$35 for oxtails with a plastic fork?

Jerk and fried chicken are still standouts, but the value equation is off after the big move

I can say I knew The Jerk Shack back when.

Back when you had to wait in a sweaty line outside the walk-up window of an old taco stand by Our Lady of the Lake University to get that good Jamaican food. Back when the crew worked in a tiny, scorching hellhole of a kitchen. Back when the only place to sit was a covered patio that still felt like 100 degrees in the shade.

So walking right up to the counter with no wait at the relocated Jerk Shack in a brand-new air-conditioned building by SeaWorld robbed me of the self-righteous suffering of the early adopter. My place, my little Jerk Shack, belongs to everyone now, and they don’t even have to break a sweat.

Despite sounding all Grandpa-yelling-at-the-clouds, “back when” just means 2018, when Lattoia Massey, also known as chef Nicola Blaque, opened The Jerk Shack with her husband and co-owner, Cornelius Massey. Inspired by her Jamaican heritage and trained at the Culinary Institute of America, San Antonio, Lattoia Massey created a Caribbean and American soul food melange of jerk chicken, braised oxtails, and shrimp and grits that drew praise from the Express-News and landed Jerk Shack among GQ magazine’s Best New Restaurants.

The Jerk Shack already was outgrowing its tiny home on Matyear Street when the pandemic struck in March 2020, and the Masseys doubled down with a Caribbean wrap stand called Mi Roti at the Pearl’s food hall that summer. But the pressures of shifting Jerk Shack to carryout and delivery only, coupled with a location that challenged customers and staff alike, compelled the Masseys to close the original in September.

In a spot on Texas 151 near SeaWorld originally intended to be Jerk Shack’s second location, the Masseys reopened

Jerk Shack in January with a better kitchen, a bigger menu, room to seat 50 people and, most important, air conditioning.

Well, second most important. What matters most in the move is that Jerk Shack preserved the integrity of the food that made it worth talking about in the first place, thanks to Massey and fellow chef Lionel “Butch”

Blache.

That conversation begins with jerk chicken, juicy bone-in pieces grilled over fire and covered with a thick mahogany cloak of garlic, cloves, chiles and herbs that gave each piece an ascending flavor profile that started sweet, transitioned into tangy, then hovered in aromatic suspension before the heat set everything on fire in flashes like staring into the sun then blinking your eyes.

You want the bad news or the good news about fried chicken first?

The bad news is that the ongoing wing shortage took the Jerk Shack’s fried wings with mac and cheese off the menu. The good news is that fried legs and thighs are now on the menu, and they come in a close second to the jerk chicken for best thing here.

Anybody can fry chicken

and get it halfway right most of the time. The difference at Jerk Shack is consistency, crust and seasoning. Every piece, every time, carried the same sturdy breading, the same glossy interior, the same seasoning that balanced salt, pepper and a steady backbeat of herbs.

Soul-food sides added depth and dimension to the chicken experience, sides like collard greens with a vinegary-sweet twang, mac and cheese with a broiled crown, thick cheese grits and deep orange yams with a syrupy glaze.

Leaning into the soul-food experience, Jerk Shack brought back braised oxtails, like glossy brown asterisks dunked in tawny pan gravy announcing that 50 percent fat plus 50 percent lean equals 100 percent flavor.

If Jerk Shack stopped there, nobody would complain. But

the menu’s rambling collection of Jamaican-accented “likkle tings,” “big tings” and “chop tings” included a solid trio of jerk pork ribs with roadside barbecue character, a hearty vegetarian bowl with the golden glow of curried cauliflower, and a bowl of shrimp and grits that looked like a greenishyellow mess but tasted just fine.

But is “just fine” enough when that bowl costs $26? And is a plastic carryout bowl with plastic forks the best way to present $35 oxtails?

But that’s how everything’s served at Jerk Shack. It’s a callback to the scrappy old days that feels out of place in front of a turfed-out Instagram wall.

Regardless of packaging, I didn’t like the hard slab of chicken on a fried-chicken sandwich, a dryness that wasn’t helped by limp pineapple slaw. Nor did I connect with the dry rice and peas nor the undercooked cabbage and carrots alongside the oxtails and cauliflower bowls.

And where Jerk Shack mastered the art of chicken, it didn’t have the same prowess with pork. It tasted rangy and old chopped into a trio of tacos, then dry and chalky over a side of grits. And the savory pie called a beef patty that should have been a no-brainer for a Jamaican place came across as greasy and tired as yesterday’s hamburger.

In a market where food costs have pushed even a three-piece chicken box with two sides to $20, Jerk Shack does offer a few value-conscious entry points for the first-timers and the faithful alike. A large and fortifying side of mac and cheese with chopped chicken costs just $10. And the $9 snack box with one piece of jerk or fried chicken, a sturdy coco bread roll and a side of collard greens took me back to the days when I stood in line at The Jerk Shack even on hot summer days.

You know, back when.

Photos by Mike Sutter/Staff A three-piece jerk chicken meal is served with potato salad and collard greens. The jerk chicken remains worthy of the national accolades heaped on it.

Braised oxtails are back, and it was a happy reunion. But is a plastic carryout bowl and plastic forks the best presentation for the $35 dish?

The fried wings with mac and cheese is off the menu due to the wing shortage. But there are great fried legs and thighs now.

Shrimp and grits may look like a greenishyellow mess, but they taste fine. Fried plantains are served as a side.