Another fish lunch at Paia Fish Market on the way out to Hana. By now this is basically the routine: drive a little, stop, eat a piece of fish caught that morning, get back in the car. I cannot get tired of it. I've tried.

Today it was grilled Opah — sometimes called moonfish — with fries and a small pile of coleslaw. Opah is one of those fish that people on the mainland mostly don't know about, which is a shame, because it has this dense, almost steak-like texture and it takes a grill mark beautifully. You could almost mistake the char for a light smoke.

They dress it simply here: lemon, butter, a little salt, maybe some garlic depending on who's on the line. That's the whole move. The fries are crinkle-cut, just crispy enough, and the slaw has enough acid to cut the richness of the fish. Twelve bucks. Order at the counter, find a picnic table, done.

It's the kind of meal you remember more than the fancy ones. Nothing was trying to impress me. Everything was just exactly itself. Paia's a tiny hippie surf town so the whole thing has this easy shuffle to it — barefoot people, dogs under tables, a cold hibiscus tea in a compostable cup. Ten out of ten lunch.