Six Feet Under

We have cooked hardly anything lately–we are buried in some potentially life-changing decisions. Good decisions, but ones requiring a lot of thought.

So–we’ve gone out nearly every night. On Tuesday, we visited Six Feet Under, a seafood restaurant located across from Oakland Cemetary. (The name alone is worth the visit.)

The food there varies wildly in quality. The catfish is wonderful, as are the catfish tacos, and you can’t go wrong with their steamed seafood and raw oysters. (Until you get that stray raw oyster with salmonella or E. coli or whatever it is that Fred got in London on our honeymoon, but as the mantra of Six Feet Under says, “Life Is Short. Enjoy Every Day of Livin’ It.”) The seafood quesadilla includes overcooked spinach that just ruins it. I don’t care for the okra, which is fried whole and is too large and stringy.

But you don’t really go to Six Feet Under for the food. You go there on a warm night to sit on the rooftop deck and look out over the dead, and be glad to be alive, and be glad that you have a wonderful husband who brings Kierkegaard with him to a restaurant, just in case.

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