Not an 11

The food at Kingston 11 didn’t impress me.

My college roommate was from Trinidad. Back in the pre-9.11 days (before I was graying and back when liquids were not contraband on flying objects) she would transport the delights of Trinidad, at least pieces of it, to our apartment. We weren’t the closest of friends but the phrase roommate was literal for two years – if we happened to stretch simultaneously we were touching- and so I benefited from her travels home. But I digress. 

The point is that twice a month my roommate came bearing goodies from home. Doubles with the slight aroma of curry and the sweet mango chutney rounding out the final bite; round roti, huge and thick, and waiting for her curried shrimp, and a hot sauce with such a divine and specific smell and a heat so intense that once our housemate decided to “borrow” some without asking and used two tablespoons in her pound of ground beef and had to deem the whole thing inedible because the fire was too intense. That is Trinidad not Jamaica, I know. 

picture frome: http://www.munchinwithmunchkin.com/2011/03/07/trinidadian-doubles/

My cousin’s husband is Jamaican and for years worked in hospitality. Among the pickiest eaters I know, he makes magnificent food that he won’t eat (preferring red beans and rice and mangos). Food rich in depth and varied in texture. Colorful food, some parts with a little heat some with a little sweetness. His rice and peas are delicious, his roasted chicken succulent. 

With these two people in my tongue’s history, when I find myself at a Caribbean restaurant I am seldom excited, seldom jumping for joy at the thought of mediocre patties and tepid Ting. Instead I raise my internal eyebrow and wonder what incarnation of Caribbean food will emerge. 

Trust me, I know Trinidadian food and Jamaican food are different; but having experienced home cooked versions of each of these West Indian cuisines, they hold in common a richness and diversity of flavors that can be reminiscent of each other and my expectations for delight are high.

Kingston 11 is a beautiful and spacious restaurant. The art isn’t overbearing – although the music was too loud. The staff was friendly and the space inviting. Staring at the menu a few things piqued my interest… the lack of a few things piqued it more. Of course there were plantains but there was no coco bread, no patties. Those items have become ubiquitous when people speak of Jamaican food – sometimes to the exclusion of other things – so their absence inspired hope. 

My friend and I ordered…ginger beer and sorrel (both house made), saltfish fritters, jerk chicken (I’m not sure you could get away with a Jamaican restaurant without this on the menu) and Spanish Town Roast Chicken. 

The ginger beer had a wonderfully full mouthed flavor with the significant bite of good ginger beer; however, it lacked the bubbles – either by fermentation or carbonation – that I associate with the drink. The lack of bubbles may have been on purpose, I’m not sure. The sorrel was the wonderful crimson I expect and was sweet without being syrupy. Drinks in hand, we moved on to our meals.

In general, all of the food seemed to be missing a layer of flavor. Applying salt didn’t alleviate the problem. The saltfish fritters were perfectly fried with what felt like a panko crust. The ratio of fish to potato was well balanced and the chimichurri sauce that accompanied it added a wonderful pop of rich green- conjuring the moist new growth in a rainforest. But both fish and sauce were bland. 

The jerk chicken had a subtle heat to it; not overbearing in the slightest, it was meant to be part of the show and not the star. Unfortunately, a mild smokiness was the only other flavor that came to the show. Any other flavors were lackluster and the overall effect rather bland. The jerk was served with rice and peas that tasted mostly of coconut, and beautifully friend plantains with the perfect level of crunch at the edges.

The blandness was true of the Spanish Town Roast Chicken as well. It was a beautiful dish to look at, with whole slices of lemon integrated into the sauce that bathed the chicken. The initial bite was promising and hinted flavors, like the citrus, used in the dish, but after the hint the dish fell flat. Again, the taste left me longing for something more…salt, garlic, more citrus? The dish was served with plain rice and the same perfect plantains. 

Kingston wasn’t terrible by any stretch, but the $25 I spent on just the food left me decidedly unsatisfied. And I want to like it. I want to add Kingston to the restaurants in my Oakland rotation. I want it to be a place where on a Wednesday night, in need of something comforting to my palate and my soul, I can slip inside and make myself at home, make myself a regular. Unfortunately, Kingston is not that place.