That hugging domesticity could be found in the jerk chicken too. Comprising vigorously browned legs of seemingly unbarbecued bird, it nonetheless had fall-apart succulence, a rising swell of clove-scented heat, and a strange, seductive savour that, I think, comes from a dousing of soy sauce. A pale orange clump of coleslaw, dandruffed in coconut, was a useful, muffling foil. And then the vegan ital curry was, frankly, extraordinary: chickpeas, sweet potato, peppers and more, coaxed to compliant softness, and cloaked in a scotch bonnet-laced wonder of a rough-hewn, elegantly complex stew.