I was reared a Seventh Day Adventist. Even with the vaguest knowledge of how that works  it’s pretty standard how pork impacted my diet, no pork. So pork was an adult introduction from the Pork Pit, Gloucester Avenue with red stripe and I had never been disappointed. Conflict one.
A little background catchup, I hail from a home birth in a rural Jamaica (Cascade, Hanover for the pathologically faas) and migrated to Montego Bay at late teens which didn’t last long as I moved on to Kingston and stayed too long and then Wolverhampton for a while and now London. Of all those places Wolverhampton was my favourite to live, I still utterly love Cascade Hanover but I reckon an attempt to live there would be akin to an open prison, and yes I romanticise my idyllic youth and it was, but the things that made it so aren’t exactly apt pursuits for an adult.
Anyway digression aside, this is a slightly inebriated freewrite about parts of trenton (pork). Discovery one was courtesy of my sister (mom figure) treating us to the weekly jerk centre treat on the hip strip. Round one pork. By then other proclivities, of a porky nature had already convinced me my excellent participation in church wasn’t gonna save me from hell if these sermons were to be taken wholesale. So I reckoned I need to live out full debauchery here on earth and fully justify the burning I foresaw. My rebellion was pork. And porky…but that’s another story…
And if that wasn’t complex enough, I embraced rastafarianism. Then I moved to London and my Christian self had a renaissance and the relationship with my spirituality has never been better or more intense deep and real. So I am a black woman. Rastafarian. Christian. Immigrant. Exile. Lesbian. And these barbecued ribs I just devoured are heavenly. I am by no means confused. This relationship in my skin sits like ice lolly on a hot day, a magnum original on the stick. So many reasons why it shouldn’t work together but heaven when you taste it. So for every group that I don’t fit in because of the other aspect of me that I embrace, it’s your loss. I’m delicious. All kinds of delicious. A smorgasbord of incongruous flavours that are heaven on a platter. Damn I want to eat me…