In celebration of our last night we needed a drink. But what to get? I had tasted a local concoction called a Panty Ripper; pineapple juice and coconut rum. But this was too sweet for my taste. I loved the freshly squeezed lime juice that they mixed with sugar (like a lime-onade) that all the bars had, so I decided to order a lime juice and coconut rum. When I went to the bar to order it, I asked what he thought the name of my new drink should be. The answer? A Sour Panty. Which, after a few drinks and the local creole accent quickly was renamed to the Sore Panty. Sounds dirty, I know…but it was all clean fun.
I made a deal with the bartender that for every 10 Sore Panties I sold I would get a free one. And with that, I was on a mission. I started with the chalk board. I asked if I could promote my new drink special on the board. The owner was gone, so I got the a-ok and wrote that tonight’s feature cocktail was the Sore Panty…a local favorite. Locals vetoed this claim, “How can it be a favorite of ours if you just made it up?”. This was a valid point, so I sold it as a local “specialty.”
As the seaside hotel restaurant filled with tourists and the sun began to set, Patty, Sean, P.P. and I parked ourselves in a cozy booth to order dinner and see if we had any Sore Panty takers. Almost every table inquired about the drink, and as they did I did my best to catch their eye, raise my drink and say how mm mm good it was. “So refreshing and light, yet chock-full of rum and such a bargain!” Almost all of them partook and the bartender gave me a smile.
Another bottle of coconut rum had to be opened to maintain the pace of ordering. The one and only server was struggling to keep up with dinner and drink orders, so I made my way to the bar to see if they needed help. The owner came up to me and said he was happy with the drink sales, but he needed help serving. Before I knew it, I had an order pad in my hand and I was sent out to get drink and dinner orders from the other cutomers.
Luckily, I memorized most of the menu, knew the catch of the day and, of course, what was in the drink special. After taking a few orders and yelling in to a very confused kitchen staff I made my way back to my friends to enjoy our drinks.
As we sat, a gentleman from table three came over, tapped me on the back and said, “I forgot to tell you that I’d like my filet medium-well.”
“No problem,” I replied, “we are a little short-staffed tonight, so we are running a little behind. Can I get you another drink?”
“No thanks, we’ll wait for our drinks with our meal.”
“I’ll let the kitchen know.” And I went back to inform the kitchen of the filet and drink request and continued to get my buzz on with my friends.
After a very yummy final meal of shrimp and nachos, we left our drinks behind to make a final visit to the gelato shop. We had half an hour until they closed and we were on a mission to get there. And, we made it in plenty of time for our last taste of creamy tropical gelato.
On the way back down the very narrow pathway back to the restaurant/hotel/beach/paradise/perfect spot ever, I met some friends. Wild dogs fair well in Belize eating scraps here and there, and they sometimes travel in packs. I befriended such a pack and, in my tipsy state, brought them back to our hotel.
“You do realize it’s not really customary to bring a pack of wild dogs to public places right?” Patty told me. She was right. I told my pack to “sit” and “stay” before I rounded the corner to the restaurant for an end-of-the-evening Sore Panty. All was well as the four of us rehashed the highlights of the trip and savored our last carefree moments. That was until we heard a commotion.
Barking and growling loomed in the distance, which resulted in the kitchen staff running out of the kitchen with mops and brooms to chase away my wild pack. They had tried to claim the turf of the owner’s little doggy.
“Told ya” Patty said as I turned bright red and covered my face.
“Act cool, act cool.” I whispered as I sipped the rest of my simply refreshing cocktail.
As the crowd dispersed and the bar began to close, we soon called it a night. Patty and Sean climbed the wooden stairs to their room and P.P. headed to ours. I told him I’d be up in a bit.
I headed out to the beach with my ipod and notebook. The moon was bright and crisp, and I had my choice of any prime spot on the waterfront. I chose a wooden chair that reclined ever so slightly and there I sat enjoying the moment of solitude. Well, ok, I wasn’t really alone. A member of my dog pack had followed me onto the beach and curled up under my chair, where we enjoyed the company of the ocean and the stars.
The Final Dish: Yes, I’m going to be cheesy. I saw a shooting star. Seriously…I did. And I was oh so happy.
