I’ve met twenty-three mermaids.
They all invited me over for dinner at either a condo or an apartment. Either way, the place was small — how much room does a mermaid who does practically no entertaining and doesn’t have to practice the Argentine Tango need? Though tiny, by my standards the accommodations were fairly luxurious. Tastefully furnished, with all of the modern touches.
Nineteen of them cooked incredible meals and this book shares with you their recipes.
Four of them claimed they had zero talent in the kitchen — they may have just been being shy or modest — so I ended up eating as they do when they’re topside.
By the way, that’s what they call their visits up here on dry land … being ‘topside’.
These four non-cooking mermaids claimed they survived on take-out — specifically any food that could be delivered — since they obviously couldn’t just jump in an Aston Martin or on a motorcycle and zip on over to a drive-thru window. They didn’t eat meat, certainly wouldn’t touch anything like fish and chips or a McFish burger — way too greasy! — but loved sashimi, sushi, any grilled fish or fish stew. At last resort they might go with processed meals like an Artisan Bistro Wild Salmon with Pesto or Amy’s Kitchen Tofu Scramble with veggies. Or if total desperation set in, they would eat out of a can. Yes, you read that correctly. Out of a can. Get this! All four of them love Campbell’s SpaghettiOs, though some of us topsiders might question whether this is really even a food. Most of us land dwellers view it as more like something to plug a hole in a radiator, having exhausted other options.
One thing the mermaids all say about these quick pre-prepared meals is how salty they are. Good grief … they live in the ocean and they’re complaining about how salty our food is! Think about that for a minute. No wonder so many people have high blood pressure!
Anyway, finally getting around to how I met all these mermaids …
Corinne, my very first encounter, was complete serendipity.
It was late — 2 or 3 am — and I was returning home from a bar/restaurant on Anjuna Beach in Goa. I had been dancing and making new friends, but finally exhausted and ready for some serious sleep, was heading back to my guest house. I was of course alone.
I saw something writhing on the beach ahead of me. A beached porpoise? It was dark and hard to make out what it could be.
As I approached it stopped moving. I pulled out a small flashlight and pointed it.
There was Corinne.
She looked absolutely horrified. I thought she was going to cry.
Through quivering lips, almost too quiet to hear, she whispered: “Please be my friend. Don’t tell anyone.”
Now some guys might have whipped out their smart phone, taken a quick photo, posted it on the internet, and claimed their 48 hours of Twitter or Instagram celebrity.
But I respected her request, accepted her friendship, honored her confidentiality.
To be candid, those pleading eyes would have melted a hardened criminal.
For my consideration, I’ve been rewarded with three years of the most unique, awe-inspiring, wonder-filled experiences anyone can imagine. How many of you can claim to have seen even one mermaid? No, the Little Mermaid ride at Disneyland does not count!
After my dinner with Corinne two days later, everything fell into place.
What I am now going to tell you is going to sound implausible, impossible, ridiculous.
It’s so cliché, yet so zany … could I even make up something like this?
Corinne told me what I now needed to do. And it worked like a charm.
From that day forward, when I was going to be somewhere seaside — anywhere! — all I had to do was put a note in a bottle, seal it, then toss it in the ocean. That’s precisely what I’d do. The note would simply read like this:
Corinne’s friend John
Madagascar July 12 - 18
Then wherever I was, a note would either show up at the reception desk of my hotel, or be slipped under my door, telling me the whereabouts and time to show up. I would go and voilà! There would be a new mermaid, either making me an incredible meal, or opening a can of SpaghettiOs. I have no idea how they found out where I was staying, or how the note to me got delivered. It just happened.
Like I said, all of this sounds like a fairy tale — or a big fat joke — but I’m not kidding, nor am I inventing a new fable. This is how it went.
It only failed on two occasions, in Kailua-Kona, Hawaii and Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. I don’t know what happened — maybe the bottle got swallowed by a blue whale or sucked into an intake tube of a luxury liner — but I never heard anything.
So that’s my story.
Most of you probably won’t believe any of this.
Whatever.
Just enjoy the stories.
Look at the lovely mermaids.
Savor the incredible dishes.
Life is too short …
Unless you’re a mermaid.
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