constance in the Cambridge Military Hospital.\u00a0 To lose a child?\u00a0 <\/p>\n The calm in Robbie’s face did not betray her continued sense of absence.\u00a0 The sun reflected off the water, sand and stucco walls of the Desert Rat and she gloried in it.\u00a0 Maybe she came from a line of Ra <\/em>worshippers, too?\u00a0 She caught sight of me, raised her Campari in salute and retreated back into the Main House.\u00a0 <\/p>\n Her rooms were in a small wing on the first floor adjacent to the kitchen.\u00a0 From\u00a0the sitting room there was a\u00a0door to a closed courtyard, a six foot high brick wall served to separate her from the rest of the world.\u00a0 If you didn’t see Robbie, and if it wasn’t baking time<\/em>, it was a good chance that she was in her garden sanctuary.\u00a0\u00a0In 1947 the Robinson’s purchased\u00a0the Sugar Cane House, fixed it up and\u00a0renamed it the Desert Rat (the nickname<\/em> for the members of \u00a0the 7th Armoured Division).\u00a0 The Colonel added the private wing and closed garden to the first floor of the Inn, and in 1960 they added the bungalow suites to the far side of the Shade Patio.\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n I could tell it was nearing lunch.\u00a0 Yvette of the kitchen staff emerged from the Main House, crossed the beach and waved to one of the fishermen who brought his low slung boat into the lagoon.\u00a0 He tied up to a stake a short distance off shore, and without much fanfare, Yvonne hitched up her skirt and waded out to the bobbing boat.\u00a0 A brief\u00a0negotiation ensued and when she returned back to land she had a string of six good sized fish.\u00a0 Lunch.\u00a0 <\/em>Time for one more good swim out to the coral breakwater to work up an appetite.\u00a0 A re-baste with Coppertone, small snooze then time to move to the patio deck.<\/p>\n I think it was a tribute to the marvelous kitchen of the Desert Rat that kept guests from wondering off to find other places to dine.\u00a0 No need.\u00a0 The preparation was fastidious.\u00a0 The food the freshest… witness the fish brought from the lagoon minutes before it appeared on your table.\u00a0 And the people you saw at breakfast, you saw at lunch, saw at tea (if you took it), at cocktails and then at dinner.\u00a0 It was like being on a ship.\u00a0 <\/p>\n James would always seat Fred and his Mother first.\u00a0 The table farthest from the open patio.\u00a0 Fred thought that Mrs. Magrin might get a chill from the breeze.\u00a0 I looked for Robbie; but she was nowhere to be seen.\u00a0 She must been in her garden, or taking her lunch in the seclusion of her private dinning room.\u00a0 Occasionally I would see a tray going back to the private wing, simply prepared fish… and a Campari, or a Pink Gin if it was that time of the day<\/em>.<\/p>\n The far wall of the dinning room was filled with photographs.\u00a0 The Colonel, lean and fit,\u00a0stripped to the waist leaning against a lorry in the blazing desert sun.\u00a0 Westy and Robbie in a sailing ketch.\u00a0 Westy and Robbie in tennis whites.\u00a0 Robbie sitting on a piano, legs crossed showing some “cheesecake.”\u00a0 The original Sugar Cane House.\u00a0 Westy and Robbie at Ascot (this was my favorite… she is wearing this marvelous hat.\u00a0 She is stunning.\u00a0 What a handsome couple).\u00a0 Westy and Robbie on horseback.\u00a0 Westy and Robbie with the original staff of the Desert Rat.\u00a0 Robbie with Chef Martin in the kitchen.<\/p>\n Then, one photograph in the far corner of the wall at perfect eye level (at least for Robbie).\u00a0 Westy, Robbie and a small girl of about 6 or 7, I’d judge.\u00a0 They are on a beach, fitted out for a swim, a large umbrella casts a partial shadow.\u00a0 Westy’s right arm rests around Robbie, his head close to hers.\u00a0 Robbie is holding the little girl on her lap, arms surrounding the little girl,\u00a0squeezing her close.\u00a0 The little girl’s head is lifted up, eyes sparkling, dimples, mouth open to a laugh or a giggle.\u00a0 Maybe Robbie had just tickled her, or said something silly?\u00a0 The little girl, enclosed in the arms of her Mother, a strong and vigorous Father adding to the sense of safety, what could be better?<\/p>\n I tried to remember if I had ever had coconut custard pie before.\u00a0 My Mother must have made it, too… a pretty good baker in her own right.\u00a0 I hope that she wouldn’t consider my love of Robbie’s version a betrayal.<\/p>\n “Mr. Jim, Miss Robbie wanted me to ask you if you enjoyed the coconut custard pie this afternoon.”<\/p>\n “James, I’m not sure.<\/em>\u00a0 I think I’ll reserve judgment ’til I try a second slice.\u00a0 That is… if there is any left<\/em>.”<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" \u201cCoconut custard pie. I’m sorry I missed it on Monday. It looked super!\u201d This was in response to the question, \u201cWhat would you like for dessert at lunch?\u201d The question was posed at 9:15 in the morning as I was … Continue reading