It’s a brisk day off of Scotland ’s island of Islay, our boat skipping over the greenish waves, woolly clouds clustering above. White-tailed eagles cut in and out of view, and the sun just keeps evading us. But as we pass red stags grazing on islets—that they’ve swum to from shore—and doughy harbour seal pups lazing on rocks, the quiet bay we land upon stills.

Here, our captain Gus Newman —an Islay man all his life—presents us with a bounty of scallops he went hand-diving for at 6 a.m. that morning. The sun decides to join as he begins scattering them across a hot grill brushed with chilli butter. He’s saved a few to crack open and feed us fresh, two ways. First: with just the salt water for seasoning, cut into pieces to swallow raw and quick, plump roe still attached. Second: the “

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