Dear Dr. Archer: I must confess that I went deep sea fishing again this weekend. As you predicted, I got plenty of external support from others who similarly held this pathological ideation. Below are the sordid details of my obsession.
We left Star Island Marina, on Friday morning, at 5am. My cult mates: three former room mates from college. Now, a plumber, a real estate developer, and a financier / ex-Navy Seal. The cult leaders: a cheerful, grey bearded captain and a salty, amazingly capable, whirling dervish of a first mate. With our twin GM diesels humming, we saw an awe inspiring, red basketball sunrise. In our dream-like, cultish fashion, we reeled in our limit of keeper Striped Bass, by 7:30am.
Ignoring negative opinions from other vessels, and a 15 knot offshore wind, we quietly cheered the common pathological ideation and ventured off into mildly lumpy seas, far out off Montauk. We felt a blind devotion to our investment: the search for Yellow Fin, Albacore and the elusive Big Eye Tuna. By noon, under turquoise blue skies and a blazing sun, we each had landed a Yellow Fin, ranging from 30 to 42lbs. We released the smaller of these tasty torpedoes, and kept the lunker for that evening's amazing, waterfront bar-b-q and sushi-fest, back at the ranch. But I digress deep into my fixation...
Enroute back to port, we rigged for Fluke. We were unchallenged, and there was zero probability that the position would be re-evaluated, rejected, or a healthier one put in place. Within site of the light house, we skidded along the breezy surface with the prevailing Southerly and the tide. We landed over seventy of these four to seven pound flounder, (fluke are flounder, but with teeth). If you love Dover Sole, you'd also love Fluke. We reeled them in so fast, our forearms looked like Popeye's!
That evening, in our obsessed condition, Dr. Archer, we had the freshest, cleanest Maguro Tuna Sushi imaginable! Naturally we had Wasabi, soy sauce, and, as is the dead give-away mark of the truly pathological, pickled ginger. I felt compelled to batter the fluke filets with Ritz cracker crumbs. I pan fried these bad boys in a little virgin olive oil, (I have no idea how olive oil loses its virginity. Perhaps you can shed some light?) and I even went so far as to, dare I say it? I squeezed lemon on them!
The Striper steaks were cooked in foil on the grill, in butter, lemon, fresh cut garlic and capers. Please! Stop me, Dr. Archer! Unchallenged, we had toasted pine nut cous-cous, and a fresh garden salad with avocado, hearts of palm, and strawberry tomatoes, on the side.
We watched an equally amazing sunset, and traded stories out on the deck, over the pungent wisps of tropical cigars.
Thanks again, Dr. Archer, for your sincere concern for the collective well being of this wonderful thread, while I was away on my pilgrimage.
Carpe Diem,
Wooly |
