Many would say that a small pedestrian-only island in northern Michigan is an odd place for a Jamaican restaurant. In a geographical sense, they would be right. Accounting for the demographics of visitors to the island, which seemed to be 70% older, conservative whites, it makes even less sense. However, the owners of Kingston Kitchen on Mackinac Island did not ask if they should, they asked only if they could. In the end, they found that people would come in droves for a bloody mary and immersive atmosphere.
It was one of the first things we heard when setting foot on the shores. A server advised us that we had to try the bloody mary during our short stay. A google search revealed that it came with a sandwich on top, which was enough to convince us. While wandering aimlessly looking for lunch two days later, fate landed us outside the door of the Caribbean establishment just a few minutes before opening. In a thick accent, either real or bolstered to extract a tip from charmed visitors, the manager gestured us to an outside table. Our group of seven sat down and the manager announced his satisfaction with a, “ya man” and left us to peruse the menu. To say his accent fit the stereotype perfectly feels like it might be offensive, so I will just say that it made Brad Pitt’s patois in Meet Joe Black seem like local theater. In a flurry of ya mans, he got the entire patio seated and set up within ten minutes of opening.
Nicole immediately lasered in on the Big Bamboo Bloody Mary, which took up an entire second menu. For $38, she was getting her much desired tomato cocktail adorned with a jerk chicken sandwich, thick sliced bacon, a fried cheese ball, a whole chicken wing, fried mushroom, a pickled egg, and a skewer of hot dog and oxtail. It was the drink that paid for itself. Reiley joined her mission with no knowledge of what she was getting, then tried to order a BLT in addition but was denied at the door by the server. The rest of us behaved normally, ordering wings, sandwiches, nachos, and Jamaican specialties.
When the food came, we learned that these orders were not as normal as we thought. Steve’s wings were dripping with sauce, which soon coated his hands and face in a thick, dark layer. Maude’s nachos arrived in a bowl the size of a paella platter. The appetizer portion took up a significant amount of real estate on the table. The pile of chips loomed high atop the plate. It became a group endeavor.
Our time in Jamaica was like a Sex and the City brunch scene. We had unfiltered conversations at a high volume as if we were in our own living room. If the other diners were bothered, they were too kind to say anything. For those two hours, it was just us and a couple Big Bamboo Bloody Marys versus the world. For anyone visiting Mackinac Island, this place is a must go. A genuine highlight of the trip for all the wrong reasons.
