Before leaving Hamilton, I pass a woman who is barely visible behind the Trimingham's shopping bag on her lap. She is slumped in a wheelchair and her leg is in a cast—perhaps the victim of a scooter accident? Interpreting this chance encounter as an omen, I take extra care when approaching the roundabouts.
WONDER AND AMAZEMENT
My wanderlust has led me to Dennis's Hideaway, a popular seafood restaurant for authentic Bermudian food, or so I'm told. I wonder if it's possible to be a hideaway and a hot spot at the same time. "In all my years of driving, a tourist has never asked me to go to Dennis's," a taxi driver tells me when I ask directions to the restaurant, which is located on St. David's Island, at the eastern end of the archipelago.
When I poke my head into the small pink shack that is Dennis's Hideaway, I discover that I am the only customer. And they are expecting me. I had made reservations. A very large man in an undershirt and tan shorts, the band of his boxers sticking out, greets me at the door. "I know, it's like meeting two of me," Dennis says. "Welcome."
Plastic floral tablecloths cover the wooden picnic tables. Dennis hands me a menu that boasts of "Lobester [sic] dinners" and introduces me to his son Graham, who is the head cook. I search the menu for something familiar. Normally, I do not eat types of seafood that wouldn't be found at, say, a Red Lobester restaurant.
"You'll have the works?" Dennis says.
Graham puts a plastic plate with a piece of toast cut into four triangles in front of me. On top of each triangle is something lumpy and yellow. "Here's Jaws," Graham says, without cracking a smile. "It's our specialty. Shark hash."
"What's in it?"
"Never mind," he says.