JERK!

When I am looking forward to a really good feed it's always hard to make the choice between quality and quantity. At the Notting Hill Carnival there was no such dilemma. What looked like the aftermath of a large scale avian cull, jerk chicken lined the streets around every bend. To make your way to the feeding holes, of which there were hundreds, all one had to do was look to the skies and follow the smoke. While the jerk chicken was most definitely the star of the show, there were other less known Caribbean foods on offer too - like saltfish and curried cow foot. Though I would have loved to have spent more time sampling the culinary delights, I found my self distracted by the drinking and merry-making. But as is always the case after a solid few hours of beer guzzling, a food time-out was much needed.

There is nothing delicate about Caribbean cooking. It's absolute 'no-nonsense', bold stuff! The chicken is beyond cooked, it's charred (but in a good way) much like a tandoori. What I did notice however was that unlike tandoori the chicken was thrown on to the grill with the skin on, and the skin bore the brunt of the heat (and mostly vapourised). This kept the meat quite moist. Got me thinking whether a similar trick would work with punjab da kukkad. Though I absolutely love the charred taste a coal fire imparts on food, I have been disappointed many a time by chalk dry tandoori chicken and leaving the skin on could be the answer.

The jerk chicken was served up with rice and peas and salad, all topped off with some chili sauce. Now, for the eagle eyes out there who are wondering where the peas are, well, there aren't any! It should be called 'rice and beans' as far as I am concerned because there wasn't a damn pea in sight. I went for the optional dumpling out of curiosity and quickly realised that it probably wasn't the best choice. Think of the dumpling as a savoury, deep fried dough ball that could second as a throwing weapon and take out a small child; maybe a roasted cob would have been more appropriate.

But what really hit the spot after a dozen cans of Red Stripe was the curry goat (yes, not goat curry or curried goat, it's CURRY GOAT). I was meaning to get one all day long but only got around to it towards close, when the rice had run out, hence the bread. In hindsight, dumplings soaked in the curry would have gone down a treat. The curry was extremely oily and extraordinarily salty. It was perfect. Being Indian and hence predisposed to having a weak ticker, I think one of these bi-annually would do me. From the blend of the 1001 spices that probably went into it, the thyme and the turmeric really stood out. I am not too sure whether I could taste the turmeric or just knew that there was plenty of it from the colour of my fingers once I was done stuffing my face. I think the curry best represented the Caribbean, the melting pot of cultures that it is. The Indian influence I could most certainly taste. As for the rest, I am pretty sure they were in there somewhere.

Oh yes, the ketchup. I did tell him off.