18/02/2025
How Two Kids and a Homemade Hibachi Changed Jamaica’s Street Food Forever
It all started with a craving for flaky Jamaican patties, sweet sugar buns and a kid’s mission to kick her mom’s boring, same-old, same-old sandwiches to the curb.
When I was ten, my cousin Jimmy, who was more like my ride-or-die brother, and I had had enough. Enough of the same old peanut butter and sliced ripe bananas sandwiches my mom, Gloria, packed for school. We wanted to be like all the other kids scorching our tongues on piping hot patties, licking our fingers clean after devouring sticky sugar buns, and having pocket money to sport. But with the reality of tight finances at home and no golden goose, I knew I'd have to cook up a solution. Literally.
At the time, my mom ran her version of a family style Irish pub in Harbour View, where Nat King Cole’s velvety voice flowed through the room like honey, mingling with the chatter of loyal regulars. One particular Friday, in a move that can only be described as bold and borderline insane, 10-year-old me bought two chickens, chopped them up, seasoned them, whipped up some seasoned rice and coleslaw. I convinced Jimmy to drag the knocked about hibachi grill my Dad would fire up on a remote beach most Sundays to the back of Mom's bar.
Long aware that it is always easier to plead forgiveness than seek permission, I lit the charcoal while Mom was busy inside and totally unaware of my plan to hustle dinners to her regulars. I put Jimmy on grill duty, warning him to make sure not to burn or overcook the chicken, while I quietly played undercover sales person and server dishing up what was soon to become our legendary barbecue chicken dripping with my special 'secret sauce'. And guess what? We sold out in no time.
The next night? Same thing. The weekend after that? You guessed it, sold out again.
Before we knew it, the smoky scent of our barbecue chicken was pulling people in like moths to a flame. Folks going home from the Harbour View Drive-In? They’d detour to investigate then continued home happy with plates piled high. Our tiny back-of-the-bar phenomenon transitioned to the main parking lot in front of the bar and we had a real live kiddie run MSME on our hands!
Business exploded and my dad, who was equal parts amused, impressed and proud-as-heck, built us a grill that could probably feed a small army. 72 inches long by 30 inches wide, complete with dedicated sections for pork, chicken, and steak. We went from hustling for patties to selling 100 dinners each Friday and 100 dinners every Saturday night, making more money than some adults did working all week.
But life doesn't always play fair. Jimmy’s dad returned from China and hauled him off to go live with him. I kept the business going, with my dad stepping in to help manage the fire and flames. The money wasn’t just fun money anymore, it was helping support the family and I started saving for university.
But things took another tough turn. My dad got deathly ill and ended up in the hospital. At 16, I made the tough decision not to return to sixth form at Campion College and to give up dreams of going to university. The family business needed me, and that was that. No big deal. I’d been working in my family's various businesses since I was seven and knew I was ultimately going to be an entrepreneur in the long run.
My dad eventually recovered, but the road was rough. By the time I hit 17, we had a major falling out. I packed my few things, temporarily moved in with a friend’s family with $100 in my pocket before landing a job as a trainee computer programmer at NCR. I got my own place and started a new chapter, but my dad kept stoking the flames we had built together.
The trays in our charcoal fired grill never could handle the heat for long. The constant fierce heat would cause the metal trays to disintegrate and collapse. After yet another collapse, my dad had another of his many brilliant ideas. He pulled out three 100lb oil drums from the backyard, got his friend and neihbour, Mr Gauntlett, to fire up his welding machine, and they built something that would change the culinary world: the first-ever drum pan grills. One pan for chicken, one for pork, and one for beef.
These weren’t just grills, they were game changers. The cylindrical shape trapped the heat and smoke perfectly, making everything cook faster while staying smoky and tender. But as my dad’s health declined, he decided to retire the pans. That’s when Les, a young guy my dad had hired to help, asked if he could take one of the drum pans home to start his own hustle over on Whitehall Avenue.
My dad gave him his blessing and Les fired up his drum pan a couple nights later. And the rest? Street food history.
Whitehall Avenue became the spot for drum pan chicken. Word spread like wildfire, and soon there were drum pans everywhere billowing the sweet, smokey aroma of pan chicken. Drum pan chicken stands became a national treasure. And it didn’t stop at Jamaica’s borders. Jamaicans took this invention globally and soon, you could smell that unmistakable smoky aroma drifting over blocks in New York, London, and cities across Europe.
What started with a spunky kid and her ride or die, a homemade hibachi, and a crazy, bold Friday night move, became a worldwide phenomenon.
Next time you see a grill fashioned out of an oil drum, smoke curling into the sky, and hear that sizzle, remember this: you’re not just eating street food—you’re biting into a family legacy.
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**** Authored by Elise Yap, Innkeeper at The Blue House Boutique Bed and Breakfast.
