Day 4 Wednesday: Thar she blows!

We had to rush back to the ship, where I hit the spa again for a facial. Up on deck, the omnipresent naturalist was conducting a whale-watch. This event mostly consisted of people asking each other, “Where? Over there?”
“At 3 o’clock”
“But how far away from us?”
“OK, you see the light on shore? Go to the right, then down a little.”
“Oh, there!”
Sometimes it was impossible to distinguish a rock jutting out of the choppy seas from any form of sea life. Is it a rock or a fin?

But then, thar she blows!

Later that night everyone wanted to eat at the buffet for dinner, but I’d had just about enough of the buffet. I decided to go to the 15-dollar Cajun restaurant. I needed catfish. It was time. I can only go for so long.

My friendly server brought me an appetizer selection. Alligator ribs suck; there is no way to make them good. They are purely for novelty. The shrimp were the usual, their oyster bienville was the only oyster I have ever liked in my entire life. Their take on grits and grillades, replacing the grillade with andouille was interesting. The french fries had a light dusting of spice that tasted exactly like Zapp’s Crawtaters, so I was happy.

Then he brought me a seafood bisque that was dark and earthy, the broth deeply infused with long-simmered crustacean shells.

Then he brought me my catfish.

Then he brought me everything else on the menu. Everything.

About Kiki Maraschino

I like catfish. Sure, we all like catfish, but I think for me it is somehow deeper.
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