"That's it?" I ask, amazed. In Trinidad, fish is usually washed with lemon juice and marinated in an elaborate sauce called "green seasoning," made of chopped herbs and garlic. "That's it," he says, scooping out my fi sh a few minutes later and handing it over on a plate with a side of bammy, a coconutmilk- soaked cassava cake that looks like a crumpet; and "festivals," a sweetened cornmeal fritter much like Italian zeppole. I slip into my place at a picnic table next to Carey and see he has chosen his fish steamed (which is actually simmered) with potatoes, carrots, okra, scallions, pepper, garlic, salt and a bit of pumpkin puree. It is arranged on a wide platter flanked by the large water crackers that are so popular here in Jamaica. My own fish, crispy outside and succulent within, is soon reduced to a pile of bones, and I eye Carey's plate hungrily. "Taste?" he asks, inclining his eyebrows a bit. "Do you mind?" I'm already picking up my fork. "Nah, man," he responds as I tuck into a bit of fish. It is delicate yet firm, like the friendship we're forming.