Apologies to Jim Morrison

I’ve been sitting here long enough to run the serious risk of merging permanently with my surroundings. I move seamlessly between flora and fauna. Time passes, but I do not feel the passage of time. Damn, it must be the Hurricanes again. After a morning spent crashing the waves with my son, I’m now occupying a more comfortable and less physically demanding position – reclining, on my rataan throne, at the Hurricane Bar. Through the leafy undergrowth of the trees surrounding the patio, a small green lizard is darting back and forth. He stops and stare at me for a moment. Too big to be food he thinks. Too immobile to be a threat he surmises. The lizard moves on doing whatever it is lizards do in the heat of the afternoon. I resign myself to the fact that I’m not even a danger to five inch long reptiles, and order another Hurricane from the bar.

Saturday Night Improv Dinner

The whole idea that gave birth to the Supper Club was dinner shouldn’t have to be complicated. A quick check of respective kitchen inventories, a few recipes culled from memory or cookbooks at hand, and a trip to the grocery or Farmer’s Market for the rest. Time to table is kept to a minimum, and Saturday night was a perfect example.

Return to The Black Marlin

The bike path through the center of Hilton Head Island, leading to The Black Marlin Bayside Grill at the Palmetto Bay Marina.

“He was a fugitive with a pseudo-name. Lost his mind in a hurricane.”
Jimmy Buffett “Nobody Speaks to the Captain”

It’s 1:30pm and I’m two hurricane’s into a Sunday lunch of fried eggs, smoked bacon and cheddar cheese on a toasted hoagie roll, what the restaurant calls a McMarlin Sandwich. While I could do without the McD’s reference, whatever the name it is a mountain of artery clogging scrumptiousness. However, while the food at the Black Marlin Bayside Grill is always fantastic, I’m here for the drinks.