The Paradise Grill gives new meaning to no-frills. It's run out of a metal shipping container. The grill is made from a 40-gallon drum. And the grilled fish is finger-lickin' good. (Read: no forks.)

But if you ever find yourself on this tiny tropical island off West Africa and you get a hankering for fish, the Paradise Grill is where it's at.

The container, painted light blue but losing a battle with rust around its edges, is parked in a prime spot. It occupies a piece of sidewalk on an avenue that sweeps around the bay of Sao Tome (SA-u tom-AY), the island's capital.

The twin-island nation of Sao Tome and Principe, home to about 150,000 people, is one of the poorest countries in Africa — the world's poorest continent. Ships anchored in the harbor bring almost everything the country needs in containers like this one.

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Drinks are served out of one end of the container, shaded by broad, overhanging trees in the heat of the day. A plaque advertises Jack Daniels whiskey, but they haven't got any. Haven't for years.

The other half of the container provides backup for the charcoal barbecue on the sidewalk — a 40-gallon drum sliced in half longways and laid on its side.

The owner, Orlando Amilcar, sits chatting with his buddies at one of the half-dozen plastic tables. His wife and kids waft the barbecue with bits of torn-off cardboard and serve the tables in this male-dominated society.

The service is slow. Locals call their laid-back lifestyle "leve-leve" (softly-softly, or gently-gently). On the equator, the heat doesn't allow for much more.

There are more upscale places to eat in Sao Tome. (The Paradise Grill has no bathroom. Patrons occasionally stand up and saunter off toward the dark beach.)

But locals and foreigners fill the tables most nights, with dinner for four coming in at less than 300,000 dobras ($20).

A popular starter — "appetizer" may be the wrong word — is marlin tripe.

Chunks of the local fish's stomach, boiled soft and marinated in garlic, pepper and bay leaves, are served on a small dish and usually shared by diners at the same table. Wooden toothpicks are used to skewer the chunks which are washed down with half-liter bottles of the local beer called Rosema or with cheap wine from Portugal, the country's former colonial ruler.

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The star attraction is a fish they call "concon" (flying gurnard), which is a specialty in this part of the eastern Atlantic. The whole gutted fish is served straight off the barbecue, its eyes scorched white. It is served on its back, its belly prised open. It is longer than the width of the plate.

You eat it with your fingers, plucking out the tasty white meat. Slices of soft, doughy breadfruit are on hand to mop up the hot sauce.

Once I'd plucked out all the concon's flesh I sat back and sighed. "That was great," I announced.

Local friends frowned at my plate.

"There's loads left on there!" said one, called Lourenco. "Eat up! You have to suck it down to the bone!"

Feeling sheepish, I watched as they showed the way with their own "concon."

First they picked it down to what looked like a cartoon fish skeleton. Then they broke off the head with a crack and sucked out the dark, crumbly brains.

They dangled the gleaming, oily skin into their mouths. Not even the brittle, charred tail got away.

As they sucked their fingers with relish I admired the little pile of fishbones scattered on their plates. All that was left for the cats was the fishy smell.

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asap contributor Barry Hatton is an AP correspondent in Lisbon, Portugal.

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