I grew to pride myself on my ability to practice extreme amounts of restraint and discipline in…read morerecent years, and, like with many of the habits I fixate on, I did not practice this in moderation and allowed it to bleed into most spheres of my life. This included my dining habits.
I used to frequently deny myself small pleasures like baked goods, coffees, and restaurant outings, prioritizing my outrageous savings goals every time I felt the urge to indulge in an "unnecessary spend". Over time, I became quite the expert at pointing to sidewalk sandwich boards with enticing menu items, saying "that sounds so good!", and continuing onward, the thought of actually purchasing the food never crossing my mind.
I've since met my original savings goals and grown as a person (ever so slightly). And I am now knee-deep in the obligatory quarter-life crisis that seems to hit every over-achieving asshole 2 years post-grad. It is a phase that I can only describe as both invigorating and soul-crushing. I am finding myself growing bolder and more inquisitive with every passing day. I'm registering for lessons in extreme sports I only learned about mere hours before, I'm saying yes to impromptu cross-country and international trips, and I'm also finally allowing myself to get a plate of jerk chicken when I want some damn jerk chicken.
My mother and I happened to park right by this small Caribbean joint in New Brunswick while meeting with my sister earlier today, and I kept staring at the restaurant, marveling at the menu items painted on the black sandwich board by its front door: "Oxtail, curried chicken, plantains, jerk chicken, rice and peas, stew beef...That sounds so good"
"Go get it!" My mother said.
Now, I would previously have come up with an excuse to avoid making the purchase. But as I have just explained, I've entered a very Bourdainian time of my life. So I wasted no time--I sprang out of my seat and walked into Cool Runnin's with a smile plastered to my face.
Everything inside just felt *right*. It was a tiny restaurant with harsh, white lighting and no seating inside. The walls were painted a buttery yellow with touches of coral and green throughout. There were two fridges that were packed with small slices of rum cake and an assortment of juices. The counter at the front was small and adjacent to a wire frame shelf that was lined with several brands of plantain chips. It felt like I had wandered into a small, roadside store in Kerala.
The woman who took my order was lively and warm and had a thick Jamaican accent that made every exchange feel like a hug. She was operating on island time; she moved slowly, joking with me as she poured the rice, chicken, cabbage, and sauce into my takeout container. And she paused, several times, to take bites of a cinnamon apple cake she had just baked. The container was wrapped in a plastic bag, which she sealed with a small pink sticker: "Here ya go, babygirl", she said, handing me the bag. I don't think I could have smiled any wider.
I skipped back into my car, beaming.
The food was, to no one's surprise, incredible. The chicken was sweet and a bit spicy. The meat was practically falling off the bone. The sauce and rice complemented each other beautifully, and the simplicity of the cabbage balanced out the otherwise heavy dish. My parents loved it too.
I will be back to try more menu items. Or perhaps to get this jerk chicken again but on mac and cheese next time...