There are places that change the direction of your life. For me, that place was Jamaica.

I arrived in Kingston at age 29, thinking I was only going to stay for a while… only to leave ten years later realizing Jamaica had become a part of me. Somewhere between opening the restaurant I’d always dreamed of, spending afternoons in the National Library reading old Jamaican cookbooks, wandering through Coronation Market almost every other weekend, learning about all sorts of bush tea remedies, wild peaches growing in the mountains and a natural eye drop nicknamed “donkey pee”, I also discovered delicious things: learning to cook ackee (and that it can even be enjoyed raw), understanding that “the food fresh” is definitely NOT a compliment (“fresh” means under-seasoned), and, perhaps most importantly, sharing meals with others.
Just like that, Jamaica became part of me.

It is the country, after France, where I’ve spent the longest chapter of my life. More importantly, it’s where I finally gave myself permission to become the creative person I always wanted to be. When I moved back to France, I found myself looking for loud music blasting from a sound system tucked away in a corner bar. I was hoping to bump into friends at a café. I was looking for my breadfruit man and streets dotted with mango trees and to “wash my heart off” with coconut water and a dip in salt water… yet, alas, I found none of those things. Although, I must admit, you can occasionally find small breadfruit at a few South Asian grocery stores around Paris. And you can definitely find amaranth greens (callaloo) at all the Chinese & South Asian supermarkets. Thank goodness.

Because of my mixed background, coming back to France also allowed me to reconnect with my Egyptian and Syrian heritage, especially my Egyptian one, through regular very personally-important soul searching trips to Cairo that have transformed my life in their own way. Egypt was not just a 3.5 hour plane flight away, and it had become very important for me to connect with my Egyptian roots. Something I always intuitively felt very deeply tied to, but didn’t quite get to know growing up. But Jamaica never really left: what never left was the vibe that is uniquely Jamaican.

Rebecca’s art can be purchased by contacting her directly on her Instagram.

There’s an expression in Jamaica: hol’ a vibe. It can be as simple as two plastic chairs, a bit of coconut water and rum, music, and really good conversation—what Jamaicans call “reasoning.” Or it can become a full-blown celebration with extravagant buffets, dancing and enough food to feed an entire neighbourhood. No one knows how to throw a party quite like Jamaicans (perhaps with the exception of the Lebanese). People in the so-called “developed” Western world often don’t realize that there are places like Jamaica, Lebanon or Egypt where people have mastered the art of laughing, gathering, listening to music and celebrating life despite life’s many struggles.

Slowly, I started finding little pockets of Jamaica in Paris, even though the Jamaican diaspora here is tiny compared to London.
Then, two years later, I met Jason.

Jason is one of the co-founders of Ruby’s Big Son, a Jamaican patty pop-up concept that he created after losing his mother. The project honours her patty recipe while bringing authentic Jamaican patties to a city where it’s nearly impossible to find a good one.
We met and quickly realized we shared the same passion for good food and the same desire to bring a little bit of yaad into this concrete jungle.

Then I met his business partner, Jevorn, and Jamaican photographer Rebecca Rowe. One conversation later, I had somehow become part of a dinner they were organizing to launch Rebecca’s latest photographic series, Comme des Camélias. Immediately, I knew this wasn’t simply about creating a menu. Rebecca’s work is inspired by her own journey as a Black woman leaving Jamaica to build a life across the Atlantic in Paris, while also honouring fellow Black women and the many stories they carry. It felt only natural that those conversations would continue around a table.
The setting couldn’t have been more fitting. Maimouna, the owner of the beautiful Senegalese coffee shop Seda Seda, transformed her café into an intimate dining room for the evening. Rebecca’s photographs covered the walls while twenty Black women gathered around one long table, each bringing with them a different story, a different country and a different relationship with home. There were women from Senegal, Martinique, Jamaica, Congo and beyond. Before a single plate had been served, there was already something very special happening.

The menu itself became a collaboration between myself, Rebecca, Jason and Jevorn. It was one of those collaborations that simply flowed. I know they don’t always happen that way. I’d like to believe the right people simply found one another at exactly the right moment. Sometimes, it really does feel like the Universe is at work.

What made this dinner even more meaningful is that Jamaican cuisine remains remarkably underrepresented in Paris. That surprises me every time I think about it. Jamaica has one of the most exciting food cultures I’ve ever experienced, yet so many people’s understanding of the island begins and ends with jerk chicken—if even. Mention Jamaica and many still picture dreadlocks, reggae and cannabis. While I love Bob Marley, conscious music, Rastafari and Ital cooking, Jamaica is infinitely more layered than that. Its cuisine is a celebration of African, Indian, Chinese, British, Lebanese, German and many other influences. It is a true melting pot, and you can taste it in every bite. The boldness of Jamaican cooking couldn’t contrast more with the subtlety of French cuisine.
The evening began with Jason’s amuse-bouche: a beautifully geometric bite of flaky patty pastry served with one of his own sauces. It was elegant, minimalist and immediately reminded everyone that the humble Jamaican patty deserves far more recognition than it receives. Then came Rebecca’s signature Jerk Wings, which fit with the theme perfectly of course.

Then came Jevorn, and I have to say how incredibly proud I was watching him cook for twenty guests for the very first time. He served one of Jamaica’s great comfort dishes: red peas soup. Rich, deeply satisfying and finished with what may have been my favourite element of the evening—his charred scallion oil. I actually told him this needs to become a thing because it was completely addictive. Alongside it came his homemade chilli oil before he surprised us with a palate cleanser of pickled cho-cho and carrot. I must say, Jevorn is a really brilliant mind when it comes to food and I hope to work with him again. We have spoken about jackfruit cakes and sumac in various pickling recipes. I think he has great taste.

Cho-cho is one of those ingredients that people seem to either love or avoid entirely. You may know it as chayote, but during my years in Jamaica I became fascinated by just how versatile it is. One afternoon, while researching food history at the National Library of Jamaica, I came across what is considered the island’s very first cookbook. I remember smiling as recipe after recipe featured cho-cho in ways I had never imagined. Moments like that remind me why I love researching food history so much. Ingredients often tell stories that famous dishes never could.
For the main course, Jason shared an idea he’d been thinking about for some time: a patty taco. The moment he mentioned it, I was sold.

Instead of treating the patty as the finished product, why not use that wonderfully flaky pastry as the taco itself?
Food should always be fun.

So I took on the main course, and very naturally, our “Out of Many, One People” taco was born.
Jason’s patty pastry became the shell before I filled it with fiery jerk young jackfruit, guava sauce, charred corn, scallions and a crunchy cabbage and carrot slaw. I have to admit I made the jerk seasoning from scratch because, firstly, homemade is always better, and secondly, there simply isn’t a proper jerk sauce to be found in Paris. I should also confess that I couldn’t stop eating it by the spoonful while I was cooking. Whether it was nostalgia or simply the pleasure of a proper homemade jerk paste, I’m still not entirely sure.

Jamaica’s national motto is Out of Many, One People, and those words have always meant a great deal to me. Perhaps because I arrived as an outsider and, over time, became an adopted yaadie. Jamaica’s food tells that story better than almost anything else. I wanted our taco to celebrate exactly that. Big flavours. Big contrasts. Nothing timid. Jamaica isn’t subtle. It never has been. Whether it’s the music pouring out of every street corner, the colours, the personalities or the food itself, everything demands your attention.

Dessert continued that conversation. Jason served beautifully caramelised ripe plantain pain perdu, somewhere between French pain perdu and Jamaican bread pudding. The surprise came when everyone discovered that the vanilla ice cream alongside it had been made entirely from scratch.

We also had a few gluten-free guests, so I prepared a dessert for them: a chocolate brownie with chocolate mousse, candied ginger and roasted peanuts. Cocoa, ginger and peanuts all feel unmistakably Jamaican to me. Sweet, creamy, salty, nutty.
Maimouna also served bissap to the entire table. I’m always amazed at how these deep red flowers appear in so many places—Jamaica, Senegal, Nigeria, Egypt and far beyond—each country preparing them a little differently, hot or cold. It’s a beautiful reminder that food is constantly travelling across oceans, crossing borders and finding new homes while carrying traces of the people who came before us.

As I looked around the room that evening, I couldn’t help thinking that this dinner was never really about Jamaica. Or Senegal. Or Martinique. Or Congo.

It was about people carrying pieces of home with them and finding ways to share them with strangers.
Rebecca did it through photography.

Jason and Jevorn did it through recipes passed down and reimagined. Maimouna did it by opening the doors of her café. And I simply did what I’ve always tried to do: use food to build bridges between people who may have otherwise never met.
Somehow, in the middle of Paris, around one table, we all found a little bit of home.

LINKS YOU NEED TO SAVE!

Ruby’s Big Son for the best Jamaican Patties in Paris: click here

Rebecca Rowe’s fantastical work: click here

The best Café Touba at Seda Seda: click here