Dinner Party of Ocean Offerings

Oh the bountiful ocean; giving up her gifts she is the monastery of the world where all are welcome, but take only what you need. We breached her one rule and came home with much more. With her protective waters out to sea and her wares laid bare for all to see we went, we saw, we took. In the harbours of Motueka we picked up rock oysters, white with mineral deposits and green with algae. The slowly rising and receding tide of the bay leaving behind green slime on the jagged edges of the pearl bearers.

From the deeper waters of the inlet, where the water is constantly rushing one direction or another we pluck large dark mussels from where they cling to each other and the rocks. Not the famed green lipped mussels of New Zealand they are ignored and passed up, but these mussels are even more precious to me. Hidden inside their protective shell mediterranean mussels harbor meat as big as the shell. They are a rare and unexpected treat.

Further out still, in the still receding waters of the bay, hunkered down under the sand, cockles filter sand and sea water, easily spotted by the bubbles they leave behind. Deft fingers punch and pull the heavy, water logged sand and up come the prize. Our bag fills quickly and we are confident none are too small, but we neglect to recall the number we can take.

Separating and soaking our bountiful harvest our happy smiles turn to sheepish grins. We have taken more than our fair share, not by a lot, but still more than what’s fair. Slowly the idea comes to us, we will feed the lot, the people we have become acquainted with and close to. We will feed those who stay behind when the rest move on.
It is quite a production and suddenly I am a chef overseeing a staff of five. There is someone in charge of the noodles but I must season the water and am the deciding vote on the level of doneness. Three people take to salad making like a fish to water. They chop and dice and whip up a wonderful vinaigrette. And still I watch over them too. They want to add the feta and the dressing but it is early and all their hard work will turn to mush, I convince them otherwise. As I trot from station to station, checking on barbecued mussels and oysters, watching over browning garlic, adding butter to a sauce, I am a composer, a manager, a chef, an artist. It is our project but it will be my masterpiece.


We are timing the dishes just write and as it comes down to the wire there are a million places to be at once, but my staff, eager to please and perform are more than capable and I sneak a moment with a glass of wine. Chatting by the barbecue I hear a murmur inside.
Nervously but quickly I approach the group standing over the cockles, they are inhaling the aroma. I am pleased beyond words and I wonder if this is what life is like every time for an accomplished creator of anything. I feel the waves of happiness pass over me and go out and come back again. I am basking in the glow of a job well down and the slight blurring of edges from the glass of wine.
Dinner is delicious noises and clinking shells. The empty pile grows as the others diminish. More people gather and more plates are passed around. There is just enough for all; we are satiated. I pour more wine and soon the bottles are empty as well.

February 12, 2007