Just a lucky so and so

Victoria was just a stopover and a bit too cold for Mrs. & Mr. X. So, with a gentle breeze and a following sea, we set forth on the next leg of our journey – but not before I had the chance to hit up the local farmers market where I got the last of the pole beans, baby turnips and tomatoes of the season, some artisan cheeses and bread. One, lone table of produce remained at the market – the rest were jewelry and craft tables, the tell-tale sign marking the beginning and the end of the farmers market season the continent over. I returned to the yacht with a few bags of goodies. A note was stuck on my cutting board, “duck confit, fig and plum sauce pizza – upper fridge”. Ah, Mrs. X takes such good care of me…

A pod of fat, stubby, black and white dolphins race us down the Northwest Coast, leaping out of the water and diving under the hull. The days are quiet on passage – it’ll be 3 1/2 days until we see land again and if the seas are calm, for me that will mean time to get ahead of myself for the busy weeks of entertaining that lay ahead – preparing pasta dough’s - rolling it out and freezing it, cracker dough’s, ice-cream bases, pesto’s and sauces.

The X’s are easy owners, they like to be self-sufficient and help themselves to whatever they need. Mrs. X jumps in the galley to help cook and make cookies and treats for the crew, which is great for me – many hands make light work! And Mrs. X and I are usually laughing or talking food when we’re in the galley together. Being a private chef can sometimes feel like working in a vacuum, but not with Mrs. X – we can talk food for hours and she’s always giving me articles and recipes which helps me a lot since I have to come up with breakfast, lunch, dinner, horsdeouvres and snacks everyday for weeks on end without repetition. It’s nice to have a hand, especially from the person eating most of my cooking! Beats the hell out of becoming a mind reader…

An average day for me on passage is up at 5am to setup breakfast for the X’s and crew. It’s not usual for the chef to be doing crew breakfast, but it’s a passage and the bosses are easy and it makes the crew happy – egg sandwiches, oatmeal and fruit, scones – with clotted cream of course - that one won a few points from the Brits aboard! After breakfast is setup I prep a few things for a later date – bread starters, dough’s, sauces. Around 10am I begin preparing lunch and try to catch a nap sometime after lunch. At 3pm it’s back in the galley to make horsedouvres and begin prepping dinner. Dinner by 7pm and hopefully cleaned up and out of the galley by 9pm. The crew rotates watch shifts so everyone is up at different times, eating and sleeping at different times.

As long as the weather holds out, passages are quiet and slow and uneventful. I always find it remarkable to look out the window or go out on deck and be completely surrounded by the ocean, as far as the eye can see – yet able to surf the Internet, watch television, cook gourmet meals. It seams almost surreal, to be so disconnected and far away from everything, yet still have access to it all. Stock markets crashing, the election catching fire, wars breaking out – and yet here I am, cruising the wide open sea, not another person (besides those aboard), bird, tree or anything in sight and I’m cooking up Kobe tenderloin and tuna carpaccio. Totally weird. But who am I to complain? I must be doing something right…

Slip Sliding Away

It was bound to happen sooner or later. I just hoped it would’ve been later – much later. And at a more convenient time too. But it wasn’t. It never is. That’s just the nature of a disaster.

The disaster began in the wee-hours of the morning. I was having weird dreams – we were back at the boatyard in Seattle. The boat was chained to the dock and we couldn’t leave - a nightmare, actually. A dog purred at my feet. Why was the dog purring? That’s my alarm clock! Shit, I’m late!

5:20 am. I’m usually in the galley by 5am. 20 minutes can make all the difference in the world on some days– and today was one of those days. I flew out of bed, took a quick shower and was in uniform and in the galley by 5:26. We were lifting anchor at 6am sharp. The captain had said the night before that the ride to B.C. would be smooth, I’d have no problem cooking but at 6:04 as I shoved a batch of Rosemary-Pumpkin muffins into the oven and began to prepare a smoked salmon scramble – the call came down that there might be some rough weather ahead. I was a little frazzled from oversleeping, my brain wasn’t fully awake, and it was pissing rain outside. Like a Pedro Almodovar movie, bad news always comes on a rainy day.

In the restaurant trade, it’s called being “in the weeds”, when you spend all day just trying to catch up. That’s how my day was starting out, I was in the weeds – and everything always goes wrong when you’re in the weeds… I rushed into the walk-in and in my harried state, I completely forgot about the 3-quarts of clam chowder I’d put in a tall bain-marie covered with plastic wrap and set on the floor the night before to cool down. As I made my way out of the walk-in, loaded down with eggs, onions and salmon – “ping”, I felt me food make contact with the cold steel of the bain and then heard “glug glug glug” as the contents dumped out onto the floor. NOOOOOO! I leapt the remaining two feet to the door, dropped my load of ingredients on the counter, raced to the sink and grabbed three rolls of paper towels and a garbage bin. Sopping up the soggy, clammy, starchy mess all I could think was, “I gotta get breakfast out, I can’t do this right now, I gotta get breakfast out…”. I left the towels to absorb the mess and hoped that I soaked up enough that it wouldn’t run the full length of the walk-in and jumped back behind the stove to continue making breakfast.

Within a half-hour, the seas grew rough. I looked out the galley window; massive waves towered over the yacht. My stomach climbed into my throat as the yacht climbed up the waves and my body compressed as we slid down the other side. The captain had said it would be smoother ride than yesterday – could he be more wrong? 35 knots of wind and messy seas were making breakfast a harrowing output.

I was so excited to make pumpkin-rosemary-polenta muffins for breakfast. I thought it’d be perfect with my smoked salmon eggs, but what was I thinking – to make something so strong under way? Even the slightest hint of seasickness is greatly exacerbated by strong aromas or flavors. So, of course, just as my stomach was climbing a 14-foot wave, I tasted one small bite of a muffin – the rosemary, the sweet of the pumpkin, the spices and sugar was a complete sensory overload, like a violent assault on my olfactory system. My stomach was in shambles. But I had a duty – to make breakfast for 16 people though I was certain that no one would eat it. The waves were growing – and I know I wasn’t the only one feeling ill…

With breakfast setup, I ducked into my cabin to wretch, take some drugs and try to nap away my painful morning – and prayed that nobody would open in the walk-in…

When the seas finally died and the drugs kicked in, I returned to the galley to find breakfast, of course, untouched. Hesitantly, I opened the walk-in. Despite my efforts to keep the spill from spreading, it had leached under almost all 18, black rubber floor panels and spread the entire 6-foot length of the walk-in. I have milk crates stacked 3-high, loaded with milk, juice, fruits and veggies and those would all have to come out, along with all the matting – and all while we were underway, and all while trying to keep my little disaster as low-key as possible so that nobody would notice… One-by-one, I moved out the crates, pulled up the mats and stuck them in a sink full of soapy water, grabbed a mop and squeegee and set to cleaning…

With the mess cleaned up and lunch put out, the seas died down and that afternoon we spotted a large pod of orca’s off of the bow of the boat jumping fully out of the water. It was so beautiful! As we pulled into Victoria Harbor in British Columbia, the bosses said they’d take us all out to dinner – and save me from being in the weeds the remainder of the day…

Finally F'ing OUT of the Ship Yard!!!

Hi Everyone! Sorry for the silence – figuring out how to work, sleep and blog is quite a challenge but now that we’ve finally gotten the HELL OUT OF THE BOAT YARD, I will make an effort to write more… Sleep is so overrated…

So, we did it. That last trip that I briefly blogged about was more sea trials, but with the boss aboard. We survived, didn’t sink and went back to the boat yard for a haul out so they could repaint the water line after adjusting the ballast and to work on some engine stuff – which, since it has nothing to do with food, I don’t really know anything about (and besides, I spent the week passed out on a beach in Key West) - but there have been significantly more carpenters, engineers and electricians aboard over the past two weeks rushing to get everything done – like, three times as many as their have been over the past year. I guess they wanted us out of the yard as much as we wanted us out of the yard! Only 316 days late – give or take a day or two, but who’s counting…

Departure day was yesterday and was a mix of cheers and teary goodbyes as we pulled away from the dock and began to wind our way down the river. I feel like I’ve been rushing and working so much that our departure was hardly a blip on the radar – but rather, just one more thing to do. But every once in a while, the cloud of work and to do lists would clear and for a brief moment I’d fill-up with a surge of joy that we were finally, FINALLY departing to GO AROUND THE WORLD! But just as quickly, that joy would dissipate and it was back to work – unpacking loads and loads of groceries, organizing my freezers and walk-in (quickly becoming a squeeze-in), stowing and cleaning, stowing and cleaning. If cleanliness is next to godliness than I want to be canonized upon my death!

The river has been lined with fishing nets by the Native Indian tribes and we had to wind the yacht around the nets. I figured that was as good a time as any to start the brine for my corned beef. Maiden voyage of the yacht, maiden voyage for corning beef. It’d be a day of firsts. I also had the brilliant idea of vacuum sealing the corned beef in a bag with the brine – which was a great idea once I got it done, but not before I spilled half the brine. And, despite how big the yacht is – it’s still a yacht, which means cubby holes that load from a hatch in the counter – which means brine spilled across counter and leaked into the cubby hole – which means I had to unload everything from that (large) cubby hole, clean everything, clean the cubby, and then put it all back. Ok, so maybe brining a brisket underway isn’t one of my better ideas but I have my rye starter going and am feeding it everyday and soon, very soon, I’ll be making the best Reuben sandwiches south of the equator!

We still have crew from the boat yard aboard and the yacht ‘technically’ isn’t “ours” for a few more days. So, our captain is working with the captain from the builder who is handling the boat until it’s handed over. But the day the yard people leave is just around the corner and then we will really celebrate! And only then will I finally, truly feel that we are actually on our way.

Three cheers, please! We’re out of the yard! Hooray!!!

I’ve been waiting for this day for 453 days… It almost seems a little anticlimactic. . Oh well, I’ve got mouths to feed – back to work…

A hard days night...

There is nothing more enticing, disenchanting and enslaving than the life at sea.
~Joseph Conrad


My alarm clock squeals, 4:45am arrives much too quickly at the beginning of my third, 15-hour day – especially with engine room alarms and water-maker alarms going off half of the night due to the testing going on for the sea trials. My head feels heavy, like I’ve hardly slept. I resist the urge to hit the doze button again… and again...and again… Besides the fact that I have to get up to make breakfast for the small army we have aboard – I don’t want to wake my bunkmate who was up late last night on anchor watch and is now snoring away on the upper bunk, blissfully unaware of the struggle going on in the bunk below. The guests and extra crew are on for 5 days, which although is a little tiring, is nothing compared to the several week and month long trips that I know are ahead of me. The 10th day is about when exhaustion really starts to creep in and the back begins to ache – from then on after, it’s an intravenous caffeine supply by way of the espresso machine feed line – directly into a main artery.

We’ll be pulling up the anchor at 6am, departing Friday Harbor and heading for Stewart Island. Mr. and Mrs. X, Mr. Precious and Scotty are all aboard for the sea trials, plus 10 crew and five people from the boat yard – 19 people in total, and it’s my duty to keep them all fed.

The sun hasn’t even begun to crack the sky yet. The galley is clean, peaceful and quiet except for the slow, undulating whir of the juicer motor and the tap of a knife against a cutting board as the morning stewardess is already up squeezing oranges for juice and brewing coffee. The boson comes in from the outside, his breath trailing behind him from the cold, he’s been up since 3am on anchor watch and is getting ready to go back to bed. One by one, the engineers and electricians from the boat yard come in to fill their coffee cups and warm up. I pull out the ingredients to make a batch of pecan-date bread and just as dawn begins to break we lift anchor and set off for a different cruising ground. The symphony begins…

The last time I saw Mrs. X, she sent me on a mission – to eat corned beef hash at The Georgian in the Fairmont Hotel, and replicate it. So, a few weeks ago the captain, purser and I went for brunch. The corned beef hash was delish - better than the service, that’s for sure - but on the first bite, I knew that just a pinch of fresh herbs would make all the difference and it’d be a breeze to improve upon. As I made my way through the grocery store last week with 3 heaping grocery carts full of food, and too short on time to actually prepare some things in advance, I spotted uncooked corned beef and opted on giving that a try rather than corning it myself – but Mrs. X has now asked me to perfect the Reuben sandwich, on homemade rye bread (using the sourdough starter I made at her house last summer) – so corning my own beef for that goes without saying... Anyhow, after two days simmering on the stove in a bath of beer, chicken stock, black peppercorns, coriander, mustard seed and bay leaves - the succulent, tender meat shreds easily with a fork and is full of flavor. I dice some Walla Walla sweet onions and Yukon gold potatoes and sauté them in my new favorite pan, an18-quart brazier, which provides ample surface space to sauté in large batches without overcrowding the pan – perfect for preparing large quantities without screwing up the browning with an overcrowded, small pan. Reminds me of my restaurant days. I add the corned beef, fresh thyme and parsley, season with salt and several cranks of the pepper mill. Nothing fancy, but like a slice of Defaro's pizza in Queens, some things are best left unadulterated.

Poaching eggs for everyone is a breeze too with the Miele steam oven and some cheap egg poaching pans that I picked up at the local restaurant supplier. The pans poach 8 eggs at a time and were fitted into a half hotel pan, with a lid and meant for the oven. But I just replaced the hotel pan with a perforated pan and they fit perfectly in the steamer. I have 16 perfectly poached eggs in about 8 minutes.

By 7am, the peninsula in the galley is spread with date-pecan bread, fresh melon and berries, corned beef hash and poached eggs, fresh coffee and fresh squeezed orange juice. The. X’s, guests and crew all seem pleased with the corned beef hash - but I hardly have time to sit for a proper breakfast as I’ve got to get the galley cleaned up and begin prepping for lunch while we’re underway.

The guests are on for another two days as we make our way through the San Juan Islands. But once again, there are delays and itinerary changes and soon it will be back to the shipyard, much to the chagrin of the owners - but much to the relief of the chief stewardess and myself as there is still a ton of work to do to get the boat setup and properly provisioned for our real departure…

I swear to God, someday we’ll get out of here. Someday…

Equilibrium

Equilibrium has been restored to the crew as we finally settle into our living quarters aboard the yacht. I don’t think I can imagine anything worse than taking 9 people that aren’t too fond of land, desk jobs and offices and stick them on land and give them lots of paper work for 6-months…

It’s funny how easy everyone is falling into their jobs aboard – even the captain seems happy to help with something like a wash-down of the boat- because at least it’s easy and predictable – unlike all the paperwork that’s required that will finally allow us to get on our way. Even I’ve had to suffer through writing some procedures documents (which is what the Chefs Prayer evolved out of) - but far less than the chief stewardess, engineer, captain, mate and purser. The stress level has dropped considerably over the past week and a somewhat “normal” (there’s nothing normal about the yachting world) pace has returned to our workday. I’m finding my groove easily in the new galley and though I have far too many small appliances and utensils stuffed in my utensil drawers – I’ve found a place for everything and getting around the galley seems fluid, effortless and smooth.

The trips-en-mass to the grocery have begun as I provision the boat with all the essentials to last us at least through the first few months, and so I won’t have to go grocery shopping every single day – as I did in the crew house… I’m probably hovering somewhere in the realm of 100 grocery bags in just a few days - and that’s just on basic supplies, and meat and fish to get us through the next couple of weeks of sea trials where we’ll have double the crew aboard for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

My day starts around 7am with a cup of tea and breakfast in our cramped, little crew mess where 9 of us gather around a tiny table and elbow each other around for room. The crew are very particular about their breakfast – because it’s the only meal of the day they have control over *cue evil laugh here* and with the British contingent aboard, this means Wheatabix, Marmite for toast and steady supply of PG Tips. For the Aussies, there's lots of fresh fruit and Vegemite (which I prefer) and for the Swede, it's cucumbers and ham on slices of dense rye bread and yogurt with fresh berries. The snack/breakfast cupboard is stuffed full of snacks and cereal and can hardly be opened without an avalanche of boxes and bags careening out and the storage below the settee is stuffed to the hilt with backup supplies of snacks. Snacks are an extremely important part of the day and a good boost for crew moral. Whether it’s Tam Tams for the Aussies, “chockies” (chocolates - dark chocolate for everyone except the Brits, they prefer milk chocolate), dried fruits and nuts, tea, cappuccino’s – whatever keeps the crew going – without proper snackage, there could be a mutiny – and soon, when I get more settled and provisioned, I’ll be making some homemade snacks for the crew as well… Up until recently, my mornings have been spent unloading boxes from the warehouse and stowing cooking equipment. Now, it’s preparing crates of backup food supplies to go into the bilge, refitting shelves in the pantry and finishing paperwork and then sometime around 10:30am I begin making crew lunch – this could be anything from frittata’s and salad to putting out the fixings for panini’s – the crew LOVE the panini maker and are as excited as children on Christmas Day when I lay out a spread of charcuterie, cheese, condiments and bread and let them make their own lunch. But this too goes along with this theory I’ve developed about them having control over their own food… I mean, if I lay something out and they can make their own food, they suddenly get very particular and picky about what they eat, but if I’m making it for them – they’ll eat whatever I serve. Personally, I know that I could never work another position on a yacht because it would torture me to eat someone else's cooking for every meal… but I digress… Anyway… The person in charge of watch keeping that day is usually the one who sets the table for the meals and helps clean up afterward. Lunch goes out around 11:30 and after that I’m usually out the door making my runs to Trader Joe’s, Costco, Metropolitan and Safeway - filling cart after cart with groceries to stock the boat. Then, it’s back to the boat to find homes for hundreds of pounds of dry goods, cans, jars and bottles and bags and around 4:00pm it’s time to begin dinner – roast chicken, veggies and potatoes or a one-pot wonder like curry or chili… My friend, Gregory, a staunch environmentalist who tries in earnest to live the life of a locavore, eating locally and sustainable – and who, bless his heart, has never put me on a guilt trip for working on a fuel sucking mega yacht or for wearing leather boots - recently put me in touch with John Foss, a fisherman coming back from Alaska from whom I was able to purchase 15 lbs. of beautiful, wild Sockeye salmon from Naknek Family Fisheries - a group of fisher WOMEN from Bristol Bay. It’s now filling my deep freeze awaiting the sea trials and I think the boat builders and the crew will be quite pleased… When time permits, I try to hit the farmers market in West Seattle or Ballard, but sometimes necessity dictates and it’s not always easy to go local. Like Kermit the Frog would say, “it’s not easy being green”…

Dinner is served around 5:30pm and I make a concerted effort to be putting away my last pot and wiping down my stove just as I’m about to serve crew dinner, so that way, I can sit with them and eat. It’s a quick inhale of food and then back upstairs to finish wiping down the galley – wiping over the glass, chrome, stainless steel and laquored wood. I finish my day around 6:30 or 7pm. But when there are guests aboard, it will take me an hour AFTER the pots and pans are done to wipe everything down, dry up every drop of water, polish all the glass on the oven doors and stovetop, the steel and wood and clean the floor before I can shut the galley down for the night – probably closer to 10pm (with guests aboard, my days will starting around 5am)… But I guess that’s why they pay me the big bucks – for all my pain and suffering… ;o)

Wait, what was that about ‘equilibrium’?