Deliver Me from Hunger

We’ve all been there. The sun somehow finds its way around, through or under your curtains, and pierces through your eyelids, zapping your eyeballs and all of a sudden you are very much awake…and very much wishing you were dead. Your room – no, the whole WORLD – is spinning and your head is boom boom BOOMING, oddly in time to last night’s bass. Despite being exhausted, there’s no way you’re going to get back to sleep with that drum solo blaring in your skull. Your Saturday/Sunday/any-day-that-ends-in-y Caribbean hangover has arrived.

Groaning, you flop over onto your side, praying for the end. When at last you’re sadly certain that Death isn’t coming to your rescue, you muster the strength to sit up. Staring at the floor and chewing on cotton, you can’t decide which you need to do first: drink water, pee, or puke.

I normally settle for peeing first, as it allots for more time to sit down with your head in your hands, trying to die or to sleep. Then, depending on the severity of the need to vomit, I’ll either guzzle water like I’ve just trekked the Sahara, or sip it gently, willing my body to accept each drop. Puking is always left as a last resort; no one likes to puke.

No matter the varying specifics of my hungover state, I find that there is always one constant: I am hungry. Not just hungry, but ravenous; more ravenous than any human being has ever been. I want to eat EVERYTHING. Hangover hunger is a force to be reckoned with. Whether it’s Chinese food, a large, greasy pizza, a Crandall’s beef patti, a johnny cake with egg, ham and cheese (or – if you are my friend, Becca – a large bowl of lettuce…don’t ask, I don’t get it either), or all of the above, I want it – pronto.

Therein lies the problem. How am I supposed to get my hands on all this deliciously bad food?! Having grown up on a rock I am astutely aware that there is no such thing as food delivery service. This is a great travesty, in my opinion, and something I have never managed to come to terms with. Chickens crowing in the wee hours of the morning? Won’t wake me up. Goats and cows in the road? Doesn’t phase me. (That’s not normal? Where else are they supposed to be?!) Lizard in the shower? I’ll strike up a conversation about the mosquito in my bedroom. But this lack of delivery service – what the hell?!

There’s nothing worse than being hungover (or, sometimes, still drunk), desperate for food, and having absolutely no desire to go anywhere. I mean, it’s not just lazy, it’s dangerous! Shaky hands, slow reflexes, questionable vision, and obviously poor decision-making skills do not a good driver make.

But it’s not just us hungover folk who are suffering. Forget to pack your kid’s lunch and want to have something delivered to him? Nope. Burned the dessert at your dinner party and want to get something sent over, post-haste? Guess again. Your boyfriend dumped you and you don’t want the world to see your puffy, blotchy face? Grab a paper bag, sister, you’re going out!

I don’t really understand why delivery doesn’t exist here. It can’t be that hard. If the electricity, cable, concrete, etc, companies can find my apartment, why can’t the restaurants? Directions are simple enough; there are none of those pesky street names and numbers to remember. It’s just a matter of stating your landlord’s name, the village or bay you live in, and one or two key landmarks (like a tree or a wall or a goat). Throw in the name of the person who lived there before you and you’re set! I just moved into a new apartment and telling people where it is, is a breeze. As my friend said the other night, “Ha! I figured out the exact apartment you live in, in three questions!” It’s easy. Come on, Simply Delicious; throw that Chinese food in the back of a van and come find me.

I have visions of that scene in the movie Two Weeks Notice  where Sandra Bullock is sitting on her kitchen counter, talking into the phone and ordering six items or so from the Chinese menu that she knows by heart. She places her order (for delivery!), pauses for just a second while she listens to the question posed to her on the other end of the line, and then responds, “Yes, it’s for one.”

I want to be her.

I can see it now: I’m on the phone to Capriccio’s, ordering a Pizza Primavera with no olives, plus pepperoni, one order of bruschetta, and the piadina emiliana.

“No, Sophie.”
“How many it fah?”
“Just one. Just for me.”
“Ok dahlin’, soon reach.”

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Sophie Leroy

About Sophie Leroy

Sophie was raised on the island of Tortola, having been brought to the rock by her parents when she was just two years old. Despite the fact that she still does not have any formal immigration status, she finds it safe to say she’s “from he’eh” (not to be confused with “bahn he’eh”) and loves calling the BVI her home, for all its quirks and perks. A no-nonsense nerd with an otherwise laid-back attitude, she loves fast cars, SCUBA diving, late night johnny cakes, and has an insatiable desire to adopt every animal on the face of the planet (well, just the cute ones). She was bitten by the travel bug early on and capitalizes on any opportunity to get off the rock in an effort to feed her wanderlust. While she likes to think of herself as a seasoned traveler, the island girl in her still has no understanding whatsoever of public transportation or how to pump her own gas.

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14 thoughts on “Deliver Me from Hunger

  1. Hangovers, or impending hangovers, are the reason there are all-night diners in close proximity to bars in metropolitan & suburban areas. Greasy spoons with fried eggs floating in butter, bacon and toast are exactly what you need before heading home to crash….and that 2a.m. breakfast actually does help to diminish the hangover! I think you’ve got something here…..a real opportunity for aspiring entrepreneurs.

    • Haha, so true MahoSteph! I can’t tell you how many times I’ve longed for some French toast at 2am with nowhere available to fulfill that craving. If you’re feeling entrepreneur-istic, I’d be more than happy to see you open such an establishment (with delivery) on VG! 😉

      • Ha! You’ve got me thinking….maybe this is exactly what Cruz Bay needs! An all-night diner conveniently located en route from the downtown bars. Love VG, but it’s a long commute 🙂

  2. I tried to convince the owner of one of CGB restaurants to provide home delivery. Suggested theyes could easily adhoc name and number the streets and homes in Cane, drop of flyers with a take out menu and the map numbering system, purchase a scooter and hire a teen to do the deliveries. My friends and I also spoke often about starting the service ourselves. But never actoned our plan. In town there are several scooter services that will pick up your lunch order for delivery from wherever you wish in town. I suppose those delivery services could never see the potential in providing home delivery. It is doable though.

  3. When Hondo’s was THE place to go in C’sted, no night was complete without a visit to the Roach Coach down by the Scale House/Taxi stop. Baked skin-on chicken/rice n beans/salad plate…greasy pates of all varieties, Johnny cakes. For the desperate, you grabbed an extra pate3 or two to heat up the next morning. 😉

    • When Hondo’s was THE place to go in C’sted, no night was complete without a visit to the Roach Coach down by the Scale House/Taxi stop. Baked skin-on chicken/rice n beans/salad plate…greasy pates of all varieties, Johnny cakes. For the desperate, you grabbed an extra pate or two to heat up the next morning. 😉

    • Haha, this sounds like our version of The Chicken Bus…grab a big plate late that night and save some thinking you’re going to want it for morning…morning comes and you open the fridge to see the styrofoam box staring back at you and all you can do is groan and say “what was I thinking?!”

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