Mr. Jerk was one of my first food loves as a young, broke person. This was back when it was located at Yonge and Dundas, surrounded by video game arcades and they still sold single cigarettes for a quarter. Maybe I’m prejudiced by my nostalgia for those heaping portions of rice and beans with oxtail gravy. 20 years later, I can’t eat a pound of carbs in one sitting. Now it’s the jerk (dry or covered in gravy) that keeps me coming back. And not the chicken but the pork. You could make an argument that the higher fat content helps the pork absorb the smoky, spicy flavours better than the chicken. Or that the pork offers a better mosaic of textures — chewy, creamy, crispy. But I’ll gladly admit it’s a personal preference and root for the underdog of jerked pork.
