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.