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Ackee and Saltfish: A Jamaican navigates the taste of home

"Oh my goodness, that banana is green, how can you eat that?" asks my uncle.

It is 7am and the banana I am about to put into my smoothie is not technically green. But it's also not so ripe that it's brown, the way we Jamaicans usually eat them. After 10 years living away from my home, I have gotten used to eating the barely ripe tasteless bananas that grace the shelves of Key Foods in Brooklyn, New York, where I live for most of the year.

Each time I return home for vacation, my family and friends giggle at all the "foreign" habits I have picked up. Green banana? A runny egg? Almond milk? My cousins shake their heads as I make myself breakfast.

We Jamaicans are an exclusive set of people - citizenship is not something that is automatically renewed, it is a relationship you must fight for. You earn it by keeping up with the latest dances, the new slang, and displaying your loyalty by hunting down Jamaican food wherever you are and loudly despising all other cuisines. Take your eyes off the culture for a second and you will find yourself left behind.

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