Oneiric visions of cerulean skies and white sand beaches, strewn with conch and nautilus shells, sun-bleached coral, coconut palms providing shade from overhead, and the occasional mermaid’s purse displaced from its mooring, having washed ashore alone... Fresh caught rockfish ceviche is served on large scallop shells with finger lime caviar resting on ice. Agua de Jamaica slakes the thirst, followed by carne asada tacos, onions and cilantro, grilled pineapple, charred pepper salsa, and a sip of Mezcal with cacao covered espresso beans and bacon wrapped dates. The endless swoosh of the waves slowly grinds everything to finer, and finer, particles; time is unceasing. “All hands on deck” yells the Captain. “Fire starboard cannons!” Bursting blackberries collide with tentacled arms, like underwater octopus ink bombs, or powdered paprika balloons bursting in the air, cut through with vanilla bean swords, defended by prickly pear nopales shields and countered with gunpowder green tea leather wrapped pistols. As the cobalt haze lifts, and the impending threat recedes, citrus soaked alpaca carpaccio awaits, along with brioche toast, purple potatoes, and winter purslane, huitlachoche soup, elk medallions and luxardo cherry garnished Manhattans to top off the quickening night. Not a thing seems to be missing, but it could very well be the psilocybin talking if I had to wager a guess.  

notes by clay selkirk, winemaker & all around cowboy