Ahi Tuna
Nachos

It was the first warm evening of spring, the kind that makes you forgive February for everything. I was on a second date. Possibly a last date. He had just drained a lag putt from the back tier of the 9th at PopStroke Wesley Chapel, forty feet, two breaks, and turned to me without a trace of surprise.

"Your turn," he said.

I three-putted. I needed a distraction, something elegant, something that would suggest I was a woman of refinement despite all evidence on the green.

Ahi Tuna Nachos.

Fresh ahi tuna, cool and ruby-dark, laid atop crisp wonton chips that shatter like thin ice on a pond. Sweet sriracha aioli, a little heat, a little sugar, like a compliment with an edge to it. Then a medley: avocado, cucumber, mango and jalapenos, a parade of color that looked like somebody had painted a sunset and then decided to eat it. Finished with sesame seeds, onion relish, cilantro and carrots, each one adding its own small voice to the conversation.

We ate on the patio at the turn while the string lights came on one by one. He took the chip with the most mango. I let him. I am not a fool.

On the 10th, he read my putt for me. Downhill, left edge, trust it. It dropped. He smiled. There was a third date.