I Found The Nest – And It Found Me – Holy Fork That's Good

Photo Credit: The Nest Facebook page

📍The Nest Restaurant, East End, Tortola

Y’all ever feel like a bird without a nest? Yeah. That was me. A feathered little soul flapping around aimlessly on the eastern side of Tortola—hungry, hopeless, and hangry. Since my job relocated me out East, I’ve been caught in a culinary wilderness. A flavor desert. A fast-food famine. You know the kind—bare lunch options, mystery meat patties, and “corner shops” where you pray over everything twice before eating.

But then today. TODAY.

The Lord saw fit to change my story.

The skies parted. The angels harmonized in E major. And the scent of redemption—also known as baked chicken and cranberry rice—came floating through the air like divine perfume.

Getting There: BVI-Style GPS

Now listen—knowing about The Nest and finding The Nest are two different spiritual battles. BVI directions are not for the faint of heart.

“Yuh guh straight, then turn by the mango tree that look like it leaning but not really, then pass Tiger’s Bar—then turn right.”

Baby. The direction was NOT directioning. I had to rebuke confusion like a good Pentecostal.

But today, this lil bird stopped flapping and started soaring. I flew. I found it. And sis, not only did I find The Nest—I feasted.

The Miracle Meal: Let Me Testify

I walked in like Mary Magdalene at the tomb—expecting nothing but open to a miracle. And there it was:

Cranberry rice.

Say what now?

I paused like a good Christian before sinning. Should I? Could I? Something in my spirit whispered: “Live a little.” And so I did.

I asked the waitress—a culinary prophetess in disguise—what to pair with it. She led me to the baked chicken like she was guiding Moses through the wilderness.

Three sides: cranberry rice, scalloped potatoes, and coleslaw. This wasn’t a plate. This was divine strategy. This was manifestation.

Wait Time: Minimal
Mood: Elevated
Expectation: Exceeded

First Bite:

The cranberry rice? Savory. Purposeful. Those cranberries? Fruity little hallelujahs.
The baked chicken? Tender. Glazed in mystery. Rosemary-kissed like a Bible verse read aloud by someone anointed.
The scalloped potatoes? Creamy. Cheesy. Almost disrespectfully good.
The coleslaw? Crisp. Cooling. A much-needed praise break in the middle of a flavor revival.

The Ambiance: Come and Rest, All Who Are Weary

The decor was soft and soothing, plants flourishing like Psalms 1 trees, and the cushions? Listen. This seat understood the assignment. The Nest said, “Come and sit, sis. Your deliverance is ready.”

Too often we rush our meals like pit stops. But this? This was a sanctuary experience. I didn’t just eat. I rested. I received.

Final Thoughts & Holy Fork Rating

The Nest didn’t just fill my belly. It filled my spirit. It reminded me that even in new, unfamiliar places—there are still flavors waiting to find you.

So if you’re out East and feelin’ lost, hungry, or just in need of a culinary altar call?

Fly to The Nest. Your blessing is plated.

Holy Fork That's Good