Home again, home again...

New York in the spring time, couldn't be better. I'm so glad to be here, even if it's brief.... Coming home to The City is like slipping into my favorite pair of well-worn blue jeans. Familiar and comfortable; I know every inch, every seam, every crease, every frayed thread; its smells, its look and feel and yet everyday it is something new, something of my own creation.

New York City is a treasure-trove of culinary delights from the Italian markets of Arthur Avenue in the Bronx, the Indian markets in Jackson Heights, the Middle-Eastern markets in Brooklyn to China Town in Manhattan. Nothing ignites my passion for food and cooking more, and if my knee were not out of commission I would jump on my Vespa and cruise over to Momofuko's Noodle Bar in the East Village for oysters with kimchee and smoked Berkshire pork buns, or head to Baked in Red Hooke for a perfect coconut macaroon and latte or Laboratorio Del Gelato for whatever seasonal flavors they are making right now, or I'd head to Chelsea Market for fresh buffalo mozzarella and the finest prosciutto available in the city. Or, I'd peruse the Union Square Farmers Market, it should be just the right time for Wild Ramps to start poking their heads up. Mmmmm, I love wild ramps!!!

Wild Ramps appearing in the farmers market, for me at least, are the quintessential sign that spring has sprung. I love the spring time in New York, but so often it is cut short by a late snow storm or an early heat wave. But by the looks of things, spring has come on in all her glory; waiting to be admired, recognized, posturing for the world to see...

I remember last year walking through the farmers market admiring the flower stalls, passing the pastry and honey vendors, thinking about how great it would be when the spring produce started to arrive. I daydreamed about fava beans, baby beets, spring garlic and the long wait for the ugly-sexy beast of summer, the heirloom tomato. Then, I spotted the ramps - the jewel of the Catskill Mountains - laying seductively on the vendors table; firm, pearl white bulbs; long pink and emerald hued stalks exposed seductively like the nape of a neck, thick lush greens yearning to be touched and smelled and cooked... I picked out two of the best looking bunches and took them home. I pickled the bulbs, which my friend Melissa summarily ate (every single last one of them!) and then I served the greens, grilled and drizzled with Extra-Virgin olive oil, sea salt, fresh ground pepper and a squeeze of lemon along side wild salmon seared on an iron skillet so the outside was crisp and the inside was medium-rare (and with a tangy chickpea puree on the side). Good ingredients require minimal effort. I like clean food, just a touch of heat and seasoning to bring out it's natural beauty...

Anyway, I've been so deprived for good, fresh produce in the Caribbean. My taste buds are craving variety! On Saturday, I'm going to be taking off to my dads vineyard in Southern Oregon (yes, I know, the sacrifices...) while my knee heel which means I'll have to get one of my cousins to either carry me or cart me in a wheelbarrow from winery to winery... But I can't wait 'til my knee is better so I can walk the farmers market, raid Kalustyan's (the best spice shop in Manhattan), go sampling at Murray's Cheese, and drop into Sahadi's and Damascus Bakery for fresh grape leaves, Syrian string cheese, pickled turnips, fresh baked pita bread and homemade spinach pies. I can eat my way through three boroughs without even leaving my couch (which is good for my knee, and my girlish figure)!

It is GREAT to be home! Maybe I won't give up my apartment after all...

By the way, if any of my friends from New York are around - Happy Hour at my house tonight (Friday), 8pm-ish. Drop me an email or just head over... And come on in, because I can't walk to the door to answer the bell.

Can someone bring me some cheese? ;o)

Hittin' the road...

The boat will be leaving on Thursday for the Mediterranean and as everyone is rushing around finishing up the charter and preparing the boat for the crossing I'm laid up in bed with a sprained knee and will be flying back to New York later this week and then rejoining the boat in France once my knee is recuperated…

The funny thing about boats is that there is always a place to bump your head, stub your toe, bang something or otherwise injure yourself. I've bumped my head and/or stubbed a toe pretty much every day since the day I joined the boat world back in November. I have bruises that I have no idea where they came from.

Today I slipped and fell through a hatch and one leg went up, one leg went down and my knee went sideways. Fortunately, with all the boat races going on, there was a doctor around and he happened to be a knee surgeon. He says I'll be just fine but I can't walk for a few weeks and will be unable to do the crossing as there is too much of a chance of re-injuring my knee if the boat is rolling.

I wanted to do the crossing for the experience, but by missing the crossing I am also missing two long weeks of seasickness – so I’m ok with that.

Next post from New York. Unfortunately I won't be able to ride a scooter either - so all my scooter buddies will just have to come visit me (hint-hint)!

The ketchup

Working aboard a motor yacht is a completely different experience than the sailboats and smaller boats that I have been on thus far. I am purely a galley slave to the chef and don't have the interaction with the guests that I really enjoyed on the other yachts. The big power boats don’t really cruise too much, as I'm sure feul costs and the work necessary just to take it out for a quick "jaunt" may be a little prohibiting. So, we stick to the big docks – St. Barth, St. Martin, Antigua - which isn't a bad thing. The plus side is that the galley is enormous and really well stocked.

I’m glad to be getting some exposure to another chefs cooking, it gives me some good ideas and it’s great to be able to see how a real mega yacht runs without the responsibility of figuring it all out on my own… Although, I do confess, it’s humbling to not be the one in-charge. Also, I’ve learned that my fears and apprehensions about being a chef on a yacht of this size were grossly over blown. I don’t think I would have any trouble moving into a head chef position on a boat this size – as a friend of mine said to me, the only thing I lack is not skill but confidence.

This week we have been chartered for the Antigua Classic ~ a classic sailboat regatta. We’ve been chartered by the owner of a beautiful J-Class yacht named Ranger that won the America’s cup in 1937. Endeavor, another well-known (in the yacht world) J-Class has also been chartered by the owner of Ranger and is docked right next to us. We are basically the mother ship to two beautiful sailboats for the week and we’ve been having barbeques and parties all week long on the boat – so I’ve been running ragged…

It’s the end of the season in the Caribbean and the yachts are pouring out, heading to the Mediterranean and the East Coast of the United States. I was in St. Martin last weekend and the marinas are ghost towns– everyday another boat leaving. Even the people from the crew placement agencies are heading out for the season…

Everyone I know in the industry, myself included, is looking forward to a change of scenery. It’s been a great season and an absolutely amazing experience – but after a while “island time”, Caribbean food, and Caribbean customer service begin to drive you a little crazy…

I look forward hitting the Mediterranean; sitting in a café, enjoying a glass of wine (it’s been ages since I’ve sat in a decent café and had a glass of wine!), reading a book and people watching. Culture, “foreign” films (because all that is available to rent or see in the Caribbean are big, boring Hollywood blockbusters) and museums – its’ been ages! I’m also a bit homesick, and land sick. I miss my couch, my neighbor’s cat, friends and family – all things warm and familiar but I won’t be getting home now ‘til September. That’s life…

One thing I am really looking forward to is meeting up with a fellow blogger and regular reader of my website! I’ve been swapping emails with a woman that is a stewardess in the Mediterranean and she’s been reading my blog since I first began back in September. We’ve actually become friends, and yet we’ve never met! She’s shown me pictures of the markets in Antibe, France where we will be docked. She is based there as well and will be giving me a market tour when we arrive! So, we leave NEXT WEEK, April 29th for France and will be at sea for two weeks with possible stopovers in Gibraltar and Spain. Our first charter will be at the end of May in Monaco for the Grand Prix. Rumor has it that Rod Stewart might be on board. Of course, I’d prefer Franz Ferdinand or perhaps the Flaming Lips – but hey, Rod is a celebrity in Japan or something right?! Ha ha. Just kidding.

So, bear with me. I’m just a little tired, burnt on the Caribbean, looking forward to catching up on my sleep on the crossing to the Med and waking up to a change of scenery – then I assure you there will be many more stories to be told!!! Just two more weeks and I’ll be posting from the Med!

When Bad Food Happens

The sauce for eggs benedict came from a packet and over and hour before the guests requested them the eggs were poached to the consistency of a Super Ball and the eggs benedict (if it could be called that) was plated, sauced and then reheated under the salamander, creating a crusty film over the sauce. The muffins for the bread basket came from a box of cake mix with candied blue specks shamelessly called "blueberry". The frozen croissants were undercooked and doughy.

I watched in horror as culinary tragedy after culinary tragedy unfolded before my eyes…

The theme for dinner the night the guests arrived was Mardi Gras and the table looked gorgeous with peacock feather masks, colorful beads and brilliant flowers. I was thinking Shrimp Etouffe, Gumbo, Bananas Foster, staples of New Orleans cuisine. But no, hacked up grilled chicken breast and fried shrimp served on brown lettuce leaves and garnished with a tomato and a sprig of parsley was passed off as “chicken and shrimp cocktail”. What the heck is chicken and shrimp cocktail?

The main course was “creamy noodles” with pan-seared mahi-mahi. Is this supposed to sound appetizing? Creamy Noodles sounds like a Rice-a-Roni flavor. The sauce came from a packet, not surprising since I never witnessed the chef actually prepare anything from scratch (the galley never even looked cooked in)! Even worse, the fish was seared off three hours before the 12 guests sat down at the dinner table! As this so-called chef plated he asked for my help in picking the seeds out of the giant chunks of lemon that were garnishing the plate. I could hardly contain my frustration as the rest of the crew (myself included) had run our butts off all day long preparing for the guests arrival as this guy sat in the crew mess surfing the web and couldn’t be bothered to pick the damn seeds out of his lemon “chunks”.

Dessert was “tempura bananas” with the chefs special touch – the “tempura” batter was the consistency of the white paste we used to eat in our third grade art class, topped with pistachio ice-cream that had fluorescent green lumps in it because the chef didn’t bother to properly mix in the cheap-o flavorings he used in his ice-cream base. The garnish was a strawberry that looked like it had been violated by a can of whipped cream.

It was truly unbearable to watch.

Shortly after this writing I learned that a new chef will be joining our boat – we shall see what is in store for our International Girl of Mystery…

Bring in the FEMBOTS!

Our Michelin Star chef was cryogenically frozen back in 1967 and, upon Great Britain going through a culinary renaissance in the late ‘90’s, was defrosted to battle his nemesis, the evil Dr. Evil in the great culinary theater of Iron Chef. After foiling his archenemy's plan to reveal the secret ingredients for their cook-off, our chef banished Dr. Evil to the cold recesses of space in a giant spaceship replica of Paul Prudhomme.

But alas, Dr. Evil returned to Earth and invented a time machine which sent him back to the ‘60’s and allowed him to steal our chefs mojo, leaving his food totally and utterly SHAGGLESS!

British Intelligence (is that an oxymoron?) has recruited me to work as their secret-undercover agent to travel back in time and rescue our chefs mojo!

Will our International Girl of Mystery be able to recover the chefs mojo? Can she get all his bits and pieces working again? Stay tuned...