Ellington

When Eda-Mae LaBranche came to Jackson more than seven years ago, she already had four biological children whom she nourished with oxtail and curry goat, mangoes and plantains.

Now, in addition to those four—Corey and Zowie, Theobie and Nekita, two of whom are grown and out of the house—she also has two foster children to feed, as well as neighborhood kids who, like her, call the islands of the Caribbean their first home. Her son Corey, 34, the one in Shreveport, calls her at lunch, faithfully, every day.

LaBranche, 53, has been feeding people for years—in St. Ann's Bay, Jamaica, where she and nine siblings (eight sisters, one brother) grew up; in Miami, where she and her now ex-husband ran a restaurant called La Negritude ("black attitude"); and now in Jackson, where she owns Island Flavors, a Caribbean food store and juice bar (353-3388).

"When we have dinner at home," says LaBranche, whose children—biological, foster and informally adopted—call her "Mommie," "I just cook up, and everybody who is around eats, so they can have dinner as a family."

LaBranche's face is all teeth, whiter than coconut meat, and she wears gold dangle earrings. She has no license to serve food out of her store, so she doesn't. She does let people try things for free, if they'd like, so they'll learn more about her merchandise. She brings her stock up from Miami herself, stopping only to stay the night with family there before driving back. It's a haul, 16 hours each way, and while she occasionally takes her daughter Thoebie with her, she sometimes takes her brother-in-law's sister Ann, who doesn't drive, to keep her company instead.

"I'm afraid to stop, because I might not get back in and go," LaBranche says of her philosophy on the road. But when she returns with papayas, sorrel, star anise, kasava and DeWitt's Worm Syrup (known for its usefulness in deworming children's toenails), her store is stocked, and people who want jackfruit or jerk seasoning may come buy it.

If they can find the place, that is. It is situated in the alley of the Mart 51 shopping center on Terry Road between Highway 80 and I-20. Look for the white van sitting outside it, which bears the words "Specializing in African, West Indian & Latin American Groceries and Natural Juice Bar" on its side. The sign in the window ("Island Flavors"), written in orange magic marker on white butcher paper, is less easy to spot.

Island Flavors has been open three months. LaBranche has relied on word of mouth to get her by. So far, it's worked. She gets curious Americans ("who see this kind of food on television," she says), Caribbean people who "get nostalgic and want home food," and people like Godfrey Morgan, a chef who caters Caribbean food in the Jackson area and is grateful Island Flavors exists so that he doesn't have to drive down to Miami anymore.

The store isn't huge, but it's got the basics. LaBranche carries produce (mangoes, papayas, coconuts, several different kinds of sweet potatoes, melons, plantains), canned items (callaloo, custard powder, drink syrups, AK-100 vanilla, irish moss, ribena) and spices (sorrel, raw chocolate, mauby bark, bitterleaf). The store is stark, fluorescent-lit, and features a glassed-in cabinet with ceramic paperweights, as well as a bar at which to sit and drink juice in the back. LaBranche serves nectars of mango, soursop, carrot, tamarind, papaya, guava, mamey, mauby, sorrel, or any combination.

LaBranche is happy to give suggestions and advice, and she is a woman who knows her merchandise. She'll explain foods' uses, and she'll even open things up and give you a taste. Just recently, she drove to the coast and brought back 20 pounds of shrimp, which she stored in a cooler. Her daughters Theobie and Zowie found a tiny, baby shark among them.

"How are you going to do them?" she asked after I bought a pound of the translucent crustaceans, all whiskers and beady black eyes. I wasn't sure.

She got a knife from the kitchen, gouged into the shrimp's back, pulled the vein out and sliced the flesh. Voila, it was butterflied. "Combine one-half cup self-rising flour, some all-purpose seasoning, garlic powder and water for the batter," she instructed, pulling seasoning from her shelf, giving me a packet to try for free. The recipe called for the shrimp to be battered, then rolled in all-purpose flour, then dipped back into the batter and fried. It sounded good, and was.

The majority of LaBranche's family still lives in Miami. She moved here because she stopped one time on her way to her son's wedding in Shreveport, and "the greenness of the trees" reminded her of Jamaica.

She misses the restaurant, La Negritude, in Miami, but aspires toward a take-out business here in Jackson. It's the cooking, and the feeding, that gets her. "The kitchen is my first love," she says. "Well," she adds, "except for my children."