Bella Luna, Cudjoe Key

The yardstick is Square Grouper and that's what we heard before we went- It's as good as Square Grouper.  Actually in some respects I think it's better. 

My neighbor is the chef  here which made me wonder a bit how objective I could be at the new Italian restaurant on Cudjoe and I like Brian. He and his wife are the sort of people you want for neighbors, quiet unassuming dependable and good for a laugh in passing. But what if I didn't like his cooking? Eventually the wife and I took the plunge and last Saturday went early. ate well, got home and thought, hmm...we'll have to go back.

The eggplant Tuscan stack started the evening and it was done right, crispy outside, firm inside and the green stuff was crispy and peppery. I was quite surprised by the quality of the tomato, which tasted like those things that we used to grow when we were kids. Real flavor on top of the milky mozzarella. 

The restaurant only recently opened at the Mile 22 marker more or less, north of the Sheriff's substation and around the corner from the Kickin' Back convenience store. It used to be Coco's Cantina, Latin food mostly, but the addition of Thai food when the Thai lady was in to cook it at the end of the week...These days the rather spartan interior of the old greasy spoon has been deftly transformed into what you see above. 

I stopped off from time to time for a fix at Coco's and I liked taking the Thai food home for my wife who has a fondness for it. But  Bella Luna takes away the nostalgia. I think this new eatery is marking a step up for the neighborhood in ways that goo deeper than just having a decent restaurant available.

 

I got to choose our main dish after we polished off the eggplant and some of the best fried calamari I think I've ever had. There is a tendency to fry squid within an inch of their lives giving them the consistency of potato chips. At Bella Luna the calamari were cooked with flavor and moistness yet they were coated, and not overly coated, in crispy fried goodness. I really liked them. My wife indulged me on the main dish as I like beef over wide noodles, an escape from tomato sauce and I thoroughly enjoyed my stew...

We looked around as the dishes came to our neighbors in a  packed dining room. We saw classic pasta. tomato and cheese dishes and I wanted one of each. The desserts were excellent, tiramisu is a classic and I tend not to order it for that reason but this one was strong and perfect and like the panna cotta, a form of Italian custard, it was not too sweet, but sweet enough. We ate too much, trying not to regret the end of the meal.

The prices seem reasonable to me especially as I think you get good value for money. The appetizers were ten dollars or less, while the main courses were under 20.  We had no beer or wine but like the food menu the drinks list was comprehensive but not excessively intricate. I saw several beers and wines I'd like to try on a  non-teetotal night.

The outside seating was in use as a waiting area and we talked briefly with another couple and they too brought up the apparently inevitable comparison with the Square Grouper just up the street. I like the Square Grouper but the menu hasn't changed in a decade, and the new upstairs Tapas bar, which I have yet to visit, must have absorbed a lot of creative energy from downstairs. 

 That's okay. Bella Luna has lots of offer, atmosphere, food, and value for money.

 We will be back and I want more panna cotta.

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Charterboat Row

What's wrong with me? I don't like to fish. I barely drink on the scale of epic hang overs and I live in the Lower Keys. I'm not gay either so what I'm doing here is not at all clear. But here I am enjoying myself anyway. Wandering around the body of water known as Garrison Bight (where "bight" is a nautical term indicating a "recess" in a coastline) reminds me that sometimes I do miss living on the water.

I used to live on boats but moved ashore propelled by a drive to hold down serious pensionable work. I got tired of not having the energy to go sailing while living in cramped spaces with limited views and what we could see were neighboring boats.So we moved ashore and brought the dog with us.

And then when I am near the water, not on the water these busy days, but near the water I start pining. Maybe it's not pining but maybe it's just remembering. And like all such things one only remembers the good bits. I remember spending one July like Robinson Crusoe anchoring among the deserted islands of the Exuma chain in the Bahamas. We sailed from one deserted anchorage to the next  living off our solar panel and our water maker and not needing to run the engine. I try to force myself to remember the days and nights of pounding against winds and waves, of watching the sun go down and the sense of desolation that swept across the ocean as light was extinguished and all we could see was each other, and Emma the Labrador confident in us enough that she curled up on the floor and pretended the boat was a home. 

It's been years but I still don't take hot and cold clean running water for granted as it flows from a faucet. I lie in in bed and listen to the wind shaking the palms and rattling the windows and I am grateful I don't have to rush suddenly from the toilet to secure a flailing anchor as my wife never fails to remind me, thinking back to an insecure anchorage in Colombia one squally night. 

And yet there is pleasure in absence when one is on the water and away. Noisy neighbors, crowded streets, recalls to duty, they all fall off in your wake and all you see ahead is skinny water and low lying land waiting to be explored.

People tell me riding a motorcycle is dangerous but I think going boating is far worse, at least in terms of loss of dignity at every turn. The two activities aren't always so different but I have fallen off a motorcycle and I have run a boat aground and neither experience lends itself to joy. But I spend more time fussing about navigation when I am underway on a boat than on a motorcycle. 

I think the motorcycle allows the rider to feel more in control than a boat does; at least for me. Planning a trip by bike I look forward with pleasure. Planning a trip on a boat and my head spins with trying to figure out every possible permutation on disaster and it's counterpoint. I would spend myself bankrupt at the marine store buying amulets to ward off all different types of death and dismemberment on a boat. On a motorcycle I am happy to take off with not too much and plenty of hope for the best. It's weird but it is true, and I'm not sure why.

So as I wander around the periphery of the boating world I don't feel like a stranger, I know the lingo and I can pass myself off as a sailor, but deep down inside I wonder if I am.

I never attained the Frenchman Moitessier's one-ness with the oceans of the world:

I am a citizen of the most beautiful nation on earth, a nation whose laws are harsh yet simple, a nation that never cheats, which is immense and without borders, where life is lived in the present. In this limitless nation, this nation of wind, light, and peace, there is no other ruler besides the sea.

Bernard Moitessier

To me taking off on a sailboat is like rolling down the launch ramp into the infinite darkness of night, with a gulp of apprehension. 

I like the smell of the ocean, the fiddle faddle of the docks where people gather and talk and make exaggerated claims. But the prospect of taking a  boat out puts me on my toes, measuring the strength and direction of the wind, computing the force of the  tide or the current, preparing a mental back up plan in case of failure. On a motorcycle I make sure the chain is lubricated, the tires have air and I have a credit card. Then off I go full to the brim with anticipation.

But I like the challenge. What can I say? And I miss it sometimes. And I will never learn to fish thank you.

Blimp Road Storm

There was a little rain in the air as Cheyenne and I braved wind and mosquitoes to check out the state of play on the water on the north shore of Cudjoe Key.

Blimp Road connects to Highway One three miles to the south, a straight shot past the dump and a quarry that seems to have been brought back into use.

The blimp known as Fat Albert was tethered down to ride out the weather at the secure base .

If any Cubans were made enough to cross the Straits of Florida in this weather Fat Albert wasn't in a position to notice them.

Cheyenne likes being outdoors to watch the world go by, even if there isn't a whole lot of world to be seen.

I was getting bitten to death so I retreated to the car.

Eventually she joined me and we went home.

She shys away if I offer to carry her her 110 pounds up the stairs unless she is worn out. She prefers to take a run at the bottom stairs and patiently thump her way up, one at a time. I am very fond of my cherished old dog, found at the pound six years ago this month.

Bahama Village At Night

The rain stopped, the roads were dry and I had to take my lunch break before two o'clock as the rest of the night there would only be two dispatchers and we can't leave our desks when just two of us are running the room. I wasn't sure what to do with my break so I figured a walk was in order. I rode down to the Village to get some peace and quiet.

I've been riding the Bonneville exclusively lately as the winds have been honking and riding the Vespa in a strong headwind is a pain, and I have been happily trundling about with my saddlebags in place after my trip to Orlando last month. As rain has been dropping in on us unexpectedly at all hours the saddlebags, which are water tight, have been quite handy to store stuff out of the elements. So they stay on for now, especially as lane splitting in Florida isn't an issue.

Bahama Village has traditionally been set aside for Key West's African American community which kept the white part of town close to the harbor on the northwest corner of the city. Development being what it is downtown anywhere is  priceless these days and Bahama Village is desirable for anyone who feels the need to be in the heart of downtown. Yet the community hangs on in the midst of the developmental ferment.

Some people make Bahama Village sound like a ghetto, fearful of the danger perceived on these streets. I find that attitude to be at best odd and at worst offensive, but we live in a  time when racism is denied though its worst traits are often displayed unconsciously. Perhaps I live some unusually sheltered existence but I have never been accosted threatened insulted or annoyed in Bahama Village. I wander around the entire city at will at all hours and frankly the fuss some people make about being in the Village after dark shocks me.

Many years ago my wife was a brand new juvenile probation officer in Key West and their office was on Villa Mill off United Street. We were living on our boat and my wife scooted to work every day on her purple Honda Elite. Her supervisor gave her a number of cases in the Village and warned her darkly to take a police escort to check on her charges. After a career as a California public defender dealing with murderers and all the rest, my wife shrugged the warning off and became a frequent sight buzzing around town, including the dreaded Village on her purple Honda. And to this day she meets former students and probationers who greet her cheerfully with nary a shiv or a rude word among them. People really do need to rein in their prejudices.

Personally I enjoy the architecture and at night there's no one around, the pools of light make things look slightly more mysterious than bright sunlight and I get to own the place for a very little while. I can walk head in air and act eccentric and there's no one to see. Even the neon at Blue Heaven was turned off:

I have been watching Black Sails on Netflix and though I enjoyed the first season I think they have talked me out of a third season. Season Two shows off the most neurotic talkative pirates the world has ever heard of. All they do for hour upon endless hour is talk like the cast not of a pirate show but a soap opera melodrama. My exercise routine is taking a hit as a result. The show is shot in South Africa and the scenery is spectacular and believable as 18th century Bahamas but these bloody pirates never stop talking and hardly do any sailing or fighting. And the ships are incredibly realistic (that's where they do a lot of their talking. Though the captain's cabin is far, far too large and luxurious). The language is also grossly anachronistic which I try to overlook but a pirate talking to his wench about their relationship sounds totally daft. And her telling him she knows what he is feeling is equally ridiculous. And then they throw in a few too many "fucks" to sound like hard core tough guys. And they talk about pieces of eight as gold coins, and value them in dollars even before the US existed and the amateur historian in me gets turned off even more. Too bad because it looked like a fun series spoiled by too much chatter and anachronism.

And back to Bahama Village where I spent some time loitering unmolested except by the sight of these ugly plastic signs:

And magnificent hurricane fences.

The bike rack looked like a chaotic jumble but in point of fact a sober bicycle rider could extract her or his ride quite easily though from this angle it looks impossible:

The fact that Key West has tons of free parking for two wheelers is one big mark in its favor in the transportation stakes. The odd mysterious half lit view is another.

More highly sought after plastic advertising banners  enhancing this rather cruddy old wooden structure. Copious amounts of garbage at the base are a fact of life in a  tourist town not remotely connected to the concept of recycling.

There was a county-wide forum on climate change recently and what to do about it.  I wonder what they will think to do. None of the pictures in this essay were taken at more than say 3 feet above current sea level.

Christmas In Key West

Christmas is that time of year when it gets  cold, people get stressed and the more we chunter on about it the less that elusive Christmas spirit seems to be abroad. I evade the crass commercial aspects of the season by not listening to commercial radio or watching television and not darkening the doors of stores where the gruesome sounds of caroling are turned into muzak. So I take my pleasure in not being too terribly cold and checking out the lights. Herewith a completely random sample from a shirt sleeved tour of the town last week on a 3 am lunch break.

I have great difficulty separating Christmas from commercialism which is why among other reasons I prefer Thanksgiving which holiday is totally North American (tip of the hand to early bird Canada) and gift free, focusing on the get together not the shopping. Black Friday is of course off my radar, what can I say, I don't celebrate my birthday either. 

The lights though I like. They are, I accept, a nod to the pagan origins of the Christmas scene, the lights created by humans to keep the winter solstice at bay, which has a rather hollow ring in the tropics where we have plenty of daylight and sunlight in the coldest months but still... no one wants to ignore Christmas. The sun is lower in the sky, it is cooler and that's as wintry as I like to get, 

Businesses seem compelled to stick up a  few lights or wreaths in acknowledgement of good cheer though not all displays are created equal and the ironist in me rather enjoys the brighter display of the business sign over the rather coy Festivus pole in the background filling in for a robust sub-arctic fir tree in the background.

The Western Union struggling to stay afloat thanks to the kindness of strangers gets a bushy tree and lots of lights. Will this display bring in the money to restore the square rigger?  Generosity is the slogan of course at Christmas.

Further up the waterfront the city puts out a bunch of lobster traps, perhaps my favorite rendition of a Yule bush with suitably lit anchors:

The wreath thing beats me I have to say. They are a bit  like the Easter Bunny, which is nothing to do with Easter of course and all to do with Spring fertility. Somehow German traditions and Scandinavian habits seem to have become the norm and wreaths, which are a symbol of death and mourning to me, becoming Christmas ornaments. 

I like the lights especially as they simply  represent the icicles of the winter and light up the characteristic Conch homes in a way that makes December the prettiest month. I know Conchs who have grown up and crave a cold winter day so much that it doesn't feel like Christmas when it's 80 degrees. As they say, if it wasn't for these lights you wouldn't know it was Christmas. Just another blanking hot day in Key West. Personally I'm fine with that,  I like heat.

This house cracked me up, the one with Santa in the window dropping down the chimney in some sort of movie projector film. I stood in the middle of Fleming Street watching this ridiculous film loop while laughing like a drain. I think one day I might actually want one of these hings. Santa appears behind a flickering fire with a sack on his back. he puts it down and pulls out a bunch of packages. He looks out the window, waves (I waved back I was so entranced) hoists his sack and buggers off. Great stuff and then the loop starts again of course. 

From the ridiculous to he sublime and for those hardy souls who like a home made Christmas this display in an art store further up Fleming.

Impressive stuff. Merry Christmas.