basic luxury

When I woke up, I didn't know that it would be a perfect day.

I rolled out of bed after sleeping in a bit. My room was still dark and I was well-rested. There was hot coffee already in the pot ready for me. I soaked it all up.

It was a little bit gloomy and a little bit cloudy outside. But it was good.

We drove to the edge of the city, all the way to the coast. Malibu is literally on the edge of our nation, looking over the most breathtaking views and beaches. The Getty Villa, perched there on prime real estate, houses innumerable treasures. One of the treasures that impressed me the most were the gardens and the outdoor spaces. Sitting there on a bench, drinking in the California sun, imagining an Italian sun shining down so many years ago... it makes you think about living simply. Were the Romans and Greeks who pursued pleasure and enjoyed folly so wrong? I bet that I get more done in a day.

Leaving the palace on the hill, we carved out our path up the beach until we reached a much more humble destination. Malibu Seafood is not much more than a room and kitchen with a view. The surly staff will help you out with a pre-order by phone, but this is two things: a market, and a restaurant. You better get in line, and know what you want, and get out of the way. We found out that the pre-order is really the way to go when you are interested in oysters. Is a dozen for each of us enough? Three dozen it is. Oh, and do you shuck them? Oh, I see... oh, okay, well then we will buy a knife.

Oysters and I go way back. We are like "this" (fingers crossed) but I have to admit... I have never learned how to shuck one. I could be making this into more than it is, but I feel different now that I can harvest all the sweet juicy insides from the oyster shell myself. Sitting in an air-conditioned bar while someone else cracks open those little beauties is the ultimate luxury. Or is it?

Is having a relationship with your food essential? Or is not having one?

Is food just another check in the box? Sustenance is simply that - just something you need to keep going. Fuel for the fire. Is it easier for all of us to avoid that whole exchange? We all make time to eat. Who makes time to taste? Who makes time to breathe it in? Are there those who would prefer not to even if given the opportunity?

The dirt and grit collecting under my fingernails became a part of the process. The oyster knife is not too sharp, but one wrong turn and you have gouged yourself in the other hand. Searching on the back-end of the oyster is a little bit like feeling for a light switch in the dark. You are in the right vicinity, but you must feel along the walls to get there. The oyster knife became my key to the hidden treasure, still bathing in the moisture from the sea, and I just kept waiting for my turn to use it again.

The sore spots on my hands became a bit numb, but the salt soaked into my skin and made it tough. Resting in between to wipe the sweat and the beer from my upper lip, the shells kept piling up on the plastic tray. Occasionally borrowing from the paper boat full of lemon wedges, the day became a bit more perfect with every crack and slurp. Is it any coincidence that the noises one makes are so primal when eating these wild and raw food?

The day made me feel alive. Soaking up the experience, the sun, the salt and the taste made me feel connected to a deeper and more basic part of myself, and it certainly made me feel more connected to one of my favorite foods.