After logging about four hours at the beach, which consisted mainly of lying down and reading and then getting up and swimming in a closed loop, we packed up and returned to the house. I forget what we ate. I think mostly cheese for lunch. Though I could be forgetting something. Chicken maybe? We discussed what we wanted for dinner in the coming nights, thinking mostly of seafood. Soft shell crabs were envisioned. And shrimp. And tuna. And scallops. I went and picked up the majority of the things on our dream list at Austin's Seafood in nearby Rodanthe, and after an afternoon of beer and wine, I began to prepare for the grilling part of the evening.
Apricot Stilton and the remnants of Rosey Goat. I wasn't overly crazy about the apricot stilton, so much apricot flavor that the cheese seemed really just to be a delivery system. Later on C. pulled out a huge wedge of Brie that I couldn't say no to every time I passed it in the coming days. How could one say no to that face? The face of Brie: a thing of wondrous, seductive beauty ... and a bitch for the waistline. I should be a copywriter.
These, I was told, are sometimes called Century Plants. There were a number of them around the house and I just loved the look of them.
In preparation for the trip I bought a new bathing suit top, having been convinced by K. during our Jamaica trip that I wouldn't be astonishingly disgusting to others on the beach if I were to rock a little bare stomach. Though I purchased the top I wasn't sure I really had the guts to wear it in public...mainly because of my gut. See what I did there? C. suggested asking J. the 17 year old (of whom no photographic proof - bar one - will be seen because she has an uncanny knack of looking more miserable than I think she really was in all of them and I'd prefer all of us to imagine her with smiles on her face) what she thought, as she is not one to hold her opinions back on the whole. So I asked her if wearing such a thing would be cause for ignominy, and she said no. But I didn't buy it, I think she was too entranced by Invader Zim to pay much attention to the urgency of the question. C. took a photograph and while I must admit it's not terrible, I couldn't constantly be worried about the stomach and never actually wore the suit to the beach. Why am I going on about this? Let's move on.
While I stoked the grill, C. and D. - cousins for years now - sat on the top deck with binoculars and drinks.
Meanwhile, I manned the grill and fretted over the tuna steaks (local and fresh) being too rare or too cooked.
In the end they were just right, at least by my standards. Rare but with enough cooked-ness that they flaked easily. Still pink. Yes. Most certainly still pink. And with the tuna we enjoyed tomato slices and grilled potatoes. J. enjoyed hot dogs because she doesn't eat things from the sea, which truthfully is what all of us in the world should do if we want anything left for future generations. She said before providing many a future meal proving her own hypocrisy.