Tipped off from a read-lead about a local smokehouse, we bought cans of their albacore tuna, hand packed and sashimi grade. “95% re-order rate,” boomed the deaf old man behind the counter, his sales technique that of an angry battering ram.
We returned to the cottage just before sunset, retrieving the key from the chipped cement lighthouse on the front steps. Hungry, tired and cranky, day was made night while searching for our previously beaten path from the beach.
With gulps from a Westmalle beer cooling our moods, the tuna was mixed with lemon mayo, green chopped bits, and piled thick on toasted grainy bread, the leaning tower crowned with thick tomato slices and a ruff of lettuce.
Transporting our sup to the picnic table on the porch, I yanked the cork from a decades-old Calera Pinot Noir, opened the night prior but left mostly unfinished. While twilight dimpled the still harbor, sparrows frantically dove the cliffs below searching for supper, the barking from a gang of seals echoing against rocky hills.
The old man was right.
We’d be returning for more.
#california #summerroadtrip (at Trinidad Head, California)