Category: Other stuff
Date: 21 June 2002
My memory betrays me, I found a receipt for this place in my wallet. It doesn't include what we ate at the beachside restaurant gazing out to the lighted boats moored in the natural harbour and the moorish town, the black waves of the mediterranean gently lapping the brown beach in the night. Steep steps leading you from inland to beach as in a tourist's fairytale. But I was there and what harm is caused to an experience by calling it by another name. You eat right on the beach, in an open wooden room raised on stilts, like an Italian imagining of Florida's elegant vulgarity. A cheeseburger, my kingdom for a cheeseburger, the island has no Mcdonalds, which gives it added magic. Crunching fried fish, gold fish and unjarred anchovies, and some prawns, fresh and well cooked, but maddeningly too pure, I ordered some salty french fries which transported me back to the big M. Too much sun you might argue, yet sometimes it seems all you need is salt,fat, occasionally spice: That a big mac and fries in these idyllic settings would be more fulfilling, or at least more exciting. I think I should have had the pasta with lobster or the gnocchi with clams, yet regrets such as these can ruin a man.
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