A TASTE OF JAMAICA Abundant produce and proud traditions are visible across the Caribbean
island, whether you’re eating at a jerk shack or in a fine-dining restaurant WORDS: BEN OL S EN
THE INNOVAT IVE CHE F CHR I S TOPHER GOLD ING AT S UGAR MI LL RE S TAU R ANT
According to Jamaican chef Christopher Golding, the produce grown on his doorstep rivals that found anywhere else in the world. Originally from Kingston, Christopher trained overseas before his career brought him to Sugar Mill, on the north coast, where he’s become a champion of local ingredients. “Having travelled to quite a few different places, I’ve come to realise just how good our crops are in Jamaica, especially our ground provisions — sweet potatoes, yams and taro,” he says, pausing for a chat as restaurant service begins. “They’re sweeter and richer; all others taste bland by comparison.” Showing me around his well-drilled kitchen,
Christopher outlines other ingredients that are crucial to his cooking. “Aromatics are very important — my kitchen couldn’t function without bay leaves, peppercorns, thyme, coriander and garlic,” he says, as plates of josper-grilled prawns and callaloo salad whizz past. “And then there’s the scotch bonnet. But I don’t want my guests only tasting the spice; you need a good balance, so I never cut the pepper — I just put it in whole and allow it to give flavour without the intense heat.” Christopher’s modern take on traditional
Jamaican cooking has seen tables at Sugar Mill — set within a verdant former sugar plantation — become some of the island’s most
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sought-after. I take a seat under the stars in the candlelit garden, a chorus of cicadas and frogs supplying the soundtrack as I consult the menu, which delivers seasonal produce in unexpected forms. Among the starters are pumpkin soup, an island-wide favourite, finessed with coconut milk and jerk-toasted seeds; a rich and unctuous oxtail, served in ravioli parcels; and Jamaica’s national fruit, ackee, which finds itself incorporated into an elegant flan. While some of Christopher’s inventive
creations might raise eyebrows among traditionalists, others follow a more time- honoured approach, served hot from the charcoal grill. Following an earlier recommendation, I order Solomon’s Brochette — an XL-sized mixed grill of pork, beef, shrimp and snapper, named after a much- loved former staff member who clocked up 50 years of service. Delivered with a flourish to the table, the assembly is doused and flamed with aged Appleton rum from Sugar Mill’s lengthy spirit menu. The meal ends with pineapple carpaccio — balanced by subtle hits of allspice, coconut and ginger — and coffee from Jamaica’s Blue Mountains. As the evening heat starts to subside,
Christopher joins me on the terrace, explaining that one of his key motivations at Sugar Mill is to make Jamaican food visible on a global stage. “When people come here from overseas, they want to taste local cuisine,” he says. “Jamaican food, for me, isn’t just about
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jerk chicken. I want to keep the authenticity of our food and I like to see people using local produce, but I want to re-energise our cuisine and present some of these same ingredients in a new way.”
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THE JE RK JOINT S COTCHI E S
“What makes our jerk so special?” the pitman at Scotchies, at Montego Bay, repeats back to me. “We can’t disclose that secret — just know that it’s the best.” A fair deflection, given Scotchies’ formula has seen it become one of Jamaica’s go-to jerk houses, with two sister restaurants in Ocho Rios and Kingston. With roots in Jamaica’s western Portland
parish, where runaway slaves survived by catching wild pigs, jerk pork is as ubiquitous in Jamaica as Bob Marley memorabilia. Tell- tale plumes of smoke can be seen rising from barrel grills across the island, and everyone, of course, thinks theirs is the best. A foil-wrapped tray arrives at my perch
on Scotchies’ flagstoned terrace, accompanied by rice, peas, roasted breadfruit and festivals (fried cornmeal dumplings). Under the foil is a glistening portion of jerk pork with charred skin concealing smoky meat and rendered fat that falls apart under my fork. Back at the grill, the pitman lets me examine his handiwork, telling me that besides the detour-worthy pork, this place gets through 600 chickens a day.
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