5 Best Places to Eat for Cheap in Caye Caulker, Belize

Belize is known as the most expensive country in Central America, but it doesn’t have to be if you know where to look for cheap eats. The food in Belize is exploding with Caribbean flavor, and it’s all made with love. During my week in Caye Caulker, I became a bit of an expert on finding the best, cheapest places to chow down. Here are the 5 best cheap places to eat in Caye Caulker, Belize:

 

  1. Southside Pizza

Photo courtesy CCToday.biz

Pizza is hit or miss in the Caribbean (weird processed cheese, ham toppings, oddly-textured crust). But not at Southside. Here, the gooey mozzarella cut into triangles is like the best of New York-style meets the best of Chicago-style. I wish the pizza in Minnesota was this good. You cannot eat just one of these slices. One tip: call ahead. This pizza takes a long time, but it’s so worth it.

  1. Belizean Flava

If you see a bunch of guys in the street standing next to a grill and yelling at you, you’ve come to the right place. Turn to your left, go up the stairs, find a hardworking Belizean lady leaning over a fiery-hot oven, and you’re there. You can get a plate of lip-smacking BBQ chicken (or jerk if you’re a spice lover) for $15 Belize ($7.50 US), which includes two sides (including salad, garlic mashed potatoes, rice, or fries) and two (count ‘em two! rum punches). It’s the best deal in town. This is also where I indulged and ordered lionfish for the first time (an invasive species in the Caribbean, and thankfully highly delicious when grilled in foil with peppers and tomatoes). I must have eaten here 4 times during my week in Caye Caulker, and my friends started going there too.

  1. Ice & Beans

Three words: Free Mini Donuts. And their French press Belizean coffee is the best in town. Even the guy from Best of the Fair–who gets his fill of fried foods daily–told me he goes here daily for his free mini donut and coffee fix.

  1. Errolyn’s House of Fryjacks

Have a fryjack, you’ll never go back (I came up with that). I’m officially obsessed with these puffy, deep-fried Belizean breakfast specialties. Personally, I can devour five of them plain in one sitting, but if you’re more adventurous, at Errolyn’s they come stuffed with ham, cheese, beans or any other breakfast food you can imagine.

  1. Best of the Fair

This is pure indulgence, but hey, you’re on holiday. As a dedicated goer to the Minnesota State Fair, I felt right at home eating the Tornado Potato, Bubble Waffles, and deep-fried corn dogs.

4 ways spending Thanksgiving in Rome taught me how to travel

It was November of 2005, and I was spending my fall semester of my junior year studying at in Belfast, Northern Ireland, when four fellow students and I decided to be daring and have a continental adventure before we went home for Christmas. Ryanair direct to Fiumicino, here we come!72772880_89029e1777_z

It seemed clever and brave. But the truth was, I had never before visited a non-English speaking country. I had never spent a holiday abroad. I was still terrified of speaking Italian, and I carried my own personalized phrasebook with me–printed on paper–at the very top was “No parliamo italiano.” In other words, for the love of god, please don’t talk to me. Please don’t make me humiliate myself. Above all, I was terrified of doing something wrong.

 

  1. How to make friends–no, family!–out of anyone. The truth was, I didn’t know any of my traveling companions that well. One was a softspoken boy from Alabama who liked tacos; another was an angelic Catholic girl from eastern Pennsylvania who just wanted a souvenir rosary from the Vatican “‘Bring me something holy, Angela!” my mom said. ‘Just bring me something holy!’” Another was a tall, dark-skinned girl from Indiana I’d never even met. “I never thought I’d be traveling to Rome at age 19,” she gushed. I was skeptical.

These weren’t exactly the cool, glamorous traveling companions I’d dreamed of. They were as naive as I was, if not moreso. But as it turned out, they were right for me. We helped each other read maps, puzzle out signages and agree to skip the overpriced tour of the Colosseum. We listened to our shoes tap on the polished floors of ancient churches, and had our pictures taken with some guys dressed up in cheesy gladiator costumes. I was the best at languages, so when a woman asked about the book I was reading on the train, I spoke for all of us. No parliamo italiano, I said with an abashed grin. My friends thanked me. And I didn’t die.

 

  1. How to travel cheaply. Of course, as tourists, none of us had planned to eat anyplace except a restaurant. Certainly our parents never did while traveling. Except this was Thanksgiving, so if we wanted anything close to a traditional American turkey day, we quickly realized we’d have no choice but to –gulp–shop locally. I’d never been so terrified. What if I didn’t understand what something was? Would I have to ask?. For someone clinging to her sweaty phrasebook like a deflating raft, and with crippling shyness around people I didn’t know, this was genuinely terrifying.

Tiptoeing into the store, we didn’t find a big frozen Butterball–none of us knew how to cook it anyway, but we did find some turkey breasts at the deli, and my friend said she thought the Italians eat potatoes. (Gnocchi, right? Right?) And pasta was just as starchy as pumpkin and sweet potatoes, so that was a good stand-in. Cranberry was out of the question, and we didn’t have the first clue about how to make stuffing. All in all, we only had maybe one or two of the Thanksgiving trappings. My stomach started to sink. Homesickness was creeping in. But I stuck my chin out.

 

  1. How to feel at home anywhere. We were all ready to leave the store, when I turned around and realized my companions weren’t with me. Then I heard sweet little Angela’s voice behind me at the deli counter. She spoke clearly, loudly enough for the entire store to hear. “Formaggio?” Silence, for two, three seconds. Then the guy laughed and handed her a huge hunk of Parmigiano-Reggiano, and we skedaddled back to the hostel. Alive.

Back at our crowded hostel near Termini Station, we Americans took over the kitchen and whipped up our sad little turkey breasts–which, warmed up and coated with, what else, tomato sauce–didn’t look so sad anymore. We forgot the butter, so our potatoes weren’t exactly creamy, and the utensils seemed to date to Tiberius’ reign.  And of course we made pasta, because Italy! Angela and Cody, of course, insisted on holding hands and saying grace. The kitchen started to feel a little warmer; the city not so dark and foreign. These people–these strange, stupid American kids–started to look, well, nice.

 

  1. How to be thankful. We rejoined all 12 or so of the rest of our hostel companions–two backpacking Serbians, a group of English chavs, and that one Irish guy who shows up hammered at every hostel on Earth—-and instead of trying to dazzle each other by naming all the exotic locales to which we’d traveled, we played parlor games. And then we actually talked. To strangers. Who didn’t hate us, even though we’d appropriated the entire kitchen for the past three hours and probably didn’t clean it all that well. This seemed to be the biggest miracle at all.

Up till then, all I’d wanted was to get out of this alive. But that Thanksgiving, something changed. I was thankful. After all, not everybody gets to go to Rome at 19. Not everyone gets to travel at all. Not everyone has a family waiting for them across the ocean when they’re broke and weary and ready to go home for Christmas. Not everyone has that moment where they realize for the first time that this isn’t a fluke. That I didn’t have to be a terrified tourist. That I could be smart, That I could be brave, that I could be wise. That I could be a traveler.

 

Avast, International Talk Like a Pirate Day is Here!

International Talk Like a Pirate Day is upon us!

Some of us pirate princesses be settin’ sail for Krispy Kreme in our rip-roarinest pirate togs for thar free doughnut.

Others be headin’ to the galley and whippin’ up rum cocktails. Or rum cakes. Or the official Princess of Pirates rum pudding.

Need help on your pirate lingo? Time Magazine has the essential tips for soundin’ like a scallywag.

E! Online has thar favorite arrr-esting pirates from pop culture!

My pick for most glamorous pirate girl.

And finally, over yonder, Penguin Books has a list of the top classics of pirate literature, everything from “Peter Pan” to “Treasure Island” to “Con Men and Cutpurses: Scenes from the Hogarthian Underworld.” Book to keep ye company durin’ those long, stormy nights on the sea!

Baking with the Captain

As promised, I tried out this recipe for Pirate Bread Pudding this past weekend (I could’ve waited until the 19th, but why?) I cut it in half, mostly because (gasp!) the rest of my household aren’t as rum-crazy as I am. Plus 2 cups of half-and-half is a lot if you only have one of those little half-pints lying around. I ended up doing a cup and a half of milk, and half a cup of half and half (that sentence is mind-boggling.) I used golden raisins; soaked in rum, of course, they’re delicious by themselves.

Coming out of the oven.

I also halved the sauce, which turned out super-thick and kind of grainy, even with only half a cup of butter, hmmm. All in all, whiskey plus rum plus raisins = pure pirate comfort food.

The ramekin was just for serving; I thought it looked cute.