Jerk.

Few Caribbean dishes are as well-traveled, or as beloved, as Jamaican jerk, a humble meal of bone-in chicken or pork parts doused in a blend of spices and hot peppers, and cooked slowly over smoldering pimento wood branches. Peppered across the island, roadside jerk stands entice passersby with wafts of fragrant smoke rising from makeshift grills encased in sheets of tin siding. Supple, juicy, and crispy in spots where the meat has been charred by the fire, jerk is an integral part of Jamaica's economy too, with restaurants like the perpetually busy Scotchies or the relaxed Pepper's Jerk Center serving tourists and locals year-round. It's typically eaten with your hands alongside fried cornmeal "festivals" (dumplings), scorching-­hot Scotch bonnet pepper sauce, and cold beer.

Although jerk comes across as a leisurely beach food, it's actually a dish of resistance, born out of necessity and circumstance. The origins can be traced to the Maroons of the 17th century, a tribe of enslaved Africans who fled into the mountains of Jamaica's eastern Portland parish to escape Spanish-owned plantations. Here, the Maroons barbecued whole wild hogs, burying the meat in the earth to smother the smoke and keep the Spanish and British forces from discovering them. "They had to live off the land and find ways to survive," explains Suzanne Rousseau, co-­author, with her sister Michelle, of Provisions: The Roots of Caribbean Cooking.

Thanks to the popularity of bottled jerk seasonings such as Walkerswood and Grace brands, the flavors of jerk have become one of Jamaica’s most famous exports worldwide. But Suzanne believes the roots of the dish have been lost. “Jerk is not a seasoning; it’s a type of cooking,” Michelle says. “It’s like whole-hog barbecue [in the American South].” The singular combination of ingredients found on the island, and the technique of smoking with the leaves and branches of the pimento tree (also known as the allspice tree), are what make “jerking” so deeply connected to the island—so much so that it’s become a part of Jamaicans’ shared heritage. As Michelle says, “It’s truly tied to our identity.”

Jamaica-born chef Cheryl Smith—who serves jerk at her Brooklyn, New York, restaurant, Cheryl's Global Soul—says that even if it's not grilled over a smoldering pile of pimento logs, her version is still a tribute to the dish's history, and to the people of the island, past and present. "It's the ingenuity of Jamaicans," she says, "who figured out how to make something out of nothing. You've got some meat, some vegetables, some wood—and you've got a way to make a living."

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