There was a jerk chicken hut on the beach. It was amazing. You stood in a quick line, got a generous portion of freshly grilled jerk chicken and side sauces. You will see more of this chicken. I read three or four books while I was in Jamaica. The second Jack Spratt book by Jasper Fforde, which was just as delightful as all the other books that man has written. And The other Wes Moore, which is an interesting memoir/story about two African American men of similar age, both of whom with roots in Baltimore, and the radically different lives they ended up living. Wes Moore, the author, was careful to say that he wasn't making any conclusions about what it meant, but the recounting of both Wes' lives was interesting and well constructed and realized. And the author's father went to Bard, which I thought was kind of neat.
The one sauce, not the red one, was rather spicy in a good way. I mixed a little sweetness into it.
The skin. The magic. I ate this with my fingers unapologetically.