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New Testament Reading—1 Corinthians 10: 16-17
First a disclaimer: The following story is from the point of view of a fictional character named Stephanie Marks. She is a junior at Washington University studying abroad in Kingston, Jamaica. While the recipes and the names of the foods I’ll be mentioning come from an actual article about the food eaten by poor people in Jamaica and while the historical events I will be mentioning did occur, the rest comes from your pastor’s imagination.
And, now an email from Stephanie to her parents and sisters:
Dear Family,
After a week of learning about the history of relations between Jamaica and the United States, I sure felt like I needed church this morning. I had been prepared for some of what I learned about sweatshops and third world debt before coming, but it was thoroughly depressing to learn about how the CIA used violence to prevent Michael Manley from being elected Prime Minister in 1980. We watched film footage of people in a pro-Manley neighborhood weeping for the dead outside a housing project that had been torched.[i]
To be honest, church really did not make me feel much better. I hardly paid attention to the preacher who seemed rather boring. I couldn’t get over how cut off most of us in the United States are from the realities faced by so many poor people in Jamaica, even though our country bears a lot of responsibility for what they have to experience. As I sat there in the pew, I almost felt like people in the United States must be worshiping a different God, a God whose son never lived among the poor and died on a cross. Our American Jesus would probably prefer hanging out at a resort while the rest of the world suffers. I realize that I am being unfair and that our faith really is not like that at home, but that’s how I was feeling.
I did start to feel better after church, however. Mavis prepared a lunch for us that featured fresh fish grilled with a sweet mango-pepper salsa. It was delicious. Yet again, I realized how lucky I was to be staying with an accomplished chef who runs one of the best restaurants in Kingston. I am even more fortunate to have hosts who are as fun and as humorous as Mavis and Ridley. They made me forget about everything that was bothering me.
During lunch, Ridley teased Mavis for not cooking “real” Jamaican food. Mavis explained to me that Ridley believes the only true Jamaican food is the food he had growing up in Jones Town, a poor neighborhood in Kingston. Mavis says that Ridley could have week-old rotten fish and that so long as it came from Jones Town, he would declare it was a delicacy superior to the meals prepared for the queen herself.
In response, Ridley declared that Mavis had decided she was too good for ordinary Jamaicans. He asked her when was the last time she had eaten a good serving of Dutty Gal. I immediately asked what that was. Mavis looked horrified. She said that Ridley was going to make me think Jamaicans were a crude and vulgar people. Ridley laughed and said that in Jamaican patois Dutty Gal literally meant “loose girl.” He explained this was just a colorful way of referring to a kind of meal that poor people in Jamaica eat. He said it involved a can of mackerel soaked in tomato sauce along with onion, black pepper, and either dumplings or boiled bananas.
Mavis said that maybe she would start serving Ridley condensed milk sandwiches every night. She explained that the recipe had two ingredients, condensed milk and hardough bread, a local kind of bread with a sweet flavor. To make the sandwiches, Mavis said, you spread the condensed milk on two pieces of bread, put it together, and there you had it: the prize creation of Jones Town ready for consumption.
Ridley said it sounded delicious to him. He then got somewhat serious and said, “You know this could be an important part of Stephanie’s education. If she’s going to learn about Jamaica, she needs to learn that Jamaicans don’t all eat the same thing.” He explained that in Jamaica there are three classes—working class, middle class, and the rich—and that each class eats different foods. Those with more money can afford ingredients that those with less money can’t. He said that poor people are still able to make wonderful food. They just have to be more creative with what they have.
Ridley asked me if the United States was similar. I had never thought about it before. I know some soul food like chit’lins came from slaves making use of food their masters didn’t want, but I had never thought about what things were like today. I suppose not everyone in the United States is able to eat locally grown organic fruits and vegetables and not everyone can go out to eat at fine restaurants.
Next Saturday Ridley has promised to give me some cooking lessons. He says he is going to teach me how to make real Jamaican food. Mavis just groans.
Say hello to everyone for me.
Lots of love,
Stephanie
An email sent the following Sunday:
Dear Family,
Today, I had the most meaningful worship experience ever. It wasn’t that the service was any different than the rest. It was all because of Mavis and Ridley and the meal we had Saturday night. But let me first explain…
On Saturday, Ridley took charge of the kitchen while Mavis went shopping. Mavis said she couldn’t bear to see me subjected to Ridley’s cooking. After she left, Ridley told me to just wait and see how Mavis acted when they ate dinner that night. He said, “Don’t let her fool you. Deep down she’s still a poor girl from Trench Town,” another poor neighborhood in Kingston.
The first thing we made was what Ridley called “Poor People Soup.” He said this soup is normally made with either Macca-back or Sprat, because they are the cheapest fish one can buy. Both have lots of bones. We made our soup with Macca-back. I can’t say I enjoyed removing the scales, guts, and bones. In a pot, we mixed the fish with a couple of sprigs of thyme, a bumpy green pear-shaped fruit called cho cho, a yellow chili pepper known as scotch bonnet pepper, Allspice berries, green bananas, and scallions. Ridley declared that this soup was great for a rainy day and wouldn’t you know it began to rain just as Mavis was coming home.
Along with the soup, we made what Ridley called “Poor People Caviar.” This involved putting pieces of smoked herring between two water crackers. We then made what Ridley referred to as the original powdered snack of poor people. This involved grinding roasted corn kernels with brown sugar and a pinch of salt. Next, we made condensed milk sandwiches. I think this was mainly so we could aggravate Mavis. Finally, we made dessert which Ridley described as “Poor People Jello” or “Cow Foot Jello” because—you guessed it—it’s made with a boiled cow foot. The other ingredients include condensed milk, evaporated milk, and vanilla flavoring.
I’ll admit that I was never able to bring myself to eating the jello, but the rest was as good as anything I’d ever eaten. I am especially a big fan of the powdered snack. We’ll have to make that for my next birthday.
Throughout the meal, Ridley and I watched Mavis out of the corners of our eyes. Even though she continued to moan and groan about how Ridley’s taste buds must have been ruined by his childhood in Jones Town, I noticed a small smile form on her lips as she savored every bite. Ridley, of course, was in heaven. He declared that I had now completed the most important course I would take during my time in Jamaica. I spent the entire meal laughing as Ridley and Mavis kept me thoroughly entertained by their teasing. I can’t remember when was the last time I felt so happy and so grateful to be alive.
The next day in church my mind was still on the dinner from the night before. My ears perked up, however, when the preacher started to talk about communion. He said that communion was originally much different than it is today. At first, it was part of an actual meal that Christians ate when they gathered together in homes. He then talked about how communion had changed throughout history and how it was still celebrated in different ways throughout the world. He then said that despite all this there was one thing that every communion had in common: each communion was a response to the presence of God in our lives. Each communion was a meal of celebration and thanksgiving.
As I later came forward to receive the bread and wine, all I could think was that this was the second time that weekend I was having communion.
Say hello to everyone for me.
Lots of love,
Stephanie
[i] Saul Landau, “A Tale of Two Extraditions,” ZNet, (July 6, 2010), <www.zcommunications.org/a-tale-of-two-extraditions-by-saul-landau>.