No new news here. I've covered my deep, deep affection for sea scallops on these pages before. But I couldn't help myself from ranting (again) about this evening's meal simply out of born-again excitement if nothing else.
Cracking open a frosty Sierra Nevada, and noting the pleasant radiant heat from today's time in the sun, a generous slab of butter hits my cast iron, and the scallops assume their position like a fleet of divers waiting for the whistle to blow.
I eat slowly, trying not to make noises within earshot of my shellfish intolerant husband, proving a serious challenge. Insult to injury, it's Father's Day, and here I am savoring these sweet treasures in front of him. I soothe my guilt by serving him a juicy roast chicken from East Fork. Oh, but then George Strait comes on; "there's a difference between living and living well" and the game's over. This is the best meal of the season thus far.
I hear myself begin my usual reel on trading this life for year-round flip flops and sand. Not a day goes by without pining for the ocean. Though blessed to live in these gorgeous mountains, the sea is constantly on my mind, and constantly putting substantial weight on my heart strings. Not sure if meals like this serve as salve or disgrace to this relentless ache. Until it is clear to stay or one day go, I ask the powers that be to bless Frank for closing the gap between here and there with his weekly seafood dealings. He is a shepherd of good dreams.