Just another adventure...

Like everything in the Caribbean, the phone service was spotty at best… I worked my way through the bank of public phones along the wall in the St. Thomas airport. Each one offering up a new difficulty – the person on the other end couldn’t hear me, I could hardly hear them, crackling over the wire, stuck buttons… I was yelling out my credit card number for the entire airport to hear: “YES, YES 544, NO 44, YES, THAT’S RIGHT 5443330…, YES, YES, I’M CALLING ST. MARTIN. YES, ST. MARTIN, SAY-NT MAR-TIN”…

Finally, a voice crackled on the other line. A British accent: “I’m sorry miss, you’ll have to speak up I can hardly hear you.”, “I’m sorry, what was that?”, “crew house?”, “did you say you need a room at the crew house?”, “when?”, “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”, “Oh, no, we don’t have any room today. The crew houses are all full…lot’s of crew around. Try back tomorrow”.

I hung up the receiver and moved on to the next phone and the next number, “Hello?, Hello? Yes, can you hear me? Hello? Hello? Yes, do you have any rooms available? Yes, rooms, do you have any available? Hello? Can you hear me?”… so on and so forth.

I had given notice to the owners a week ago; I was the second in succession as the entire crew quit the yacht. It’s a challenge to have an owner that believes that since they are on vacation, the crew must be as well. We did everything we could to try to express to them that just because our office is in a beautiful location doesn’t mean our jobs are any less demanding. Yachts are not like homes, they require much more maintenance and care than simply mowing the lawn. I was the newest aboard but I recognized early on the pathway to burn-out that lay out ahead of me. I could see it in the eyes of the other crew and I didn’t want to get to that point…

It was a tough decision for all of us. Crew become family, what takes land-based people years to know about someone, we learn about each other in just a matter of months – we share tight quarters and live, eat and breathe every waking moment around each other for months at a time. Our crew got along great, the stewardess and I really hit it off and we are like sisters. I am the last person on earth to cry saying goodbye, but we both cried multiple times over the past few days. Our captain left the yacht today as well, and we had another cry in the car on our way to the airport. We all have our flaws, we all have our quirks and we were all aware of what those were in each other, but we bonded and we really tried to make the situation work. The stewardess and our first mate leave in another week – but hopefully our paths will all cross again…

The owners had asked me to leave a week early since they’d found my replacement. I should’ve expected that, but it still came as a surprise when they handed me a ticket back to Fort Lauderdale. I thought I’d have one more week to say goodbye, and a lift to St. Martin. Instead, I had just a few hours and Fort Lauderdale wasn’t on the menu again this season. All the action is down in St. Martin, so I bought my own ticket, stayed with some friends last night and jumped on a plane this morning…

I spent yesterday afternoon celebrating at the Rum Shack in St. Thomas, then went to a movie at Honeymoon Beach on Water Island, where every Monday night a giant sheet is strung between two palm tree’s, a sound system and projector is set up and everyone makes themselves comfortable in beach chairs on the sand… It was the perfect way to end my time in St. Thomas.

I arrived this afternoon, touching down in St. Martin with a reservation at a cheap hotel in Simpson Bay, and the universe once again smiled upon me; beyond the rooftops, parking lot and some trees my window overlooks the beach and I can watch the yachts coming into the marina, the bugs are small and the a/c works... The first thing I did upon checking into my hotel room was to stretch myself out across the bad – my head on the upper right corner, my feet on the lower left. I’ve spent the past two and a half months on a bed about as wide as my shoulders, a mattress as hard as rocks, and quarters so tight two people could not stand in our room at one time. It feels so good to have some privacy and time to recharge my batteries. I check into a crew house on Thursday, but right now I’m going to enjoy sleeping in, going to my favorite café on the island tomorrow morning for a cappuccino and croissant and a kiss on each cheek from Dominic, the proprietor of Zee Best in Simpson Bay, and then catch some rays on the beach and catch up with some crew friends I haven’t seen since last year. Then, the search for a Mediterranean bound yacht will begin…

The Cat That Ate the Canary

Since I began cooking on yachts, I’ve been intrigued by the abundance of little fishes that gather off of the aft deck when the underwater lights are on. And what I mean by “intrigued” is, are those little guys edible? I remember the first time I asked myself that question. We’d been sidelined in Bermuda after a little mishap at sea and were anchored in the aquamarine waters of St. George. I had a bottle of Blanco Nieva Sauvignon Blanc in my personal stash of wine that I’d brought aboard (yes, I did actually bring my own personal wine stash on the yacht). The Blanco Nieva has honeysuckle on the nose. On the palette, it has a nice, crisp acidity that is almost effervescent. It’s clean with slight floral tones and not overly citrus like many Sauvignon Blancs. I took a sip and I looked out at the tiny fishes swimming off of the swim step and thought that they’d go so nicely with the wine; fried whole, sprinkled with salt and eaten like French fries… I became obsessed, wanting to find out of if they were edible or not. I’d been warned about eating fish from tropical waters because you can get poisoned if they feed on the reef.

But the obsession with little fried fishes started much younger than that. Back when I was just a little frizzy haired, buck teethed, bow legged mongrel we had a summer house on the beach at Balboa Island, off of the coast of Southern California. My brothers and I would spend our summers building sandcastles, watching the marlin boats come in, playing ski ball and eating frozen bananas at the Fun Zone, and roller skating along the boardwalk. My grandparents would come and spend the summer with us. My grandfather, Jiddo was what we called him – it’s Lebanese for “grandfather”, was my hero growing up. I’d follow him everywhere and he called me his “shadow”, a title I wore like a crown (or rather, a tiara)… My Jiddo was a big man, tall and well built, with hands as big as dinner plates and a thin moustache. He was stoic, serious and thoughtful with the demeanor of an old Hollywood actor – like Humphrey Bogart or Clark Gable. Jiddo and me would sit at the end of the dock in a lounge chair; me on his lap, Jiddo in Bermuda shorts and socks and shoes, a button up Cuban shirt and his lucky fishing hat which I would pull off of his head and wear with pride. We were fishing for smelt and the way it went was Jiddo would take a little piece of chicken or perhaps some bacon from breakfast that morning and drop it in the water. Hundreds of smelt would race up frantically pecking away at the little morsel as if it were the last meal they might ever have – and it just very well may have been. Then, he’d swoop in with his green fishing net and catch the little buggers, hand me the net of silver, slivery fish and have me run them into the house to my grandma where I’d help clean them and grandma would dredge them in flour, fry them, sprinkle them with salt and fresh lemon and send me with a grease stained, white paper plate full back out to my Jiddo where we’d resume our fishing position of me sitting on his lap as we ate the smelt like French fries and chucked their little bones back into the sea. Then, when it was time for another batch, we’d throw in a smelt bone and swoop in with the net to get another batch for grandma to fry up…

So now, whenever I’ve look off of the back of a yacht and see those little fish swimming around, I’m always reminded of my Jiddo and can’t help wonder to myself if those little fish are edible. And tonight I just grew bored with wondering and decided to find out once and for all. I asked our first mate if what he thought; not that he’s ever been to the Caribbean prior to this season, but he grew up on the Great Barrier Reef in Australia and so therefore I consider him to be expert enough on what might be edible within a close proximity to a reef. He said that he thought them similar to sardines – and so that was assurance enough for me and I asked him if he would catch me a few (he already had a line out and was catching tarpin just for fun). With a line threaded with tiny fish hooks and little red reflectors, he was able to catch three within a matter of minutes. I wrapped them in a towel and they pulsed in my hands like a human heart as I walked through the salon to the galley. I couldn’t help but say a little prayer for them as it is a rarity that I kill something myself that I am going to eat. But I assured them that their lives would not go to waste and they would be treated with the utmost respect – in my frying pan… I scaled the little fishes under running water which took all of three seconds. Then I lopped off their little heads, cut through their tiny little chests and disemboweled them – not that there was a lot of disemboweling to be had, they were only 3-inches long at best. Once they were cleaned and ready to go, I dredged them in flour, fried them in oil, sprinkled them with salt and a fresh squeeze of lime and bombs-away, gobbled them down… And, well, they were really good; just like I remember from Balboa and I’m still alive to attest to the fact that they are edible and won’t kill you. Once it was proven that they were edible, the crew (hesitantly) gave them a try and were actually surprised that they were so good…

Ha! Too bad I didn’t have another bottle of the Blanco Nieva. I would’ve sat out on the swim platform all evening drinking my wine and eating those little fishies…

A Curry A Day... Part 2

Chilled Avocado and Cucumber Soup

With a Sorrel and Cucumber Salad

Smoked Pimenton and Toasted Garlic Oil

~

Garam Masala Rubbed Swordfish with a Spicy Vindaloo Sauce

Cilantro Yogurt Chutney

Pistachio Jasmine Rice

Fresh Aniseed Nann Bread and Pappadam

~

Rum Infused Tropical Fruit Salad

Homemade Coconut Sorbet

Pistachio Praline with White and Dark Chocolate

There are two types of surprises in life. There is the “Publishers Clearinghouse, Ed McMahon Unexpectedly Standing Your Front Door, Giant Check in Hand” type of surprise, or the “Pop Quiz After You’d Been Out Too Late The Night Before Instead of Studying” type of surprise…

A group of 8 people had bid on a weeklong charter aboard our yacht as part of a fundraiser. The owner of the yacht told me, with great enthusiasm, that the guests coming aboard had a big surprise in store for me. I couldn’t imagine what the surprise could be but my imagination leaned towards the “Publishers Clearinghouse” type of surprise and Ed McMahon as a stubby, mustachioed, little Frenchman appearing on the dock in a horizontal striped sweater, neckerchief and barret bearing a basket of fresh Parigord truffles, still moist from the earth they were pulled from and smelling deeply of an oak forest, musk and soil. Or perhaps one of the guests happened to have a bottle of 1937 Chateau D’Quem in their basement and thought to bring it along to share with lil’ ol’ me over a lobe of Grade A Foie Gras, roasted whole with fresh figs and a sprinkle of Fleur de Sel… I tend towards an over-active imagination… Little did I know that this wasn’t going to be that kind of a surprise, it was more along the lines of the “Pop Quiz, hadn’t studied” type.

The yacht was sparkling and we stood on the clean teak decks, lined up like toy soldiers, barefoot and in spotless polo’s and khaki shorts. Steel drum music annoyingly reminiscent of a Carnival Cruise Lines commercial played faintly in the background. We introduced ourselves, one-by-one, shaking hands and exchanging names as the guests worked their way down the chain of crew on the aft deck. A flurry of greetings, taking peoples luggage down to their rooms, fixing drinks and getting everyone situated followed. Unsuspectingly, I shook the hand of what was to be my surprise, as he stood in front of me clad in a faded Gap t-shirt, wrap around sun glasses and a baseball cap.

As the guests settled in with drinks and unwound into vacation mode – information slowly began to leak. Who in their right mind thought I would be thrilled to find out that one of our guests was not just a chef, but a chef that had worked with Joel Roblechon for three years in Paris, and Daniel Baloud in New York City, and was a yacht chef for three years and now owns two very successful restaurants in South Florida? What sort of a nefarious plot was in the works here? My head spun, God was once again testing my fortitude. I’m deeply insecure about my cooking – doesn’t The Universe know this yet? And when is The Man In Charge going to cut me some slack, eh? I don’t know how to cook! I’m just a hack! I really think I need to start charging a surcharge to yacht owners that cause me undo duress…

The pressure was on and I felt the heat before I even touched the stove… Dinner for 12 at 8o’clock on the aft deck. In an effort to overcome my fear and hesitation cooking for this chef and his friends, I’d been combing their conversation, searching for a nugget of information about what foods they liked so as to be able to please them. I had planned on preparing swordfish, a Provencal preparation that I had in my mind. But as I chatted with the guests in the galley (because wouldn’t you know it, they all want to hang out in the galley) the topic of Indian food came up and in unison the guests all expressed how much they loved a good vindaloo. I felt a wave of relief and inspiration – Indian, I can do that! It’s one my favorite types of food in the world! I can make probably a half-dozen curries off the top of my head, but had never tried a vindaloo so I figured I would give it a shot. After a quick search through some cookbooks, I found a recipe in James Peterson’s Fish & Shellfish that would be my base recipe to work with (I never really follow a recipe completely). I chopped and prepped my ingredients for the sauce, although I used a bit of cayenne for spice, I toned it down incase some people had a low burn tolerance. The two teaspoons seemed to be plenty and I made a yogurt riata just to add a little cooling element aside the spicy sauce. My first course went out at 8pm on the button, a chilled avocado and cucumber soup with roasted cumin, pappadams and a cucumber and sorrel salad. The bowls came back empty. Next, the entrée and it smelled delicious, but I was up against a tough crowd and my stomach was in knots. I plated my food – but to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t happy with the plating – at least not for the crowd I was cooking for. The plates on this yacht are on the small side and not extraordinarily pretty and their really is only so much one can do with colorful oils and brunoise… I dream of large, white, rimless Aplico dinner plates… The knot in my stomach grew as the plates went out. But one by one during dinner, the guests appeared in the galley and raved about the food – even saying that it was the best swordfish preparation they had ever had. I told them that I felt a lot of pressure, to which they replied, “good, we hope you feel this pressure all week, everything is so good”. Dessert went out and I followed to check on the guests and was greeted with a, albeit embarrassing, boisterous round of applause. I decided that maybe I do know how to cook after all, gave myself a little pat on the back and slipped back into the galley to make a batch of doughnut dough for the morning, mop the floor, wipe down the cabinets, empty the garbage and finally after a 14 hour day, go to sleep – where I slept like a baby and dreamt that I really knew what I was doing.

Swordfish Vindaloo

Vegetable oil for sautéing

2 Medium onions, finely chopped

3 cloves garlic, finely chopped

3 tablespoons ground coriander seed

3 teaspoons turmeric

3 teaspoons ground cumin

3 teaspoons yellow or black mustard seeds

2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

½ teaspoon ground cloves

3 teaspoons paprika

2 teaspoons cayenne

2 tablespoons grated fresh ginger

8 tomatoes, peeled, seeded and chopped (or 8 canned, peeled tomatoes – juices strained and tomatoes chopped)

½ cup chicken broth (fish broth or water will work as well)

3 tablespoons sherry vinegar

¾ cup tamarind concentrate (or about 2 -3 tablespoon size chunks of tamarind paste dissolved in ¾ cup boiling water and mashed into a paste)

¼ cup cilantro

Cook onions and garlic in a vegetable oil until onions begin to brown, about 10-15 minutes. Stir in all the spices including the ginger and cook for 3 minutes, until fragrant. Add the tomatoes, broth and vinegar and simmer gently for 15 minutes. Add the tamarind and cilantro and simmer for 20 minutes.

While sauce is simmering, preheat the grill. Brush swordfish (or tuna) steaks with vegetable oil and sprinkle with garam masala and season with salt. Grill fish for about 4 minutes on each side being carefull not to overcook it. Serve withe the Vindaloo sauce and drizzled with the yogurt riata - along with Jasmine rice.

Life... is... great...

Just another lousy day in paradise.

Me

Our stewardess

Our 1st Mate

Someday I'll get back to my food writing, bread baking, ice-cream making... Someday, someday...

Jam Out With Your Clams Out

You know, like rock out with your… oh, never mind.

One thing I really miss in the Caribbean is shell fish; clams, oysters, mussels. The waters are too warm down here and just don’t support bivalve life – which makes me sad, because they are just such tasty little critters. So, I ordered frozen clams from a provisioner in Fort Lauderdale thinking that although I may not be able to have a heaping bowl of steamed clams in white wine broth, at least I can use them in another dish such as a seafood risotto, paella or as part of an hors-d’eouvre. The clams and mussels from the provisioner usually come pre-cooked on the half shell, but the provisioner sent me fresh clams by mistake. I called the fishmonger to see what was the best thing to do – steam them and freeze them, perhaps? He said to just throw them in the freezer, whole and in their shell and that they would be just fine. I was skeptical, but curious, so I threw them in the freezer, whole and in the shell.

I made a spicy callaloo soup a few weeks ago and thought a few steamed clams would be a nice garnish for the soup. So, I put a few of the frozen clams in a pot to see 1) if they would steam open. 2) how long would it take and 3) would the clams still taste good. Well, low and behold, you learn something new every day… The clams opened up perfectly in just a few minutes, taking maybe an extra minute or so since they were frozen and they tasted fresh and perfect! I was really surprised.

So, if you ever find yourself with an excess of fresh clams, just rinse them well (if need be, soak them so that they spit out their sand because you won’t be able to do this after you have frozen them), put them in a zip lock bag and throw them in the freezer. Then when you want to use them, just pop them in a pot and steam them open.

Also, oysters will stay fresh in your refrigerator for up to two months as long as you put them in the back part of the fridge (the coolest part) and keep them covered with a moist towel (re-moisten it daily) and drain any excess water out of the bottom of the pan.

Spicy Callaloo Soup:

Something along the lines of a diced up onion, minced garlic and ginger all sweated out. Finely shredded callaloo (a whole lot), cooked chickpeas, a jalapeno pepper, a diced red pepper, a pinch of smoked pimenton, a dash of cumin, black pepper, salt, chicken stock. Finished with a squeeze of lemon and some clams. Or something like that. (No Dave, I guess this means that I haven't yet put any useable recipes on my blog. At least not for someone like yourself who literally burns down the house every time you turn on your stove! Can I suggest induction? Or perhaps reservations would be the safer bet. HA!)

Ok, so bare with me. I am trying to improve my food photography and recipe writing skills, but that's multi-tasking and I'm sitll learning to walk and chew gum.

Virgin Territory

If you asked my bunkmate what I woke up thinking about this morning, or yesterday morning, or the morning before that, or before that, or before that the immediate, off-the-top-of –her-head response would be, “what she’s going to make for dessert”. Because, that is in fact what I wake up thinking about every morning.

At 6am I roll out of my 3 foot by 6 foot bunk, in our 5 foot by 6 foot cabin and take two sleepy steps into our 3 foot by 4 foot head (a.k.a. bathroom), stare into the 2 foot by 1 foot mirror, wipe sleep from my eyes, chase the cobwebs from my brain by splashing water on my face in the 3 inch by 5 inch bar sink with 2 inches of counter space, which ultimately leads to water running down the face of the cabinet and landing on my feet where I reach down to dry it up and connect with the pain in my back from trying to balance on such a tiny bunk, reach back up, put Tom’s of Maine Fennel flavored toothpaste on my toothbrush (come on, you think a chef is going to put just any flavor in their mouth?), count the days remaining until the guests leave the yacht, and wonder what the hell I’m going to make for dessert that day. That’s my pre-galley, morning routine when we’re on charter.

I don’t love dessert. I don’t have a sweet tooth which is why I’m a cook and not a baker. I hate making dessert. Desserts are moody, temperamental and fragile – not unlike my mood early in the morning, before my cup of tea (just ask my bunkmate) – add in the humidity of the Caribbean, and dessert can just be a downright pain.

I made baklava over the holidays, thought I’d introduce the crew and guests to a family tradition that I grew up with – something to remind me of home while I am away from home. Flaky leaves of filo pastry, layered with butter, spiced, ground nuts and orange-flower syrup – when made properly they are light and flaky with a juicy quality when you bite into them. They bring me back to my childhood – making baklava with my grandma and my cousins, rolling the nuts up like cigars in the butter-laden filo, all of us gathered around the chopping block island in my aunts avocado colored kitchen with the Harry and David “Pear” motif wallpaper, baking them and packing them up before we all piled into the shag carpeted Winnebago to go camping on the Oregon coast… But in the Caribbean heat and within hours my baklava “cigars” went irreversibly soggy and shriveled. They looked like an old mans, long, piano-playing fingers after sitting in a cold bathtub for a few hours… Yuk.

So, as my days usually go – around 2pm I think, “oh crap, what am I going to make for dessert tonight?” and I start searching through my cupboards to see what I have. The yacht owners aren’t big on chocolate – so I have the extra challenge of coming up with something suitable without taking the easy exit – because with chocolate, dessert is usually easy. Anyway, on this particular day I had thought I would conquer making ice-cream but after checking through my provisions (I was getting low on everything) I didn’t have enough eggs. I hadn’t made ice-cream before but I’d been thinking about it for weeks. I tend to procrastinate on trying new things, especially when I don’t have time or ingredients to spare for error… So, the ice-cream maker and I had a staring contest for a few weeks until finally said, “what the heck” and jumped, full fledge into the world of ice-cream making …

Time was ticking. I pulled out Grand Fanales: The Art of the Plated Dessert, and Secrets of Baking and started flipping through for ideas on what to make, but no inspiration for the time strapped, ingredient lacking cook was coming at me. Then, I looked in the cupboard – aha, coconut milk! Would coconut ice-cream (although technically a sorbet) require eggs? I searched for a recipe for coconut ice-cream and found one – coconut milk and simple syrup – and that was it. That was it? That was it.

I couldn’t be bothered reading the exact measurements. Who has time for that anyway? I knew that the sugar would be less pronounced as the coconut milk froze so I just dabbled until it tasted right which came out to something around 4 cups of coconut milk and a cup of ginger simple syrup and then I decided that I’d throw in about a cup of Angel Flake sweetened desiccated coconut to add some texture. I poured my concoction into the frozen ice-cream making bowl and paddle attachment for my Kitchen Aid mixer and voila, my love affair for homemade ice-cream sprang to life, and I’ve become completely addicted ever since.

To finish the dessert I made a tropical fruit salad with pineapple and mangoes on which I served the ice-cream and topped it with a pepita (green pumpkin seeds) and coconut (desiccated-unsweetened) brittle drizzled with dark chocolate. I had to fight the crew off but once the guests were served, the crew went to town and the coconut ice-cream went the way of the dinosaur.

My dad calls coconut ice-cream ‘crack’, because of his addiction to it. The owners and the crews reaction was similar. I just hope they don’t all get the shakes if I don’t make it again soon as I’m currently devising a Mexican chocolate ice-cream with cinnamon and chili powder, to go with Mexican night (and I’ve already made mango sorbet and strawberry ice-cream).

We’ve since made our way to St. Thomas and spent weeks cruising the British Virgin Islands. I didn’t realize that BVI is the acronym for “excessive partying” – or better yet, “Believe me, there is nothing Virgin about these Islands”, but you’d really have to visit to know what I mean (and more specifically, visit "Willy T's" on Norman Island; the Soggy Dollar Bar on Jost Van Dyke, or Bomba Shack for a full moon party on Tortola - the next one is Feb. 2nd)...

That's an affirmative, I do not like Jaeger Meister.

Sooner or later, when this hangover abates, I’ll be sure to do some catch-up writing on my recent foray into bread making…

Skewterchef Strikes Back!

New Years Menu

Amuse-Bouche:

Pancetta Wrapped Pan Seared Sea Scallops

Local Island Tatsoi Salad and Passion Fruit Vinaigrette

Starter:

Indonesian Pumpkin and Crab Bisque

Shellfish-Pumpkin Broth, Coconut Milk, Lemon Grass

Indonesian Spices and Lump Crab

Sesame Tuille

Entrée:

Grilled Rack of Lamb

Shallot, Mustard and Rosemary Paste Marinade

Port Wine Sauce

Grilled Eggplant

Leek Tied Asparagus Bundles

Dessert:

Schaumtorte with Homemade Strawberry Ice-Cream

Fresh Berries and Whipped Cream

Perhaps taking a Vespa to the grocery store to provision a Mega Yacht is not the most efficient way to go or even the safest, especially on a Caribbean island where everyone drives at breakneck speeds on the wrong side of the road and your chances of getting run over by a wayward dollar bus or chased down by a pack of wild dogs are high– but hey, it certainly is the most fun and you only live once!

I sped down the highway – oh wait, are they called highways here? I’m really not even sure… Let me start again - I sped out of the Turtle Cove Marina on Provo in the Turks and Caicos Islands and headed over the dry, limestone and brush covered hills overlooking a vast expanse of turquoise blue ocean and white sandy beaches on my way to the IGA Supermarket with high hopes that they will have gotten their weekly delivery and the grocery selection might be decent enough to allow me to provision for the new guests arrival and for the new year – just a few, short days away…

With the sun on my back and a warm breeze across my face I roared up the road. Ok, perhaps “roared” and “sped” are slight exaggerations but I revved that little 49cc engine full-throttle. The posted speed limit was 20 mph, but the car behind me was right on my tail and a line was forming behind him – 25 mph, 28 mph, 30 mph… It was like ‘The Little Engine That Could’. “Come on little guy, come on, you can do it”, I whispered to the shiny, black LX (I really have to convince my boss to invest in the Malossi Kit). SPLAT, a giant Caribbean bug squashed across my aviator sunglasses. I laughed. But slow or not, I was riding a Vespa in Turks and Caicos and I do love riding so it was alright with me that the drivers behind had to wait a bit. Besides mon, we on island time now…

The guests were off of the yacht for the day and I convinced our captain (although not quite believing it myself as I told him) that it would be a piece of cake to fit all the groceries I needed onto the Vespa. Man, I just had to ride…

So, I went to the grocery store and they were well supplied with fresh produce, lucky me! The first thing I spotted was a giant pile of Boniata, a local sweet potato that a friend of mine from California told me that I had buy if I saw them – raving about how delicious they are. They were purply-red, lumpy and misshapen. Each Boniata weighed about 2 lbs., kind of a bulky item. No problem, I told myself, as I put three big ones in my basket and continued along. 18 lemons, 10 limes, two very large heads of bok choy, broccoli, tomatoes, boxes of salad greens, cans of coconut milk, a few dozen eggs. Very quickly my grocery basket began to fill up. I started to get nervous. I looked at my list; I’d only picked up three items off of it. That damn scooter, how was I possibly going to fit it all on? Well, I’d just have to make multiple trips – and hey, more time to ride the scooter, that works for me! I figured I’d quit shopping now and come back for my dry goods…

Two Asian men stared at me laughing as I pushed my cart FULL of groceries across the parking lot and over to the scooter. I smiled like it was a perfectly normal thing to do. There was absolutely no way all those groceries were going to fit and I knew it – but I had high hopes and what the hell else was I going to do but make it work? I stuffed the more resilient items in the helmet box and hung 7 bags from the hook under the seat. I had three bags left and I could not find any possible way of getting them on. A stunning Scandinavian woman pulled up next to me in an open jeep. Flowing blond hair, Prada sun glasses, legs that stretched on to forever and a Café Del Mar CD played on the stereo. I suddenly began to feel deeply insecure. It was as if I regressed into my teenage years – I became the awkward, geeky, tragically un-hip girl in middle-school with braces, head gear, frizzy hair and my brothers hand-me-down Tuff Skins on standing in the school yard trying to muster the energy to talk to the boy I had a crush on since third grade – when Pam Anderson suddenly walks up and plants a big, fat kiss on him. At warp speed my mind summed her up and started racking up a list; I’ll never have legs like that, a flat stomach like that, manicured nails, how will I ever get a date when there are girls that look like that in the world and how could I be so dumb to think provisioning on a Vespa was a good idea (somehow it was all tied together)? Etc., etc. I became acutely aware that the entire parking lot was staring at me as I had three lone bags in my hands and absolutely no place to put them. Little miss perfect stepped her long, spidery legs out of the jeep, her stringy, blond hair blowing in the wind and I thought, “well, maybe she’s really nice and she’ll offer to give me a lift back to the yacht.” No such luck, she threw me a glance that said, “You’re a retard”. I laughed out loud out of insecurity and my own foolishness and said, “perhaps I was overly ambitious”. A little voice suddenly popped into my head and said, “quit being a jackass Cristina, you’re not that insecure are you?” Like, no, duh. Just then I had an idea - I tied the grocery bags to the rack on the back of the scooter, tying extra-tight, triple knots in hopes that they would hold. Problem solved! Hey, in Vietnam they tie whole pigs onto their scooters and then load on the family dog, mom, dad, three children and half the extended family. If they could do it, I could do it. There was perhaps one small issue with leg room, but that was inconsequential. It took me a moment to gain my footing but I feigned confidence and with a thrust of the clutch I was off… The two Asian men that had laughed at me as I pushed my cart were now walking down the street by the grocery store. They turned and watched laughing hysterically as I sped passed them. They probably haven’t seen anyone work a scooter like that since they were back home (absolutely NO offence meant here)! I laughed too as I rode down the highway; sun shining down on my face. I gave myself a pat on the back and cruised down the highway singing, “Born To Be Wild” at the top of my lungs, white, plastic grocery bags with carrot tops and bok choy fluttering in the breeze. Two more trips to go, and I looked forward to them (and for the next one, I brought along my back pack). Now this is living!

And to meet the coolest people on the island of New York, and have a ball - get yourself a scooter and get on over to the Brass Monkey on Wednesday nights for a meetup and ride!

NY Scooter Club

This ones for my peeps in New York, hope it's not too cold to ride! :o)

Got a day off and headed to the beach!

The Christmas Ketchup...

Traditional Christmas Oyster Stew

Steak Tartar with Dijon, Capers, Shallots and Truffle Oil

White Asparagus Salad with Truffled Sheeps Cheese and an Aged Balsamic Vinaigrette

Fennel Crusted Black Bass with a White Wine Saffron Sauce

Grand Marnier Souffle with Grand Marnier Butterscotch Sauce and Chocolate Sauce

It’s been an exhausting month… After making our way down to Grand Exuma in the Bahamas, we were hit with a front of bad weather; rain and wind marring the guests itinerary for fishing and other off-the-boat activities. On December 23^rd we made a hasty departure from Grand Exuma on less than 2 hours notice, to catch a weather window, and with guests aboard made the 24-hour run to Turks and Caicos. Otherwise, due to incoming bad weather, we wouldn’t be able to make it until New Years and we had more guests joining the yacht the day after Christmas in Turks and Caicos… We rushed to get the yacht packed for the passage – wrapping up vases and decorations, packing glasses and plates, checking portholes, etc. All of this, work enough without guests aboard, but now there were four! There wasn’t time to prepare any meals in advance, this meant I’d be cooking at sea – and with the wind at our nose, 7-foot seas, guests on board and my propensity for seasickness – something I was not looking forward to…

Steak Tartare

Emerald Bay in Grand Exuma is a tricky marina to enter and exit even in good sea conditions. It is a narrow, unmarked channel with a blind entrance, waves breaking across the channel pushing any entering or departing vessel straight into the reef. Our captain, an experienced delivery captain bringing yachts to locations around the world and having braved many a storm, was white knuckled at the helm as we entered the marina towing our 32-foot Boston Whaler, the crew positioned on the aft-deck, radios in hand giving the captain the grisly details of how close we were to hitting the all-too-short craggy, sea wall. Once inside, the marina was barren and desolate but for a few small sailboats and sport fishing vessels. A Greg Norman golf course and an endless expanse of construction for a new Four Seasons resort would be pretty in the right season, when the work on the marina was complete. But at this time, it looked like a post-modern utopia abandoned by its inhabitants forewarned of an alien invasion. But the golf course did make for a nice run; sit-ups and push-ups at the 14^th hole against the backdrop of a tumultuous sea and foreboding skies…

Fennel Crusted Sea Bass

We set out of the marina in rough seas, the guests paying witness to the veracity of the life us crew live every day. Our mate drove the Whaler out of the marina rather than risking the harrowing passage with the whaler in tow and instead decided to tie the tow lines once we were outside the reef. This proved to be equally hazardous as the crew were practically washed off of the transom trying to tie up the Whaler, and the anchor smacked into the yacht before we could push the tied up Whaler back… We (the crew, not the guests) kept watch in 2-person, 4-hour shifts and since we are only a 4 person crew, this meant sleeping in shifts of 4 hours. The seas were rough; the guests were seasick and decided to camp out on the settee in the pilot house and main salon.

After the Whaler was secured and we were underway, I made myself comfortable on the settee in the galley and as seasickness set in contemplated my current situation wondering what “simple” thing I could throw together for the guests to eat. Of course, nothing about cooking at sea is ever simple. The captain suggested lasagna. This meant making a sauce – not going to happen. Stir fry? That would mean making rice – not going to happen. Everything I thought of cooking would require boiling something. I sat in the galley; knackered from a month without a day off, a tiring watch ahead of me, scratching my brain and wondering what I could possibly prepare for dinner that would be easy to cook, and easy to eat, in high seas. Fortunately, the guests turned out to be too seasick to eat so it was frozen pizzas for the crew, saltines and ginger ale for me.

Grand Marnier Souffle

We arrived in Providenciales (Provo), Turks and Caicos at 8 a.m. Christmas Eve. And, of course, the first sign of the passing of seasickness is that the appetite comes back with a vengeance - and so it was, with the guests and crew. After unpacking the galley and getting it back into (somewhat) working order, I busted out breaky for guests and crew. The crew set to doing an exterior wash-down which would take the better part of the day and after breakfast I immediately set into prepping for a 5-course Christmas Eve Dinner – a day behind on my prep list…

(More updates and pictures coming soon - our bandwidth is too low to upload! AGGGGggggg... and, I'm just plumb exhausted...)