The chicken curry with rice was a hell of a lot more rice than chicken anything, but I was starved and at that point I would have probably eaten chicken bones with rice.
That was a good thing, because that is mostly what they served me.
This is what can happen when you are in a foggy stupor with jetlag after a long-ass flight to Fiji, the ensuing airport baggage carnival, the typical time to clear customs, and then a few hours on a bus.
I was rummy and hungry; a potentially dangerous formula for finding food.
The place was a busy corner take-away (what they might call a fast food joint in much of the rest of the world) and grocery story combination in the small town of Sigatoka, along the coastal route on the south end of Vita Levu, between the airport in Nadi (pronounced “nandy”) en route to Pacific Harbor.
Based on shear hunger, I stopped at, literally, the first place I found as I groggily stumbled off the bus.
I queued up with, what appeared to me as, locals—which I thought a good sign—and stared dispassionately at the pictures on the wall as to what the food items were supposed to look like.
As there is a strong Indian influence in this part of the world, a chicken curry dish seemed like a logical choice.
Unfortunately, what they lacked in the amount of actual chicken meat, they made up with a vast pile of white rice.
What was worse was that it appeared the poultry preparation was accomplished by placing a whole chicken into an industrial strength blender, set on pulverize.
This pretty much guaranteed that you would appreciate a bone fragment with every bite.
But, as I mentioned, I was extremely exhausted and almost beyond hungry, and all I really wanted was a beer and a bed.
Preferably, one without bones sticking out of it.
Preferably, both the beer and the bed.