Cuisine of the Jamaican kind...

Hungry happy patron

Writing brief: 'Write about a meal you loved.'

The chef

I love food!  All types  of food and its full spectrum of flavours, textures and colours. Having travelled to various parts of the world and met people from every continent;  I have had the opportunity to taste a wide variety of  dishes particularly traditional dishes from all around the world. Of all of those the meal I loved the most was one I helped to cook whilst learning to make Jamaican food from the best Caribbean chef in the world,  Mrs Katherine Planter; affectionately known as Mum.


I met Mum Planter in Bristol, UK during my final year at law school. She was the mother of my pastor and was like a mother / grandmother to us all. She took me under her wing, taught me how to make Caribbean dishes from steam cabbage, fried fish and oxtail, to plantain, aki & salt fish and callaloo. Some of my best memories of Bristol were made right there in her kitchen spending time with her. One never refused an invitation to Sunday lunch at Mum's house! 


On the day of the meal in question, Mum was teaching me how to make steamed cabbage, my very first lesson. I didn't think there would be much to it but boy was I wrong! We fried bacon, onion and tomatoes. Added garlic and spices and then the cabbage...Mmmm it was heavenly and unlike any cabbage I had ever had. I was so excited about sampling the finished product and as I went to set the table, Mum made the rice. 


I must tell you at this point about my then 'hate hate' relationship with kidney beans. I remember my first interaction with kidney beans was as a child in our family home in Mount Pleasant, Harare. My mother used to make a kidney beans stew which involved boiling the beans for hours until the smell fill the house and started to escape into the garden invading my hiding place. I despised the smell and therefore the beans and convinced myself I was allergic. When it was dinner time I would scream and shout and carry on until I was allowed to have rice and milk instead.


Back to Mum's kitchen. When the rice was cooked she served the meal and gave me rice and peas with my steamed cabbage. Now if you know your Caribbean cuisine, you know that rice and peas is not made with peas at all, it is made with kidney beans! I told her that I was allergic to kidney beans and gave her my childhood story. After hearing it she told me to stop being silly, sat me down and ordered me to eat! Lo and behold I wasn't allergic after all! In fact, I couldn't smell the beans and they tasted fantastic in the rice with the spices she used. Coupled with the steamed cabbage it was amazing! I really enjoyed it and had a second helping!  

I took these images in Bristol outside a Jamaican restaurant in St. Pauls.
The aromas coming from the kitchen made your mouth water from the street! 

Abandoned Place of Worship

This collection of images are of a derelict old church building that has either dilapidated over time or suffered a fire. It is in Bristol City Centre opposite the town centre mall. 

It is such a shame to see a place of worship be so neglected to the point of desolation... The sole comfort one has is that a church is not a place, but the people so when we see these sorts of things it ought not to make one wonder where the church has gone but rather make us grateful that true worship and religious expression is not confined to a building but we can express and experience our faith everywhere we go / we are as the people are the body of Christ which is the church.

ShutterDay: Rain

English weather remembered fondly as...rain

One of the things about England that as a foreigner has been the hardest thing to adjust to is the weather. Its erratic unpredictability is not dissimilar to a double standard man, 'unstable in all his ways'. One can never be sure if it will rain or if the sun will shine or if it will snow or just bring bitter winds from every direction! I must say that the one thing I love about English weather is the snow which is always a high point for me!

But it is English rain that has become an old and dear friend. 

My heart and my cloak cupboard have made room for its many forms... 

We often walk along the street together playing out our relationship. 

Sometimes it shouts at me with a down pour;

Sometimes it drizzles with excitement however short lived. 

Every now and then it mists with frustration as it cannot see the way through. 

More often than not it gently pats me on the head as if to say all will be well;
As it sprinkles itself across the horizon...

Yes it is my long enduring relationship with English rain I love the best...

Friends are the family we choose for ourselves: Mich

Real LOVE gives you wings...

It must first be said that I was a very volatile girl when I was growing up, not unlike an active volcano. Having always been a passionate person, in my youth it was unbridled, raw and wild to say the least. I did not discover tact until much later in life and developed and acid tongue that burned whomever it set its sights on post offence. Yet I had a very gentle, very sweet nature and a heart big enough to love the world's 6 billion plus inhabitants, yet my fear of rejection and hurt shrouded it so well hardly anyone could see it nor understand me...que Mich.

Mich is one of my oldest (having just turned 30! lol) and dearest friends who entered my life at age 16, the beginning of Act 4, scene 1:the Falling in Love...being in Love stage. 

An aside: So that this makes sense I should say at this point that I view my life as a theatrical play with many players, scenes, themes, cliff hangers, laughter and tears. I like to think of the significant stages of my life as acts and scenes much like a Shakespearian play. 

You have heard of one meeting their match, but when I met Mich (pictured below at the 'tender' age of 17) I met someone more than my match...more than me and therein lay the challenge. I was determined to make our acquaintance short and sweet, preferring to surround myself with those who were not a threat or could be dominated so a strong, self assured arrogant boy was an ill fit in my already full on theatrical drama life I call, 'Just Rue'. I was however completely taken by that boy and rather than a brief and polite acquaintance, he became a co-writer in defining what love would mean to me and in my life hence forth...So just like that Act 3 ended and we began a journey together that is Act four; 'Falling in love...being in love' with its countless scenes. It must be said at this point that as in any great Shakespearian play, Act 4 had its many cliff hangers and laughs, cries and ended  in tragedy.

 But I am not going to tell you about that, this post is about the boy and what I learnt from him in the brief time we wrote Act 4 in the story of my life. Looking back Mich probably had not bargained for what he would get in me anymore than I had with him and so when he did fall in love, it was unrestrained, raw, honest and real. He threw his hat in the ring and like fools rush in, he dived head first. Being the more cynical one it took me a while to realise that my heart had betrayed me and ran away with his.

What Mich taught me throughout Act 4 is that love is a choice...an unconditional daily choice to be with and give yourself completely to the one your heart has chosen...He taught me that love has to begin with friendship, be based on truth and thrive through honesty and mutual respect. He taught me that love doesn't always say what you want to hear but it will always tell you the truth. That there is no fear in love and that you are enough...no need to change who you are bend over backwards, reinvent yourself to be loved, real love will find you as you are and love you unconditionally that way. You must understand that at the best of times I am not an easy person to love and at 16 I was impossible to love, get through to, understand but he persevered and his  prize was the best of me. In the end I was the victor with the greatest portion of the spoils in that not only have I known what it means and feels like to be really loved but I learnt how to love others that way. 

So today as I think about that boy who taught me how to love and accept myself. And to give of myself without counting the cost for the reward of loving is always greater than the pain of loss; I am grateful that he loved me once and that the friendship we forged then was genuine. So on this occasion of his 30th birthday, I thought it only fitting to celebrate my friend  by showing him some blog love right here! 

Happy Birthday Mich...see you at 40! :-)