The 5 O'Clock

The Five O'Clock is a tradition, a ritual, that begins at 7:30 in the morning, when Mark takes the two bottles pictured above, fills them to a designated level with diet tonic water, then puts them in the freezer as we head off to the beach.

The ritual continues when we pass by the condo in early afternoon after having gone to the gym and done any needed grocery shopping.  The frozen bottles are taken out of the freezer and Bombay Sapphire is then added to the next designated level, along with a slice of lime.  These are then placed in the insulated back pack for our return trip to the beach, along with appetizers.

The key ingredients, posing out on our balcony table

The ritual continues with Mark's afternoon laps out in the ocean in preparation for that sacred time of day when we will pay homage to that great contribution of western civilization to the world:  the cocktail; specifically, the gin and tonic.

At 5:00, we take the tumblers out of the backpack, shake vigorously, then continue a tradition we started in the early days of our relationship:  we each hold our drink, say "A Nous" (French:  to us), then kiss, after which we commence drinking.  It's our toast to each other and to our relationship.

The other important part of The 5 O'Clock - at least here in Hawaii - is the appetizer.  We started last week with cheese and flatbread.

But after a couple of days, we decided that just wasn't cutting it.  So Mark picked up some Boar's Head Italian dried salami and some Blarney Castle cheese, and a wonderful tradition began.

Mark came up with the idea that we would launch ourselves on a quest to find the perfect dried salami, or as it is called in France, saucisson.  We will train ourselves this coming summer so that, when we arrive in France, we will be in shape to begin a month-long quest to discover the perfect saucisson.

We ran out of the Boar's Head rather quickly, for some reason, so we picked up something new yesterday, which labeled itself a "Pinot Grigio" salami.  Since we both like Pinot Grigio, we decided to give it a try.

We were not impressed.  Then we realized it's not dried salami and shouldn't have even been in the running.  Tisk tisk.

But Mark added another player to the mix when he picked up some ahi poke (pronounced pokee), which we both liked, but Mark loved.

Poke, a traditional Hawaiian dish, typically consists - according to the all-knowing Wikipedia - of cubed ʻahi (yellowfin tuna) sashimi marinated with sea salt, a small amount of soy sauce, inamona (roasted crushed candlenut), sesame oil, limu seaweed, and chopped chili pepper.  Today, we're trying calamari poke.

Drinking isn't strongly in evidence on Little Beach, but one occasionally sees someone who is obviously intoxicated - like on Saturday night.  I wrote a 50-word story (a genre I've recently taken up) about one such character:

The man was obviously drunk.  He walked directly into the waves, albeit unsteadily.  One his head was a baseball cap, in his hand a lit cigarette upon which he took several drags as he marched resolutely into the surf.  Then one large wave washed his cigarette, and his hat, away.

Smoking pot is much more in evidence.  I wrote another 50-word story about this:

I paused just as the beach came into view below.  A fragrance of spices wafted through the air.  Was this the smell of Hawaii my friend had told me about?  No, my partner said, it is the sweet smell of suntan lotion mixed with the acrid aroma of pot.

I conclude with a comment that our friend Phyllis sent in an email about "cocktail hour":

“Ah, the cocktail hour.....do you bring a little aperitif down to the seaside?  I used to fill up my Starbuck's cup with gin and tonic, take my book, and set up camp.  Then I'd fall asleep and wake up as the incoming tide had washed my book and shoes and towel and Starbuck's cup inland and I was swirling in the surf in my beach chair.    A handsome portrait, isn't it....old lady on holiday alone.   Always made me laugh about how utterly comfortable I was in sea water.”

Some people don't wait until 5:00. As I write this back at the condo, it is about 2:15 in the afternoon.  I could hear neighbors through the open balcony door, talking rather loudly, strumming on a yukelele, when a woman called out, "How 'bout another cocktail?"

Cheers!  I'm now getting ready to head back to the beach, to my man, and - in a couple of hours or so - my cocktail.