Fisherpond House

Meeting your husband’s boss for the first time can be a nerve racking experience. You try on five different outfits, do your make-up twice, practice your smile in the mirror (friendly but not flirty, formal but relaxed), and leave the house feeling like you are embarking on World War II, rather than being taken out to lunch! 

Barbados, where my husband’s work has brought us, has a wealth of beautiful plantation houses set in rolling fields of sugar cane. Our lunch rendezvous took place at one such house, whose antiquated decor was mirrored by the classical ambience and formal service. We took tea in a perfectly manicured garden and I felt as if we had gone back in time to a forgotten world where men were men and women were ornaments. My husband’s boss and his wife arrived, and to my delight, she wore a dress and hair-do almost identical to mine. The surrounding rushes swayed in the wind around us like fans at a U2 concert.

After tea, we were led inside the grand house in which delicate music wafted from a grand piano, caressed by a woman in the corner. The mahogany furniture surrounding us was swathed in flowers, which I later learnt the owner, a professional florist, had designed himself. Upon a central table was the focus of the day – a buffet lunch on a bed of flowers. Their delicate smell lulled me into a false sense of security and I had to check myself to ensure I kept up appearances with the big boss.

We helped ourselves to the buffet starter using shiny silver serving spoons. I forced myself to hold back as I instinctively wanted to try every single morsel from the colourful feast lain out before me. The cucumber salad had been massaged with a delicate sauce that transformed it into something exciting and unknown. Green peas belied their reputation by exuberating pinazz in a dish of pearly, white rice adorned with freshly picked herbs. The main course was a fusion of traditional Bajan and English foods – marvellous macaroni cheese, racy rice and flying fish in a delicate batter. There was also a whole table dedicated to sweets. Despite being as full as a hot air balloon before it takes off, I just had to sample the naughty deserts that beckoned me to give in.

The food, ambience and company were surprisingly good – and my fears melted away. A wonderful Sunday, on which I entered a fragile, forgotten world of grace and wonder.


Fisherpond House