Our days at the villa in Anguilla have been flying by. We have sampled many different beaches, walking along their endless shores and swimming in their crystal blue waters. Each day we swear we have found a new favorite. Each day the scenery still takes our breath away. It is simply gorgeous here no matter where you go.
Enough about the beaches, you get the picture- they are beautiful.
We went out to a fine dining establishment last night. It was a five star restaurant housed in an old sugar plantation. A descendant of one of the slaves who used to live there is now the owner. The place was gorgeous, open air seating in a lush tropical garden with the sounds of cicadas and crickets all around you. Large ceiling fans languidly spun producing a gentle breeze to keep the mosquitoes at bay. A man played the piano while another effortlessly blew on a saxophone, creating beautiful music that wafted through the dining area. The setting could not be more perfect. It was like a scene out of an old Hollywood movie, where you expected Humphrey Bogart to come waltzing in at any moment.
The magical spell of the place was temporarily broken when our clueless (and that is being rather kind) waitress came to the table. She could only handle one very small task at a time, too many questions would put her over the edge and send her to wandering aimlessly around. Fortunately, we soon discovered that she was not the only person in charge of our table. A waiter soon approached us for our drink orders. To our amazement, this waiter was equally as clueless and only spoke some form of island gibberish. We couldn’t understand a word he said, except when he ended each sentence with “my brother” and gave the Pirate a fist for him to dap. Pirate continued to try to communicate his drink request- “a rhum agricole, please” (no light bulbs in our waiters eyes), “a sugar cane rum” (no recognition whatsoever), “a French rum” (still no idea what the Pirate is asking). Finally, our waiter took Pirate by the elbow and said to follow him. Fifteen minutes later the Pirate returned to the table a little flushed and giggly.
The waiter had taken Pirate to the plantation’s “Rum Shop”, a tiny room down in the cellar that was filled with hundreds of bottles of rum. Rum from many countries lined the walls and on the counter was a selection of 20-30 open bottles of rum with shot glasses laid out in front of them. The waiter told the Pirate to pick a rum that he liked and have a shot. Pirate poured a small taste of one French rum and the waiter scolded him to pour a full glass and shoot it. After doing 3 or 4 shots of different rums with the waiter, Pirate returned to the table. The waiter explained that anytime you want some rum, just to go to the rum shop and help yourself. Never did he offer to make a drink with the rum though. Rum was to be drunk in the rum shop only. Even better, it was complimentary!
During the entire meal, we all took turns visiting the rum shop. Pirate liked the rhum agricole selections, Cajun gravitated to the Ron Barcelo Anejos rum aged 15 years. Each time we went, it felt like we were doing something we shouldn’t be- sneaking a drink away from prying eyes, or sipping on someone’s secret stash! It made it fun to say the least.
The food ended up being fantastic. The best we have had on this island. And by the end of the night, we were dancing to and from the rum shop without a care in the world. We even brought shot glasses filled with rum to the table to sip on during our meal. It was definitely a dining experience we will never forget!
Today things are a little foggy. We think we had a few too many pit stops at the rum shop!
We apologize for not having any pictures to show of this place… we blame it entirely on the rum….