Local Fare

A total dive. Loud locals. Even louder tourists. Packed tables. A guy strumming his guitar in the corner, in board shorts and flip flops, covering Jimmy Buffet songs. The salty sea breeze swirls its way through the laughing patrons. Smokin. Oyster. Brewery. SOB, as our new beer koozies call it. YUM. An enthusiastic wait staff, bustling about, keeping boat drinks and local beers on every table, in every hand. Feeling free to sway to the music. To sing off key. Sitting across the table from Panama Jack himself, my suntanned better half, complete with croakies attached to his sunglasses and a black and mild behind his ear, with an absolutely gigantic grin plastered on his face. Anticipation of a huge, delicious meal, fresh from the day's catch. You couldn't keep us away from this place if you paid us. It was like Christmas morning, for adult beach lovers. There's something magical about spending the day collecting seashells, playing in the refreshing water of an endless ocean, followed by eating entirely with your hands. I love a restaurant that not only allows, but encourages, ridiculous messes. Matt tried their house beer, brewed on site, heavy and dark. Not so much my style, but every bit his. I indulged in the single greatest margarita my tastebuds have ever experienced. Maybe it was the reality of that moment, maybe we were delirious from our day at the beach, or watching the setting sun, splashing orange and pinks and reds all over our backdrop. Whatever it is, I'm convinced that all boat drinks are better when consumed by the ocean.

We began with smoked fish dip. Mmm. I mean, we began with Heaven and crackers. Then came the main event. Steamed shrimp and Dungeness crab legs, caught not more than a mere hundred feet from where we were sitting, and loaded with garlic.

This was one of those meals where I actually felt pangs of sadness at its conclusion. Spoken like a true fat kid at heart, huh? We laughed, and drank and ate. Oh boy, did we eat! And as the last bit of orange faded against the calm, navy blue waters, the first cords of Kenny Chesney's "Guitars and Tiki Bars" began, and I looked across the table, toasted Panama Jack, and breathed a sigh of peace. Then we laughed at each other because we had food all over our faces.

You can't quite see it here, but beyond Matt's feet is the ocean. Talk about a view! (Excuse the photo quality, as both of these photos were taken with my point and shoot. But you get the idea, vacation's vacation, after all!)