This isn`t about a meal with my family, but my friend Bill became like a brother, especially after what we went through together.

The weather called for fog. We didn`t think much of it. It wouldn`t roll in for hours. And besides, our sailboat trip to Nantucket wouldn`t take more than an hour, even if the winds weren`t with us.

We plotted a course, and set sail right away. Just to be on the safe side. Twenty minutes out, bad news. We were engulfed in fog. "No problem", Bill said. Stay on course, and in a few minutes, we`ll be there, even if we can`t see it."

A few minutes passed. No Nantucket. A half hour went by. More fog. We hadn`t seen a marker buoy we`d expected to. Bill and I pretended not to be worried, pretended to be oblivious to the fact that it was getting dark, and late.

"Um, Bill?"

"Yes, Mike?"

"If we, I don`t know, miss Nantucket somehow. We`ll run into something else, right?"

"Yeah. It`s called the Atlantic ocean." Neither of us thought it was funny, but we both laughed hysterically. Gallows humor. Always the best.

Another ten minutes in the fog, headed toward Nantucket, or London, or worse.

Suddenly, we heard the sounds of people talking off the port bow. Peering through the fog, we saw the most gorgeous sight we`d ever seen: Nantucket pier. We steered our way in, and ran into town. We looked like hell, but we were ready for a feast. We picked up some beers, a one pound box of spaghetti, and a giant jar of Ragu.

Bill and I cooked it up on the boat and ate the entire box of spaghetti in one sitting, laughing and whooping and generally happy to be alive. I`ve never tasted anything better. Not before. Not since.
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