“Yuh waah bwile green banana an yam fi dinna?” my grandmother called in Jamaican patois from the kitchen. I hung over the couch, watching her favorite show, Walker, Texas Ranger, upside down. She adapted to the ease of American-living within the first year of moving to Miami, but her palate never changed. Not knowing how to tell my poor Gran that I’d never want banana and yams for dinner, I responded with a ‘yes, please.’
On the tip of my tongue sat a phrase my cousin taught me: ‘mi nah waah dat.’ But I could never be rude to my Gran and refuse her food. She was my best friend, plus she was my grandmother—there was a double level of respect there. I prayed my mom would let me stop at McDonald’s on the way to the Jamaican store.
Andrea Dammer (left), Dawn Lewis (center) and Lauren Lewis (right). Photo: Candy Moo
Growing up, I idolized everything about Jamaican culture, except the food. Based on aesthetic alone, I didn’t see the appeal of gray cooked banana and off-white saltfish. But I dreamed of the day that my patois would be good enough to avoid laughter.
As an adult, I remember speaking to a member of the Jamaica Tourist Board, Karlene Shakes, who summed up my feelings, “The most important quality that Jamaica holds is its people. This may sound like a cliché but no other country can boast that once you arrive, the smiles and the friendliness of the people embrace you with a warmness that literally hugs you. We are also very strong and never afraid to take on a challenge. Jamaicans and Jamaica have so much to offer that ‘it should be bottled.’” It made me proud to be Jamaican.
In the 90’s, Miami was a Caribbean bubble to which my family only added. At its epicenter sat Jamaica Groceries & Spices. A choice of goods ranging from saltfish to chocho to Ting, and anything else a yaadie (someone from Jamaica) could crave, awaited us every time. Through my young eyes, walking into that store and walking the streets of its mother country offered no difference. The posters, the people, the food all represented a home I’d never inhabited, but so badly wanted.
On Saturdays, locals would gather in the back and pour ladles of spicy goat head soup into Styrofoam cups. Other days, they could sip on run down–a potent stew laden with mackerel, coconut milk, and yams. On weekdays, men would claim folding seats by the front door, surveying an empire that was not theirs.
At the heart of this store today sits sisters, Andrea Dammar and Dawn Lewis, who inherited the business from their parents. With deep affection and familiarity, the two finish each other’s thoughts and respond simultaneously. After moving to Miami in 1978, their family bought the grocery store in 1985—continuing the tradition of importing goods and spices from local islands and Latin America.
Dammar shares, “We have mostly West Indian customers: Jamaicans, Trinidadians, Guyanese, Africans. A few Brazilians come through. The Africans and Brazilians use certain food, and we carry some of their products.”
Where saltfish is bacalao, chocho is chayote, and cassava is yuca, Lewis explains, “Everybody in the West Indies really uses the same thing. They call them different names, but it’s the same. They’ve come in and asked what is so-and-so, and we’ll tell them. They realize it’s the same thing they’re talking about.”
Without losing stride during our conversation, Dammar and Lewis continue to help customers, bag groceries, and rattle off prices without checking. Most of the encounters are quick and cordial—a stark difference to my childhood memories.
Dammar: “A lot of our customers have gotten older now. You know, it’s thirty-something years. Most of them were in their 40’s or 50’s—”
Lewis: “And now it’s their grandchildren that are coming in, which is very different, because they don’t have the same upbringing or same cultural feel that even the kids would have.”
D: “They prefer to go out and buy a hamburger, instead of cooking some yam and saltfish. As generations go, it gets worse and worse.”
L: “But then you have those new customers that’re coming in, and they’re more into organic, healthier eating. So they’re getting into that kind of cooking.”
D: “Some of them are back to their roots, but the young ones that are born here–they’re not into it.”
There’s no malice toward the younger generation, just an air of resignation toward the steam roller that is Americanization. Until I left for college, I too fell prey to the glitz and glamor of Burger King over a bowl of curry goat and rice. The pair of sisters have a vague sympathy for the youth, because they also grew up with a disconnect from their mother culture. As Indian-Jamaicans, their lives remain centered around that figurative and literal hyphen.
D: “The thing is we grew up with Indian food from Jamaica. So, I don’t think we have a connection to India because we’ve never been there. The food–we still think of it as Jamaican-Indian food. It’s not East Indian Indian food. And it’s cooked differently. It tastes…better [laughs].”
L: “Well, you don’t know that, because you’ve never really indulged in the other kind.”
D: “Well, that’s true. I mean, a few Indian restaurants have popped up over here. Some of them are…eh. But I guess, the roti–like Jamaican roti is different from Trinidad roti.”
L: “Whatever was available to them when they landed in that country, that’s what they had to use and adapt their way of cooking. [With East Indian], they use a lot of yogurt to cook with, but that wasn’t available to us.”
D: “We just use spices.”
Photo: Candy Moo
Jamaicans thrive in Miami because the regions are essentially sister climates. Mangoes, humidity, and heat are the tropical equation to make Caribbean people feel welcome. The mix of cultures is represented in our food as Shakes shares, “Jamaican food is spicy and bursting with flavor. In keeping with our motto ‘Out of Many, One People’, the combination of flavors from the different ethnic groups, Africans, Chinese, Indians, Syrians, Germans etc. has produced a very unique taste, which cannot be mirrored elsewhere.”
The Jamaican motto, “Out of Many, One People,” derives from the idea that no matter one’s race, ethnicity, nor appearance, people are all the same. Dammar and Lewis embrace the notion.
D: “When Jamaicans get together, they can be very vocal.”
L: “When we get together it’s–”
D: “Loud.”
L: “It’s fun. We do things that we used to do back home, like the domino playing, the card playing. We listen to–not just Reggae music–but we listen to a wide variety of music. She doesn’t drink. We don’t drink. But then you have those that do. It’s not like a ‘you can’t come, because you don’t drink.’ Everyone’s welcome–as long as you behave.”
D: “There are so many different cultures in Jamaica, but when we get together–it’s Jamaican. It’s not, ‘Oh, we’re from India. You’re from Africa. You’re from China.’ Everything is one culture.”
L: “We enjoy the same cooking. The same Jamaican food, per say.”
Photo: Candy Moo
As a Jamaican-American, life centered not around food, but the action of being fed. As soon as I entered a house, anyone older than me–by one year or fifty—would ask if I had eaten. The caring action of cooking or heating up a plate of food for another individual exemplifies who the Jamaican people are. As soon as your fingers brush around the rim of a bowl, you experience what it means to be accepted, looked after, and fed.
Jamaica Groceries is the lifeforce to the Caribbean community in South Miami. As the hyphens between Jamaican-American, Trinidadian-American, Caribbean-American continue to grow in distance, as younger generations splinter from the ones before them, recipes, ingredients, and flavors tie us back to our roots. The community continues to foster the collective island identity.
L: “If something happened on the street or [customers] don’t see you open on time, they’ll call and ask if everything’s okay. Even when my mother was sick, they would come in or call asking, ‘How’s she doing?’ You know, that kind of thing. Even when my dad passed—both of them actually—we had, I would say, 90% of the customers came at some point during their service to pay their respects.”
L: “There’s still a community.”
D: “But it’s gotten smaller.”
L: “We do have customers that come in and tell you thanks for still being here.”
Jamaica Groceries and Spices
9587 SW 160th St, Miami, FL 33157
Ingredients:
- 1lb fresh ackee or 1 can ackee
- ½ lb saltfish
- 1 tsp black pepper
- 1 tsp scotch bonnet pepper, chopped
- 1 medium onion, chopped
- 1 medium tomato, chopped
- 1 tbsp cooking oil
Directions:
- If using fresh ackee, blanche first; pour off water (for canned, it’s not necessary, but drain water).
- Put saltfish to soak overnight.
- For saltfish — pour off water; add fresh water and cook until tender.
- De-bone and flake saltfish.
- Heat oil and sauté onion, tomato, and scotch bonnet pepper.
- Add flaked saltfish, ackee, and black pepper.
- Toss lightly; cover and allow to stand over low heat for about 2 minutes.
Image: Amazing Ackee