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Hungry at the Beach

This is my third and final post about Jamaica (at least until my next visit). I’m happily staying close to home for Christmas but with everyone else in transit, I thought it would be good time to linger in the Caribbean awhile longer and pick up where I left off… Read more

Catching Up in November

If you’ve followed me the last couple of weeks than you probably understand why its taken me till December to catch up to November. Together with the Thanksgiving/Christmas onslaught and some remodeling I’ve been doing on my site, I’m starting to feel like a snow-globe post-shake, unsure of how it’s all going to settle. Now that I’ve moved my site into a new space, I look forward to decorating, so there will be more changes to come. Sadly because I miss it, I haven’t spent too much time in the kitchen recently.  Jamaica was so inspiring that I’ve taken a few posts (with one more to go) to unpack it all. After one incredible trip to the Caribbean, I was back in NYC just a day then up in the air again and on my way to the Dominican Republic – so there will be a few more travel posts to follow. Read more

Hungry in the Blue Mountains

Just a few hours after landing in Jamaica, we were heading  to Irish Town, St. Andrew. Just 30 minutes from the center of Kingston and 3100 feet above sea level, we made our way through a winding road crowded with people coming home from school and work. Like watching a choreographed dance without music, the opposite side of the road driving gave the impression of near misses that weren’t near misses at all. Towards the end, the road was rocking in front of me like a metronome. I closed my eyes the rest of the way. Read more

Landing in Jamaica

I was promised a powder-puff landing. That’s what my friend Bruce said we’d have in Jamaica – wheels down, puff, puff, touchdown. What happened instead was one of the most terrifying descents I’ve ever experienced – complete with a woman two rows back, loudly making her peace with God, and praying for deliverance. Shell shocked – I started to doubt “the powder puff” landing was really a thing until I heard a mother in the immigration line, point to her children and say, “they’ll never know, they’ll never experience a powder puff.” I may never know either. The machete landing as my sister called it – chop, chop , scream – I could safely cross off my list.  Still, the end was the same – we were in Jamaica. Read more