The cornbread is dry, but I always eat it anyway. The trick is to find the butter. The single-serve tubs are piled in a stainless steel bucket on a table by the sweet tea—the same table where you grab your own forks, napkins, and lemon slices. I apply it liberally, frosting the cornbread like a slice of birthday cake. Crumbly and sticky, sweet and salty, I eat it last like dessert.

The cornbread at Eats may be nothing special, but it comes free with every meat-and-three, vegetable plate, and classic Eats platter (jerk chicken, black beans, white rice). The rice is chewy and bland. Order a side of steamed broccoli and you get a bowl of bright-green florets, undercooked and underseasoned.

Perhaps the sides are forgettable because the jerk chicken is the star. Or maybe that’s the point

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