"You bloody pensioners", JG growls in the general direction of his parents' caravan.
his father converses loudly with a few of the other summer residents at the Tourist Park about the morning's fishing conditions. they're right outside our tent. later he dismisses the complaint in his thick, Scottish drawl.
"Arrh yeess, always have a boat meeting in the morning". he frequently omits all pronouns except the second person "ye", reminding me of some Northern British dialect, where the definite article is always omitted before "pub", thereby saving valuable time while trying to get "to pub". a useful language innovation if ever there was one.
this is Beachport, a small community seemingly obsessed with crayfish. everyone dives or sinks pots for the spiny delights. commercial cray fishing boats also operate here, and at wholesale price of around $53 a kilo, they naturally operate on the weekends, too. but this Saturday three of the boats instead have a wedding party to catch from the jetty, for a watery ceremony in a corner of the bay by the old lighthouse. we are here for JG's cousin's marriage and JG is the reluctant photographer. payment: crayfish.
the wedding was a great reinvention of the ritual: the wedding party boarded three cray boats - these graceful vessels are usually described as "ploughing" through the waves, although my own experience is that they just ride the big swells a little smoother than, say, a tinny. I was, however, trying to balance on high wedge heels while juggling a beer and spare camera gear. the boats left the jetty and soon a little runabout fishing boat smashing against the wave at high speed appeared in our midst, presenting the bride, complete with simple ivory dress and bouquet (fortunately for her own safety, no veil). a few missed attempts and the runabout was roped to the main bridal boat and she climbed aboard. after an exchange of vows replete with sailing and fishing references the couple were married. flares were set off to announce to the shore viewers that the groom had indeed kissed the bride, and we made our way back to the jetty. the photo opportunity of the day was, naturally, the James Cameron-esque Titanic re-enactment. bride and groom climbed to the bow while JG descended into his vantage point in the little boat, which my eyes never left; I was terrified for him until sometime later when my eyes located his bright-white Cuban shirt safely on the jetty. the scene was less Di Caprio-Winslett and more we-feel-silly-can-we-go-now but I think JG can still claim his king-of-the-world moment as director. down the road we went, on to the ensuing feast, where the night descended into high-school memories, talk of shearing sheep, and vomit. notable guests included Kevin the Kangaroo, a hand-reared joey still dependent on his gorgeous human mum. Kevin poked his head out of his shoulder-bag pouch for the speeches.
the following day we set out for the long drive home with the payment stowed in the esky. caught the day before and never frozen, we pondered the mushy-flesh conundrum that afflicts most seafood when freezing/defrosting. it
was already agreed that we'd have one of the raw tails for dinner, but what to do with the rest? according to Stephanie Alexander's The Cook's Companion, crabs, like all crustacea, contain "an amino acid which encourages bacterial growth" and should not be kept more then 36 hours without freezing. since there is no entry for lobster, we accepted that we must freeze the remainder rather than eat them all at once, risking possible anaphylaxis, renal failure or severe gout.
this is our first taste of the bounty, roasted lobster tail with garlic olive oil and roast potatoes.
roast the lobster tail in shell for 20 minutes at 200°c.
split lenghtways down the middle and place each half under a hot grill for a further minute or two to cook the centre.
serve with warmed olive oil seasoned with finely minced garlic, salt and pepper.
