Let’s talk about the curious alchemy of barbecue—a dish so deeply rooted in regional identity that even the most seasoned pitmasters debate whether a brisket from Texas can ever taste like one from Kansas City. Now, imagine a Caribbean-born chef reinventing that sacred cow with a side of jerk spice and passionfruit glaze. That’s not just a recipe; it’s a cultural collision that feels both inevitable and revolutionary. Jase Franklyn’s journey from Brooklyn backyard grill to a permanent spot at Time Out Market Union Square isn’t just a story about food. It’s a masterclass in how personal heritage can reshape entire industries, one smoky bite at a time.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how Franklyn’s path mirrors a broader trend: the rise of diasporic chefs redefining culinary boundaries. Growing up in Tobago, he learned to cook from his mother, who turned holiday meals into rituals. But when he moved to the U.S. for computer science, he didn’t trade his grill for a keyboard. Instead, he became the unofficial BBQ host for friends, a role that eventually birthed Jase’s BBQ. This isn’t just a business—it’s a love letter to his roots, reimagined for a global palate. In my opinion, Franklyn’s story is a reminder that food isn’t just sustenance; it’s a passport to cultural storytelling.
Now, let’s dissect the brisket. For years, Franklyn avoided it, calling it ‘so American.’ That’s a telling admission. Brisket has long been a symbol of Texan pride, a dish so tied to tradition that even the word ‘brisket’ feels like a badge of honor. But Franklyn’s pivot—experimenting with slow-cooked techniques, charcoal smokers, and ultimately, a secret Caribbean spice blend—shows how innovation thrives when we challenge assumptions. What many people don’t realize is that this wasn’t just about flavor. It was about ownership. By infusing brisket with jerk seasoning and passionfruit, Franklyn wasn’t just cooking; he was asserting that Caribbean identity could coexist with American barbecue, even dominate it.
Then there’s the viral moment. A random video shot during an interview about pig tails accidentally spotlighting his brisket? That’s the chaos of social media, but it also highlights a deeper truth: authenticity sells. When Rob Martinez tasted that brisket, he didn’t just see a dish—he saw a story. And in today’s hyperconnected world, stories are currency. Franklyn’s rise from pop-up to permanent market stall proves that if you nail the narrative, the world will follow. What this really suggests is that food entrepreneurs must now think of themselves as storytellers first, chefs second.
The new location at Time Out Market isn’t just a physical address—it’s a statement. Union Square is a hub of cultural convergence, and Franklyn’s menu (think jerk brisket, pulled pork, and mac and cheese with a Caribbean twist) is a bold declaration that fusion isn’t a gimmick. It’s the future. Personally, I think the $14 lunch deal is genius. It democratizes access to high-quality food, which is exactly what urban markets are supposed to do. But beyond the prices, what’s thrilling is the experimentation. Brisket spring rolls? Why not? In a world where food trends shift faster than Instagram hashtags, Franklyn’s willingness to evolve is his greatest asset.
This raises a deeper question: How long can niche cuisines remain niche in a market hungry for novelty? Franklyn’s success suggests that authenticity and innovation aren’t mutually exclusive. If anything, they’re symbiotic. His pig tails, already award-winning, and the upcoming spring rolls signal a deliberate strategy to keep the menu fresh without losing its soul. A detail that I find especially interesting is how he’s leveraging his Caribbean roots to challenge the dominance of American BBQ—a move that could inspire other diasporic chefs to reclaim their culinary legacies.
So, what’s next? Will Franklyn’s model of cultural fusion become a blueprint for others? Or will purists resist, clinging to the idea that certain dishes belong to specific regions? I’d argue that the future of food lies in hybridity. As global migration reshapes identities, so too will our palates. Franklyn’s BBQ isn’t just a restaurant—it’s a microcosm of that evolution. And if you’ve ever wondered why a jerk-spiced brisket might taste like a dream, well, now you can find out. Just don’t be surprised if the next big trend starts with a charcoal smoker and a dash of Caribbean magic.
