We get to Rockhouse and Johnny and Amber are quite pleased. They take a quick look around and decide this is the spot. We point out some things from our dinner last night. They make reservations for tomorrow night, the sunset seating at the Rock Table. “Would you like a complimentary shuttle?” they’re asked. “Yes.” “We’ll be there at 4:45” “Exactly,” I say with a smile.
The primary mission is complete. What to do now? We decide that we should have something to eat. It’s a really good idea at this point. “So if you’re gonna eat here tomorrow night, we could stop back in at Xtabi for a bite tonight and you will get them both.” “We can go down and see if anyone’s still at Pee Wees afterward” It’s so easy to come up with genius plans under these sorts of conditions…
When we get back to Xtabi we get a hearty welcome from the bartender and another round of drinks. We decide to catch a sea view before sitting down to dinner. As we’re standing in a circle by the beach cave steps I tell Johnny and Amber about our conch burgers yesterday. I think I am pretty descriptive. Suddenly we notice a gentleman leaning against the railing by the kitchen door slowly sipping a coffee cup. He’s got his kitchen linens on but he is all kinds of laid back and cool as he sort of boulevards the rail and post. “Enjoying the night?” he asks. We talk for a bit. “You’re not drinking coffee are you?” asks Sweetie Pie. “No,” he replies. “Is that soup?” “All day long,” he answers with a smile.
“I was telling them about the conch burgers here,” I say. “Yah, mon, I make the conch burgers,” says Conch God. Now I’m flying reconnaissance spy missions at the moment but that does not affect the fact that every word I’m about to speak is the unadulterated truth, and Conch God knows it. “You make one of the greatest things on earth, mon!” He smiles, takes a sip of his soup then lifts his cup to me, “Respect, mon!” We talk conch. He will tell me NOTHING about how he makes it.
“It’s too bad you only make them for lunch,” I say. He thinks for a moment and says, “I can make you conch burgers.” “Really?” “Yah, mon, just go up front and tell them Conch God sent you.” We do this and are promptly escorted out to the table on the point. “The best table in the house,” I say. “Yah, mon, of course,” says our waiter. We sit Johnny and Amber at the best seats, looking back on the resort and down the cliffs at the softly lit cottages clinging to the edge.
When we order the waiter says, “We don’t serve conch burgers at dinner.” “Conch God said he would make them for us,” we answer. “Well let me see.” He returns in a short while and says, “We can make conch burgers for you!” We order three and a filet mignon. Nothing I say has convinced Johnny that he will enjoy a mouthful of sea snails. When Johnny’s soup shows up it is followed by soup for everyone else. “But we didn’t order these,” we say. “Compliments of the chef,” we are told. I could eat it all day long.
