Anguilla, Part 3: A Sauvignon Blanc-Out

By Day 4 of the Case of the Disappearing Diamond, we were emotionally drained from getting our hopes up each day, only to have them dashed, and physically exhausted from the 4:30 a.m. wake-up calls. Confident that we'd done everything humanly possible to find the ring, we reluctantly called off the search and vowed (heh-heh) to enjoy the rest of the trip.

We started with a morning swim, followed by a leisurely stroll through Coconut Palm's lush garden.

And although we ultimately did not find my ring, we actually wound up finding a lot more: The kindness of strangers. An outpouring of similar "lost ring" stories. Concern and well wishes from nearly every Anguillian we encountered for the rest of the trip (apparently word travels fast, especially when you're a Cheeseburglar). And the knowledge that even though the ring held immeasurable sentimental value, in the end it is just a thing, the loss of which could never change how we feel about each other.

And we finally found out where the police station is.

It was shaping up to be a gorgeous day, so we headed over to Ocean Echo for a little R&R.

And maybe a couple of cocktails.

Soon the smell of curry began to waft our way, so we headed up to our usual corner table for lunch.

The smell of regression might have drifted our way as well. Don't judge.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a happy haze of sun, sand, and sea.

That night we drove up to Island Harbour to stuff our faces full of (pre-ordered) lobster.

And we weren't the only ones.

Full of lobster, $5 rum punch, and Falcon dip, we enjoyed a midnight swim before turning in for the night.

The next morning was another beauty.

After coordinating our schedules, we'd arranged to take Rob and Julie to lunch to thank them for helping us with the ring search. We agreed to meet at Straw Hat, with Rob warning us that it was going to be a "Five-Bottle Lunch."

That's right: Although Rob may look like the kind of guy who pounds Budweiser and then smashes the empty cans on his forehead, he actually favors a delicate Petit Clos Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand.

We snagged a large table by the water's edge, ordered an endless succession of icy bottles of wine, and enjoyed an afternoon of food, fun, and fantastic new friends.

It was hard to part ways -- Rob and Julie have more crazy adventures than I have hairs on my head -- so we made plans to meet up later in the week before Angel and I drifted down to the beach for a late afternoon soak.

That night it was back to Ferryboat Inn, since I had a hot date with a lobster Thermidor.

To answer some of your questions: Yes, I'd just had lobster the night before at Falcon Nest. No, you can never have too much lobster. Yes, Marjorie's Thermidor should be on your bucket list of things to eat before you die. Yes, you have to call ahead for it. No, they won't give you extra of that creamed spinach thing that I've raved about before, even though I have suggested that, like Wing Night Wednesday and FBI Monday, it be designated its own special day ("Spinach Saturday").

I didn't give the dogs anything to eat, and I think these photos prove it.

I mean, when the Thermidor is as good as Marjorie's, they'd be lucky to even get a shell.

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