GEORGIA STRAIGHT

Jerk forces Sweat to Pour

At the Reef, the bold flavours of Caribbean food make people’s eyes water.

Plastic and passports in our pockets off we flew to the British Virgin Islands and one of those tiny exclusive resorts that advertise in the New Yorker’s back pages.

No. a better idea… Once we’d landed on the tiny airstrip in Tortola, we chartered a 60-footer and instructed the captain to steer a course across the enameled turquoise sea to an uninhabited dot on the map were the sand is as pale and smooth as a geisha’s complexion, and the only sound is the swoosh-swoosh of palm fronds. Sigh.

But we didn’t win the 6/49 last Saturday, so we went to The Reef Instead.

Missing the bold, deep flavours of Caribbean food they know from their Winnipeg days-not to mention those of their childhoods in, respectively, Brazil and Barbados-owners Liz da Mata and Simon Cotton opened the Reef seven months back. Strictly speaking, the menu is more of a cruise to several culinary sports than a one-stop vacation, but the focus is jerk, the original Caribbean slow food, a massively spiced, gently cooked dish that sets expats (and everyone else’s) eyes watering. In the kitchen, Paulette Wedderburn and Laura Brooks-both from Jamaica-marinate pork tenderloin and chicken in lime and lemon juice, a slew of herbs and spices, and crushed chilies and Scotch bonnets, those small, death-dealing peppers that in terms of heat, are a nine of the Richter scale. Cheeks picketed, pores opened, and sweat poured as we dug into a whole mess of jerk chicken wings, cooked to the point of falling apart when we tried to fork them up.

They were outstanding, especially with johnnycakes-fried dumplings, basically, round, brown, crisp, and hot-to sop up the last brown drop of the volcanic sauce.

Another time, we plan to stay among the starters. Cod cakes with roasted -red-pepper salsa, coconut-line shrimp, and Jamaican patties with tamarind sauce all sound worth a shot. Caribbean tapas? Why not?

The rest of the menu circles the islands: Jamaican sandwiches lu003B Martinican chicken burgers lu003B ropa vieja, a slow-cooked flank-steak stew from Cubalu003B and Jamaica’s national dish, ackee and salt fish. That Caribbean standby, the roti, shows up wrapped around plain or jerk chicken, or goat. Almost as large as a business-size envelope, a vegetable version is plump with cauliflower, potatoes, carrots, onions, and corn, all wrapped in a curry blanket. It’s only entry level on the spice curve, but extreme eaters can up the temperature with various sauces, including  the locally made, and accurately named. Fear Itself. They can do the same to the ribs, which sticky and succulent are cooked so long and so slowly that the meat slides off the bone. This is real comfort food, a meat-and-potatoes dish-in this case, sweet potatoes, cooked, mashed, spooned back into its baked shell, and then given a fast five minutes under the broiler. The accompanying coleslaw is coarsely cutlu003B It’s dressing sweet rather than vinegary. There are no fancy gamishes, just a big, toothsome plateful that looks and tastes homemade.

The Reef is a nice place to hang out. It’s not a theme restaurant (the music leans more toward jazz than reggae), but it feels real, with its blazing fire framed by an oil drum, a bar that looks airlifted from you favourite tropical beach, and walls and furniture painted in reds, yellows, and aqua’s, the colours cranked down several notches at night by the miniature oil lamps on the tables, their flames bobbing like fishing boats at sea.

Service is amicable, and the wine list is wisely chosen to focus on those fruitier varietals that team best with spicy food. There’s draft beer too, or for absolute authenticity, bottled Red Stripe and Dragon Stout from Jamaican and Carob from Trinldad, as well as plenty of  rums (even screen for homesick Newfoundlanders) and booze-free drinks like ting and Tiger Matt. Don’t worry, this one won’t wreck your New Years budget. Appetizers are $3.50 to $8/lu003B mains are $11 and less-much less, in the case of rotis. Around $30 should do it. One last thing: before you head out into the cold, do what your mother always told you, and visit the washroom. Take my word for it, you’ve never seen tropical fish like these.

Mia Stainsby

Sun Restaurant Critic