Reef fish, tropical fruit, cold lager
A chalk board of six or seven things, rewritten each afternoon around whatever the trawlers actually landed.
Bought in the morning, gone by ten
Two of us drive down to the harbour before seven most days. Whatever is whole, fresh and reasonably priced becomes dinner.
Fish is grilled over coals or fried in beer batter, and that is more or less the extent of our ambition. It works.
The fruit is bought from a stall on the Proserpine road: mangoes to February, lychees for a few glorious weeks, finger limes whenever somebody's neighbour has a heavy tree.
Whole fish
Coral trout, red emperor or barramundi — whichever came in.
Something fried
Prawns, calamari or bugs, with lime and pepper salt.
Something sweet
Mango, lychee or coconut, depending on the month.
Kitchen and bar through the evening
Two questions the floor gets nightly
Can you do it without the chilli?
Almost always — say so when you order, not after.
Is the fish ever frozen?
Never. If nothing came in, the board says so and you eat prawns.