If you don’t know that joke, I’m not telling it to you. Go look it up. I’m total catty wompsy this week and am having Momo Mondays on Thursday. Maybe Saturday will be Thuper Thursdays. Who knows? El Hybrid will be in town, so I may not have time, as I may be drowned in a barrel of scotch (granted, good scotch, the man knows his stuff). Today, we celebrate jerks. Actually, jerk. Not a particular jerk, but…okay, you know where I’m going with this. Caribbean food. Oh, god. I love it. I really got my first taste of de islands at a small little hut in Long Beach called Cha Cha Cha, known for its frequent gay crowd (I usually went with Petunia, who I was with at the time, so SHUT UP, STUPIDS). That first REAL taste of jerk chicken, with dirty rice and beans and plantains….oh GOD. I was hooked. Johnny is the one who first took me there, so…blame him. There’s something about the combination of sweetness and spiciness that just exudes….CHILLIN’. Ah. There’s not a dish I can think of that I’ve had there that didn’t just make me want to sit in a hammock and say things that make white people sound lame, like, “YEAH MON,” and “Everything gon’ be irie, mon, YAH.” And drink a Red Stripe. It’s good stuff. I have to admit, I haven’t been to a Caribbean place in NY yet, but that’s on me. I keep wanting to save it for a special occasion, but fuck that noise. I NEED ME SOME ISLAND FLAVOR. See how lame I sound?