Jerked by unknown prices
JamaicaMe confused
By D.K. Crawford 11/01/2007
We arrived at a silent, dark restaurant. I hadn’t been able to contact them by phone, nor could I find any current information on the Internet. Around 6:40 p.m., an SUV chock-a-block with people drove up and the family of the proprietor hopped out. As they opened the doors and turned on lights and music, the restaurant came alive.
There was vibrant carnival glass everywhere — not a surface spared. A sienna-hued rice-paper parasol loomed above us. The tablecloths had plastic overlays and my side was sticky. I dubbed the décor Island Kitsch, and my friend, Georgia, thought it looked like an estate sale.
Chioma, the owner’s beautiful daughter, came to our table. “My Mother, the ‘live menu’ is running late,” she said, then proceeded to list the many drink selections in rifle-fast succession. I chose the tropical punch, and Georgia had a Kola Champagne.
Our drinks arrived in ice-cream parlor glasses. My punch consisted of passion fruit, mango, soursop juice and some sort of mystery alcohol that sounded like “Koo-Yoo.” It had a hint of sour and a light kick. Georgia’s soda tasted like a combination of ginger ale and cream soda.
The dinner menu included jerk chicken or goat, some seafood choices and oxtails. We asked several questions and chose the jerk chicken and the Curry Rundown. We also decided to split one small salad.
“Bread is coming soon,” Chioma said. “Everything’s fresh, so it’s gonna take a while.”
The bread was steaming hot and resembled classic soda bread.
“Wow, that’s one big salad,” I said as Chioma put down the bowl.
“No, it’s not that much when I put it on the plates,” she replied. She dished out two glass flounder-shaped plates full of chopped fruit, vegetables and romaine lettuce with raspberry vinaigrette. We enjoyed it but yearned for some form of contrast — either a meaty nut or a sharp or salty cheese, something to cut the fruit-on-fruit flavors.
Our entrées arrived beautifully plated. Each dish had two raw, half-moons of squash, two pieces of cooked plantain and a serving of rice and peas. The Curry Rundown contained golden curry, coconut milk, shrimp, peppers and onions. It had a sweet flavor and rated 2 out of 10 on the hotness scale. The shrimp were cooked perfectly.
The jerk chicken was a disappointment. The white chicken breast strips were coated in what resembled a thick barbecue sauce. The jerk I’m accustomed to is a piquant rub of allspice, cinnamon, nutmeg, brown sugar and scotch bonnet peppers, and the chicken is usually moist and falling off the bone. This chicken, however, was a little dry and the sauce lacking.
“The shrimp flavors strike me as something special,” my companion said. “Whereas this (the jerk chicken) tastes average.”
Finally we chose to share a piece of “waterless” cake.
“My Mother replaces the water in the cake with soda,” Chioma said.
It arrived, covered in white zigzags, looking like it had lost a fight with a can of whipped cream. It was dense, like a chocolate brownie with pecans and coconut, and reminded me of Famous Chocolate Wafers.
The disheartening part of dining at JamaicaMeKrazee is when you receive your bill. Here’s a tip — guess higher than you’d think. None of the prices are presented with the many dishes and drinks, nor are they posted. Even if you are vigilant and ask questions, you might still encounter surprises — like a $15 salad.
It’s one thing to have a charming “live menu” but another to try to clarify prices, which was disruptive to dining and not entirely successful. Wondering if the restaurant would open and playing “guess your check” at the end of a meal left me feeling unsettled. I would love to see such a unique restaurant thrive in Ventura, but I am concerned about its longevity. n
DIGG | del.icio.us | REDDIT