Limehouse


This evening we went to Limehouse, a Caribbean restaurant in Chinatown, which does seem a slightly quixotic choice. But after years of hanging out in Brixton and at the old Mr Jerk restaurant off Oxford Street, it’s a cuisine I hanker for.

Years ago, back in Hong Kong and desperate for something Jamaican, we went to Hemingway’s, a restaurant so plastic it was incredible to find every item on the menu hadn’t been made from Bakelite. There isn’t an enormous number of people from the Caribbean in Singapore, so there was a real risk that Limehouse would also mean eating facsimiles of proper food.

Thankfully, that turned out not to be the case. We had some delicious split-pea fritters in a good, smoky sauce, and while my wife hoovered up fishcakes and the staff played with my daughter, I gobbled a sweet potato gratin as fast as I could.

The menu isn’t enormous, but nor do you really need it to be; there’s most of what you’d expect, plus some fun things like the deconstructed pina colada dessert; as a fussy vegetarian, it was pleasing not be confronted between a choice of jerk goat and an empty plate.

There’s a few downsides: there’s no Jamaican beer (what, no Red Stripe?), although there’s some epic looking rum cocktails that I couldn’t attempt this evening for fear of wake up tomorrow having locked the family in the coal shed and woken up in a ditch. It’s also in a precarious location, just on the periphery of where things get interesting in Chinatown. Half the neighboring places are gloomy cafes or shady looking karaoke bars, although there seem to be a few other interesting places starting to spring up around there now. And I suppose it’s somewhat inappropriate to be in Asia eating Caribbean food, but that’s no worse than my all-Italian, all-pizza diet.

Earlier today, we picked up a new bed for Felicity. Ironically, she has decided she doesn’t want to sleep any more. We’ll feed her and bounce her for hours, and she’ll either howl ten minutes after we put her down, or lie on the bed, happily grinning at me but not any signs of sleepiness. At least she’s pleased to see me, I guess.

Maybe she’s angling for some jerk chicken.


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