Go See Tyce!

Mabel “Tyce” Reid. photos/Troy R. Bennett

The unconquerable queen of Jamaican cuisine on Saco’s auto mile 

It’s one of the first truly warm days of spring and the door to Go See Tyce Jamaican BBQ, on Saco’s Route 1 auto mile near Funtown Splashtown USA, is flung open wide. An outdoor speaker blasts bass-heavy reggae, rattling its plastic housing. Inside, behind the takeout counter, Mabel “Tyce” Reid is singing along while dishing up jerk pork, curried goat, plantains, and melt-in-your mouth oxtails over dirty rice.

A young woman steps inside the tiny, one-table establishment and shouts, her arms outstretched in a ta-dah pose. “I told you I’d be back!” she exclaims over the music. “This is, hands down, the best food I’ve ever had!”

Tyce spins around and lays eyes on the customer through stylish cat-eye glasses. Recognizing her, Tyce squeals with delight. A two-person dance party breaks out on both side of the counter as the women groove to the beat.

Still bouncing to the bass, Tyce goes down her steaming buffet line, piling a plate high with jerk chicken, candied yams, rice and extra gravy for her guest. Then she pulls a spiced Jamaican rum cake from below the counter — a special dessert not on the regular menu — and cuts two slices. Tyce finishes the order with two bottles of Jamaican Kola Champagne.

“I used to drink that every day when I was in school,” Tyce says, handing over the sweet, non-alcoholic soda. “It really kept me going.”

While that may be true, the 60-something Jamaican native (she’s cagey about her exact age) has always been powered by far more than fizzy drinks. A fierce drive for excellence, fueled by family love and sacrifice, leads Tyce wherever she goes. It led her from her mountain village, at the age of seven, to pursue an education, alone, in the capital city of Kingston, then to college in the United States when she was only 15. It also brought her through a long career of public education administration in Massachusetts, centered on racial equity and Boston’s hot-button issues of desegregation and school bussing.

At a stage in life when most accomplished women are easing into retirement, that same fearless gumption led Tyce to take on a new challenge. She moved to Maine and started schooling locals on the undeniable delights of real Jamaican barbeque.

“I make sure that every time you eat my food, you moan because it’s so good,” Tyce said, sitting down to talk during a late-afternoon lull. “As long as I live up to that promise, I feel like I’m doing what I started out to do” — to make her grandfather proud.

Tyce’s grandfather was an imposingly tall man, well over six feet, and a WWI veteran. He owned the store in their small community of Omeally. Named Leon Gordon, everyone called him Lion. He’d wanted to send his daughter, Tyce’s mother, to college to become a nurse.

“Then I came along when she was young and spoiled all that,” Tyce said. “But I was the first grandchild, so a lot of love was poured into me.”

She admits to being spoiled. Lion gave her the nickname that’s stuck all her life. Tyce is short for “enticing,” because he couldn’t deny her anything. But Lion also expected a lot. “He says, ‘Your job is to get an education,’” Tyce recalled, “‘and our job is to make sure we give you what you need.’”

When she was just shy of seven, after attending the local one-room schoolhouse since the age of three, Tyce’s mother walked her 10 miles to the nearest bus stop and took her into Kingston to look for a better school. Back then, education wasn’t free and parents had to shop their children around to find the best school they could afford that also had room and would accept them. Because Tyce was from a mountain village, most administrators didn’t think she’d meet their standards. They were wrong.

When she finally found a placement, the school immediately promoted her two grades ahead of her age group because she was already so advanced in math and reading. But to stay in the city, Tyce had to board with a local family. To pay for that, she became their cook, making food for seven people on a daily basis.

“The way I kind of protected myself was I became an athlete. I learned how to play every sport there was,” Tyce said. “So I always had a sport after school. That was my way of not being their all-out maid.”

In 1973, a year before desegregation bussing (and the riots it sparked) began, Tyce moved to Boston with her parents and siblings. After a year and a half of high school, she entered Pine Manor women’s college (now Messina College) at 15. After earning her associate’s degree there, Tyce attended Northeastern University, became their number one women’s tennis player, and earned a BA in education. She’d planned on being a physical education teacher but ended up in high school administration.

One of Tyce’s big accomplishments was helping to save Dorchester’s dilapidated Jeremiah Burke High School. A majority-minority institution, it was Boston’s first public school to lose its accreditation. Tyce led a team that convinced Apple, IBM and Oracle to chip in and wire the school for high-tech learning. It’s now called the Dr. Albert D. Holland High School of Technology

“I won an award for that from the senator married to the Heinz Ketchup lady,” Tyce told me, searching for the name. “Kerry … John Kerry.”

In 2000, Tyce started a 20-year run as a program director at the Metropolitan Council for Educational Opportunity (METCO), the nation’s largest voluntary school-integration program, which still busses inner-city kids to suburban school districts. Since its founding during the peak of the Civil Rights Movement, METCO has allowed tens of thousands of Boston kids of color to get educations in predominantly white school districts.

Immensely proud of her work there, Tyce still wears a METCO pin on her shirt while cooking. But every job wears thin eventually. After a few run-ins with a new boss, she decided to look for the next challenge. Unsure what that might be, she came to Maine to visit her brother, Bigga Reid, nicknamed for his tall frame — just like their grandfather.

“I asked him if there was any good Jamaican food around here,” she said. Bigga laughed, said no. That was Tyce’s eureka moment. “I said, ‘Then I’m going to put one here.’ He thought I was crazy — everyone thought I was crazy.”

She initially envisioned a seasonal place in Old Orchard Beach, but couldn’t find anyone who’d lease her a space — likely, she thinks, because she’s Black, has an accent, is a woman, and was planning to sell food considered “ethnic.”

“But I didn’t take it personally,” Tyce said. “I’ve dealt with that on a daily basis. It’s just another day in the life.”

Undaunted, Tyce soon met realtor Ruth Summers, who instantly believed in her. Summers was impressed by Tyce’s energy, intelligence and passion for Jamaican cuisine. “If she’s over sixty, I’ll eat my shoe,” Summers said, reached by phone in her car. “She just loves to cook.”

The agent, who’s married to former Maine Republican political candidate and Secretary of State Charlie Summers, helped Tyce find a house on Route 1 with an adjacent locksmith shop. After renovations, Go See Tyce started serving succulent smoked meats and assorted Jamaican fare in August 2021.

Tyce honors her grandfather with the lion logo on her restaurant’s t-shirts and a lion statue by the counter. She’s also still in the education field, serving on the METCO board of directors and teaching her customers about Jamaican food and culture. “As a former school principal, school administrator, I always have that hat on,” Tyce said. “People come in, they want to ask about Jamaica, they want to tell me about their vacation there and what they’ve experienced.”

“I was hooked the first time I came here,” said customer Mark Fede, picking up barbeque on his lunch break. “I come here pretty much every Friday.”

Fede was sipping on a sorrel-infused drink Tyce introduced to him. It’s a special concoction she doesn’t advertise. “I don’t know what’s in it,” Fede said, “but it’s sweet, with spices.”

There are some questions Tyce won’t answer, and not just about her age. 

“They try to get my recipes, and I laugh,” she said. “I can’t give you recipes for my dishes because, on any given day, I cook like this” — she mimed throwing ingredients into a bowl in unmeasured fistfulls. “Besides, my food tastes the way it does because of the love I put into it.”

Go See Tyce (810 Portland Rd., Saco) is open Wed.-Sat. 11:30 a.m.-8 p.m., Sun. 11:30 a.m.-7 p.m. There’s outdoor seating for nice days and menus (including for catering) online at goseetycebbq.com.