shoutout to chicken shack

before heading down to St. Croix, where i knew i would meet + interview her father, i interviewed my darling Tahirah about her connection to food, land + culture. we sat in a small meeting / breakout room in the building where she worked. granted after hours access by her supervisor, we spent about an hour chatting + laughing over my newly acquired digital field recorder. she was my first interview. technical difficulties (+ the worse luck) have led to that interview being lost. but one of the standouts of that hour was my asking Tahirah what foods she most looked forward to when returning home. after naming a few fruits that her father would put aside + the pot of goodness that her mother prepared in anticipation of her arrival, she began to gush about her favorite spot to eat on the island: La Reine Chicken Shack. “shoutout to Chicken Shack” she sang into the recorder, leaning in close + making that silly Tahirah-face. we fell into our chorus of giggles as i promised her that we would make the time to try her favorite eatery during the visit. Tahirah doesn't ever eat chicken up here in Philly, but when she returns home Chicken Shack is top on her list of “welcome home” tastes. i trusted her, fully, that this chicken + its accompanying sides were well worth the trip.

“i’m having a lot of flashbacks.” Ashley + i sat in the open air restaurant on the side of route 75. we had just finished our interview + garden tour with Errol. he + Tahirah (all smiles + warmth) gave us easy to follow directions, up the road a bit to the long-awaited destination. we arrived just before opening, situated ourselves at a table under the shade of the roof, hot island air dancing gracefully throughout the wallless building. i looked around us, to the palms along the road, the flat, flat land with mountains in the far distance, the colorful one-story buildings, the bus shanti, cars rolling up + down the highway. i too was having flashbacks; turn my head one way + i was back on my favorite island, Jamaica, turn another + i’d swear we had parked on a road in Nicaragua. “Kenya” was where Ashley was at the moment. i mused over how familiar new places could be. “you find bits of home everywhere” I said. “whatever ‘home’ is,” Ashley added. especially as i travel to Black / brown countries, i feel the same energy i feel when i’m in North Carolina, where my mother’s family hails from. specifically, i’m transported to Tillery, a tiny wisp of a town, where my elders still live, where our ancestors are buried, where we return as annually as busy schedules allow; beautiful + lonely. but it was more than just the “long ass roads with all the vegetation + very little cell service” that had us flashing back to our other homes in the diaspora. it was a feeling. almost a scent… like beating sun rays + fertile soil, like waters, fresh + salty, like hot Black skin. like memory. closing my eyes now, i can still smell it, almost taste it. i could have lived in that moment.

another scent was riding the breeze: chicken, juicy, roasting over hot coals. we had gotten up quite early for Errol + Tahirah to fit us into their busy day, + it was just barely past 10:00a; Chicken Shack opened at 10:30. even so, a small line was already forming. realizing that we would certainly play ourselves if we waited until the kitchen officially opened, we followed suit, waiting in line to place our order.

the day’s menu teased our hungry stomachs. we had munched + tasted to our content on Errol’s divine fruits but now it was time for some proper eating. “do you know what you want?” i asked Ashley. (over the course of our friendship, how often had we asked each other that question? i swear all we do is eat.) we looked over the menu for a moment before admitting to the woman behind the counter that this was our first time. “oh, okay. well, let me tell you what we have ready now.” i remember she had a pleasant voice + beautiful brown skin. she told us the kitchen was already a little backed up. we shouldn’t have been surprised. La Reine Chicken Shack is a favorite on the island + if you’re smart, you come early + put in your order ahead of time. “we have the roasted chicken… the stewed goat is ready. the callaloo. we have half chicken + johnny cake.” we both ordered a half chicken (literally, half of a small roasted chicken, the thing that smelled so good)+ johnny cakes, just as Tahirah had made me promise (“you have to try the johnny cake”, “don’t forget the johnny cake”), with a side of baked macaroni. we would have shared an order of callaloo except it was cooked with seafood, of which Ashley is not a fan. so i ordered a small side of that for myself along with a conch soup, another must have suggestion from Tahirah. we placed our order + returned to our table to wait, falling into our phones + notebooks, reviewing our first interview + mapping out the next, while the restaurant filled up around us.

finally our number was called. Ashley went to retrieve our order + came back to the table with three brown paper bags. we tore them open, eagerly, like children unwrapping gifts at Christmas. “it smells so good!” Ashley answered back over the rustling of paper bags + hot aluminum foil, “i’ma f*ck it up”. we christened the meal with Tahirah’s declaration, “shoutout to chicken shack!” before Ashley hopped up in search of hot sauce; “do they have hot sauce?” is another favorite phrase we share. Ashley, who has a slightly sensitive stomach prayed “i hope i don’t get sick”. “you won’t get sick,” i quickly tried to soothe her worries + stomach, “this food is too good… this is blessed food.” “this is blessed food,” she agreed + we both fell into first bite silences.

our bodies knew it was good before we found the words. we both started doing a little jig in our seats. i chuckled, “niggas stay dancing when they eat”. i wonder why that is? i’m sure some biologist could tell me that it’s an instinctive, involuntary behavior. something about the nervous system, maybe. i’ma tell you it’s a cultural thing. a form of celebration for making it to another meal, a dance of praise for the hands that prepared it, a prayer of thanks for the animal + plant kin that contributed. i really don’t know. but i do know we were dancing, dancing, dancing up in the chicken shack.

“the johnny cakes is nice.” “mmm! okay, okay.” in between first bites, i snapped a quick picture to send to Tahirah, proof that we made the proper pilgrimage, before quickly turning back to my plate.

when the food is good, pictures are an afterthought, you know? so i guess y’all just gonna have to go on down to St. Croix to see it for yourselves. but just know that it is well worth that trip. the hot sauce Ashley had acquired from the woman at the register was the first proper pepper sauce we had received on the trip. this was only day 2 for us + staying in Christenstead, the “white side” of the island as our Crucian friends told us, we had been served corny little hot sauces, Tabasco-like things, with our meals there. this sauce (similar to the soon to be discovered Alvin’s) reminded me of the kind i made at home, with gifted scotch bonnets + habaneros, seasoned to death + left to sit, sit, sit in the fridge gathering more + more heat as the week waned. it explained why they had only given us tiny containers of it; a little goes a long way.

the johnny cakes weren’t what i expected. just the year prior, Our Mothers’ Kitchens had served johnny cakes at our community dinner In Search of Zora’s Kitchen, honoring our foremother Zora Neale-Hurston. johnny cakes are mentioned in her beloved classic Their Eyes Were Watching God + our homegirl Chef Laquanda Dobson had whipped up her own version of the dish to serve along side a veganized version of mulatto rice (another dish from the book). but those were more like small pancakes. flavorful + filling to be sure, cause Quan can throw down, but nothing like what i was tasting now. “this is good!” i exclaimed as Ashley + i discussed with full mouths how “johnny cake” means something a little different stateside. Tahirah had warned me of that, but couldn't have prepared me for how much flavor was in that little pastry. it almost reminded me of festival, another nod to my Jamaica, a necessary addition to your side-of-the-road jerk chicken. festival is long, golden, soft + sweet, a perfect partner to a good, spicy jerk. Ashley was reminded of mandazi from her time in Kenya, a donut-like pastry, similar in color + texture but slightly sweeter she said. johnny cakes are fried + puffed a bit, + the trapped air hold so much essence + aroma, so one bite kinda sighs all those bread-y flavors along with tongue. this is actually what Tahirah was most excited for me to try while in St. Croix. + it didn’t disappoint. oh, + it was so filling. that little unassuming cake + all that boldness… in retrospect, it reminds me of my friend; nothing like what i expected, but quickly, a favorite companion.

but everything was good, it was amazing. how i can still taste it over a month, a year later*. the tender sweetness of the roasted chicken, juicy but not dripping; the seafood dressed callaloo, so good, reminding me of my modified Vertamae recipe that i was most proud of (her daughter Chandra telling me “it almost taste like Mommy’s”); the baked macaroni, my forever favorite side, warm + satiating, rivaling anyone’s auntie’s… though perhaps not as good as my father’s. the conch was something special. it’s an acquired taste + consistency, reminiscent of okra. the first time i tried conch i was wasn't sure how i felt about it. this time… it was good. very good actually. but i don’t know that it’s my favorite. the consistency, you know? it was delicious though, well seasoned throughout, the broth perfectly thickened with conch juices. but i had ordered way too much food + i could feel myself getting full. the conch + my second johnny cake were put to the side + saved in favor of the chicken, callaloo + macaroni.

god, we ate good that morning. how we managed to get to the next interview without succumbing to the itis is beyond me.

just this past week, on 02 september 2021, La Reine Chicken Shack marked its 20th year in business. “God bless Chicken Shack. Here's to 20 more” read a comment from a local customer on their Facebook page. i agree. god bless chicken shack. god bless that half chicken that i’m still hungry for + the smelling-like-home johnny cake whose familiar kiss i’m still awed by.

here’s to 20 more + 20 more, + 20 more after that.

*though finished in early september 2021, this story was originally started in spring 2020, in the midst of pandemic-induced productivity. it was since lost to a stubbornly evil hard drive, recently recovered by the grace of, shall we say, a desperate prayer to Vertamae’s spirit.