It was past time for dinner. So I put on a big pot of water and boiled the potatoes, drained and smashed them, and scrounged around the pantry for olive oil, vinegar, and Dijon mustard left by a former renter, which I mashed into the potatoes along with the chopped scallions. A warm potato salad made, I lit the grill and skewered the shrimp. I didn't want to bother with peeling them; better to let the shells crisp on the grill. Once the shrimp were nicely charred, I showered them with lemon juice. Then I set about making redfish on the half shell with our one precious fish. This was a dish I had eaten all over the Gulf Coast of Texas while on assignment for our special Texas issue (June/July 2009). I put the fish skin side down on the grill without scaling it, seasoned it and smeared it with butter, and walked away to let it cook. Dinner was ready. A few more friends arrived. We gathered around the table, some sitting, some standing, and tore into the food. For a moment, the basketball games were forgotten and our memories of the morning's frigid fishing expedition were filtered through rose-colored glasses. "How big was that fish you caught with that blue crab bait, Fitch? Eight pounds?"

"Nah, that was a 12-pounder!"