Nope, I did not dine with a jerk, I dined on jerk, as in jerk chicken (not cannibalizing a jerk). For our rainy Friday afternoon dinner (and it really was rainy, why even Union Station got flooded) we ventured east to Mr. Jerk for the city’s finest jerk chicken. And just to satiate my curiosity we also got oxtail stew and a goat roti. It was a cold miserable windy walk home. It was not helped by the gnawing hunger. Or the confusion. While we placed our order a guy (and his friend on the phone) seemed to be picking a fight with the lady (whom I assume to be the owner) over her owing him a meal, and her saying it was someone else and periodically complaining about the shoddy reception. It was all very weird, confusing and most of all: it held up the line. The line that was to the door, we had arrived just shy of the dinner rush. And the place is a broom closet.
So how was the jerk food from a broom closet sized restaurant with weird goings-on? The chicken was amazing, it was borderline charred and yet still succulent. The real stand-out however was the oxtail stew. Not really a stew so much as chunks of meat on bone sitting in a broth. The meat so soft & just fall off the bone delicious. My first thought was that it tasted like braised beef (more specifically, the kind you find in goulash)… and then I Googled oxtail stew and found out it IS beef. That would explain the strong beef taste.
The goat roti was the sad laggard, it was nowhere near as good as the previous roti from that place whose name I forget. It was the spiciest of the dishes, but it loses points for not enough curry and bits of bone. The goat meat, well it just tasted like meat.