CHAPPAQUIDDICK, Mass. - Note to George Bush: Not everyone swills white wine out here in the islands. Gin with a splash of tonic and a twist of lime will do quite nicely.
But to paraphrase Reggie Jackson, it's not the drink that stirs the jaws, Mr. President. It's the food.
Let's see, will dinner be bluefish caught less than a mile away at Wasque Point? Or maybe a flounder plucked from the ocean and gently immersed in a sea of lemon and almonds. Perhaps we'll start with a chowder made from quahog clams from Katama Bay, not quite 100 yards from the picnic table on which this laptop is perched. Did someone say perch?
Breakfast is accompanied by the sound of the wind, the oyster catchers flying overhead and the incoming tide. Lunch, by Duke Ellington on the boom box. Dinner, by the sounds of the Red Sox doing their annual swoon. (Red Sox fan: "Hey, what are you doing in October?" Second Sox fan: "Nothing.")
News is so much easier to digest when the biggest obstacle of the day is maintaining the seafood level in the kitchen.
Baltimore-Washington lost the 2012 Olympics sweepstakes? Good riddance and better luck next decade. Say, is there any more of the lobster salad?
Scott Erickson out of the starting lineup and off the court docket? Orioles 700 games under .500? Well, the season will be over soon and, by the way, do we need to dig more clams for the clam sauce and linguine?
That's easy. When the tide goes out, a barefoot stroll is the best way to start dinner. Poking a toe or two into the wet sand locates little clams for sauce and bigger ones destined for the chowder pot. The only tool needed to take advantage of the outdoors' bounty is a clam rake with handy basket attached.
Hankering for a striper instead of shellfish? Here as in the Chesapeake, chumming is a sure way to land rockfish. From the point at the southeast tip of the island, an angler can cast into currents that converge in a frothy fishmarket of species.
Then it's back to the house for another round of sun, sand and succulent seafood. One satisfied resident calls it "subsistence existence."
Our neighbors can't be beat. Bev Aaron is a Philadelphia TV producer and top-drawer angler. His wife, Esther Berezofsky, is a crackerjack lawyer who also cooks in the kitchen and digs a mean clam. Their 7-year-old twins, Alexandra and Zoe, are adorable and articulate. The former strikes fear in the hearts of flounder, the latter is our clam guru and future U.S. president.
