I knew about two Jamaican dishes prior to landing on the island. One was jerk chicken and the other was ox tail and beans. One, I planned to eat and the other had ox tail in it. I've spent enough time on farms to know where ox tails are located, and that is right next to smelly, messy body parts on an ox. I want no risk of cross-contamination. It just isn't going to happen. There is no way I can talk myself into it.
The very first place I ate in Jamaica had both of these options. They also offered cow's foot. Again, I've been on farms. I know what those feet spent their entire lives standing in. There is no amount of bleach in the world that can sufficiently clean that up in my mind. And, even if there was, then you would only taste bleach as you ate the dish. No, it wasn't happening.
As it turned out, I didn't have the chicken at the first restaurant. There was a rooster and a hen walking around at my feet. I wasn't going to risk it. So, as I frequently do, I asked my waitress what was recommended. She said pork without any kind of hesitation. And, we aren't going to talk about pig styes.
I love to talk about food when I travel. So, of course, I've talked to Jamaicans about chicken. And, two of them told me that I must have chicken at an international chicken chain that is in Jamaica. In fact, I was told that this unnamed chain is hugely popular on the island. There are more of these chains per person in Jamaica than any other country in the world. One person told me that her family always eats at this chain when they come to the island. It's that good.
I was skeptical.
I want some home-cooked jerk chicken while in Jamaica. It hasn't happened yet. But, even though I usually try to skip international food chains when I travel, I decided that I had to find out why this chicken crossed the road and the Caribbean Sea to get to Jamaica.
I still don't know.
I can tell you that his place was Crazy Frantic Chaos. I almost didn't even set foot inside the chain. The actual space inside wasn't all that big. And when I entered, there were about ten people in line to place their orders and another twenty standing around to get their orders.
Now, I'm going to guess that we've all been in lines that we felt were too long and too slow. When given the choice at the grocery, the bank, or this CFC, I always pick the slow lane. It's a gift and I can't figure out how to return it. I always pick the wrong line. However, there was only one line at this chain and it was molasses slow. I am not usually one to cause a scene. If the service is slow, I grit my teeth and endure it. I do not make a scene. Not ever. But, causing a scene was part of the Crazy Frantic Chaos experience.
No, it wasn't me. I was simply a very interested observer. This chain didn't serve jerk chicken, but it did serve jerks. In one corner of the gang of twenty was a huge woman with a matching temper. And, she had had enough of the chaos. She finally said what I've wished to say in the past, but actually never - never - would. She demanded, "What kind of service is this? Why is there only one person up front by the register? Get some more people up front and take care of these orders!"
And, that's just what happened.
If I had actually said something like that, and it caused people to jump into action, I think I would have trouble suppressing a smile. I mean, there really was no excuse for what was going on behind that counter. But, I just couldn't demand the staff jump into action. You couldn't pay me enough to do that. I just stood back and took it all in. But, even after letting off some steam, repeatedly, and causing a commotion at CFC, this woman remained in a dour mood. There were no smiles. There were certainly no thank yous. She received her five enormous boxes of chicken and pounded out of the store. I don't know what could possibly have made that woman smile. It sounds like a recipe for indigestion, if you ask me.
But, the show wasn't over at CFC.
Each of the twenty-plus people waiting for their orders had receipts with numbers on them. One innocent young cashier called out, "193" and then another called out "194". That was just too much for the man holding on to number 192. He loudly swore at the staff (something I could never do) and insisted that he get his money back right away (which I might also have considered under the circumstances). It was amazing how fast his order was served. He also left without a smile.
Okay, the entertainment portion of the meal was over. I got my meal and retreated to a corner. The food was nothing to write home about. The chicken might have crossed the road to get to this place, but I never would again. The entertainment was unique, but I don't want to experience that again either.
I'm still waiting for my personal invitation for home-cooked jerk chicken. In the meantime, I have had some at a local Jamaican fast-food place called Mother's. The service was friendly, the lines were short and I shared my meal with a local artist involved in my mural projects. That meal was savored. It'll have to tide me over until I get my home-cooked jerk chicken.
The very first place I ate in Jamaica had both of these options. They also offered cow's foot. Again, I've been on farms. I know what those feet spent their entire lives standing in. There is no amount of bleach in the world that can sufficiently clean that up in my mind. And, even if there was, then you would only taste bleach as you ate the dish. No, it wasn't happening.
As it turned out, I didn't have the chicken at the first restaurant. There was a rooster and a hen walking around at my feet. I wasn't going to risk it. So, as I frequently do, I asked my waitress what was recommended. She said pork without any kind of hesitation. And, we aren't going to talk about pig styes.
I love to talk about food when I travel. So, of course, I've talked to Jamaicans about chicken. And, two of them told me that I must have chicken at an international chicken chain that is in Jamaica. In fact, I was told that this unnamed chain is hugely popular on the island. There are more of these chains per person in Jamaica than any other country in the world. One person told me that her family always eats at this chain when they come to the island. It's that good.
I was skeptical.
I want some home-cooked jerk chicken while in Jamaica. It hasn't happened yet. But, even though I usually try to skip international food chains when I travel, I decided that I had to find out why this chicken crossed the road and the Caribbean Sea to get to Jamaica.
I still don't know.
I can tell you that his place was Crazy Frantic Chaos. I almost didn't even set foot inside the chain. The actual space inside wasn't all that big. And when I entered, there were about ten people in line to place their orders and another twenty standing around to get their orders.
Now, I'm going to guess that we've all been in lines that we felt were too long and too slow. When given the choice at the grocery, the bank, or this CFC, I always pick the slow lane. It's a gift and I can't figure out how to return it. I always pick the wrong line. However, there was only one line at this chain and it was molasses slow. I am not usually one to cause a scene. If the service is slow, I grit my teeth and endure it. I do not make a scene. Not ever. But, causing a scene was part of the Crazy Frantic Chaos experience.
No, it wasn't me. I was simply a very interested observer. This chain didn't serve jerk chicken, but it did serve jerks. In one corner of the gang of twenty was a huge woman with a matching temper. And, she had had enough of the chaos. She finally said what I've wished to say in the past, but actually never - never - would. She demanded, "What kind of service is this? Why is there only one person up front by the register? Get some more people up front and take care of these orders!"
And, that's just what happened.
If I had actually said something like that, and it caused people to jump into action, I think I would have trouble suppressing a smile. I mean, there really was no excuse for what was going on behind that counter. But, I just couldn't demand the staff jump into action. You couldn't pay me enough to do that. I just stood back and took it all in. But, even after letting off some steam, repeatedly, and causing a commotion at CFC, this woman remained in a dour mood. There were no smiles. There were certainly no thank yous. She received her five enormous boxes of chicken and pounded out of the store. I don't know what could possibly have made that woman smile. It sounds like a recipe for indigestion, if you ask me.
But, the show wasn't over at CFC.
Each of the twenty-plus people waiting for their orders had receipts with numbers on them. One innocent young cashier called out, "193" and then another called out "194". That was just too much for the man holding on to number 192. He loudly swore at the staff (something I could never do) and insisted that he get his money back right away (which I might also have considered under the circumstances). It was amazing how fast his order was served. He also left without a smile.
Okay, the entertainment portion of the meal was over. I got my meal and retreated to a corner. The food was nothing to write home about. The chicken might have crossed the road to get to this place, but I never would again. The entertainment was unique, but I don't want to experience that again either.
I'm still waiting for my personal invitation for home-cooked jerk chicken. In the meantime, I have had some at a local Jamaican fast-food place called Mother's. The service was friendly, the lines were short and I shared my meal with a local artist involved in my mural projects. That meal was savored. It'll have to tide me over until I get my home-cooked jerk chicken.
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