‘Jamaican’
EDIT: This location is extinct, but there’s another in Beechview if you want to go alllll the way out there.
After two failed attempts to pay a visit to Casa Rasta due to inaccurate hours posted online, I finally made it there. I was expecting a quick in and out fast casual sort of place, but was surprised when I found it to be an eat-in sort of place instead. The menu was full of things I would have wanted to eat, but my stomach is only so big.
Curly’s in Lackawanna is a restaurant and a banquet center. It’s also American and Caribbean. Oh, and they have grill food. It’s kind of confusing, but somehow it works. The tables have fancy tablecloths and likely because of this we got some delicious bread to start off our meal. I flipped through the pages from the grill food to the fancier banquet food and because of some things I heard, decided to go with the grill.
Down in the Strip District is a relative newcomer to Pittsburgh. Called the Thin Man Sandwich Shop, the name really called out to me because I often feel like a fat man trapped in a thin man’s body. It’s a curse, I know. But I digress. Back in the sandwich shop, I immediately impressed by the options they had listed on their chalk board. If nothing else, they were creative with such seasonal sandwiches as Braised Beef Cheeks, Jamaican Jerk Goat Curry and Cashew Butter. I was eager to see if the creativity translated to eatability, which, as we all know, is not a word.
Jury duty, while one of the fundamental principles of the American judicial system, is a pain. You have to miss work, you have to sit around for hours or even days and all you have to show for it at the end of the day is 15 bucks. Yet, in my case I took my jury duty as an opportunity. More specifically, a food opportunity. As opposed to most LA jury duty, which is in downtown LA, mine took my to Inglewood. Although I spent a lot of time in El Segundo in my previous life, it is amazing how different that was from Inglewood.
In a display of mercy, a work event of mine ended last week at a little Jamaican restaurant in North Hollywood called Coley’s. As it turned out, one of my bosses had been Jamaican all along, but none of us knew it. Yet, Jamaican boss or not, I had been wanting to check out Coley’s for a long time, as it sat in that weird area of town that seemed just a bit far for walking, but too close to hop in a car for.