I picture the tide like a slow, wandering playlist – the high water brings a salty punch, like a brine that wakes your palate, then the low draws it back to a mellow, sweet whisper of kelp and sea‑crushed citrus. Imagine a dish that starts with the briny bite of morning tide, then layers in the sun‑dried tomato you love, and ends with a quiet, cool lull of night‑time foam, like a quiet sigh. The waves teach you that flavors need room to rise, fall, and sometimes just drift between them. Maybe the next menu will be a surprise on each plate, just like a wave that never repeats the same shape.