Salt Life

My friend, Paul, invited me down to Ft. Lauderdale for a few days. I haven’t been that way in a while but have had a hankering for real Cuban food lately. Paul and I always have a good time together, and was thinking Miami beans and rice may have migrated the short distance up to Lauderdale. Worth a shot.

Also both of us are car guys, and we’re scheduled to have a look at the inventory of some exotic cars coming up for auction in Boca. Cool cars and Cuban food. Right on.

People visit South Florida in the winter to get away from the lousy cold weather up north. Not so much in the summer, when it is stiflingly hot. Oppressively hot. Hot as Hades. The heat and humidity hang in the air like a sauna, turned up to max.. Even breathing takes effort.

We’re staying on Paul’s boat, and go straight from the airport to the marina, where we meet up with his captain, Mike, who I immediately like. Bearded, big bear of a guy, he looks a little like Ernest Hemigway mid career, sometime between For Whom the Bell Tolls andThe Dangerous Summer. He and Paul keep up an easy banter, and I go below and throw my bag in an airconditioned stateroom as we pull away from the dock.

The boat is a nice one. A big plush luxurious boat. OK it’s a yacht. For the weekend, we’re docking in a slip at Bahia Mar Hotel and Yacht Club. Nice hotel with a rooftop pool, the three of us are making the short run up the Intercoastal and parking it there for the weekend. Hotel on one side, beach on the other, marina in the middle. What’s not to like?

On the way we stop for lunch at a place called Shooters. Because the food is good and the dock is large enough to handle the boat. We have peel and eat shrimp that tastes like it was just pulled from the water, some conch chowder, and heaping plates of fried calamari and salad. I’m beginning to feel that coastal groove coming on. The staff all seem to know Mike and Paul and it’s a promising start to the first day.

A short while after lunch, we have the boat buttoned in at the hotel marina and Captain Mike takes off, job done. Middle of the afternoon, 105 degrees, must be nap time. 

My feelings about naps are well documented. A necessity for a peaceful, healthy, serene and civilized life, I have a kindred spirit in Paul. We turn up the AC and agree to circle back around 5:00. There’s an afternoon storm moving in and, lying in my cabin, I hear first the thunder and then rain drumming on the foredeck above. Up at 5AM this morning to get to the airport, the storm and gentle rocking of the boat put me right to sleep.

I’m Scotch Irish Southern Appalachian dirt farmer stock, and Paul is New York Italian American by way of South Florida and Atlanta. And we both love to eat. Tonight we Uber to a local favorite, Anthony’s Runway 84. While Paul runs back to get something, I strike up a conversation with Moses, our young Uber driver. He’s from Cuba, a good looking kid eager to help in any way. 

“You two seem like businessmen,” He says. “What line of business are you in?”

“Paul’s the businessman,” I tell him. “I’m a writer.”

“I’m just here to visit my friend, and look at some cars.”

This seems to intrigue him. And so I tell him about the auction, how I write about cars among other things, and how we’re going up to Boca tomorrow to have a look. Paul gets back in and I introduce him to Moses.

One thing about Paul, he’s genuinely interested in people, and will talk to anyone. 

Before we reach the restaurant, Paul and Moses have bonded, and Moses is lined up to drive us to Boca tomorrow. It’ll be hot, as usual, and we can get some work done on the drive up. Me with my notebooks and Paul with…everything else.

Getting dressed for dinner earlier, I had put on a nice pair of golf shorts and collared shirt. Paul looked me up and down. 

“Jim, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone at Anthony’s in shorts. Did you bring any trousers?”

Of course I brought trousers. One pair. Hopefully that’s enough.  

I put on my trousers and Paul gives me a Rolex to wear. First I protest but then kind of like it. Good looking watch, lots of diamonds.

Anthony’s feels like a scene straight out of Goodfellas. We’re greeted at the door by an impossibly handsome gentleman of Italian descent, in the perfect dark pinstripe suit, tie knotted just so.

“Pauly D!” He greets us. “Where you been hiding yourself? Listen, it’ll just be a few minutes on your table.” He leans close. “Jimmy Knuckles and his girl taking their time tonight.”

Behind my face I do a little double take. Did he really say Jimmy Knuckles?

We wander into a classy looking bar, all wood, chrome, and mirrors. A large venetian chandelier hangs over the middle of it, perfectly coiffed and dressed couples at every table. On the bandstand, a hip looking bunch in suits (no ties) are tearing it up. The singer looks like a young Elvis, if Elvis sang Sinatra.

Then the food comes. And keeps coming. Meatballs, fried clams, Caesar salad. Large portions of pasta – red sauce, white sauce, butter and wine sauce. Toward the end I order Tiramisu and a sambuca. Because after working our way through all those plates, it seems a shame not to. 

Moses picks us up after dinner and on the way back we stop at a casino. Paul likes to play blackjack and I like the lights and seedy vibe. It’s salsa night and there’s a floor full of dancers stepping out to tango, salsa, Latin hustle, swing. After a minute a lovely older Hispanic woman asks me to dance, and her smile makes it clear this is not a question but a summons. I do my best and we laugh a lot as she shows me the steps, but I am clearly out of my league. Gotta get back to American Legion Club 201 in Alpharetta when I return. Take Johnna, practice up.

Wandering back to the blackjack tables, Paul is down a couple of thousand and not happy. Of course he’s not happy. Who would be? I pull up a chair and immediately he starts winning. First a thousand, then two, and within ten minutes he’s up again several thousand. Guess I’m good luck tonight. We stop while we’re ahead and start back to the boat.

That night we sit on deck for a while, enjoying the stars and shooting the breeze. Then down below with a movie, lazing around in the AC, just talking, catching up. Before long it’s 2 AM and time to hit the sack.

Cause Moses is picking us up in the morning to go look at some cars. 

And I haven’t had my Cuban food yet.

To be continued…