Chicago, Chicago, Take 1

I find myself beginning yet another post with profuse apologies for my acute neglect. If there was a blog reader protective services, they would be knocking on my door right now to haul you all away. I take gross advantage of the fact that most of you know me personally and love me dearly. It is a fact that I also take comfort in, and I am working on being a more consistent blogger. I try not to make new years resolutions (too much pressure), but I made one this year and only time will tell how well it will go. What’s this one exceptional new years resolution? To write a food blog entry at least once a month – it’s even on my Entourage calendar. As my professional life gets more hectic, all consuming and demanding, I realize some semblance of balance is also becoming increasingly important. My dissertation supervisor said, once I got this job in the middle on nowhere that I was far too popular to be a successful academic in Miami. Already, one of my colleagues here has noted, if I lived anywhere else, I’d never get any work done. It’s why I keep getting on the planes and coming back, even as my trips home to Miami and Jamaica get more epically awesome. But, living here also means, technically, I only get work done. So this is where this blog comes in, a non-work thing that I can regularly schedule and hope to stay on top of. Y’all pray for me, you hear.

Apologies and preambles aside though, lets get down to the food talk, or at least build up to it. To make up for being incredibly bad, I offer you a two-part post in penance – they cover elements of both my trips to Chicago, but one is less foodie than the next and you will soon see why. You with me?

Good. Last Labor Day weekend, my colleague Andy and I took a road trip to Chicago. 6 hours drive, from Missouri to Illinois and back, where I noted at least every 15 minutes or so, “oh my is that more corn?” Chicago is special to me for a few reasons, which all made this particular trip, with this particular travel partner all the more wonderful. Lemmie backtrack some so I can paint you a good picture.  In late 2007, I went on the job market. The professor’s job market is an unwieldy and incomprehensible beast for the uninitiated. It is a multi-round process that begins with the national job lists. At it’s simplest, every fall, between late September or October the job lists come out (MLA is the major one).  Job seekers apply with packets that take them months to prepare and if they are lucky, they get phone calls round about the second week of December with offers for round 2: interviews at the MLA convention, held at the end of the year in a different city, every year. My year, MLA was in Chicago. 

(Hullo MLA in Chicago)

I got three interviews, got my suits ready, roped in Nadia for moral support and we were off to Chicago in the dead of winter on December 27, 2007.  

(Nadia & I at Grand Luxe Cafe for breakfast)

Amidst the excitement of being in the windy city for the first time and the possibility of both our first sightings of snow – there was also the very real reason I was going: to be interviewed by search committees for a job. Yes we saw snow for the first time, the first morning of my interviews. 

Nervous much? Yes. But that’s why you bring along a travel companion for company and moral support.  Nadia’s fantastic-ness and infectious calm aside, I was overcome by the peace that surpasses understanding – you know the one – and though I was really nervous for all three of my interviews, I was fine, not one drop of anxiety. All went well the first time around in Chicago. We saw snow for the first time, built our first little snowman, survived the second round, and moved on to the third round of the job market process – the campus interview. Two out of my three MLA interviews called back – one was the dream job.

What’s a dream job on this particular market, you may be asking? Well, at its simplest, it’s the job at a research one school (one that is engaged in intense research activity) with as small a teaching load as possible (typically 2 classes per semester) – henceforth referred to as R1 2/2. To give you some perspective on the likelihood of landing one of these specialist positions fresh out of grad school as a freshly minted PhD, I should tell you that I applied for 62 jobs. Of those 62 jobs, only 15 were for a specialist in Caribbean Literary Studies (my area) and only 4 of those were at research ones.  Of my 3 MLA interviews, only one was for a R1 2/2 job. Before my placement at Mizzou, my graduate program at UM had never placed anyone in an R1 2/2 job before. I was their first. 

If you know your girl Sheri though, you also know that no story is complete without the obligatory moment of, shall we call it, blondness? I had no prior knowledge of or experience with the 3 schools who wanted to meet me in Chicago. I just knew they needed a Caribbeanist, and were in Kentucky, Virginia, and Missouri. In the intense prep, I didn’t make too careful of a note of teaching loads; the market can be so brutal, the goal honestly is to just get a job. Any job. The dream R1 2/2 job will come with time and experience. I did do a little research on everyone who would be in the hotel rooms interviewing me though. Did I also mention that MLA interviews often take place in hotel rooms? Two of mine did – one room even had a Murphy bed!  But back to the blondness: I didn’t actually process that one of my interviews was for an R1 2/2, before the interview. Nadia did, but she knows me and knew with that knowledge would come pressure and anxiety and I might fizzle; so, she didn’t tell me. 

2 years into the future, we all know that was the job I got and have since been told that the highlight of the hotel room interview was my expression when somebody mentioned that it was an R1 2/2.  The someone who told me that story was the chair of the committee that hired me, and my travel partner for the journey back to Chicago 2 years later, Andy. Likewise, when I returned to our hotel room after meeting with Mizzou, and asked Nadia if she knew the interview with them was for an R1 2/2 job, she said yes, but I knew you would panic and not effervesce like you do when you are chill, so I didn’t tell you. Not telling me I was up for one of the market’s most coveted jobs in my field meant that I was my normal calm casual self. Lets not even talk about how my brain managed to blank on that! As we finished the interview, I even told them it was my first time with snow, that we made a snowman, and that we named the snowman Herman P. Snowpy. 

 (He kinda tiny) 

(Herman P. Snowpy)

That last bit I obsessed a little about after the fact, but was later told by my senior colleague and now faculty mentor, it was one of my most endearing moments.

There isn’t much by way of food to tell about my first trip to Chicago. We ate Shula’s in the hotel – Downtown Sheraton, had deep-dish pizza that neither of us were too impressed by. But the drinks were memorable – our first time with the very grown up port tawny and my white chocolate martini when all the interviews were over. 

(white chocolate martini)

We were in a fantastic food city, but the stress of the job market put our enjoyment of that at a minimum. This of course is where the return to Chicago came in. My now colleague and inseparable food buddy, Andy, then search committee chair regales me with tales of how wonderful the food in Chicago is and made a point of taking me back to enjoy some of the city stress free, which we did last labor day weekend. And mek a tell unoo, never has anything EVER consistently eaten so good!

Next up:
Chicago, Chicago, Take 2

Jamaica: Food Adventures: Sushi!

I have to admit, I had my reservations about sushi in Jamaica and it never alleviated them any when Lesley pulled into Loshusan Mall’s parking lot and said, “the place is in the supermarket you hear.” Conjured in my mind was something akin to the sushi case beside the fish in Publix  (not that there is anything wrong with these sushi bars, but I had the other kind in mind). Alas dear friends, I was pleasantly surprised. So backtrack likkle bit. We had just gone to look at the reception venue for Lesley and Kevin’s wedding, got back home, and walked into the house when I started thinking about what we could eat in those hours that were two early for dinner, but too late for lunch. I said out loud “sushi”? And my ever-obliging BFF (I have 4) says “why you never say dat when we were still on the road? Cho.” With that we were back in the car headed for Barbican.

I have to admit something I am not entirely proud of, but I will anyway; confession is good for the soul yes? Loshusan Mall houses a supermarket, pharmacy, Häagen-Dazs ice cream shop and the Acropolis gaming lounge among other stores. It wasn’t so odd to be pulling into its parking lot for sushi. Of course Lesley’s announcement that the supermarket was where the place was, only made my expectations of sushi in Jamaica fall lower. It didn’t help that when we got to the corner that housed the sushi bar (next to the bakery), the folks behind the counter, preparing the food, weren’t … well … Japanese. There, I said it. Shameful, I know. This is the thing of which I am not proud. I problematically stereotyped. Lesley assured me though, that this was the first time she had been there and there weren’t Japanese sushi chefs, and in fact the proprietors (who were nowhere to be seen) were also Japanese.

Shameful stereotypical biases aside thought, we ordered 3 rolls to share: 2 rainbow, and one Philadelphia roll (not pictured).  

(Rainbow roll: crab & asparagus inside, topped with avocado, shrimp, salmon, or tuna)

I don’t think I have to tell you I was pleasantly surprised. As in, this little supermarket sushi bar in Jamaica ranks up there with my favorite South Florida spots (Akashi and Sushi Rock ). It was so good the good doctor overate (not me, the MD), and folks, she never overeats (the PhD is guilty of overeating sometimes). Never mind that their selection of raw rolls is a little limited. That’s understandable given that many of us Jamaicans nah eat no raw fish. Their cooked roll section is pretty impressive, however. Its proprietors seem to know the tastes of their clientele (there’s even a Hellshire roll), and I think that’s a good sign for happy customers. Never mind also that its tucked in the corner of a supermarket; the seating is comfy, quiet, quaint and um, the prices? Mek a break it down for you. On our first visit, those three rolls, a sprite and a bottle of Wata came up to roughly J$2430, that came up as US$27 on my credit card statement. Not bad for sushi that good. I mean it nuh ordinary you know. If you taste a piece of salmon and sushi, it is primo enough to tell which is which with your eyes closed.

We did go back to Katana Express after another wedding related errand (I discovered the name on my credit card bill). We tried the third raw roll we didn’t have the weekend before, spicy tuna roll, along with rainbow roll and an order of shumai (steamed shrimp dumplings).

(Spicy tuna, rainbow roll, & shumai)

Lightning struck twice and it was as good the second time as it was the first time. And I really like the spicy tuna roll.

(Spicy tuna roll)

There were Japanese chefs this time, but I didn’t care as much, though we did get a promise from the owner (who was also there, but busy with book keeping) that next time, she would make something new for us to try. Lesley says she usually does this whenever she goes. We figure she takes the opportunity to introduce new things that could be added to an ever-expanding menu.  


I probably wont be there the next time, but if you are in Kingston, go check out Katana Express. It promises to please your palate, whatever you prefer, raw or cooked. Being next door to the bakery means you also don't have to travel too far for dessert. We went two weekends in a row, so that should let you know, sushi spot in Loshusan supermarket eat well good.

Jamaica: Ode to mi Chiney family

So, you know by now I'm a country girl, yes?  

(Main Street in the parish's capital, Morant Bay)

St Thomas is described as one of the more rural and poor parishes in Jamaica, whose economy is largely dependent on agricultural production. Over the years it has suffered from the demise of the banana and sugar industries, the closing of the Goodyear tyre plant, and various other industrialized assembly lines. Nonetheless, this is a resilient parish, nestled in the foothills of the Blue Mountain range, with some of the most lush and beautiful landscape I have ever witnessed. Again, the Hillside damn, aka Reggae Falls was a childhood frolic spot. 

Industry may have consistently failed us here in St Thomas, but the land and sea doesn’t. From the waterfront fishing villages that line the parish's coastline, to farms of various sizes and crops, St Thomas still makes good attempts to feed itself and some of the rest of Jamaica. 

Poesy and pride aside, the reality of economic depression is reflected in other areas of the parish. The consistent debate in the country whenever external or placement exam results come out, is the inequity of the education systems island-wide. In the late eighties, and early nineties when my sisters and I entered high school, our parents decided we wouldn’t finish school here in St Thomas, but in a school in Kingston. While Lisa and Allison went to Morant Bay High for a few years before transferring to Immaculate Conception High, I was shipped off to Kingston right after Common Entrance at 10 years old (back in the day high school placement exam). I spent a year at Holy Childhood High and during that year, my parents worked to get me a place at Immaculate. One of my BFFs, Lesley, also shares this story of transfer after the first year of high school. This is also indicative of some of the perceived inequities in education even amidst residents of Kingston. The perception shared by both our parents was Immaculate was the best, and that’s what they worked hard to provide us with (now note the use of perception here as opposed to a more declarative statement; nuh waa upset any none ICHS alumni). She went to St Andrew High before Immaculate and transferred for the second year also, though it would be fourth year before we ended up in the same class and we would grow into batty and bench. As always, food becomes an expression of some of the ties I have grown to appreciate and consider as the greatest blessings of my life.  There is ALWAYS, and I mean always something to eat at Lesley’s house. And I’m not talking chips and chocolate. That’s there too, but the of importance here is what Mommy Eva tosses together in the pots and the Sunday morning breakfasts Lesley still makes for her parents whenever she is home on a Sunday morning.

I think my friendship with Lesley began when we selected seats next to each other in our homeroom in that fourth year of high school. She was sciences and math so we were only in English and Religious Education classes together, but as both creatures of habit, we always sat in the same place – in desks that were next to each other. She would pull down my tie and when I bent my head to pull it back up she would mess up my hair. This was of course pre Be Curly when my hair HAD to be pulled back neat and tidy with not a strand out of place. Can you imagine my annoyance when this flat batty chiney pickney (her long standing moniker that we all use with the greatest affection) would constantly on a daily basis, make a mess of the fly away frizzes that I struggled everyday to tame. I would later learn that showing my annoyance only egged her on, so I’d ignore her. Though I'm not sure if the tie pulling ended after we started wearing the 6th and 7th year uniform which featured no tie, I am almost certain the hair stuff stopped when I cut it all off. Nevermind the cliché in my phrasing, these are the beginnings of a great friendship, built on love, consideration, mutual respect, plenty sessions and even more Sunday trips to Lime Caye. I’ll save the details of some of the exact circumstances of what catalyzed the solidity of our relationship for my maid of honour speech, but I’ll tell you this much, it had to do with her husband to be, Kevin. 

Lunches together at school, led to masses on Sunday so Allison and I could do confirmation classes at Stella Maris. I made it through what I still consider to be one of the hardest times in my life because Lesley was my friend. It wasn’t even long heart to hearts or even pep talks, but the small gestures from her and Teri (another BFF) especially, that made so much difference. Large up to  all my ICHS chicas; special greetings to Lesley, Teri, Tanya, and Caela, who are still significant parts of my every day life. Boarding in Kingston was a difficult necessity, which precluded us from the ease and normalcy of teenage life, but garnered me nonetheless, the friends that are cornerstones in my life. The lady we boarded with thought our average or failing grades were because our study lives were disrupted by going home on weekends. Mommy and Daddy agreed, so after a while we spent weeks and weekends on end in Kingston and couldn’t get Confirmation preparation in our own parish – we’re Catholic you see. I’m not sure if it was part ploy to get a break from Miss Andy’s house or genuine desire on my parents’ part for us to be confirmed, but we started going to Stella Maris with Lesley (also Catholic) on Sundays in my 6th  and 7th year of high school. What was definitely a ploy, was being dropped at Lelsey’s house after English extras on a Saturday morning. Until her dying day, Miss Andy thought those extras ended at 5pm. They actually ended at noon. I don't remember when we decided that that's what we would do on a Saturday afternoon, but Teri’s father would drop me off at Lesley’s after extras and I would just stay there and enjoy not being at Miss Andy’s. Of course, these visits are when I got inducted into the food dynamic of the Chin household.

Round about the time I would arrive on Saturday afternoons, would be when Mommy Eva would get done cooking lunch (only one big afternoon meal is prepared on Saturday and Sundays). She taught me many years ago to make perfect noodles for chow mien (bring water to a vigorous boil, toss in noodles and then count back slowly from 10. Drain the water, run the noodles under some cold water to stop the cooking, then they’re ready for stir fry with the meat and veggies). Once she discovered that I had no aversion to green leafy things like Lesley, she would always have green leafy things for me to eat. By far the best part is hearing her holler from the kitchen “Sheryl!” (both Lesley’s parents have and still call me either Sheryl or Sheri. I wouldn't have it any other way); that holler generally means there’s something good for me to taste. Wait, no, I lied. The best part is that as it was at my house in Seaforth St Thomas, when we were all together, the table was always set, and regardless of any issues, meals for the most part, were had together. Their home became my home too.

Cuisine in this Chinese Jamaica household is mixed. In a recent conversation with Lesley and Nadia, after a trip to Hellshire for lunch and over Devon House ice cream , we talked about the ways ethnic differences play out on home dining tables across the Caribbean region. In Trinidad, as Nadia pointed out, there is Creole food and Indian food, and though you might find curry something just about anywhere, it’s less common to find some yam on the dining table of an Indian home. This got Lesley thinking about her own dining table and asked me if it was that way at her house. Not at all! Though there is a proliferation of traditional Jamaican Chinese favorites (I also learned how to make fried rice, as Mrs Chin puts it, the correct way. Future post: Sheri’s Fried Rice – cause you know mi did haffi mek it mi own too), I’ve had some of my all time favorite peas soups, curries and brown stews at their house. In Jamaica, while there are such things as Chinese food and Indian food, there is also Jamaica food. 

Despite being a nation still fissured along ethnic, racial, class, high and low cultural lines, our food is one of the spaces where we all exist harmoniously, together. It was a food outing that marked mine and Kevin’s first moment as a part of the Chin family. We were all in undergrad and one Saturday Lesley called and said “Daddy says the family is going to the jerk festival in Portland together” and I said “cool, no beach tomorrow then.” And she said “No, but you coming with us. He said the family is going so make sure you call Kevin and Sheryl.” Dat July day did hot nuh bitch, (edited on request by my mommy for more decent language) That day in July was incredibly  hot, but it was one of those very important moments that meant a lot to Lesley and Kevin as a couple and to me as the perpetual third wheel. So here I am in Jamaica for two months and you know one of the important things is to enjoy the culinary dynamic of a family that means so much to me. I’ve been spending the weekends Lelsey isn’t on duty at the hospital with them. I cant even tell you what we ate on Friday, it was so good, and I was so hungry – twas a blur of stir fried veggies and I think there might have been pork. Saturday, there was chicken and green peas, and pork. 

One of my favorite things now is to sit at the table and just talk with Lesley’s mom while she putters around the kitchen. That and the dining table located right outside the kitchen means she wont have to holler too loud when its time for me to taste. We were supposed to be going to a party with food and drink Saturday gone, but I’m not passing up a meal at the Chins for the unknown and I watching the summa body, so I'm trying not to eat two dinners in one night. Twas a tough decision, but I had my dinner before we went out and only indulged in the desert table when we got to the event. Over lunch on Friday Lesley mentioned a craving for he mom's roast beef. 

And in between bites of fish and festival at Hellshire on Saturday afternoon, ever-craven Sheri made a request for curried lobster. 

Sunday dinner was roast beef with a sherry-laced (I think) cream of mushroom gravy, curried lobster, scalloped potatoes, plantains wrapped in bacon, green salad, and the Jamaican Sunday staple rice and peas. 

My family came after church and the Chins and Harrisons feasted. So much about the dat eat good sentiment for me isn’t just about a belly full (I mean don’t get me wrong I am happiest on a belly full a good food), but its also about the filling of my heart and spirit by the people I love. 

So, yeah Sunday dinner did eat well good. Lesley is off, so di deh pon me teet again nex’ weekend.   

Jamaica: Roast Fish

Mi neglect unoo bad bad don’t it! I'm still in Jamaica, but the writing part of my brain is processing work now, so as I pointed out earlier, some things get secondary focus at times like this. Nonetheless, I thought I could share something that didn’t take as much thought and crafting, as I know the "Jamaica: Of white linens and street food" post will. It’s a delicate balance talking about the ways cultural xenophobia and ethnocentrism are manifested in eating habits among travelers, but once I think it through, it coming.

Till then though mek wi talk bout likkle fish; my favorite way of cooking and eating fish: roasting. One of the things that I miss most being in the Midwest is an affordable variety of fresh tropical seafood. Living in coastal cities for 28 of my 29 years thoroughly spoiled me where that is concerned and I am quite the seafood snob. Add to that not having a grill yet (thought I am thinking about it seriously for the fall) and it becomes clear that I don’t get to make and eat roast fish Jamaican style very much. But a Jamaica we deh, so you know seh likkle fish haffi run. As you know by now every thing about food: procurement, preparation, and consumption all contribute to the experience of eating. I still need to tell you about Lisa and I and our 441 pan chicken adventure don’t it? Soon man. Soon. Anyway, last Sunday after church Mommy and I decide we are going to head to the seaside at Port Morant  to look fish.  We stopped at two different spots and ended up with some parrot , snapper , and doctor fishes . Note the eyes on the snapper picture. In case you don't know how to tell when fish is fresh, its all in the eyes. They must be clear and not cloudy. Thank Lisa, or is it Mommy?

Now doctor is a tricky fish. Sometimes, people complain that it repeats (i.e. you keep burping it hours after eating it), or if it's old, its tough when it's cooked. It’s touch and go when you select doctor fish, but if you get a good young doctor fish, season it up right and roast it, it’s really really good. But like I said it’s touch and go, so every time we buy doctor we take the risk and this time it was no different. Whether your preference is doctor, snapper, parrot, or whatever for roast fish, my method is pretty much the same. So what I have for you today (in my best Creative Cooking voice) is a roast fish how to. Whatever you happen to pick out outa seaside, at the fish market, in Publix, Schnucks or HyVee, you can test it out this way. And never mind some of my descriptors, you hear. 

INGREDIENTS

4 whole white fish (snapper, doctor, etc.)

2-3 limes

4 stalks scallions 

1/2 small onion

4 cloves of garlic

1 smallish carrot

4 smallish okras

1/2 biggish scotch bonnet pepper (adjust or optional depending on your tolerance)

1 sweet pepper (bell pepper)

1 package chicken noodle mix (fish tea mix also works well if you have it)

Butter (optional)

Black pepper

Salt

METHOD

(di fixins - minus di garlic, I remembered it at the last minute)

1. Wash fish, and soak in water with the juice from the limes. This goes a long way to cutting some of the raw from the fish, especially if it isn’t super fresh.

(stuffing)

2. Chop scallions, onion, garlic, carrot, sweet and scotch bonnet peppers, slice okras and mix together with noodle packet and set aside.

3. Drain fish, rinse with just water once more and pat dry with paper towel.

4. Tear a piece of foil large enough to wrap the fish securely in (no drips) and put one fish on it.

5. Using a sharp knife, make a diagonal slice on either side of the fish. Do not cut through the middle bone. Depending on the size of the fish you can make two slices on either side. I only did one for the ones I did today.

6. Sprinkle both sides of the fish with salt and pepper to taste.

7. (Optional step) Spread a little (and I mean just a tups) butter on either side to spread the salt and pepper.

8. Open the belly and stuff it with the stuffing mix.

9. Sprinkle some of the stuffing mix on top and wrap the fish securely in the foil.

10. Repeat steps 4-9 for each fish.

11. Roast on a closed grill for 45 minutes to an hour. You can also bake in a 350-degree oven for the same amount of time.

We already know, I appreciate a flexible recipe that can take a good modification and this roast fish is no exception. One of the most amazing things to me about Jamaican and by extension Caribbean cooking is that it is a cuisine of necessity, invention, and convenience. That is, you cook whe u got inna di house.  Take toto (coconut bread) for example, it’s the Sunday dinner dessert that you make from trash. Follow me now, coconut trash from the coconut milk for the rice and peas, carrot trash from the carrot juice, likkle flour, sugar, one or so eggs, spices to taste and a it dat (the recipe in the Enid Donaldson book is the one I use). Nothing is wasted. One of my students made toto for her presentation on Caribbean cooking and brought it to share with the class. It wasn’t quite like it could be if it was made from freshly grated coconut, but the Bakers Shredded Coconut that she used still made a nice toto. Future post: “Cooking Jamaican When is not New York or Miami You Live”. I should be making a list of these promised future posts shouldn't I?

Back to di fish argument though, pretty much any mix of veggies can work for the stuffing; it all depends on what you have at home. There are few things that we always have on hand, like scallions, onions, and garlic. These combine to make the backbone of any good roast fish stuffing. You know if you’re cooking fish, you have to pick up some okra, and after that it’s pretty much whatever else you have on hand. You might also want to put into the belly a water cracker or two (depending on the size of the fish), and then put the stuffing on top of the cracker in the belly. Crackers can also go on top or under the fish, depending on what you like. It's what you have on hand, or in my case, what you remember is on hand.

So yesterday, we ate roast fish with macaroni salad and I’m almost sure by now you're wondering if it did eat good.  Hopefully this answers your question. 

Compliments to Alli B on the super super mango passion drink, the perfect company for a roast fish dinner on a summer evening. The only essential ingredient missing was Lisa. 
 

Till such time, I’ll be where the food is.

Jamaica: Dialing it down a notch

So I’m in Jamaica on a research trip/vacation. I have to figure out sooner rather than later a productive way to allocate time across the two so I actually get research done and not obsess about the work I could be doing during the vacation portion of the program. I’ll figure it out though. I neglected you all in the past two weeks because I was preparing two papers for a conference last week, and of course there was the actual conferencing. I remember mentioning in one of my posts that when I am in work mode, that’s it for everything else – so now you know why I haven’t been sharing the eat goods as frequently as I began. Nonetheless, I am back and have some nyamins related musings to share.

I was at CSA's 34th annual conference all of last week, and Thursday was my first presentation, at 8am. I got asked to be on that specially arranged panel after a few of the original presenters dropped out. I was a little reluctant when my ubiquitous (even post PhD) PhD supervisor called and pitched it – I write on The Pagoda , The Pagoda’s author Patricia Powell would be responding to the presentations (btw she has a new book out The Fullness of Everything ). Good pitch yes? Yes, but I had already submitted a panel of my own, and that would mean two presentations at CSA – something only the incredibly nuff and overachievers do. Yes I know, I fall into both categories at times, but dat nuh mean seh mi like when I’m perceived as either of those ways. I got some really upsetting critique along those lines this past week that I had to call big sis to vent on, and they still bother me, but I’m working on placing it all into a perspective devoid of negativity and brings serenity. Nadia insisted this week that I was so not mellow, but totally high-strung - ouch. We met and became fast friends with a USC colleague Allyson at CSA in Brazil 2007. 

I met her husband this trip, and he called me type triple A and kept on feeding me calming herbal supplements . They did work to take some of the edge off, so if you are a supplement person they might be worth a try. 

I approach pretty much everything I do with a spirit of excellence. It’s a part of my faith system that I work actively to maintain and it hasn’t ever failed me. Of course it comes with requisite anxiety and some stress, but those of you who know me, know that this is something that works, at times exceptionally in my life. Knowing that Powell would be responding to my work, added a little pressure, but there was no way I was going say no – two presentations, and overachieving cyaading or not. Bear wid me, how this all comes to food will be apparent soon. The second presentation was stressful for other reasons; it was about black masculinity, sports, politics and pretty much very new areas of inquiry for me. It was built around the implications of amalgamating the two iconic visages featured in the editorial cartoon below.

This presentation was more about soliciting feedback on foundational thoughts than it was about presenting research. CSA is a tough place to do this because its international and multi-disciplinary – you can get great feedback, but you can also be traumatized. So I started the week with much on the brain. It never made it easier that the presentations were on the last two days, so I was carrying them all week. Put on top of that, I came to Jamaica without starting, much less finishing the second presentation. I prioritized the first one (it would have to be delivered in Powell’s presence) and did something that I have never done before – writing a presentation during a conference – pure nerves.

All this being said, CSA would schedule my panels for possibly the two worst spots on the program: 8am Thursday and Friday morning. Thursday wasn’t so bad. We had a decent audience; even my BFF Dr Chin showed up to offer some support and to see Powell (she read The Pagoda over spring break when we were in Miami buying her wedding dress).  I should add that I was expecting two other presenters. All three of us would present, and Powell would respond. Not so when I get there on Thursday morning. This panel had been plagued by bad luck from its inception. My dissertation supervisor had to drop out of the conference because of a bad accident with dogs that subsequently involved surgery, a wheel chair, and being grounded for three months. Di food story a come; it’s called build up - hold on. The person that stepped in on her behalf should have had a paper, but alas on Thursday morning she says, “I don’t have a paper. I was with Pat last week, and had graduation last week and didn’t get a chance to write one.” Oh, and that’s not all “Paula [third presenter] isn’t coming, so its just you.” Great.

Outside of the havoc wreaked mentally by holding up this panel that I wasn’t even supposed to be on by myself, it went well. It sucked that I had neglected my own proposed panel to make sure this presentation was super tight, but at the end of the day, professionally it was a good thing. In a decent circle of colleagues I am now the epitome of a trooper and Jah know I will be calling on all their asses for the compensatory favors. By the time the panel ended, I just wanted to get some coffee and food (see I told you it was coming). I was sitting alone in the hotel dining room picking at stuff and coming down from heightened annoyance and anxiety when Lesley calls to say she is off and if I want to do something. I thought of the afternoon panels I wanted to see, which included the grad students from UM that I wanted to support and a few interesting films, but thought you know what f%ck it, I want to go to Hellshire.

The combination of sun, sand, sea, and super fresh seafood was precisely what I needed to really decompress from all the anxiety and annoyance I had been carrying all week. Nadia had already changed back into her nightclothes and was fully bedded down for an afternoon nap when I charged into the room declaring, “get your swim suit on, we going to Hellshire.” I love that Nadia only protests for all of 2 seconds and then with just a little grumbling gets up and rolls with whatever I want to do. She is the perfect, pocket size travel companion – and the men in Jamaica LOVE her. We roped in Allyson and her husband Joe, piled into Lesley’s civic and headed out for one of the most delightfully lazy afternoons I have ever had. In one of Hellshire’s signature thatched wooden shacks, on a sand dusted ply board picnic table, over roast fish (stuffed with the pickle they pour over the fried fish lawdamercy!), garlic lobster, festival and a ice cold D&G pineapple soda, I forgot about the stress I had carried all week and even that I still didn’t have a conclusion for presentation #2, scheduled for the next morning bright and early. There is something about super fresh fish that only requires a little salt and pepper to bring out its flavor. When it’s fresh, as in, just pulled from the sea 2 hours ago fresh, you can actually taste what fish tastes like – no lime required to cut raw. We got there too late in the afternoon for snapper, but the firm meatiness of the parrot was a pretty good substitute.  Who can obsess about being obsessive under such conditions? Cyaad me however you want, I know when to take it down a notch, how to take it down a notch, and still shine like a rock star when its time to perform.

It was a perfect afternoon where I got to be with my best friends from two of my three worlds and temporarily forget about work, over the very unique experience of eating at Hellshire. I wonder sometimes about what it will be like when my academic cohort meets up with my other people. 

Like the night before when two of my friends from high school days, Teri and Kimmy, joined Nadia, Allyson, Joe and I for a lyme in the Courtleigh dining room that lasted almost 6 hours. 

Throw in a table (linen, sand, or ply board), some food, libations, and it doesn’t really matter which worlds we all inhabit personally or professionally. All the stereotypes of talking shop all the time, or even intellectual arrogance are of concern sometimes. But then I remember that I try not to socialize with people who do any of those things, and I tend to align myself with people like me, who if we didn’t tell people, they wouldn’t know what we did professionally. For all they know I'm a showgirl. Good friends, the comfort and intimacy of a full belly, as enhanced by the ‘niceness’ of good wine, are among the reasons why from it eat good, mi di deh pon mi teet.

Next up:

Jamaica: Of white linens and street food