Jamaica is my playground. At the west end I stay inland in a small cabin, I cook for myself and I walk to a tiny beach. I drink the Sorrell, the Sweet Sop, the Sour Sop, I eat the Aki, the Starapple, the Mango, the Guava and the Tamarind, but I don’t seek a Jamaican restaurant until I get back to the city.
Here’s why: Sisters Caribbean Cuisine in Harlem will serve me better food, and still give me a nice, tall glass of icy Sorrell, the thing I most crave. It’s made from flower petals for God’s sake—how can I resist? It’s tart, sweet, dark purple, quenches and dries my slippery, hot mouth on first gulp.
In New York most of my getting to Harlem is done on CitiBike so by the time I get there I’m really needy. Sisters has a bench outside, a park across the street and a hot breeze in the summer. Sorrell in hand, I’m in ‘Jamaica’, only 25 minutes from home.
Inside, there’s Trinidadian chicken, curry flavoured rotis, jerk chicken (which everywhere is only an imitation of the Jamaican thing), salt cod, dirty rice, yams, greens with okra and many other, west African temptations, very reasonably priced. My sorrell costs about the same as coffee in my neighbourhood.
While you’re reading, please read further-this charming, prize-winning, sweet short story about sweet sop. You’ll smile, which is very, very good for you.
Oh, Sisters is a BYOB restaurant that accepts only cash.