I guess it had to happen at some point.  We’d hit our fifteenth country and managed to clean our plates every time.  What events conspired to lead me to toss my overstuffed foil container of Bajan leftovers into the trash before I even entered my apartment?  Read on, friend. I’ll explain.

A fifteen-minute bus ride from Kensington left the Nomad crew at the corner of Flatbush Ave. and Empire Blvd. on the east side of Prospect Park, still a good fifteen-minute walk from either of the restaurants the Nomad had scouted.  Anyone looking for a leisurely Saturday afternoon stroll could do a lot better than Empire Blvd. between Flatbush and Nostrand.  Although the desolate trudge past warehouse after garage after warehouse was hardly transporting me to anything approaching my heavily stereotyped image of Barbados, it was doing wonders for my appetite, and I arrived at Culpepper’s (1082 Nostrand Ave, Brooklyn 718- 940-4122) raring for a feast.

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