Why we should bother trying to save The Real Jerk, even if it seems naive and futile.
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Gentrification’s a tricky thing. I don’t mean the general process—whereby a neighbourhood gets good enough that it’s desirable to developers who buy up property, toss up garish condos, and inevitably force the locals to the periphery—though that’s bad, too. I mean reacting to it. When it happens, and it happens all the time, it’s hard to be genuinely ruffled by it. It’s impossible to surprised, for sure.
There’s a sense that gentrification is just some natural order and that, yes, after your neighbourhood acquires a cool coffee shop, a cool bar, and a Korean taco or charcuterie place, a Starbucks will inevitably pop-up, as if it’s on a reconnaissance mission, scouting the corner’s suitability for redevelopment. So when this happens, it’s hard to act outraged without seeming naïve. There’s a level of arrogance to it. Why shouldn’t your neighbourhood be made-over by condo developers? It’s happening everywhere else. Complaining about it takes on the strained tone of Walter whining about civil rights in the coffee shop scene in The Big Lebowski. You know, “This affects all of us, maaaan!”
But there has to be a line. There has to be point where indignation, even selfish indignation, is justified, where it doesn’t come across like petulant bitching. So, goddamn it, first things first: I’m pissed that The Real Jerk is being forced to close, because I really like their chicken. And also because it’s an institution, of sorts. At the very least, it’s a great restaurant, with great character, and precisely the kind of place that makes neighbourhoods worth living in. Which is why steamrolling it—for condos or a Dollarama or a Loblaws, probably—proves incredibly, illustratively, frustrating.
There’s plenty of buzz around the corner of Broadview and Queen St. E. lately. Take, for example, the condo/lofts looming over the intersection, both further south on Broadview, at Eastern, and further west along Queen. There’s also the rise of chichi-ish spots like Prohibition “Gastropub” (where you can waste $14 on probably the worst breakfast in the city) and that new store on the south side of Queen that sells crap imported from Britain, for some reason. Add in all the vintage shops, bakeries, and a new high-end, low-stock grocery store, and it’s easy to understand why the intersection is “desirable.” Demolishing one of the key facets of this desirability—a place which is not only a delicious restaurant, but contributes greatly to the architectural and visual appeal of the corner of Queen and Broadview, kitty-cornered by the New Broadview House Hotel (and strip club, which is not going anywhere), a run-down burger bar (Dangerous Dan’s), and a 24-hour Starbank convenience store—in order to seize on this cachet seems moronically wrong-headed. It’s kind of like admiring a piece of art and then buying it and eating so you don’t have to share it with anyone.
The details surrounding The Real Jerk’s closure are still a bit sketchy. In a post on the restaurant’s Facebook page, co-owner Edward Pottinger writes:
It is with heavy hearts that we send this message to all of you. Our building has unexpectedly been sold on Dec. 30, 2011 and the new owner has issued an order to move as of Jan. 31, 2012. We would have hoped to stay longer, long enough for us to secure a new location, but this will not be feasible. While we fight the unfair order, we sadly must prepare for the real possibility that our days are numbered at the corner of Queen and Broadview, a location we have very much loved for 22 years.
Considering the swiftness and borderline-cruelty characterizing the Real Jerk’s booting, we can’t help but be reminded of a similar story from June of last year, when Annex record shop Sonic Boom was swiftly kicked out by its landlord. When asked to leave in order to make room for a dollar store, Sonic Boom founder and manager Jeff Barber offered to pay increases in rent, and even buy out the property, to no avail. Luckily, Sonic Boom would land on its feet in a scaled-down space just around the corner, and we can only hope the same for The Real Jerk, as Pottinger searches for a new location.
A new location won’t cut it, though. Sure, it’ll be great to still be able to get The Real Jerk’s ridiculously tender fried chicken, oxtail, and jerk shrimp (one of the hotter things I’ve ever put in my mouth, and I gussy up Caesars with half a bottle of scotch bonnet pepper sauce), in one form or another. But so much of the restaurant’s appeal is the building itself. As the city becomes more and more defined by “street-level commercial space,” The Real Jerk stands out. It’s like when a Pizza Hut or a McDonald’s goes under and they try and turn the building into a shoe store or a factory outlet that sold remainder Hilfiger jeans, but could never paint over the distinguishing architecture or hide the fact that this place used to be a Pizza Hut or a McDonald’s.
Except that The Real Jerk isn’t a Pizza Hut or a McDonald’s, and that distinctive red and yellow block on the southeast corner of Queen and Broadview was remarkable because it stood out so clearly, not just from other places in the neighbourhood, but from other places in the city. The Real Jerk is why we live in cities in the first place—not because its food is Caribbean and thus “ethnic” or “other” or something, but because it’s delicious. Because you can’t get it at a Montana’s or an East Side Mario’s in a mall parking lot in Mississauga.
In the end, though, the gentrification’s thorny double-binds just reassert themselves. Even when you do get really incensed that its withered, Ebenezer Scrooge-ian claws are reaching into your neighbourhood, it’s hard to do anything. If you’re a Real Jerk patron, it seems like there’s nothing to do besides eat there while you can (and even squeeze in a sendoff Irie-oke night, or follow the eatery on Twitter). You can also sign the recently launched online petition to Save The Real Jerk. And if you’ve never eaten there, well, this may be your last chance. We recommend the fried chicken. And the curried chicken. And the roti. And the oxtail. And…well, everything’s excellent, really.
As much as residents of any city’s certain pockets may feel a sense of pride, it doesn’t translate into legitimate ownership, where property can be bought and sold like, well, property. It’s easy to identify with Pottinger’s frustration, but can we rally to melt the heart of the building’s owner, and sway his mind with some 11th-hour, last-ditch show of neighbourhood solidarity? Probably not. Real life isn’t a Frank Capra movie. All we can really do is pledge our continued patronage and, if we’re sappy enough, be affected and genuinely dismayed at how neigiourhoods are being bought and redeveloped with what seems like outright contempt for their own character. This affects all of us, man.
