Here’s a not-so-secret confession that might just get my BVI card revoked: though I was born in the British Virgin Islands, I was raised under the glorious food gospel of Jamaica. And that, dear reader, has left my cultural tastebuds a little offbeat—like a steelpan solo in a reggae band.

So when I first heard about fish in mayonnaise sauce, my soul shuddered. My exact words? “What in the tarnation is that?” Who dipped their fish in a condiment reserved for tuna sandwiches and deviled eggs? It sounded like a culinary betrayal. I questioned everything. My faith. My citizenship. My coworkers.

But the Lord is patient, and so is my palate.

Today I come to you not as a skeptic, but as a woman redeemed. There is another side of heaven, and it is creamy, lemon-kissed, and served over a perfectly cooked hardnose fish at none other than Gram’s Place in East End.

The Pilgrimage to Gram’s

Let me take you back. I was working at the college in Paraquita Bay, hustling through another BVI afternoon, when a colleague said, “You ever eat from Gram’s?” I shook my head. He looked at me like I had just confessed I don’t like Johnny cakes.

Gram’s Place was founded by the late Grethel Stout-Richardson, and though I don’t know her story in detail, her food tells all. The space is unpretentious and peaceful—a clean, bright canteen-style layout with wooden chairs, square tables, and enough natural light to make your skin glow while you bless your belly. It ain’t fancy. It’s functional. A place that doesn’t distract you with décor because the food is the main event.

The Hardnose Revelation

Let me tell you something: not all fish are created equal when it comes to this dish. Snapper? She’s cute. But hardnose (Blue Runner)? She’s chosen. The flesh is firmer, the flavor bolder, and she doesn’t bring a thousand tiny bones to the table. That’s love.

The meal came with green banana, sweet potato, flour dumpling, and of course, fungi with okra (or as we Jamaicans say, “tun cornmeal”). This was strong body food. Soul food. Food that lays hands on you and rebukes your fatigue.

Now fungi was never my childhood fave. But adulthood comes with bills, back pain, and a matured palate. That fungi-and-okra duo? It held that fish like grace holds the weary. Silky, savory, and sanctified.

And can we talk dumplings? I need mine firm, kneaded with purpose. Miss me with those soggy ones that sat in hot water too long. I love when they hold their shape and their pride.

The Sauce That Saved Me

But the true star? That creamy mayonnaise sauce. EXTRA, please. Poured like anointing oil over my fish, soaking into every corner of the plate. I like mine with crunchy onions and a generous squeeze of lemon—just enough zing to make you sit up straighter and say, “Yes, Lord.”

I’m not ashamed to admit I left no evidence behind. Clean plate. Fork shining. Except the fish head. I know, I know—Caribbean cardinal sin. But I don’t nyam fish head. I’m just not built that way. Fight me.

Final Blessing

So if you, like me, ever judged fish in mayonnaise sauce before tasting it—repent and run to Gram’s. It’s an experience your taste buds won’t forget.

Holy Fork Rating: 3.6/5 — Sanctified & Satisfying: Local tradition, creamy conviction, and a hardnose that hits harder than your ex.

Have you ever had fish in mayo? Where do you get your fix? Drop your recommendations, your confessions, or your fish head opinions in the comments. Let’s talk truth and taste!