giving thanks for life…pay yaself a compliment in the comments, it’s on me
not at all christmas related but just seen this so you should too. merry christmas from trinidad, where every day is a celebration.
“I’d rather be a free man in my grave Than living as a puppet or a slave” – Jimmy Cliff
grocery shopping selfie to wrap up the weekend
70s Energy! Weekend Vibes!
He Is Risen.
He Is Risen.
🇹🇹🤝🏽🇯🇲
I’m terrible at the Instagram – and I’ve been locked out of our @clydescaribbean account, so if you know someone that can assist, holler me – but I hosted a dinner for 90 people last night at Niño Gordo. It’s no easy task teaching someone to work with ingredients they’ve seldom used before, in ways they’ve never done before – add to that the language barrier, ounces to grams, farenheit to celsius… you kinda setting yourself up for failure. Dinner was a huge success. Pumpkin corn soup, saltfish accra, jerk chicken, curry rockfish with channa and aloo, stew beef with macaroni pie – it was hard to choose a favorite (mine was the Stout Ice Cream that Omar hand churned in a soup pot just before service). “Culture” is a word that’s used loosely nowadays, consequently by those who have little grasp of it in actuality. Huge thanks to those that helped me to tell a story and share a bit of my culture in a foreign land. Come see us seven days a week at the Time Out Market on South Beach – if you’re lucky you might catch me doing my best Gordon Ramsay (Ramsaran?) impression in the kitchen. We’ll be popping up at Soho Beach House in Miami for the F1 Grand Prix Weekend Celebration on May 7th and 8th, and we’ll be at The Cape in Cabo San Lucas the last week of June. We make it ourselves. From scratch. With love.
On My Way To Deck Your Halls #OMWTDYH
field research.
field research.
field research.
field research.
field research.
field research.
Any time.
Growing up in Trinidad, my grandparents would take me to the Queen’s Park Savannah every carnival Tuesday to watch The Parade of The Bands. My grandmother would pack a big pot of pelau (a pigeon peas and rice pilaf with stewed chicken or beef), a bottle of nuts, a sponge cake and some sort of fresh squeezed fruit juice into the back of my grandfather’s Ford Cortina, and we’d camp out in the Savannah all day, watching the sea of colors go by. My aunts, uncles and their friends would stop in for a plate of food, lazing in the grass for a brief moment, summoning the energy required for the rest of the day’s revelry. Before running off to rejoin the band, they would leave me with scraps of costume – a headpiece here, a waistband there. I miss carnival
