Misty morning. Rainy night.
Out and the porch I can’t see beyond the tree lines. Marley was well profiled yesterday at the
local Jamaican restaurant. I’d drove
into the parking lot before the wine store and noticed it sitting there. Earlier
I’d decided against a burrito. I’d make
do with whatever leftovers were around. But staring out at the sign, and the
neon “Open” beneath it I figured I’d give it a try. We don’t have Jamaican roti in my neighborhood
in Beijing.
Turns out they don’t
have them here, either. Well, not
today. They can do me a goat curry wrap,
which sounds like a winner, and I suppose I try the Jerk chicken, if only for
the name, as I can’t really place the taste.
Callaloo and Aki are food names that wind up in Jamaican music, but I couldn’t
tell you want they are. Discussing with
menu with a woman who certainly didn’t hail from Jamaica, she politely
corrected me, no, callaloo was not a conch or a whelk but a green vegetable,
like a collard green and no, it was not just a local patois name for a ‘collard
green’, but rather it is distinct plant, the callaloo.
An enormous Afro
Caribbean gent was standing at the bar, waiting for his order. He smiled at me and looked oddly like Howlin’
Wolf the moment he did. A quiet gent by his
side looking more like Phil Collins, was waiting on the same order. On the walls, were three different posters of
Robert Nesta Marley. One, he was seated,
strumming a Les Paul. On the opposite
wall he’s playing soccer and every song that comes on, is a Marley song, which
is fine, but one assumes there is a multitude of Jamaican interests the owner has
chosen not to share, beyond all this Marley hagiography.
Gene Harris and
the Three Sounds is new to my ears. The
album titled “Elegant Soul” lives up to the claim. Spacious, confident I like everything but the
strings from the outset. Tired this
morning. Up early and now I want to go
back to bed. I have so much to do. Coffee then to clear up this misty
morning.
Sunday, 08/18/19