SHE: Trust me, Jamaican KFC is the best in the world (the secret’s in the salt). And if I’m in Kingston on a Sunday, fried fish at Hellshire is essential. But whatever I’m eating, you can bet I’m swigging an ice-cold Ting with it.
HE: This is sacrilege. I don’t come to Jamaica to eat KFC (even if it is better). But I will drive her there. My mouth waters for Scotchie’s jerk pork and festivals. We can, however, agree to hold Ting to the highest levels of Jamaican culinary sacredness.
SHE: Frenchman’s Cove in Port Antonio because it’s small and understated yet sophisticated — like me.
HE: I prefer Reggae Beach, east of Ocho Rios, where the rustic beach bar makes up for its lack of sophistication with plenty of laid-back, irie vibes — like me.
You couldn’t pay me to ...
SHE: Ride the chairlift at Mystic Mountain. Being suspended above the rainforest with nothing but a metal bar between me and the treetops isn’t my idea of fun. I’ll hitch a ride up to the gift shop in an enclosed four-wheeled vehicle, thanks.
HE: Apparently, it’s inappropriate to take photos of Sarah crying on the chairlift. I like heights, so I’ll take a parasail over Seven Mile Beach while Sarah takes my picture. Then, over a beer, I’ll laugh at her for crying on the chairlift. That’s always appropriate.
SHE: When it comes to mementos, I believe in buying local —and buying often. Like local sculptor Gene Pearson’s clay masks, scored for a song in the gift shop at Couples Tower Isle.
HE: Anytime Sarah disappears while I’m shooting, I just ﬁnd the nearest gift shop and wait patiently till she’s done. The silver lining: This downtime has allowed the beauty of Gene Pearson’s work to sink in. I own three. Sarah has good taste (but I’ll never admit it again).