Ok, so that paradise thing? I could have been wrong about that. For one, the pull out couch-bed was like sleeping on tree bark. Secondly, no-see-ums? They’re seriously nasty little buggers and they’re everywhere. On the other hand, it’s sunny and eighty five. The palm trees sway in the slight sweet salty breeze that plays off the ocean, and there’s complimentary coffee downstairs twenty four-seven. So I grab a cup (or three), sit on the balcony with my G-2 and notepad, and contentedly wait for my herd to get up. Some three four hours later, it is time to explore. After some time in a car going in any direction, one quickly comes to notice things like the pristinely manicured lawns, the clean cut Mediterranean style homes, the fifteen chiropractor’s offices, and who could miss the CVS on every freakin’ corner? Most shops stand close to the roads, basking in the afternoon sun, and for the most part, things are slow. And not just the traffic. Everyone tells us that they are wondering where the people are, the winter birds and holiday makers that usually flock to the Gulf and its ritzy resorts this time of year. With the news that we are meeting up with a good friend, and recent addition to the residency, for dinner tonight, we duck into a swell looking seafood joint for lunch. Fish Tale has a distinctly Mid-Atlantic feel to it, with its iron furnishings and royal blue décor. There couldn’t be more than fifteen tables here, and more than half of them are filled. And it's only three o’clock. Oysters (from Louisiana) all around to start – fresh and a little gritty. There is an order of stone crab claws for my mother and sister to share, a rich orange-colored seafood orzo for Dad, and for me, a plate of in-house cured salmon slices with crostini, egg, a pop of salmon caviar, and green scallions. It is truly one of the most ingenious, and bizarre, dishes I’ve ever had. The tender sticky slivers of fish are a translucent, slightly brownish pink, and taste sweet like molasses. With the eggs and scallion – an unexpectedly tasty combo – you’ve got appetizer matrimony. Next we stop next store at Noela’s, where a chatty, and ironically hard of hearing, Arizona native handcrafts luscious chocolate truffles. Her shop has the look and feel of one that doesn’t get many customers, given the haphazardly stacked crates, and the thin but visible layer of dust on some out of place spa products on display. I pass on the chocolates, in their neat little rows lined up like gems across the cool granite counter top, and opt instead for a four dollar snicker doodle the size of my face. More driving follows, aimless driving, through some nearby neighborhoods (a few slightly crustier around the edges than others). We pass lots of little boutiques, a handful of Publix, and of course, the wide gamut of CVS’s. Then it’s back to the hotel to get ready for dinner. In this time, I open my cookie. It has me hooked at that crinkling of the Saran wrap. As soon as the plastic splits, I’m hit with the buttery, warm smell of cinnamon and sugar. I’m beginning to regret not buying the woman’s chocolate, since her cookie is surprisingly magical. Dinner takes us to Connors, well past dark, in the middle of a popular shopping complex. It has a chain-y, steakhouse feel to it, complete with a fish tank, dim lighting, and cherry wood tones. What catches my eye is the kitchen, which is more exposed than a blonde in the Red Light District, and separated from the dining room by only a waist high wall of blue tile. The wizardry of sauce pans, flames, the flash of knives, the little pops of color – green onions, sunny lemons, deep fuchsia beets… And the sizzle of seductive meats… I lingered here for a while. After being drug by my hair to our table, I give our friend a hug. We haven’t seen her in many months, not since she got that amazing job with the amazing firm down here, packed her bags, abandoned us, and then demanded that we come visit her. Luda is one of the most genuinely kind and respectable young women I know. She’d give you the shirt off her back if she hadn’t already promised it to the starving orphans that were picking through the dumpster out back. She’ll also give you a swift, steaming earful if you try to one-up her, or eff with her in any way. I admire that in a person. And she’s gorgeous to boot. I know she’s explained this to me seventeen times, but I couldn’t tell you what the heck she does down here in sunny Ft. Meyers. Her work entails sales stuff, I think, which makes sense given her spunky, peaceable demeanor. Another thing I love about Luda: she orders a steak tonight, a big honking chunk of bloody meat as opposed to a little bitty plate of ‘bovine lives matter’, like the rest of the millennial generation. It’s refreshing. So many women today fall into the skinny trap. It’s all over social media, girls posting ridiculous pictures wherein they suck in their guts while wearing nothing more than undergarments, and need the immediate satisfaction of ‘gosh, what a beauty!’ replies. Girls: do yourself a favor. Eat something. Pelvic bones jutting out from your hips is not sexy. I plan on sticking with a bowl of soup for the evening, having a rather aggressive bellyache thanks to a total ticket of coffee, sugar-cured fish, and cookie in my stomach. But my father knows me better, and orders me a filet. Some small talk. How’s work, how’s life, how’s the area? Are they treating you nice? Do you have cable? And then dinner. I have to say, that steak is tender and flavorful, and perfectly cooked. Even my broccoli is tasty. (Is that garlic in there? Why, yes! Yes it is!) More small talk, and a totally and indecently delicious dessert plate involving sautéed bananas, sweet buttery ice cream, and phyllo (ohhh my god…). The bill is paid, followed by hugs all around, and just like that, the day is done.
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