All checked in. Laptop over one shoulder, guitar case in hand. I come around the corner and see it. Just over a Japanese garden bridge and above a terraced fountain, a restaurant plucked from an island dream. I smell steak on the grill. Fresh baked bread. And maybe it’s my imagination, but I swear I can hear the hiss of scallops searing on stainless steel. I text my gang: Change of plans. We’re eating at the hotel.

After sunset, twinkling lights reminiscent of stars illuminate the al fresco dining room. Do I recognize that guy in the corner? The one from the indie movie with all that Oscar buzz? It doesn’t matter, because my friends have arrived. I ask the server for a wine pairing, and five minutes later I’m in the cellar selecting a Pinot with a French name I can’t pronounce. The Thai Snapper delights. My friends thank me for picking the perfect place. I’m already thinking about breakfast.