Over salty bisque and...
5 months ago • 15 notes…saltier risotto Sweet Baby Jane told me a Sunday story. In June she flew to Cudjoe Key to visit her boy MFB, a beach bum who spends his days spear-fishing, snorkeling, and being otherwise phenomenal. (Sounds vaguely familiar.) She had not seen him in a month so she expected, upon arrival at Miami International, a vast bouquet of fresh Dutch tulips or, at the very least, a single wilted gas station carnation. He met her at baggage claim empty-handed.
As they pulled onto the highway, though, M. brandished a plate wrapped in tin foil. “Most guys would get their girlfriends flowers,” he said. “But I think you’ll like this better.” She unwrapped the aluminum parcel to find inside a lobster, steamed and peeled and drowning in butter. He had speared it for her that afternoon off the blinding Florida coast.
The boy gave my sister a lobster.
And as we drained the pinot gris, as we polished off the last bites of bisque, Jane said to me, “Falling in love isn’t all about the man, you know. It’s about who you are when you fall in love with him, and where, and the season. It’s about the time of year and the stupid shit you do together. He taught me how to gut the mahi-mahi. And eventually I’ll take him hiking. And then, you know, it’s about the seasons changing and still loving him in spite of it.”
And the crustaceans! Oh my God, it’s about the crustaceans.
