Ackee on Winifred Beach

by Aruna Panday (Canada)

Making a local connection Jamaica

Reveling in the feel and smell of liquid heat after the near freezing airplane cabin, I paused before descending the mobile stairs, taking in the brilliant blue sky and shimmering black tarmac. A few minutes later, khaki clad and stern faced, the immigration clerk asked, “What is the purpose of your visit to Jamaica?” “Tourism.” “Where will you be staying?” “Port Antonio.” For the first time the clerk looked at me and said, “Tourists don’t usually go to Port Antonio.” “I’ve dreamed about visiting Monkey Island.” “Port Antonio is my home parish.” The clerk almost smiled. “Make sure you visit Winifred Beach if you want a real Jamaican experience. It’s local. Aunty Laris’ food stall has the best ackee and salt fish on the whole island. Tell her Rita Chin sent you. I didn’t want to disappoint Rita by telling her I’m vegan and don’t eat fish, so I simply said thanks. She rewarded me with more tips: don’t act flashy with money or jewelry and remember to wear my seat belt. The next day we traveled to the island’s north coast. Graceful coconut laden trees, palm fronds swaying in the breeze, clear shallow water, aqua sky, and bright white sands greeted us at Winifred Beach. It’s one of the few public beaches in Jamaica and the locals are continually fighting hotel developers to keep it free and public. So many delicious scents to taste, such beautiful scenery to photograph; but first stop, Aunty Laris’! In Jamaica, like many places, it’s a mark of respect to call older people ‘aunty’ and ‘uncle,’ even if they’re not your aunts or uncles and even if you don’t know them. Barely five feet tall, salted hair in a tight bun, Aunty Laris had just returned from visiting her newest grandson in New York. She threw her head back laughing when we told her how we found out about her food stall and joined us while we ate. Beside a selection of sauces red hibiscuses and a graceful strand of bougainvillea tumbling out of the metal vase decorated our table. As we devoured our bowls of fresh corn soup with fried dumplings, Aunty Laris told us that she and her sister, Rita’s mother Janet, had had a long-time friendly competition about who made the best ackee and salt fish. “Rita and her mother must have quarreled if she’s telling you I’m the best. If you wait or come back later, Janet will be here, and you can compare our cooking and decide for yourself.” She winked. Hanging around seemed like the perfect idea, so we spent a glorious time napping in macrame hammocks, then snorkeling and swimming. It wasn’t long before we worked up massive appetites by which time Rita’s mother had arrived. We heard her laughing before we saw her and when we went over to introduce ourselves, she laughed even more. Rita, she said, was annoyed because she forgot to add salt to her callaloo, and Janet had pointed it out. Callaloo, they explained, is a leafy green vegetable, very high in iron and a popular side-dish sauteed with oil, onions, garlic, and one of the world’s hottest pepper, Scotch Bonnet. Many people in Jamaica are vegetarians, especially Rastafarians who believe eating plants raises their spirituality. So, it was easy for the sisters to adapt the national dish of ackee and salt fish, to ackee and callaloo. Ackee is a fruit prepared as a savory dish with a mild, buttery flavor. The women put their plates side by side and we tasted. There was no competition; both were delicious. Everything was incredible, but, we confessed, we couldn’t taste the difference. “I’ll tell you something,” Aunty Laris said leaning close, “Janet and I use the same recipe and often cook together. Everyone except Rita knows this. She’s too competitive.” We all looked at each other and laughed until tears came. Exiting Jamaica, I met Rita again. She asked whose cooking I liked best and with a straight face, I said, “Aunty Laris’ hands down.” In reply she pounded my passport with her stamp and dismissed me with a nod.