Today I'm coming at you live and direct (well, about 5 hours ago I was) from the Back A Yard Caribbean Grill on Willow Street in Menlo Park, CA where I'm awaiting my lunch with great anticipation. I've ordered the oxtail and jerk chicken combination and I'll wash it down with some ginger beer. At present, I'm thinking about how fortunate I am to work a mere 2 minutes away from this spot and am imagining the possibilities, assuming, of course, that the food is here is good. I am, after all, a tremendous fan of Caribbean food. I'm not ready to anoint them into the category of certifiably authentic, can't miss eat spot yet until I've had a wonderful dining experience. I hang out with a bunch of Caribbean cats (3 Jamaicans, 1 Bajan-from Barbados in case you ain't "up", and a Trini) so I've had a chance to taste some very authentic island food quite often. Having visited that region a couple times, I've also tasted the goods straight from the source. Oddly enough, I'm excited by the fact that its a hole-in-the-wall with seating for only about 16 and nestled into the last storefront near the corner of this residential street.
I need a good meal too. Sure, Thanksgiving is but 2 days away. I have, however, worked up a pretty hearty appetite after poring through the new product material on my new job after slogging through the traffic that seems to be permanently in effect on my route to work. You see, I don't DO traffic. Well, that is, not if I can help it. I've become so spoiled in these specialty vocations that I've managed to keep that I don't know if there is any going back for me...EVER.
Traffic is the bane of my existence. It really gets under my skin so I avoid it like the plague. Unfortunately, I work in at area that affords me virtually no opportunities for short cuts. If the main road is congested, which, by definition I-880 is at all times, I've got to just sit and wait.
I'm not cut out for traffic. I get antsy. I get stiff being folded up like a pretzel in a car, and then there is the issue of the stupid people, my brethren in the bottleneck. When they aren't endangering my life, they can be quite entertaining. Well, actually the entertaining things they do are the very things that endanger my life. It's usually a sure bet to find a few ladies applying makeup in the rearview mirror, holding their compact in their left hand,wrist slightly touching the steering wheel to keep the vehicle steady. Today I was also trying to avoid the clown in the grey 745i that was not only slowing to about 35 for no apparent reason, but was also routinely jerking the wheel back when he realized that his driving by braille was causing him to veer into dangerous territory. Upon closer inspection, I could see that he was reading AND REPLYING TO emails on his Blackberry. Needless to say, at the first sign of daylight, I sped past him as quickly as I could. Finally, there was the lady in the LX470 that just took make-up to a whole new level. Not only was she putting on her face (and quite a tall order that was) with the visor flipped down to use its mirror, but she also had her head cocked to the side so she could keep that phone conversation going. So alarmed was I, that I stopped steering with my knees, grabbed the wheel and moved over a couple lanes.
Okay, now I'm starving. Like I said a minute ago, seating is a hot commodity in here and I've yet to comandeer a chair in here, but I've already placed my order at the counter. Making matters worse, 2 people broke protocol and went past all the rest of us that were waiting and took the table that was opening up (my table). Ostensibly, the rest of us just liked standing around waiting and had no intentions of ever taking a seat and actually partaking in a meal.
My food couldn't come fast enough. When they put it in front of me I almost forgot to give thanks, but I caught myself, prayed, and then went at it. It's a good thing that I'm dressed fairly nicely because I might just put my elbows on the table and start shoveling the rice and peas into my mouth. The spicy sweetness of the jerk chicken is seducing me, flirtatiously tickling my nostrils and making it very hard to stick to my plan of eating the salad first. The oxtails are falling off the bone and the plantains are done just right. I've definitely come to the right spot and Chef Robert Simpson has just earned himself a regular customer. Looking at the back wall at the menu, I notice that the escoveitch fish is only available on Fridays, so I make a mental note to make sure I mix up my routine every now and again so that I can check that out. Dennis Brown (DB, to those of us in the know) is wailing through the wall mounted speakers and giving my auricular senses similar satisfaction to what had already been realized by my olfactory senses and a great accompaniment to the food that was oh so pleasing to the palate.
I've got to jump right back in the traffic after my 530pm conference call, but this meal will at least have me in a good mood for the rest of the workday. I look forward to the next time I can sandwich some Irie between two slices of irate.
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