One evening just before sunset I took the shortcut from my house on Cemetery Hill over to Nolly’s, where I met up with a cluster of people watching the sun set over Admiralty Bay. Nolly’s wide porch offered a panoramic view of the Harbor, a perfect spot to watch for a green flash as the sun sank below the horizon.
The group was a mixed one; some from yachts that were moored long-term in the bay, ex-pats living ashore in houses, also some friends who were staying with Nolly. They were having a sunset toke as they watched the sky fill with color, and they sat in silence appreciating the beautiful scene.
Suddenly someone said, “Man, I could go for a pizza right now!” and everyone groaned. Craving pizza on Bequia could only lead to frustration, it wasn’t like you could go down the road and buy one. The Caribbean had not yet discovered pizza, and if you craved one you either had to try and make one yourself or go without.
Mac was there, and heard everyone moaning about pizza. A few days later he showed me a secret, something he had been hiding under a tarp on “family hill” for a few years. Lifting the tarp, he exposed what looked like pieces of junk, two ovens with the guts removed and a dough-mixer stand with no motor, bowl or attachments.
Mac proudly told me that he had salvaged the equipment from Grenadine View, a development overlooking St. Hillaire that had gone bankrupt. I had been there and seen the property, a hotel some Canadians had abandoned just before completion. I knew that Bequians had helped themselves to items that had been left to rot, and Mac had obviously been one of them!
I went home shaking my head over Mac’s pieces of junk and his new obsession to create a restaurant around them. Lobster pizza? Who on earth ever heard of lobster pizza? What a crazy idea!