Laurette I.
Google
Location:
From the outside, the establishment has all the charm of a hastily assembled pop-up—shabby, cramped, and far from inviting. You step in, place your order, receive a ticket, and then attempt to wedge yourself into a waiting area that is scarcely larger than a broom cupboard, furnished with what appears to be a retired sofa.
A small crowd had spilled outside, and unfortunately, several were indulging in herbal recreations, the smoke of which drifted freely into the waiting area. I had no desire to involuntarily participate in their extracurricular activities, so I retreated to the cold outdoors where, at the very least, the air was unpolluted.
I will admit, waiting there was not the most reassuring experience. It wasn’t simply the fact that the crowd consisted entirely of men; a few looked… less than trustworthy. I found myself clutching my ticket as though it were an access pass to safety.
⸻
The Food:
What arrived was, without exaggeration, the worst Jamaican food I have ever encountered. I refuse to believe the cooks are Jamaican. In my experience, Jamaican chefs can turn even the humblest ingredients into something soulful and flavourful - this, however, was a culinary identity crisis.
I initially ordered oxtail, only to be told they’d run out, so I settled for brown stew chicken with rice and peas, accompanied by two dumplings. The portion size was respectable, but the chicken itself was desert-dry, and the peppercorn sauce tasted more confused than complementary.
The dumplings were the true shock: shaped like miniature beignets yet somehow undercooked, with a texture alarmingly reminiscent of rubber. The flavour - if one can even call it that, was absolute zero. I am still genuinely baffled as to how a dumpling can taste of nothing. It defies logic.
⸻
Summary:
Needless to say, I will not be recommending this establishment, nor will I be returning. It was a waste of money, time, and patience. Do not be deceived by the long line outside; perhaps these patrons simply do not know any better.
Surely, somewhere in Bristol, real Jamaican cuisine exists, vibrant, authentic, and cooked with passion. My search continues. It simply cannot be this difficult.
