Posted by Kulsum Merchant in caribbean, restaurant review on September 16, 2007 at 8:14 am

The Real Jerk
709 Queen Street East
416-463-6055
Dinner for two, with all taxes and tip: $40

At the south-east corner of Queen Street and Broadview Avenue is a tri-coloured corner the likes of which there is none to be seen in Toronto. With a red, yellow and green paint job, a big, shiny, smiley sun and an enormous palm tree stuck to one side of it, and a bamboo-font proclaiming it to be The Real Jerk, it's hard for me to decide whether this corner is an eyesore or one of the happiest-looking places in the city. I choose the latter. To be fair, they have had to compete with large posters of undressed women on the facade of the (in)famous, now-defunct strip club Jilly's, across the street.

Inside is more of the same. The dim interior looks a lot like an old-school Jamaican dancehall, what with its bamboo bar, bright and dark colours, and wall paraphernalia. My friend and I have decided to go there on a Wednesday evening to have a quiet dinner for two. It's too dark to take any decent photos of the food, so I just settle down to enjoy it. Having been born and raised in Kingston, my friend is well-versed with the various reputations of Jamaican restaurants in the city, so I trust him to give me some recommendations on this eating adventure.

Careful about his diet, my friend orders a light meal of Red Pea Soup ($4) and a Chicken Roti ($6.50). Ready to pig out, I scan the extensive list of meat specials and order the Pepper Shrimp starter ($7.50), and as an entreé, the Jerk Chicken/Oxtail Combo ($12) that comes with rice and peas and coleslaw. As we wait, my friend explains that the rice and peas, cooked in coconut, are a staple dish with a meal. The trick is that the coconut flavour of the rice should be so subtle as to be almost unnoticeable.

His soup arrives, and I taste it. It is unfortunately lukewarm. Red Pea is a bit of a misnomer, since what's in the soup are really red kidney beans. It knocks my socks off. The soup is a coconut-flavoured base, filled with beans, potatoes, thin noodles, and the distinctive, sour-pungent hint of scotch bonnet pepper. I'd know the taste of that pepper anywhere. I had a run-in with it in my own apartment while chopping it one evening. The heat from the pepper made me choke and set off my fire alarm. I'm not joking. The soup has a thick consistency, and can be eaten as a meal in itself. It's well-salted and not too spicy (the trick is to cook the scotch bonnet whole with the soup, then pull out the pepper and throw it away). The soup is delicately falvoured with hints of coconut, pepper, and a mouth-freshening parsley garnish.

My Pepper Shrimp arrive a few minutes later, and I'm extremely disappointed to find that there are a mere seven shrimp, all tiny and sadly arranged in a ring around my plate with a lump of cabbage and sauce in the middle. I find it utterly ridiculous that I'm paying a dollar per measly little shrimp, plus fifty cents for a lump of cabbage covered in sauce, but I imagine the dish must taste outtasight, right? The taste redeems the price somewhat, but this dish is definitely not for those who are intolerant of chili heat. Going back to my Scotch Bonnet story, I was making ceviche with that fire-alarm pepper. I put it in a bowl with some raw shrimp and added lemon. A few minutes later, I saw that the shrimp had turned orange. It had actually cooked. I ate some ceviche, and I think I may have burst a blood vessel. The Pepper Shrimp is a lot like that experience. My lips catch fire, then tongue and throat. Sadly, I'm a bit of masochist when it comes to eating spicy food (I eat my wasabi neat), so I actually enjoy the starter - and dammit, I paid a dollar per shrimp for it. If I were to remain neutral, I'd say skip this dish, because there's no other flavour to it than pure chili. I kindly offer my friend some, but he's already seen the smoke blowing out of my ears, so he wisely refuses it.

Our (thankfully) generous entrees arrive together. I dig into the rice and black beans with relish, partially because I'm hungry, but more so because I'm desperate to put out the five alarm fire in my mouth. My tastebuds soon settle down, and I am able to appreciate my meal a little more. A tender, if slightly fatty piece of oxtail, and a crisp, skin-covered jerk chicken sits atop a bed of rice and coleslaw on my plate. The chicken is a bit overcooked, and its skin and flesh fall away from the thigh and leg bones; however, its all-spice and strong pepper dressing makes up for what's lacking in texture. The red, bony meat of the oxtail curry soaks in a strong melange of nutmeg, tomato, garlic and onions. And the rice and beans barely taste of coconut at all. Overall, my main course is a fine meal for a hungry belly, but somewhat disappointing for a discerning one.

My friend's Chicken Roti is even more so. My friend doesn't enjoy it. I take a bite and balk. It appears that the chef got a little too friendly with his can of Ship Brand Curry Powder. The roti has no subtlety at all, as the overpowering taste of instant "curry powder for dummies" is all that can be discerned of this dish.

There's no desserts listed on the menu, my friend leaves his roti half-finished, and I'm too full to eat everything on my plate, so we ask for it to go, pay the bill and leave behind a good tip for the friendly service staff.

Do I feel irie at the Real Jerk? I'm afraid not. I can't say the experience was good, nor can I say it was bad. I'll have to settle for the category of notbadness for this one. The place has a good reputation, so perhaps it was an off-night. Or perhaps I'm finding excuses for the very-average food. I'd certainly go back there for a fix of the Red Pea Soup and oxtail. I'd try some ackee next time. And having suffered the consequences of five-alarm-fire, seven-dollar-shrimp the next morning, I'd avoid it like the plague.