

Saturday, early afternoon, a cloudless June sky so blue it looked retouched. Six of us. Old coworkers from a company that no longer exists, reunited for no reason other than that we missed each other.
Nobody could agree on anything. Not the teams. Not the rules. Not whether a gimme was two feet or three.
So after the 9th I herded everyone to the patio at PopStroke The Colony, ordered for the table, and hoped for the best. While we waited, we settled the teams with cornhole, which only started new arguments.
Chips and dip arrived like a peace accord. House-made pub chips, piled high, golden and rippling, each one a small edible sail. And three dips, each with its own temperament. A horseradish cream sauce with a cool bite that sneaks up on you like a good punchline. Guac, green and lush and smelling of somewhere tropical. And pepper jack queso, molten and gently spicy, the color of a harvest moon.
The arguing stopped. The dipping began.
Marcus, who hadn't sunk a putt all day, scooped queso, marched out to the 10th, stepped up to a twisting fifteen-footer with a double break, and rolled it in. We erupted. He credited the horseradish. Nobody argued.
We finished the round as a team of six, the scorecard covered in fingerprints and one small smear of guac that I have kept, framed, on my desk ever since.
Customer reviews
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Surf instructors are out of this world. Kind and make people want to join in! My little brother came to town this week and Ryan showed him some sauce baby, he was absolutely shredding. Food was heat the mahi tacos are so buss, sliders are fire, and the Kona big wave, let me just say “Heat in the cold of winter” that’s how she makes me feel.
Dave H.
Dallas @ The Colony

