Who would have thought that one of the best meals of my life would have come from a restaurant in two converted motel rooms on Anna Maria Island, Florida? Definitely not me! But indeed, our 8:30 Tuesday-night extravaganza at the Beach Bistro was something memorable. After reading a beautifully crafted article in Edible Sarasota County Magazine, we snatched up the last reservation we could and hopped into our rent-a-car for the 45 minute trek to AMI. Arriving early (it was a first), we took to walking on the beach for a few minutes to watch the sunset and then ducking into the cramped yet cozy pub-like bar adjacent to the restaurant. This is where my love-affair with the Beach Bistro began. We started talking with the owner Sean Murphy and upon discovering that I was a fellow foodie, he gifted me with a prized possession of a sliver of vacca rossa (or red cow’s milk) parmesan cheese. With the plastic wrapped morsel and a promise of the best parmesan we’ve ever tasted, we were whisked away to our rose-adorned table in the main dining room. The restaurant reminded me very much of a ship, with the beach just feet from the wide windows and the cramped, galley-like ambiance. During our short wait, my mother had readily picked out four dishes she wanted to try and, indeed, it was a difficult task to narrow down choices from the seemingly boundless array of delectable options. I chose the caesar salad, my mother the Bella Roma tomato salad and my father the farm salad with grilled fruit. We perused some more, finally settling on our entrees, as well. The seasoned waiter took our menus and we were left with rumbling tummies and watering mouths. The bread arrived, but oh what bread it was! Warm, soft and crusty all at the same time, with sweet fresh tomatoes arranged in a flower and fresh basil pesto atop olive tapenade. I was won over from the start. A new kind of bruschetta without all the sog had arrived, and boy did it taste good! Next came a palate-awakener–a velvety amuse bouche of the Bistro’s ‘One Helluva Soup,’ a satiny tomato creation with dots of tangy Maytag blue cheese. There may or may not have been several exclamations of “this is the best tomato soup I’ve ever had!’ (hint: there were) At this point, we all felt a feeling of distinct this-just-may-be-the-best-meal-we-will-ever-eat wash over us. My mother quickly threw in a last minute order of the smoked salmon rosette that she heard her neighbor simply fawning over, and the smokey saltiness was gone in an instant. The main courses didn’t disappoint either. I got short ribs (surprise surprise I know) and they were perched upon two clouds of truffley mashed (one the bright orange signature of sweet potatoes). Yum yum yum. They fell apart at the first touch of my fork and were tender as tender can be. Mother dearest got lamb “lollipops,” which were little glistening jewels dripping with flavor. My father got the bouillabaisse (someone had to of course) and that was the last we heard from him for a while as he silently savored each aquatic morsel. We decided that even though it felt like we would never have to ever eat another meal again, it would be a mistake to leave without ordering dessert, and the fudgelike chocolate “terrine” with praline encrusted vanilla bean ice cream didn’t disappoint. As Sean quipped perfectly “a meal is like a short story: it should have a beginning, middle and end.” As we lamented the all too soon realized end, Sean made his way over to our table for the last time, a bottle of Cuarenta Y Tres (Spanish for 43) liqueur and three little glasses. I dipped a spoon into the little glass, taking the tiniest of drops upon my tongue and, as promised, the forty three tastes began their mesmerizing little dance, never here nor there, finally settling upon a floral vanilla-y cool. We stumbled out of the little culinary utopia, stomachs full and eyes droopy, the flavors still shimmering away.