Food History

Some meals can never be replicated, because the setting is so important to the food and that setting is a once-only.

Our bili bili BBQ was one of those meals.

The bili bili is a Fijian bamboo canoe, built in a day, used once, then left at the destination or given to somebody else to float downriver. They call them “SS Don’t Come Back�?. My family (husband, two kids, cousin and his two kids) stayed three days in a Fijian village to experience the culture and food. We helped to build the bili bili on day two, then on day three we set off down the river.

Lush tropical foliage along the banks, clear running water, shining stones on the river bed; it was a beautiful trip. Along the way the men leapt off the bili bili with small spears and caught our lunch; they’d emerge from the water with huge grins if they were successful, and climbed back on board to cheers.

They built a fire on the back of one bili bili and into it they threw cassava to cook along the way.

It was a long trip, and after two hours it started to pour with rain. Fijians don’t have an interest in “How Long?�? so we didn’t know how much further we would be going. We were cold and miserable and getting bored.

Then the cassava came out of the fire. Burnt black on the outside, inside was white, fluffy and sweet, like a tender potato cooked the same way. We took chunks each and ate the lot, burnt skin, tender flesh and all. It was warming and delicious and so very simple.

The bili bili arrived at our picnic place, where a table had been made with bamboo, and a shelter built for us. The fire was burning and the fish were gutted, scaled and thrown straight in. They came out like the cassava; burnt black on the outside, soft, white tender flesh on the inside. They brought the plate to us in our shelter, three whole fish just for us. They brought a bowl of native lime juice, torn red chillies and salt. We picked at the fish with our fingers and dipped the pieces in the dressing. It was the most incredible fish I’ve ever tasted. We were hungry and cold and we were fed like royalty. The children, not usually fish eaters unless it’s battered and fried, picked every last scrap off the bones and dipped their fingers in the hot dressing for the taste of it.

The chief offered me his fish head; I may have been rude to refuse, but I didn’t need (or, let’s be honest, want) it, and he did. He sucked away at it with great enjoyment.

It was an incredible meal to share with my family. It bonded us; we were on an adventure and we had eaten pure, fresh food which lifted our spirits and filled us with satisfaction.

food history, bili bili, barbecue, Fiji, Kaaron Warren

by Kaaron