Seeing the boat and meeting the crew for the first time

I woke up this morning at about 7am, my alarm was set for 7:30am but I was much too excited to sleep. I picked up a rental car and drove out to Staten Island to see the boat for the first time. I expected to pull into a bucolic little marina along the coast and to see a lovely sail boat floating around in the water…

Ha ha! Of course, it was nothing like that...



It was a commercial marina, rusting tug boats strewn about like toys on a kid’s play ground, mud everywhere… I had gotten lost on my way to the marina and I asked Dario how it was that he left the city 45 minutes later than me and yet arrived a half hour earlier. He said that I’ve been in New York for too long. Then, he looked down at my shoes and with a laugh said, “I see you have your boat shoes on today”. I was wearing a pair of black leather boots... Oops! He had on jeans and a t-shirt. Perhaps I have been in the city too long!

We traipsed through the mud around a giant hangar that is used to hoist ships out of the water. He said that on Wednesday, the hangar will be used to pull his boat out of the water so that the mast can be re-attached and the hull can be cleaned. Over a precariously positioned piece of timber that served as a bridge to get from one platform to another (over the water) we went, then backwards down a rusty ladder to yet another platform. I looked around and all I saw was the rotting corpse of an old tug, no 120 foot sail boat in sight. I started to get nervous and wondered what the hell I’d just gotten myself into…

Across the platform was a beaten up dingy with an outboard motor, we climbed in and cruised across the choppy waters; wind and spray beating our faces. It actually felt really invigorating; the adventure had finally begun!

Suddenly there was a loud thud, the boat made an awkward turn and we sort of skidded across the water. The engine made a very unhealthy rumble and we were at a standstill. I couldn’t help but chuckle as I was certain this would be the first of many interesting situations and minor disasters. It is the sea after all... As it turns out, we had hit a board and it had wedged itself in the prop of the motor. Dario was able to clear it easily and we were on our way. As we pulled up to the sailboat, I could feel the awe inside of me grow. The boat is gorgeous, a real sail boat, not a fiberglass and brass show piece. This is a boat built for sailing the sea. It’s sleek and sexy, a true work of craftsmanship and art.

This picture really doesn’t do it justice, and there is a 150 ft. mast that is in repair which is why you don’t see any mast or sail here.



I asked Dario what his first boat was; he said it was a refrigerator that he floated in down a river when he was four years old, he has always been fascinated by sailing, built his first sail boat when he was 13 and has been living on boats since he was 20.

Dario is a real salt of the earth kind of guy. There is nothing fancy or pretentious about him, he drives a beaten up Jeep Cherokee and lives in blue jeans and sweatshirts (and yet owns houses all over, lives aboard his sail boat and spends his life sailing around the world). He laughs a lot, and is a real story teller. There is a glint in his eye that makes me think there is always something humorous going through his head… He told me about a crossing he did a few years back from Florida to St. Barth’s. A friend of his was interested in coming along and had said that it sounded kind of romantic to be out at sea and he was wondering if he could bring a woman with him. This friend was older, single and had never been married. Dario said sure. His friend asked him about the crossing and asked which islands they would be stopping on at night. Dario said there was no stopping; it was six days straight… The friends reply was, “you mean I have to be on a boat with the same woman for six days?!” He decided not to go…

We arrived at the boat and I jumped off, grabbed the rope and pulled the dingy in while Dario steered. We were met on board by a South African woman named Sheila, the stewardess. She showed me around the boat; the galley, captain’s quarters, guest quarters, and crew quarters. Ah, the crew quarters… I can’t count how many times over the past few weeks people have said to me, “you’ll have your own room, right?”. HA HA! NOT! I have the upper bunk of a very tiny room, the room being maybe 6 feet by 4 feet. Maybe. And here’s the topper, Sheila will be leaving as of December 1 and I’ll be sharing quarters with one of the other crew members; an American by the name of Christopher. Directly across from the “American quarters” are the “South African quarters” - two other crew members, Aubrey and Sheldon, both men. So basically, once Sheila leaves I’m going to be the only female crew member living aboard a boat with four handsome and charming sailors. It’s a good thing I grew up with five older brothers… and as Dario pointed out, it just means I have four guys to buy me drinks! This should be a very interesting journey…

I’ll be able to bring with me one duffle bag of clothing; much like the army, not a suitcase, a duffle bag. I asked about boat shoes and Dario said that we pretty much go barefoot on the boat and flip-flops on land. Sheila filled me on what bar the crew hang in at St. Barth’s and said I might want to bring one dressy outfit for SB, but not much because I’ll want to shop there.

The other crew members were in the boat yard sanding and painting the mast. I met them after I’d had a tour of the boat. They all seemed really nice, but they were entrenched in their work and we didn’t have much opportunity to talk…

On the boat Sheila had already inventoried the cupboards, pantry and freezer for me and gave me lists of some of the staples I would need to have stocked for our crossing; coffee, olive oil, milk, beer, soda, etc. Dario and I talked about how he likes to eat – he loves grilled calamari, chowders, stews, linguini and clams (he goes clam digging in Nantucket), etc. He said that nobody on board is a picky eater and they all really enjoy food. And then, with his customary laugh, he said, “well you know what they say, if you don’t enjoy food – then you don’t have any passion”. Yup, we should get along just fine…

My official start date is November 1. I'll be stocking and provisioning the boat for our crossing and we'll be setting sail sometime between November 10 and November 14, sailing straight across from New York to St. Barth's, non-stop. We'll be at sea for 10 days straight!

The crew tells me that we'll be able to do some fishing on the crossing... should be fun, as I grew up deep sea fishing in the Pacific – so this is something I enjoy!

I know that there will be challenges on this adventure, I don't expect it to be easy all of the time but I'm sure it will be really fun and I feel so fortunate to have this opportunity. This is going to be the adventure of a lifetime! I can't wait to begin...

Chef overboard...

When I first saw the job listening for the position aboard the boat, all I could think about was how great it would be going into different ports and scouring the markets for local ingredients; I really had no idea what went into cooking aboard a boat and the difficulties or challenges that were involved.

In my first interview with the captain he was sure to be very clear that there were definitely challenges – one of them being that I would be giving up my personal space and sharing a room with the stewardess, another being that I wouldn’t be able to just come and go as I please as there always needed to be someone on the boat at all times, and we’d be at sea for almost two weeks straight, often times in rough water, when making the crossing from the Atlantic to the Caribbean. He said that it is difficult to find good produce in the Caribbean, the selection of fresh fish was limited, and meat was generally not of the best quality either and so I would need to provision the boat for the coming six months before leaving New York. I wouldn’t be able to just run out the door to grab some ingredient I might have forgotten, so I needed to plan ahead.

As the captain told me this, everything else that I wouldn’t have at my fingertips went through my mind too: China town, Union Square farmers market, Chelsea Market, Kalustyans, Sahadi, Arthur Avenue, Faicco’s, my butcher - Los Paisanos, my fish guys at Fish Tales, Murray’s Cheese, Blue Apron, Sullivan Street Bakery, the Family Store, Jackson Heights for Indian ingredients and all the kitchen supply shops in the Bowery… and this is just the short list! It’s actually difficult to imagine being without these places, because I’ve always had them available to me. I can walk out my front door and in a few blocks I have fresh pasta, fresh mozzarella, a great butcher, a fish market, middle-eastern markets, restaurants and ingredients…

and pizza….

Ok, just a side note. I love New York pizza and now I’d have to go six-months without it?

But I digress.

Not having these shops available to me is going to be a real challenge. There are so many things that I will need to stock up on: wonton and spring roll wrappers for hors-deouvres when there are parties, filo dough, pomegranate syrup, kuri leaves, curry pastes, kefir lime leaves, lemon grass, coconut milk and the hundreds of spices, oils and vinegars that currently make up my spice rack, cooking equipment and so on. But I have to consider that there are going to be space limitations on the boat. A six-month supply of Saifan Extra-Virgin Olive Oil would probably fill the entirety of my pantry space! How will I know what to bring?!

My step-dad and suggested that I go to a nautical bookstore and find some books for provisioning boats. I laughed at first and thought there wouldn’t be such a book… Well, silly me. I should know by now that there is a book for everything! I went into a nautical bookstore and approached the clerk and asked her if there were any books for cooking aboard a boat, there was an entire section on provisioning and cooking on boats! And in fact, the clerk told me that she had also cooked aboard a boat. Originally, she had planned on doing it for only six months, but her adventure ended up lasting eight years and she traveled all over the world. Huh. I see an uncanny parallel forming here… She told me that when I arrived in the port that I would meet a lot of other boat people; crew, chef’s, etc. and that it is really a community so I would end up making friends with these people. Also, when I went on to other ports chances were high that I would run into many of the same people again… I’m actually a very social and outgoing person, so this sounds really fun to me and I’m looking forward to it quite a lot.

I began reading my new stack of boat books with titles like “Kitchen Afloat”, “The Essential Galley Kitchen” and “Feasts Afloat: Recipes for Great Meals from Small Spaces”. I have to say, being a private chef in New York, cooking in small spaces is not too much of stretch… I’ve cooked in 4,000 square foot lofts where the kitchen was an afterthought and the dishwasher couldn’t be opened all the way because the door touched the opposing wall. I’ve cooked in a gorgeous, multi-million dollar apartment in tony Sutton Place, where the kitchen was the size of a small bathtub and had two giant, Romanesque pillars running through the center of it so that if you were standing at the stove you were enclosed by a pillar on the right, a wall on the left, and a pillar in the middle of the floor behind you. When you wanted to set something on the counter, you had to walk completely around one of the pillars. I’ve worked in kitchens stocked with all the best equipment; Viking stove, Sub Zero fridge, Cuisinarts, etc. and 2 feet of counter space. Kitchen challenges are nothing new. There was a little incident in a kosher kitchen where, after being assured that the kitchen was fully stocked (because I couldn’t use my own equipment since it’s not Kosher), I arrived to learn that the “stocked” part of the kitchen was the meat side – and I was doing a dairy menu. I’ve worked in kitchens in the middle of August, in a heat wave, with no air conditioning and no windows. I’ve done six course tasting menu’s with nothing more than butane camping stoves and proofing ovens. So, really, I think New York has prepared me pretty well for being spatially and environmentally challenged…

I am fascinated though as I start to reading through my new books. Essential Galley Kitchen is actually fantastic. It is packed full of tips and recipes for preserving and pickling. The book recommends using sprouting jars to sprout beans and herbs. There is a guide with soaking times, measures and days until ready, for sprouting everything from Alfalfa and Azuki Beans to Wheat and Rye; as well as recipes for the sprouts and a million other things. There are directions for making yogurt from powdered milk; the best way to store cheese and eggs to preserve there storage life; tips for smoking seafood and chicken; lists of fruits and vegetables that keep well for extended periods of time and provisions lists for dry goods, alcohol, cooking equipment, and tips and recipes for making “one pot wonders” (which, I’ve been informed by the captain, I should have prepared in advance for our journey across the ocean). There are so many things to think about!!!

I haven’t seen the boat yet and therefore have no idea what the kitchen is like. I don’t know how it is stocked presently but I have been told that I have a 4-burner Thermadore industrial gas stove and oven, a commercial size fridge and deep freeze and a Cryovac.

I know you are probably wondering why I haven’t seen the boat yet and actually the reason is that since getting the job, I went to California to visit my family and as soon as I returned to New York I got completely booked with catering jobs. I haven’t had a moments rest in almost three weeks! It’s been back to back events… But everyday I wake up and I think to myself, one day closer – and I get so excited!

I was out running errands today, shopping and prepping for two events. I was on the Upper West Side so I decided to take a walk down by the 79th Street Boat Basin. It was a pretty blustery day and while the boat I’ll be working on wasn’t there, looking out at the other boats bobbing up and down in the water – the first thing that came to my mind was, “oh lord, I had better get some Dramamine!”… Small kitchens, equipment and ingredient challenges, I can handle that part… But there’ll be one other equation in the mix aboard this boat – motion, baby! I have yet to cook in a kitchen that may very well be rockin’ and rollin’… And actually, the woman at the bookstore told me that I’m pretty much guaranteed to get motion sick. She said that the first time she cooked on a boat she would go up on deck and while catching some fresh air and trying to recompose herself she would think in her head what she would do next in the kitchen; ie, slice three potatoes, peel and chop garlic, peel two carrots… Then, she would run downstairs, complete the tasks she had set out in her mind, and then run back up on deck to get some fresh air and she did this until she finally conquered her sea sickness…

Friday is my last big catered event. I’ve passed the torch to the woman who has been my sous-chef and good friend for the passed year. She’ll be taking on my clients.

On Sunday I will be seeing the boat and meeting the crew for the first time…

Accepting the job

I received a phone call on September 13, two days after I sent the letter, from Dario, the owner of the yacht. The first thing he said to me on the phone was, “I assume you can cook. What I really want to know is whether or not you can live with yourself. Why don’t you tell me what kind of personality you have?”. We talked for 45 minutes about what life is like aboard a boat; what living with five people for six months was like; what people did during down time on the boat (lots of reading) and so forth. Funny enough, not a single question came up about food or cooking…

September 16th was my birthday. I had a great week going to wine tastings, seeing live music and visiting friends. I had a dinner party for some friends on the night of my birthday and made a Middle-Eastern feast; pomegranate marinated pork, sumac crusted whole roasted salmon, kibbe, tabouli, moujadra, babaganoush, hummus, fresh baked pita bread and za’atar bread, etc. 25 people came and we drank 19 bottles of wine – a pretty good ration…

On September 17 at 11am I had my interview with Dario and I was so excited (and also a wee-bit tired and hung-over)… We met in the city. He’s a very tall man, about 65 years old, friendly and easy going. I’d “googled” his name prior to meeting him and learned that he was a commercial real-estate developer and he had recently crashed a plane while flying. When I met him, he walked slowly and with a bit of a limp and told me that he had broken both ankles in a “little accident”. The man must definitely love adventure…

We talked more about life on the boat. His previous chef had been with him for three years but had recently moved on and Dario of course understood that cooking aboard a boat was not something someone would want to do forever. His girlfriend joined us and they both told me that they were interested in hiring me because I stated on my resume that I cooked Mediterranean, Middle-Eastern and Asian food and that was their favorite way to eat. They said that there would be a lot of down time on the boat, but that there would also be times where they had parties for 150 people, and at those times the rest of the crew would pitch in and help in the kitchen. Dario also said that I would be expected to learn a thing or two about sailing and help out with the general maintenance of the boat. And he asked if I got sea sick; I told him I had a strong fortitude and thought I could handle it…

With everything we had talked about, I needed to go home and really think about things before accepting the job. The crew that live aboard the boat now don’t have apartments they go back to; they only live aboard the boat. Living and working aboard boats is there life. Was I ready to make that my life? I wasn’t so sure.

I met up with my friend Mike for brunch right after my interview. Mike is also a very adventurous spirit and great person. He has a very colorful background; he grew up on the Oregon coast – probably one of the most beautiful area’s of the Western U.S – he’s traveled, lived as a park ranger in the middle of the dessert, is one of the greatest foodies I know (as he says, “I would date a restaurant, if I could”) and is pretty level headed and calm, so I trust his judgment and appreciate his feedback. We had brunch at Prune, a great little restaurant on 1st and 1st in the East Village. Although I wasn’t in the mood for a Bloody-Mary this time – Prune has the best bloodies in the city with nine different themes. There are ones with lemon vodka, fresh squeezed Meyer lemon juice, garnishes like white Spanish anchovies, pickled vegetables, caper-berries, beer chasers, etc. Mike had a caraway and crème fraiche omelet which he swore he wouldn’t share with me because it was too good – and he really didn’t! Hrrrrrumph… I had soft scrambled eggs and house smoked, thick cut bacon, and potato roasties which was all divine. I talked to Mike about some of my hesitations with accepting the job; giving up my apartment and changing my life completely for something I wasn’t entirely sure about; giving up my freedom and flexibility with my schedule, etc. I appreciated that he understood where I was coming from and wasn’t overly “starry-eyed” about the whole thing… He said to me that he thought the job would be great if I could do it for six-months. That sounded like a good idea to me too. So, I called Dario and asked him if he would be willing to take me for six months and that after five I would tell him if I would be continuing on or I would help him find a new chef. He said he had no problem with that as long as I committed to staying through the season in St. Barth’s. I told him he had found his chef.

And up to now, I still haven’t cooked for him! Should I be nervous?

The letter that got the job

Dear Sir:

I am very intrigued by the private chef opportunity aboard your yacht and have attached my resume for your review. I believe that my skills, experience, work ethic and personality would make me an ideal candidate for just such a position.

I am a graduate of the French Culinary Institute with 6 year’s professional cooking experience in three-star restaurants and catering. Presently, I work as a freelance chef and caterer for a large wine retailer, a prominent food magazine and private clients in Manhattan and the Hamptons, and am seeking a full-time private chef’s position. While my cooking style draws inspiration from Mediterranean, Middle-Eastern, Asian and Indian cuisines, applied with French technique, I am easily able to adapt to the tastes and preferences of my clientele. In my work for the wine retailer, I regularly research the cuisines of various wine regions of the world and create menus to best compliment the wines which are being served. And, having worked several summers as a private chef in East Hampton, I understand the intricacies of living and working in a private home and cooking and maintaining a kitchen for day-to-day eating habits and lifestyles. I am easily able to adjust from a casual lunch for the family to cocktail parties and a 5-course plated dinner. As well, I have a very strong work ethic, a positive attitude, an easy demeanor and can handle demanding situations with ease.

To further your interest, I should tell you that I was born and raised aboard a houseboat in Sausalito, California; have well functioning sea-legs; know where starboard is; have a great contact for the new 18-hole Greg Norman golf course on Anguilla; and have stellar references.

Should my skills and experience be of interest to you, please contact me at your convenience at 555.555.5555.


Kindest regards,

Cristina

How the job came about - Part II

My Caribbean visit was cut short by a looming hurricane named Emily. I had a big catering event taking place shortly after my return date and although I was ready to call in some favors and brave the storm; having withstood hurricane Ivan in 2001, my friend advised me otherwise and set to changing my ticket. I returned to New York one and a half days later, with sand in my hair, and still feeling the glow of that warm, Caribbean sun. Emily ended up bypassing Anguilla. However it did manage to halt flights off of the island for a few days, and wreak havoc on Cuba and Jamaica.

Within 24 hours of returning to New York I was on-line looking for jobs in the Caribbean. I’d found a plethora of services where you could pay for job listings, but that didn’t seem like the right route. A few previews of listings stated jobs for “kitchen cheefs”, not quite what I had in mind. I looked on the job board at the French Culinary Institute and found a job listing for a chef at a resort in Nevis. The qualifications and experience they were seeking were more than I had, but I sent my resume in anyway, made a phone call, and was turned down. Next came a listing for a pastry chef in Turks and Caicos, and the chef was an alumni. I immediately called him and asked if he could use a line cook. He said he wasn’t looking at the moment but to try back in October. A friend then came to me with the name of someone who ran a resort and a restaurant in St. Croix, but they were closed for the season and weren’t hiring. But I was determined, so I continued to send my resume around to other resorts and restaurants.

The more I though about it, the more I didn’t see myself working in a resort. I thought that a private chef’s job aboard a boat would be perfect. But then, how many jobs like that are there, and how would I ever find one? But I kept in mind the words my father ingrained in me whenever I’ve had an objective or goal I was reaching towards, "honey, remember the words of Winston Churchill” he’d say, as he chewed his cigar, “never give up, never give up, never give up". And with that, I kept my sights on finding a private chefs job… aboard a boat… in the Caribbean…

I was cruising around the city on my Vespa one day. The sky was a gorgeous azure blue and the light reminded me of the light in Anguilla. I thought to myself, isn’t it funny that people can be worlds apart and yet be looking at the same sky? Me, looking up between brownstones, surrounded by concrete and pavement; someone in the Caribbean looking up from white sandy beaches and crystal clear water… I was also thinking with a little bit of shock and amazement that in such a short time I’d actually sent out a dozen or so resumes for jobs abroad; when I had this overwhelming sense that somehow I would end up working in the Caribbean this winter, it was really just a matter of when and how the job was going to come about. I tend to trust my instincts and so, I just went with it and figured that if it was the right thing – it would happen...

Summer was coming to an end, my Hampton gig was soon to be up and none of my leads were panning out. Necessity was taking precedent, and so I began looking for work in New York City. I interviewed with restaurants in Manhattan and with six years experience, I was offered a job at $10.50 an hour, minimum 10 hour days, six days a week at a three-star French restaurant. There was just no way I could go back to another burn-out schedule. I wanted to have some fun and do something inspiring, not be enslaved...

I read the alumni job board religiously and would send my resume out (albeit, half-heartedly) for cooking jobs around the city when one day, as I combed the board, a job jumped at me. It was a listing for a private chef aboard a 120-foot sailing yacht in St. Barth’s. I thought to myself, "Oh my god, I would love this job! It's exactly what I've been looking for!”, but in a moment of self-doubt and self-pity I also thought, “I probably won’t get it”. Fortunately I had enough sense to apply anyway and I spent the next hour putting together the best possible cover letter I could, and pulling out some nice letters of recommendation that I had tucked away in my files. I sent off the cover letter with my resume, two letters of recommendation from very highly regarded chefs in the industry, and a prayer.

Two days later I got a call that would lift me out of my job hunting funk…

How the job came about - Part I

It happened by complete chance that I went to the Caribbean for the first time. As a late night distraction from the 2300 spring rolls I’d been rolling for 5 hours straight, I took a break and posted a profile on an internet dating site and ended up exchanging emails with someone who lived in the Caribbean. He seemed friendly, easy-going, funny, and had great taste in music. We ended up swapping emails for a few weeks, eventually deciding on a blind date in Anguilla.

I had an isle seat and slept most of the way from New York City to San Jaun, Puerto Rico, as I didn’t get much sleep the night before because I was painting my toes, plucking my eyebrows and deciding which bikini to bring. The plane from San Juan to St. Maarteen was slightly bigger than a puddle jumper and for the second leg of the trip, thankfully, I had a window seat. I was awestruck by the cerulean waters. Flying over the islands was breathtaking, but landing in them was even better.

I took a ferry from St. Maarteen to Anguilla, a tiny island in the British West Indies. The ferry itself was a great little adventure and my new friend turned out to be an absolute doll and a gentleman. He had his guest room made up for me, a nice bottle of rum waiting with my name on it, a map and a bicycle. On my first day there we went to a thatched roof bar on a beach where we grabbed a couple of cold beers and waded into the water up to our knickers while we chatted and enjoyed our drinks. "Mystery internet guy" seemed very content and happy on his little island and I could see clearly just what was so special about that place. It took no time for me to catch the island bug…

I’m struck with an insatiable case of wanderlust, a curiosity for life and for new places, and a need for spontaneity and adventure. Those are some of the reasons why I feel drawn to New York; it always has something new to offer. However, it is also imperative for my mental health that I get out of New York. I know this, and so every few years for the past decade I’ve managed to work out of the country for a 4 to 6 month stretch. I’d had my foray into indentured servitude doing an internship in Paris in the summer of 1999, and then went to Hong Kong for 4 months on a computer contract. But I’d been cooking in New York and California since then and hadn’t been out of the country.

Before I went to the Caribbean, I’d been longing for adventure and change. But going abroad as a cook is a much different story than doing so as a computer programmer. As a corporate professional the business takes care of things like pay, government paperwork, etc. You’re assured housing, insurance, and that most expenses will be covered. As a cook, you have none of these assurances. On the contrary, most likely, you work under the table for 12 – 14 hours a day, for abysmal pay and in god knows what sort of an environment. As a woman, you have a strike against you. And, depending on which country you choose, as an American you have a strike against you. I’d experienced a lot of these things in Paris. And now, being in my 30’s, I really wasn’t looking to rush back into that. I longed for adventure, but not servitude. I waited for something to call to me. And when I arrived in the Caribbean, had a little taste of the laid-back island atmosphere, felt the soft, white sand between my toes, floated in the warm, aquamarine water and felt that sunshine beating down on me - I knew that was where I wanted to be…

Returning to the kitchen

A long, long time ago, in a previous life - I worked as a software developer on Wall St., developing communication protocols for electronic trading. That was during the dot com boom, the money was great, venture capital, vapor ware and $125 bottles of California Cab flowed like water. But after years of burn-out work schedules on trading floors, nerding-out until the wee hours of the morning over lines and lines of code, having a pager at my waist 24/7 constantly abuzz with server messages, and the promise of stock options fizzling into nothing, I lost my heart for the work. As the dot com bust loomed I knew in the pit of my stomach that my position and income were not sustainable, the life I was living was draining, and I wasn’t happy. The money was good, but I wanted something satisfying. I wanted to be doing something I felt passionate about and money alone wasn’t a motivating enough factor.

Too often, I'd be at a nice restaurant with a client having dinner and I’d completely tune-out of the tech talk going on because I was distracted by the scent of truffles from a plate two tables over, or by the perfectly sautéed piece of turbot in front of me. While my clients were telling me of their connectivity, communication and data management issues I was lost in the restaurants wine list; with thoughts of Petrus, Pomerol and Super Tuscan’s dancing in my head... For lunch, I preferred a hunk of cheese and a crusty baguette from the nearby gourmet shop to chewing on a big chunk of dysfunctional code. I dreaded meetings with stale pastries and paper cups of coffee. I hated cafeteria lines, eating a limp salad out of a plastic clamshell within the boxed in walls of my cubicle. I waited with baited breadth each month for the latest issue of Saveur, but had hardly the enthusiasm for my subscription to the Visual Basic Programmers Journal. To me, this was not living. I was numb and burned out. I was day dreaming about something else, and most of the time, I was dreaming of food… So, in 1998, after two years of complaining about how much I disliked my profession, I finally grew tired of listening to the whining in my own head and decided to do something about it. I enrolled in the evening culinary program at the French Culinary Institute.

I grew up in a food oriented family and had been at the stove since a very young age. When I was seven years, after nosing around the kitchen and asking lots of questions of my mom, she taught me how to make scrambled eggs. The next morning I decided to take stab at it and I left the stove on and almost burnt the house down. A few days later I tried to make scrambled eggs for my dad and step-mom. My step-mom is the master of the perfect scrambled egg; true to her French ancestry - soft, buttery curds, seasoned to perfection, never over-cooked. She took the time to teach me how to make them her way; lots of butter, low heat, stirring slowly and constantly with a rubber spatula and turning off the heat while they were still runny (they’ll continue to cook and be perfect when you put them on your plate). To this day, soft scrambled eggs are one of my favorite foods.

On weekends while I visited my mom and she was at work I would watch Julia Child on television. Then I would go through my mom’s fridge or walk to the market, pick up some groceries and cook something. The first time I watched Julia Child I went straight into the kitchen and made a roux, and when my mom came home I showed it to her. She then showed me how to make gravy. I was still fairly young, eight or so. My cooking was often typical kid food; fudge, sundaes, chocolate mousse made with a box of pudding and whipped cream. But then I began cutting recipes out of magazines and my mom would give me money to buy the ingredients and I would cook dinner. Often times I would make something for my mom that I’d watched my dad cook. She was always very encouraging and when she would have dinner parties I would help in the kitchen as she and her friends cooked together in the kitchen. Cioppino, a traditional San Francisco fisherman’s stew, made a regular appearance at my mom’s house. And cracked dungeounous crabs with drawn butter and sourdough bread were a seasonal favorite at both my dad’s and my mom’s houses.

At my dad’s house I would often make breakfast in bed for him and my step-mom. I’d make Mickey Mouse shaped pancakes, omelets and grapefruit drizzled with honey and decorated with flowers. We would then spend the morning in bed together reading the Sunday funnies. I’ve always enjoyed creating things and the kitchen provided the perfect outlet.

I’m fortunate to be surrounded by people with a passion for food and cooking. My father is a fantastic home cook, a hunter, and fisherman and was the main cook in our home growing up. Although there were times as a kid when I would have gladly traded our venison taco’s or wild boar chili for McDonalds, in retrospect, I appreciate the exposure that trying new things gave us. I really owe my parents for teaching me how to enjoy food. My brothers and I were never forced to eat something we really didn’t like; however, we were always encouraged to at least try “one bite”. Our dinner table mantra was, “you don’t have to like it, you just have to try it” and so we did. And through this I grew from being horrified by raw oysters, to developing an almost fanatical love of them; of being totally grossed out by sushi to now enjoying even the more exotic offerings (uni, roe, octopus) and to never being afraid of trying something new. In my childhood the kitchen was a fun place, it was a place that symbolized freedom and little or no restraint. It was a place to explore, a place full of creative energy. Plus, there was the added benefit – the cardinal rule of our kitchen: whoever cooked didn’t have to clean! And so, I would help my father whenever I could; a pinch of salt, stirring a pot, looking over his shoulder and asking questions and when dinner came to an end I would sit back and relax as my brothers washed up the pots and pans, loaded the dishwasher and wiped down the counters...

Going to culinary school and learning to cook professionally was a way of returning to my roots, rediscovering something that I’d lost touch with within myself; returning to a place where I felt creative, free and alive…