Live and Taste Jamacia, in a Philadelphia Setting

PHILADELPHIA - It is common for a college student to get stuck to a repetitive school schedule and forget that there’s life beyond the campus borders. What would one do with time that was usually spent in class but has now been canceled? Considering the class is at night, this leaves more than one option other than a quick nap in-between classes. A night doing homework could have substituted the hours that would have been spent in a classroom, but instead, a fun break was in the works.

Actually, my stomach was the one who prompted me to plan what I was going to do Monday night. That plan was to go have dinner at some place that doesn’t take meal plans or diamond dollars. I was itching to get away from the same bland tasting options that I have been limited to for the past three and a half years, so a change of scene was definitely on the top of my mind a few hours before dinner time.

I love trying different foods. It’s the closest feeling of new experiences I can get, next to traveling. The chance to indulge myself into different ethnic foods that not many people have had before or do not have on a typical basis is what also sparks my traveling curiosity. This is a big world--why limit myself to typical foods that I have on a daily basis? A little place that satisfies my curiosity hides along South Street right off of Broad Street.

This cultural wonder is named The Jamaican Jerk Hut--a place where I have went back to twice. It is not a typical restaurant, but more like a mini-cultural experience. It has been a while since I’ve ventured to this delightful abode and there I went to reacquaint myself with a place that packed a lot of energy in every aspect from food to décor.

So, off I went Monday night with the roommates to bring back the fun and spicy memories of this jerk hut. A trip through the oh-so-glorious SEPTA subway made me think of wanting to get there faster…and out of the sub.  The short ride is worth going through to spend a couple hours in a little place I call Jamaica. The streets of Philadelphia always change from welcoming to skeptical and as I walked west on South Street, I got that feeling once again. Right in-between Broad Street and South until you reach the hut two blocks in, I always get this feeling that I’m heading in the wrong direction. I don’t know why that is, but maybe some of the vacant buildings and open lots have something to do with it.

Usually during the summer and warm spring days, the hut has a huge outdoor grass lot where customers can dine and listen to soft reggae music, but this Monday night, the hut’s outside yard looked like a ghost town. Since the fall weather has crept up quickly, I opted to go inside where the spicy flavors would keep me warm. It’s easy to bypass this little row home-like building since the front exterior’s length is that of a small pizza shop.

Happy to be back here once again, everything looked familiar to me. The menu was spread across the entire wall, written in hand, making the small restaurant seem more personal and one of a kind. Vibrant Jamaican
prints, drawings and pictures were everywhere in the small room. The hut has about seven tables for guests to seat themselves at, which is covered in entirely by a brown paper bag-like paper that you can draw on with chalk inside the box on the table.

The woman at the register fit the typical Jamaican idea that many would think of especially since her outfit and accent came alive when she asked me for my order. I walked up to her intending on trying something new like usual. This time it was the jerk wings with sweet fried plantains and a side. My friends and I passed time by mapping out our plans for the weekend on a big piece of scrap paper.

The best part, yet the worst, was that we had to wait only fifteen minutes for our food but the time ticking by was very much a tease for us. The same way a recently quit smoker craves a cigarette when they smell one burning, is the way I felt when I smelled the spiced meat being seared and cooked. Upon arrival of the food, my stomach had that uprising feeling, from the anticipations, feeling almost as if I was on a rollercoaster about to dive into something worthwhile.

Right in front of me sat a plate of heft. Real meat and food for once covered the entire plate. I liked the idea that this specific meal I ordered was made just for me and not for twenty thousand other people just as it is done every day at school. The jerk chicken tasted just as it should with some spice and kick.

The fried banana plantains were the sweet treat and reason why I love coming back to this little restaurant. It is rare that I have a dinner that includes something sweet, spicy, sour and salty all on the same plate.

When the fork hit bottom, a great feeling of accomplishment exuded. A rare occurrence to my pallet that night was highly worth the effort or putting up with some of the undesirables during my travel to the quaint hut that takes me out of Philadelphia and into another setting.