We visited the Cardiff Hall Hotel and Spa for Mother's Day brunch on May 12, 2019. The Cardiff is a subsidiary of The HEART Trust, the Government of Jamaica Training Agency. It was a great experience, and although at the time of writing this blog, I was employed to HEART, if it was not great, or Mom and I were not treated with courtesy and respect, you can be assured I would say it was not great. I don't mind the dislike I encounter for being blunt! However, this as you will see, is more about dining with Mom (and what it meant to me), rather than the wonderful indulgence of our visit to the Cardiff. I will allow the photos to capture the essence of Cardiff's hospitality, while I focus on the essentials of my experience with Mommy at the venue.
I know even attempting to re-pay her is impossible. In reflection on the excellent way mommy chose to socialise me, it would be my utmost grateful expression to say that she she imparted the subtle but necessary attributes that made me into a gentleman. Have I been perfect? No. Even in launching this blog, I took the risk of vulnerability to be exposed to the naysayers, and the accusers. Do not be surprised if they surface. Despite my admittance of not always facing the challenges, with success, she had imparted the most profound values, principles and upbringing to me. Without too much expansion in the full spectrum of her efforts, let me stick to the concept that my blog promotes - the social encounter of dinning out, as a sub-component of focus.
Now the last sentence in the previous paragraph may be a bit puzzling to some readers. To clarify, consider a humble setting where my aunt, Carmen (the eldest child for grandma and grand father) took me as her baby when my mother (her baby sister, Judy) had me when she was only still a child. Carmen and Egbert fell on hard times, but they had me and Anthony (their son together) to care for. So leaving the comfort of spacious rental apartments in Ensome City, they moved to Lauriston in a one bedroom, red floor with the pit latrine toilet on the outside. Yet in this basic surrounding I recalled at about age 6 or 7, they had managed to build a half-finished concrete dwelling around the little wooden structure described earlier. When that first little hut was demolished, the space eventually became a dinning and living room (in one) where a table for four (4) was placed.
I remembered that small table vividly, because it was around that table I awkwardly held my first knife and fork! My eyes gloss with loving drops of moisture, as I recalled Mommy (my aunt who mothered me) instructing in the British standard of dinning etiquette; "Ashley keep the fork in the left hand and the knife in the right." (Oh by the way, my family used my middle name ASHLEY to address me...said to be a girl name these days). I remember her gentle grip as she showed how to hold the food item with the fork and cut with the knife, and then how to gracefully raise the food to my mouth, instead of dipping my head to the plate. I recall the lessons she taught on how to set the table, and the 'learning by doing' methodology of tasking me to do it occasionally. So be warned. If I come to your restaurant and you do not set the table well, I will notice!
So suggest another title for this article, if I failed at captioning its essence. If I were to find another title, I would declare to my aunt who became my mommy, and to the world: MOMMY I LOVE YOU...ENDLESSLY!