You don't have to die to get there

It's late. I'm hungry. And, for some reason, Key West just came to mind. The last time I was there I had the best breakfast I've had to date . . .

. . . After a short bike ride from the Island City House, by Papa's place, we came upon Blue Heaven. Classic Caribbean restaurant -- all windows and doors open. No guests inside. Everyone is seated in the backyard beneath the banyan trees, which also have mainsails draped across their peaks. Chickens strut along the mulch-covered ground.

First, a Bloody Mary. Then, on to the professional business of planning my attack on the menu. Let's see . . . Oatmeal, yogurt, fresh fruit, made-from-scrtach pancakes (now we're talkin'!), and then I see it . . . (cue the sun shining through the clouds, brightly illuminating the words...)"Seafood Benedict."

It was heaven, Blue Heaven. A Cayo Hueso take on a classic. The first thing that caught my eye was the magic word, "grilled." I'll eat almost anything grilled . . . hmmm, let me think . . . no, I'll eat ANYTHING grilled. Breakfast off the grill proved to be a fine way to start the day. I was not disappointed. It was Redfish, grilled with crisp grill marks and firm, succulent, moist flesh. The piscine portion was topped with a poached egg (its donor was probably the one at my feet, patroling the plot for provisions), topped with a lime hollandaise; a perfect balance of acid and fat. This dream was then served atop a generous slice of grilled Cuban bread.

I remember the sun, the smell of the sea, and the sound of the subtle skanking, but the gate of Heaven that opened that May morning was the cover of a menu, the contents of which didn't require death to enjoy eternal happiness.

My boy, Jimmy, even wrote a song about it.