“Dad?” my youngest son greeted me with the question.
“You really outdid yourself.” He smiled. I was confused. It was still before 6am, and my coffee was in limbo somewhere between Keurig water well and mug. “The fish tacos.” He made an “okay” sign with his right hand.
I smiled. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. They were… really… good.” From a Gen Z-er, that’s high praise.
First time I had a sense Teak might enjoy the finer aspects of food was when we were vacationing in St. Croix. Teak was seven or eight. There were five in our family (Karen and Teak’s two older brothers) plus my in-laws, and we were having dinner at a waterside seafood place in Christiansted. Nate’s Boathouse. I, of course, ordered the fish tacos. Teak asked for a bite of one of the three tacos and — as I’d always done whether it was food or even a sip from my bottle of non-alcoholic beer — I obliged.
He took a bite, and as he chewed and took in the orchestral tastes, smacking his tongue against his palette, he looked out over the water. The sun was setting.
He turned back to the group and asked, “Am I in heaven?” 🍽