Some of the best Jamaican jerk in Hampton Roads has returned — with lines around the block

The woman in the braids and the tight patterned dress couldn’t believe what she’d gotten herself into.

In humid 83-degree heat on June 11, the line of people waiting at the Chesapeake mini-mall snaked all the way down the sidewalk, around the bend, and out to the entrance of the Advance Auto Parts store. Shade was only an occasional perk.

“Yo,” she told a friend on the phone. “It’s like a Jordan release out here.”

Though there were a few choice pairs of Jordans being worn on the baking sidewalk — hello to the man in the crisp Retro 5 Top 3s — nobody was out there waiting for shoes.

The best jerk pork and chicken we’ve tried in Hampton Roads had returned, and seemingly everyone in Chesapeake wanted a crack at it on its first day.

It had been more than a year since Richard Downer, a native of Browns Town in Jamaica, closed his tiny yellow and green shack in the South Norfolk section of Chesapeake. Back then his restaurant, Island Jerk Hut, was a smoke-drenched shop so small you had to get accidentally intimate, or very polite, with whoever else came down to order. The smoker was out front and so were the seats — a smattering of squat and sun-damaged picnic tables.

It was, in its own way, perfect. It was a favorite of Pharrell’s, booked both for Something in the Water and a private party the pop star had with another local star, Pusha T. When The Pilot set out to find the best Jamaican jerk in the region in 2018 with a team of Jamericans, Island Jerk ran away with the prize.

But the tiny Hut suffered from a problem most business owners only dream of: It was too popular. For years, Downer kept searching for a new place to expand.

And so when the pandemic hit, Downer saw both problem and opportunity: Since business would be terrible anyway, he could use those pandemic months to shut down and procure a larger space. He closed in March 2020, thinking he’d be back open within months.

But one plan fell through, then another. He thought he’d rebuild on the same spot, but a grant possibility with the city of Chesapeake lost steam. He began selling his jerk sauce by the bottle to get by. And finally, this March, he went back to the very first location he’d considered: a former country bar called Buckshot’s, buried in a giant beige mini-mall at 4353 Indian River Road, next to a healthcare training center and a whole lot of nothing.

But the parking lot doesn’t really need other attractions.

Downer’s chicken is marinated two days to bracing moistness and tenderness, smoked over natural charcoal to a crust of delicate char. The pork is similar, but fattier and even more decadent. The jerk ribs, Downer’s own Caribbean-Southern invention, are a whole other layer of perfection, husked with peppery bark.

But really, it’s the sauce: Scotch Bonnet heat, pungent allspice, the herbal undertow of thyme and blast of sweet-sour tamarind. Open a takeout container and it fills first the room, and then your every single thought.

And so here we all were — waiting in a sticky parking lot for a taste.

The line moved both at a reasonable clip and far too slow. Each order took about three minutes until the line inched up one more slot, which seemed fine until you remembered that 70 people were waiting.

Then the math seemed terrible: three hours till you’re in front of a register, begging for some aromatic curried chicken or tangy escoveitched salmon.

Forty minutes into the line, one mother began to worry: “I hope they have enough food for us.” Her toddler danced around the sidewalk, chanting “I want some, I want some.”

An hour in, the woman on the phone had regrets. “I should have brought my chair!” The smell of smoked pork and jerk seasoning got ever more intense as the line inched forward. After an hour and a half, my back was slicked with sweat. I worried that the woman I love was angry with me — I was due at her house most of an hour ago. Three City of Chesapeake cars parked in the lot for varying intervals: The City That Cares apparently also cares a lot about jerk pork.

At the front of the line, a woman took a look inside the door to see the people within, and gave up. “I didn’t have breakfast!” she announced, before peeling off in her car.

And finally, we were inside, in a bare-bones space pocked with pictures of Bob Marley, as well as a painting of freedom riders on horseback led by Barack Obama. Others include Tupac Shakur and Harriet Tubman. A little clapboard at the restaurant’s door announced, “Welcome. The Wait is Over. One Love.”

But of course, the wait wasn’t over: There were about 40 people packed inside. A team of four workers was urgently packing case after case of food for the throngs. One guy seemed to have ordered jerk chicken for his entire towing company. And, finally, when I was fewer than 10 people away from ordering, disaster struck: Orders would be paused for 45 minutes.

It was the end for me — I didn’t have the time to spare, and left empty-handed.

Downer says he’d expected the early rush but is still short-handed. He hopes to add phone orders and, eventually, online ordering through the apps. But for the first week, it’s all they can do to keep up with the flood. He’s had to bring in the whole family to help.

His sister, Navine Fortune, may greet you at the register — sidelining from her other job as director of Norfolk State University’s preschool education program.

He’d followed her here from Jamaica after she enrolled in college here; he was a college wrestler at the University of Buffalo. But Hampton Roads kept calling him back as a place to raise his family.

“It’s a place that grows on you,” he said. He founded Island Jerk Hut in 2016, dedicated to the recipes of his mother, Eloise Moulton. When the liquor license comes through at the new spot, she’ll be training staff on how to make what Downer calls a “mean rum punch.” But for the restaurant’s mobbed first days, she’s there to help her son just hold the place together.

“I would say working in a kitchen is just as hard as wrestling, if not more,” Downer said. “You definitely sweat as much.” Even on the restaurant’s two days off — Sunday, Monday — the customers keep lining up. He keeps having to send them away.

Let's Eat

Weekly

---

We're serving up restaurant reviews and news about the local food scene every week.

By submitting your email to receive this newsletter, you agree to our Subscriber Terms & Conditions and Privacy Policy.

>

I came back for my pork on the following Thursday. And this time, I thought ahead. I showed up a half-hour before the place opened. The lot was already half-filled with cars, each one with a driver inside waiting in air conditioning for the restaurant’s doors to crack open. And yes, the City of Chesapeake was back in attendance.

“Welcome to Island Jerk Hut,” Navine Fortune announced at noon. “As you’ll notice, we’re a little short-staffed. If anyone needs a job, please apply.”

And finally, I got what I needed: Curried chicken bursting with juice and turmeric and spice, cracked on uneven axes across its bones and smoldering with rich aromatics. Pork ribs tender as a kiss, and barked like a tree. Jerk sauce so thick with tangy tamarind and fiery Scotch bonnet that it ruins you for other flavors. It is smoky and sticky and bittersweet, with heat that sticks around long after you taste it.

Five minutes later, 10 minutes later, you can still savor its sweetness on your tongue. You can still feel the crackle at your tonsils. The Scotch bonnet burn lingers on your lips like a memory of lost romance.

Oh god, it was worth it.

Island Jerk Hut is located at 4353 Indian River Road, Chesapeake, 757-657-8232, facebook.com/islandjerkhut. Noon to 8 p.m. Tuesday to Thursday, noon to 9 p.m. Friday and Saturday. Platters $12-$18 with two sides. Mostly takeout in the early days, though Downer is considering renting the event space next door for overflow seating: For now, all the chairs are full of people waiting for food.

Matthew Korfhage, 757-446-2318, matthew.korfhage@pilotonline.com