Mid-afternoon on a Saturday, there are so many elderly folks scraping their walkers on the listing linoleum floor at The Oyster Barn that it looks like some old folk’s home rang the bell for recess.
Nothing wrong with their appetites, though. They plow through plates of oysters on the half shell, bowls of seafood gumbo, fried mullet, cheese grits, hush puppies, cole slaw and gallons of sweet tea.
Our server is a tall, dark-haired woman with a quicksilver smile . Her royal blue tee shirt is stretched tight over the nearly full-term baby she is carrying low, a tender shelf for the trays of food she delivers to tables in the nearly full house.
We watch a young boy fishing from a pontoon boat near the bridge, the afternoon sun making a halo around him.
The mullet is hot and sweet in the way that only very fresh, local fish can be, and we enjoy every single bite.