Now, don't get me wrong. I love all the jerk chicken and jamaican places down Brixton way. I mean, it's not that hard to make it good, it seems. And rice and peas always go down well.
But when a new place opens up and is constantly filled with men in black or navy ski jackets and hoodies, you just have to stop in.
Something tells you this is the place. There's a hubbub. Half the stuff is out (at about 7PM on a Tuesday). The sound inside is almost deafening with lilting Jamaican patois. It's probably best to just ask what's left rather than look at the menu. There's not a microwave in place.
You place your order ("Oxtail? OK... Oh, sorry. Oxtail finished. You like steak?" Yes. Yes I like steak, cooked down with chili and soft and succulent over rice and peas bursting with flavour and texture with some steamed veg on the side, all in a massive tin for £7. A small, which is enough, really, is £5. Everything is small/£7 large/£7)
The man eating something -- chicken, you think-- which is wafting lovely scent across your nose, making your stomach grumble-- stops you and says "Eh, you know about this place? it's good, good food". You smile and say that's what you heard, not wanting to admit you were just judging by the crowd, and maybe you thought they had another business "on the side", but everyone's in here for one thing, composed of spice, rice, beans, veg, and some sort of flesh.
All fabulous. All cheap. A bit chaotic. Completely fantastic. read more