Jamaicans love their traditional rice and peas.

Here in Jamaica, we tend to eat rice with almost everything, including pasta! Corned beef (bully beef) and macaroni or spaghetti is served with rice, macaroni and cheese is served with rice, spaghetti cooked up with chicken back or chicken is served with rice. We even serve rice as a cereal - rice porridge. So when Dave, my then new white American boyfriend, told me we would be having spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, I immediately assumed he meant it would be served with rice. Dave and I always prepared meals together and this time was no different. We seasoned and made up the meatballs which were fried along with smoked turkey sausages and set aside. Then, the sauce, consisting of tomato paste, stewed tomatoes, tomato sauce, spaghetti sauce, sugar, garlic, oregano and crushed peppers were all placed into a large pot, stirred and allowed to simmer for what seemed like ages to me.

It was a rich, thick sauce with an aroma that made you want to eat. You know, like when you're walking or driving around with the problems of the world swimming around in your head and food is the last thing on your mind, then suddenly your ever-alert nostrils get a whiff of something that makes all your cares go away. Instantly, you're not thinking about the hole in the ozone, the rising rate of crime or even the rocketing fuel prices. Instead, there is a small but noticeable rumble in your belly and your only thought at that moment is 'that has got to taste as good as it smells - whatever it is'. That heavenly aroma coming from Dave's kitchen must have spread throughout the village in which we lived. I was both excited and eager. I loved trying new things, so I could hardly wait to try this dinner. The sauce was stirred every half hour or so then after a while (by now a number of hours had passed) the meatballs and sausages were added. Then it was stirred and left to continue simmering for about another 45 minutes.

We were expecting two dinner guests, one American and the other Chilean. They arrived just as the spaghetti started cooking. We sat, chatted and had a drink. Then it was time for dinner. Dave and I set the table, then I sat with the others and waited to be served. Dave brought out wine, juice, water and parmesan cheese, followed by the spaghetti, then the meatballs in that heavenly smelling sauce. We all praised Dave for the aroma as we were being served. He humbly shared the credits with me as I had helped him with all the preparations. We were served and parmesan cheese was being sprinkled, when suddenly it hit me that in all our preparations we had forgotten something, one important thing had been overlooked, left out. What were we going to do? How could we have forgotten something so important? Dave always notices me and pays close attention to me, so on seeing the distraught look on my face he asked what was wrong and I told him that we had forgotten something. He asked what it was and I asked, 'Where is the rice!?'

They all started laughing and laughing and I could not understand what was so funny until Dave explained that spaghetti and meatballs was not a meal served with rice. After the initial shock and a sip or two of Pink Lady (my favorite wine) I ate and enjoyed my dinner immensely even rolling the spaghetti on to the fork was a breeze, once I got into it. It has been eight years since my first riceless experience and I am happy to say that spaghetti and meatballs has become a favourite of mine and to this day, Dave still tells the story of the day Lisa asked for the rice and all his multinational friends are still finding it funny.