I went to Montrose Beach for a Memorial Day BBQ. Brie brought her parents and black poodle Henry. Chef Carl of Boka and Chef Cedric of Urban Belly roasted some of a pig in a Caja China: the forelegs were confited and the head transformed into terrine. Henry snuck into the garbage and gobbled the kidney or liver: they chased him to a corner and he anxiously gulped the whole organ before it could be taken from him and it lodged awkwardly in his throat making his breathing irregular until stomachs acids dissolved it. I brought white cake balls.
Brie’s dad told me that he worked on a fully functional landlocked nuclear submarine in Windsor Locks, CT from the sixties to the seventies. He went on to run submarines’ nuclear reactors: chief engineer. I asked if he got a sense of the dimensions of the vehicle, the way you eventually inhabit the shape and bulk of your car. He said yes. I asked if he got a thrill from diving deep from the surface in the big machine to the watery depths. He said absolutely.