Me and My Chocolate Cake: Stuff that Satiates
SOLOMON ISLANDS
You know when you lay eyes on something, and you just know? I’m not talking about them Hollywood movies when soon-to-be lovers lock their eyes, but rather, the more important attractions. The stuff that happens more regularly, routinely and in real time #IRL. Palm Sugar is a cute place in the Solomon Islands, bustling with a definitely tropical vibe, flags from different countries swaying as the fans oscillate to circulate the humid air - it even has a cafe at the airport, which I had to indulge in as well. The smatterings range from Indian curries, Asian soups, Malaysian noodles and hipster American fare.
It sits nestled on the perimeter of the cultural grounds, which are peppered with petite shops, each showcasing local artisan products. My eye caught sight of craftmanship that deserves mention. Smooth ebony wood, stylized as a shell but made practical as a vessel suitable for display or as dinner party ware.
On its edge, shimmering like a hologram, the design made from shells added bling to this bowl. I could picture it in action – an evening glow in the open concept kitchen, high ceilings, a few scented candles flickering, appies on the table, the main in the oven, the salad being tossed, and then, transferred into this vessel.
A conversation piece for sure, its smooth curves draws your eye to follow its form and your fingers gravitate to the slopes, like a skiier waiting in line to take on the moguls and turns. I think of all the launching pads for lingering dialogues, how do we attempt to transact and transfer these types of tales (over tagliatelle or tea)?
Eagles, crocs, traditional masks and caricatures, so many options on display. But I kept wandering over to the shell shapes and manta rays that looked like they were able to flap their fins and float away, any moment now. And while my carryon can’t possibly accommodate any of this mid trip, I was on the hunt for a pretty yet practical piece to portage home.
“Ya, we needed to go and call the young ones into this work”, the lady of the little shop says from behind. “They’re all just on Facebook and no one wants to learn to carve or weave”, she motions to the window at the back of her stall where two elders are sanding down their recent carvings. “The fear is that once they’re gone …”, her voice trails off. She shows a laminated photo and points herself out amongst a group of 15 girls, sharing that they’ve all been enlisted to learn the skills of their community. She herself is a novice weaver, prioritizing the practice of her past. She shows me the ‘simple’ designs she can do, giving me a short lesson in how to zigzag the patterns, the edges and the seams. Apparently, the Samoans “love to buy their mats”, she shares, “they specifically shop for this item from the Solomon Islands”.
As such, to uphold local custom, to see the Chief, one must be wearing a (woven straw) mat. Running at around 3k Solomon Dollars (~$350USD), she states “you’re richness is judged by your mats – two or three and you’re considered wealthy. No mat means no money”.
What are the ways in which we measure worth I wondered. It reminded me of my time volunteering with MSF (Medicine Sans Frontiers/Doctors Without Borders). With limited supplies in our healthcare facilities, women would bring plastic garbage bags to labour on. The thickness of the plastic would indicate her wealth, no plastic bag meant not only no money, but also, a bigger hazard for us all.
The name brand car, clothes, jewelry, the square footage and style of a house, how much bitcoin or stocks, the number of camels or chickens … we humans sure know how to count, compete and (probably to our detriment) compare.
Yet here, it seems the Solo way is to be rooted and unassuming. To that end, tonight’s traditional shows helped ground me in the moment.
From totally traditional to a bit boisterous, these shows were such a highlight!
And while I had a late meal, I’m drawn back to the Palm Sugar’s display – eyeing with serious intention their dessert section. Reading the fine print on the chalk board menus dangling above, I redirect my belly and mind to enjoying a fresh papaya smoothie with bush lime accenting the flavours and also projecting its own tarty twist on my tongue. The sounds of the live band floats in the air.
The bush lime catches my attention on nearly ever sip up the straw. Part of me though knows that this cake will be moist, not to mention, that it’s a full cake with only one piece missing (and when would I return back to this remote region and, and, and). I reason that the cake’s freshness needs to be honoured. And so, I have the unusual combination with my papaya smoothie as my night time meal.
The pairing wasn’t perfect. Through it though, I could see the potential that this Polynesian woman had infused in her baking, so I stop and save some for later. After I’ve taken the tram up to my room, I make a cup of tea and find the most perfect teacup is also waiting for me. Wide, round, smooth, the tea cup enhances the tea’s flavour and temperature as the drink hits my lips.
I smile and take a generous bite of cake. The buttercream icing is one I’d usually wipe away, but this time, I was swiping right, adding more magic to the moist cocoa flavour.
My mouth embraced the fluffy mocha tinged treat, as if my teeth were sinking into a cloud, a slight hint of the coffee firing off waves of recognition to my brain. I sat and stared into space. What more could one do to honour a moment like this?
The genuine friendliness of the locals, their talent in the arts, the connection to tradition, the simplicity of life, the time and emotion they give to strangers, this is the whipped cream on top. Like those blueberry pancakes in Jamaica, that fresh pomegranate juice at the nightclub in Afghanistan, the brownie in Hawaii or the peri peri fries in Kenya, me and my mocha cake will be stamped as a sweetness that I savoured slowly and seriously here in the Solomon Islands.
May we pay attention and gratitude to the small things that satiate us,