🥟 Beyond Beyond Babylon

Remembering Jamaican Patties

Over the past three months of writing Beyond Babylon, I’ve made a quiet discovery:
This blog isn’t just about the culinary journey of my ancestors. It’s also about my personal journey.

And it`s not just a geographic sojourn—but a food trail of self-discovery.

I cook, therefore I am, so to speak (or eat…).

So forgive me if, today, this post is a little less about my grandmother—and a little more about me.

This project - Beyond Babylon began in the ports and spice markets of Jewish Southeast Asia. I hope it will lead to a cookbook one day (soon)—and hold one hundred recipes, one hundred stories, all anchored in the movement of a single people.

But how to decide where Babylon begins and where it ends?

To borrow from my former Talmudic lawyering days:
I’m Jewish, I`m descend from south east Asia and this is my story—about food.
So yes, it’s still a Jewish food story from south east Asia. Not so?

But more seriously—Beyond Babylon was never meant to define a boundary.
It’s a metaphor.
For everything we’ve lost, and everything we still remember through food.
For everything we’re still cooking—or hope to cook one day.

And how far will I go beyond?

As far as the stories take me.
As far as the flavor leads.
As far as the dough stretches.

So this one’s for the like-minded foodies.
For the cooks without borders.

Today, I remember Toronto. 1980`s
I remember me, forty years ago—through flaky crusts, warm hands, and a city that once knew how to welcome the world.

I was reminded of Jamaican patties recently while writing about my grandmother’s sambousaks (yes, back to her—but just to make a point).

Different ingredients. Different continents. But the same idea: golden turnovers, humble and filled. Memory, wrapped in pastry.

For me, remembering patties is remembering Toronto of the early 1980s.

I was a law student then at Osgoode Hall, sharing an apartment with two flatmates. Mornings were lectures. Afternoons, I worked in a legal aid clinic that served in the Jane-Finch corridor—a nearby Caribbean neighborhood that welcomed me like one of their own.

I was young, idealistic, overwhelmed—and enchanted.

Multiculturalism wasn’t a theory.
It was lunch.

Toronto had everything: dim sum, poutine, dosa, roti, corned beef sandwiches, and something exotic, more exotic than little India - it had Caribbean food. Specifically Dhalpurie rotis filled with channa or goat curry, and Jamaican patties.

When I left the clinic in the evenings—fingers frozen, stomach empty—there was one thing that warmed me most:

A Jamaican patty.

From Tastee outlets to neighborhood roti shops, I followed the scent of buttery crust and curry-fragrant beef. I’d order one—extra hot—and grab a Ting or a ginger beer. The warmth spread up my spine. The Scotch bonnet cleared my head.

That first bite? Still makes my eyes water.

Especially with hot sauce.

Food orgasm. On fire.
The crust crumbled. The spice hit. The city came alive.

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The Jamaican patty was a great equalizer.
Construction workers, cleaning women, students, judges—we all lined up for the same thing: a hot patty, wrapped in paper, eaten on the run or on a stoop (Same with Trinidadian dhalpurie roti—but that’s another essay.)

Most Jamaican didn’t make patties at home.
They were street food.

But in Toronto, they became something more:
A symbol of belonging.

A dish born of Cornish pasties, transformed by African hands and Indian spices.
A post-colonial rebuttal in pastry form.

In 1985, it even sparked a political food fight:
Canadian officials tried to ban vendors from calling them “beef patties” on a technicality.
The city revolted.
The Patty Wars began.
Toronto won.

Today, February 23 is officially Jamaican Patty Day in Canada.

I still bake them.

Not because I think mine are the best—
But because they help me remember.

Because that flaky yellow crust still carries warmth through winter.

Because in each patty, there was once a whole city,
lined up together—hungry, laughing, tolerant.

And because food remembers what politics forgets:
We belong to one another.

and sorry. Mine ARE the best. and here`s my recipe.

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🥟 Jamaican-Style Beef Patties

Inspired by Toronto, written in Munich (veggie version available on request)
Makes 8–10 patties

For the pastry:

• 3 cups all-purpose flour

• 1 tsp salt

• 1 tsp turmeric (for color)

• ½ tsp curry powder (I use my own Trinidadian blend. recipe on request)

• 1 cup cold butter (or margarine for kosher)

• ½ cup cold water

For the filling:

• 1 tbsp. oil

• 1 onion, finely chopped

• 2 garlic cloves, minced

• 500g ground beef

• 1 tsp curry powder

• ½ tsp thyme

• ¼ tsp allspice

• 1 Scotch bonnet chili, finely chopped

• Salt and pepper

• ¼ cup beef stock or water

• 1 tsp cornstarch (optional)

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🧑‍🍳 Method

1. Make the pastry:
   Combine flour, turmeric, salt, and curry powder.

   Cut in butter until crumbly.
   Gradually add cold water to form a soft dough. Wrap and chill for 30 minutes.

2. Prepare the filling:
   Sauté onions and garlic in oil. Add beef and brown thoroughly.
   Stir in spices and chili. Add stock and simmer for 10 minutes.
   Thicken with cornstarch if needed. Let cool.

3. Shape & bake:
   Roll dough into circles. Spoon filling onto one half.
   Fold over, seal with a fork.
   Bake at 200°C (400°F) for 25 minutes until golden.
   (Optional: brush with egg wash before baking.)

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Dash it out fresh—ginger beer in yuh han’, reggae a blaze, and belly full like Sunday

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📬 Want a printable version of this recipe? Just reply or leave a comment—I'll send it to you.

Jamaican patties

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Tags:
#BeyondBabylon #JamaicanPatties #TorontoFoodHistory #Multiculturalism #FusionFood #FoodMemory #TasteOfToronto #DiasporaKitchen