Thriller

We had completed the difficult task of the day. Nine people had arrived from 5 separate locations on 4 different flights and were now piling into a rented Dodge Caravan in San Juan, Puerto Rico. We loaded up google maps on multiple phones and battled our way through traffic and unmarked lanes to Vega Baja on the North Shore about an hour west of the capital. We had completed a most comprehensive tour of our rental house, which was conducted in Spanish. A few things were lost in translation which became evident as we found that we did not possess the keys to the upstairs portion of the tour, which was simply advertising for next time. Anyway, we were past all that because we were hungry! We needed food. We reloaded google maps with a target, the closest one of the two restaurants which our hostess had provided as a recommendation. We asked for four recommendations since we would have four dinners at Vega Baja but alas only two places could be suggested as suitable for us.

Our intended destination was La Casa del Pescador. Vamanos! Did I mention that we were hungry? As we approached La Casa my crew began to salivate. Pavlov would have been proud. One small problemo though. No casa. Vacant lot with a few stray dogs sí, but casa, no. We were more likely to find a missing person than to score some mofongo. I locked the doors and redirected the caravan. Perhaps it was further down the dead end. It was not. Fortunately for our Donner party, an oasis appeared, Villa Pesquera Cibuco!

We were greeted with smiles and a warm welcome.  The two largest tables were pushed together and surrounded by white plastic chairs. Sure, our table was directly in front of the DJ and the music was deafeningly loud, but that didn’t matter because we had menus. The menus were the single page laminated kind with a few sparse pictures and many words which were new to us. Our waitress only spoke Spanish but it didn’t really matter because with the volume of the music, our only chance at communicating was through sign language. In a break between songs we found out that her favorite fish was grillo (red snapper). I don’t recall everyone’s order but the overwhelming majority of our food would visit the depths of a deep fryer before arriving to satisfy our hunger. Just as poplar trees herald the comeback after a forest fire, deep fryers dominate food preparation after natural disasters. Medalla light, the cerveza of Puerto Rico, arrived along with conch fritters. The fritters were a flop. They were not the deep fried balls with little bits of conch and vegetables. They were more like a puffy empanada with soup inside but the beer was ice cold and just 77 calories per 10 oz can. The bottles of beer came with napkins stuffed into their mouths.

The kitchen was open air and directly in front of us. We saw all the happenings. Five ladies in hair nets bustled about preparing our order. To make up for the unsatisfying “fritters” we broke down and ordered fries and mozzarella sticks. They were disposed of with great efficiency. Although this was hardly embracing the local cuisine, we still had fish orders to come. Turns out there was a whole lot more to come besides our fish!

The DJ had finally recognized that our crowd was less than 75,000 and had turned the volume down to a point where we could nearly hear the person beside us. Perhaps "VJ" is a better term for this evening's maestro since he was not just playing music but was showing the accompanying music videos on a flat screen tv, behind which he was hidden.

Our food trickled in a plate at a time. By the time my whole fish snapper arrived I was hungry enough to eat it whole! The grillo exceeded my wildest expectations. It was beyond fabulous. When our waitress came by to check on my meal I gushed as enthusiastically as our language barrier and the pumping bass would allow. She pulled out her phone to show me pictures of the snapper just hours before hanging from a line held by her husband. Her husband had caught my dinner! This more than made up for the fries and mozzarella sticks.

I surveyed the table over the pile of fish bones in front of me.  I was feeling quite satisfied and by the looks of things so was my crew.  Next would come that tricky task of obtaining the check.  I figured this would take some time but it seemed that our waitress had disappeared.  I called over another waitress who had served us a few beers and she noted my request. She walked into the kitchen and the calculations commenced.  Two women worked together surveying our table and pecking away on a calculator.  It was about this time that the "clown" who had arrived earlier began his performance.  He was not in fact a clown.  He was the king of pop, Michael Jackson! 

We noticed him earlier but had no inkling of his intentions.  We had seen the chubby MJ milling about the VJ setup with pancake makeup, red lipstick and a dark suit.  My guess was that we were in for an animal balloon demonstration.  I was wrong.  We were in for the second coming of the Man in the Mirror. He now sported a fedora and was dancing to "Smooth Criminal" with a microphone.  It was not long before he was sweating more than a sinner in church.  He definitely showed off some unexpected moves for a big guy. 

It looked like he needed an iv as "Smooth Criminal" was finishing but he then launched directly into "Billie Jean"! He knew the steps.  He even showed off the moon walk! He attempted to engage our table but Abbey was having none of it.  She was not dancing with the King of Pop.  Emma, however, stepped into the humid night air and became his dance partner for a few magical moments.  After "Billie Jean" he disappeared around a corner into the dark and I thought that the show was over.  Again, I was wrong, because when he re-emerged in a red leather jacket we all knew what we were in for..."Thriller"! He did the whole zombie intro and everything.  His stamina was impressive.  The 1983 Thriller video was 13 minutes in length and this performance was true to the original. Eventually though it did end and that was the finale...at least of the Michael Jackson performance.  There was still Karaoke to come.  While MJ's fedora was passed for tips, a patron from the back took the microphone and launched into a soaring anthem.  She did not need the words scrolling on the tv screen.  People appeared to be lining up for their turns and our check was nowhere in sight.  Our original waitress then reappeared and with hair net in one hand and a microphone in the other I knew that our check would be a little bit longer in arriving at our table. She also moved about the room, having no need for the scrolling words and bouncing dot.  During a pause in the lyrics she was standing at our table and she asked Anna if we would like to go next.  Anna respectfully declined, telling the waitress that we needed to get to the grocery store before 9pm and it was already 8:30!  The check did eventually arrive and we settled up.  Anna laughed on our way to the grocery store about how lame it must have sounded as we excused ourselves from our turn at stardom.  Let's face it though, no one in their right mind was going to take the mic after those two songs and a night of reincarnated Michael Jackson!