Eat, Sleep, Eat, Love
June 12, 2014
The revolutionary (chef) costume for today:
I didn't even realize Ezra had packed his "outdoor cooking" apron (it has a picture of a grill on it, soooo...), but I guess it's good to be prepared.
In this case, for a personal invitation to come hang out with James the Jerk Master as he prepared Bluefields' weekly jerk chicken lunch.
So very, very cute, I thought I couldn't even stand it.
Ike got himself a bite of the chicken.
And Ike got himself a special pre-lunch to-go package of the chicken. Which he ate completely, in record time.
And the next thing I knew (translation, the next time I did a head count and realized we were down one child), this was happening:
Ike, in the OTHER chef's costume, out there pulling chicken off the grill in front of a live audience.
Look out, Bobby Flay. Or anybody else who thought they were maybe getting some chicken for lunch, because I think Ike thought anything he helped with would be his to eat.
He did end up sharing with all his friends at the kids' table, however. The drumsticks were a particularly big hit over there, including with NOAH, who cleaned every bit of meat off at least two or three of them. WHAT.
Grown-ups got some too. Plus a bajillion sides and maybe a large amount of alcohol for that early in the day, but I think the time zone here is something something doesn't count. It was unbelievably good, and so much fun, since all the other guests here combine into a really cool group of people.
Later, I put on a dress that I swear fit me just fine on Friday but is now officially snug, to put it mildly. I regret nothing.
One last thing:
We set the boys up with a movie on the iPad at night, usually propped up against some pillows on Noah's bed. Then Jason and I stay upstairs with a laptop, streaming Orange is the New Black (a ritual we share with literally every other guest at every other villa, as we learned at the jerk chicken lunch). We check in on them frequently, usually just to see how quickly they all zonked out.
LAST BABY STANDING!
LOOK AT THESE FREAKING LIGHTWEIGHTS. I KNOW, RIGHT?
Some kids just can't handle their Jamaica, I guess.