Photo by Rosemary Parkinson
Food Reviewer Rosemary Parkinson, away in Barbados, is having severe withdrawal
symptoms and is going mad with images
of jerk, oxtail, and things Jamaican
dancing in her head.
ONE OF the things about travelling away from the land that one loves is 'missing'. You know that just 'missing' feeling?
It is all good and well to visit other countries, meet people from other cultures and eat other types of food, but when you have been out of 'your' land for just a tad too long, certain things begin to gnaw at the brain. That is exactly what has been happening to me. The time to come back to Jamaica (from Barbados) is so near, I can taste it. And I suppose that sighing over my photo
collection on my laptop this morning did not help.
You see, I never leave Jamaica without 'my visual aids' and at every opportunity, I turn on the machine and go through the images, while the people around me are subjected to my frenzied accolades about what appears to be the most misunderstood island in the Caribbean. I feel strongly about Jamaica and want others to also feel it too.
Once, when an ex-Barbadian ambassador to Trinidad advised me to apply to CARICOM to become a roving ambassador of goodwill for all the Caribbean islands, I replied: "Sir, kind of you to say that, but I do believe Jamaica will get more attention than all the rest, and CARICOM may go the way of federation."
Case done.
'I MISS ...'
Let me share some of my heart rending pangs of 'missing' with you.
The Pelican Restaurant in Montego Bay the stew peas, baked pork and those
incredible mashed potatoes.
Sunday brunch at Coral Cliff, Negril the best buy in town and the most delicious.
My roti and goat curry straight from the pots of Evelyn's in Whitehouse, Westmoreland.
Mother's beef and cheese patty.
Brown stew chicken and rice and peas, with food on the side from Tapa Top in Lucea, Hanover, and a trip to Miss Doughterty's for a cold Red Stripe further down the road.
Gizzada from the ovens of Donette's in Negril.
A gourmet meal prepared with love and care by Martin Maginley and his team at Grand Lido Negril.
A mound of melt-in-the-mouth, totally wicked ice cream from La Bella Italia, again in Negril.
I would give my eye tooth for Indian fare at Passage to India in Ochi, and I would give my arm for Pushpas' Indian
cuisine (at the back of Northside Plaza, Kingston).
I would give a leg for a large piece of jerk chicken from Pon De Corner on the way to Portland, or even for a piece of jerk sausage from B & B Jerk Centre near Ewarton, St. Catherine.
I would give a nose to swim in the waters off Villa Nautilus in Port Antonio, Portland, and be handed a glass of wine by Kerven, as I climb the stairs to the deck where a sumptuous meal awaits, cooked by Miss Margaret.
I would give an ear for a dinner under the stars at Norma's At The Marina, Port Antonio.
Then there is Rotty with his tantalising cookshop fare up in Stony Hill, at the corner of Airy Castle and Sea View Road in St. Andrew.
I feel a longing to experience the camaraderie of friends (Hi Eli, Shaney, Michael the
barman) at Cassons Pub (New Kingston), with one of Gary's huge pot pies steaming aromas of creamy delight all over my smiling face.
A Japanese Sashimi at the Hilton Hotel, New Kingston, would suit me just fine right now or a warm slice of wholewheat bread from Oven Front Bakery on Constant Spring Road, Kingston.
Lord, I do believe I shall soon break into tears as I think of Norma Shirley greeting me at the top of the stairs of Norma On The Terrace, Devon House, Kingston, with the words: "Rosie, come, come, ah bet you ent eat since you left Jahmaica. Come, come and have a little something. Hurry, hurry, you look starved out ... just sit. Noooo. Ah said sit. You slow or what? Get up here; shut up; relax and let me feed you right."
A HORIBLE FEELING
Missing can be a horrible thing but as I write this my mind is roaming in all these places, enjoying those tastes with a vividness that is unreal.
Moving right along for I do not want to lose this momentum. I miss ...
Night jerk, Northside Plaza.
Tea and a slice of homemade cake at the Liguanea Club, Knutsford Boulevard in New Kingston.
A Sunday at The Gap, high up in the Blue Mountain surrounded by a mist so fresh you can taste it, and being delighted by doctor birds that create a theatre of beauty, all their own.
Chinese food at Dragon Garden on Constant Spring Road.
Driving to Moneague, St. Ann, for dinner at Café Aubergine a trip into the past a pit stop for those weary buggy and horse travellers eons ago.
Suddenly I am in Little London, Westmoreland, at Malcolm X Bar, with Pablo serving me an Appleton, while I slam dominoes with the boys.
As I wend my way to Kingston, I see myself looking into every pot at Howie's in Holland Bamboo, St. Elizabeth, just after Y.S. Falls, and inhaling the aromas of steamed fish and beef stew. Hmmm. Decisions.
My mind bears off to Hellshire, St. Catherine, with May serving up a huge sweet snapper and a couple of lobsters. A whiff of fresh seaweed mixed with sea air wafts through the little busy hut on the beach as May's daughter pours extra escoveitch sauce over my fish.
Ahhh ... a weekend of pure abandon at Hedonism III in Runaway Bay, St. Ann, where I know my friend Michelle will spoil me. Nothing like waking up to a Hedonism breakfast fit for a queen.
Hello, a trip to Little Bay to find Uncle Sam, who, at the drop of a hat, rides off on his bicycle to then return with fish to fry on his outdoor wooden stove. I can just see the red hot coals under the pot causing a mellow glow that smacks of earthiness.
I long for Miss Jean's tripe & beans, Linstead Market, plus a cup of cocoa, hot, steamy and sweet.
Bowdien and Yallahs, St. Thomas; Boston, Junction, Portland; Jakes, Spur Tree Hill, St. Elizabeth; Tensing Penn, Negril, Westmoreland; Strawberry Hill, Irish Town, St. Andrew; and May Pen, Clarendon. My mind is roaming all over Jah land. If this goes on, I shall be deemed quite mad.
Time now to calm down, clip my wings, put those feet on the ground and count the days. God is feeling my longing and my pain, and has had enough of my
pleadings. He will ensure that I shall land safely at Montego Bay's airport within the next few days.
My biggest gift? Those
wonderful welcoming Jamaican smiles; the troupe of singing dancers in colourful traditional
costume; that immigration officer who reads my articles; my friends waiting with hugs and kisses.
Lord, hear my prayers because I've run out of Appleton and the Red Stripe just doesn't taste the same away from home. And if anyone thinks I have left them out I have not. My thoughts of each and every person, every little tiny thing about this land is imbedded deep within my heart and mind.
Walk good.
"An image is a sight which has been recreated or reproduced. It is an appearance, or a set of appearances, which has been detached from the place and time in which it first made its appearance and preserved for a few moments or a few centuries. Every image embodies a way of seeing. Even a photograph."
Ways Of Seeing,
by John Berger.
