Six Degrees

Well, I seam to be meeting friendly strangers everywhere I go!

Just as we pull into the dock at Newport Beach, I receive a message through my blog that reads, “Hi, just watched the yacht pull in! The shopping is pretty lousy down here – believe it or not, but there are a few places. Let us know if you need any help!”. I email back, my first question being how did they find my blog and the yacht I was on?

“We watched the yacht come in, it’s such a pretty yacht! We googled the name. We’d be more than happy to take you out provisioning and show you around!”. Oh my god, an offer to help? I have to explain to them that a “little trip to the store” for me involves somewhere along the lines of 3 or 4 grocery carts and can be upwards of 40 to 50 grocery bags! “No problem”, they say, “we love food – it’ll be fun and we have an SUV that you can load it all into!”. Not one to turn down some extra hands – I jump at their offer.

I’m thrilled, of course, that someone has found me through my blog and wants to meet and show me where to provision! So, I tell the crew, who of course, give me a really hard time – what am I doing going off with these strangers? Ok, perhaps I should exhibit some caution – but it seems that when I throw caution to the wind is when I end up having the best time. That is, after all, how I ended up working on yachts in the first place –flew off to meet some stranger on some tiny island in a place I’d never been before… What can I say? I’m a seat-of-my-pants kind of girl. My life, like my cooking, is a work in progress until the main course is served.

So, I take off on a grocery shopping adventure with my new found friends and in the course of conversation, I learn that Mrs. Stranger is from the same two-horse town in Southern Oregon as my aunt, uncle and grandparents. “Do you know so-and-so, by chance?” and, well, by chance - she was one of my cousin’s high school teachers several years back – before she moved to Newport. Talk about six-degrees of separation! Sometimes the universe points in a certain direction and you have no choice but to go…

We head into Costa Mesa, to the Whole Foods Market, which is, by far, the largest Whole Foods I have ever been in. I feel almost guilty dragging my new friends around with me as pile up my carts. “Do you want me to grab another cart for you?”, they say. “Umm, if you don’t mind”, I reply sheepishly as I push two full carts up towards the front of the store.

Our visit to the meat counter goes like this, “How can I help you?”.
“I’ll take 8 racks of lamb”
“Sure, anything else for you?”
“3 boneless leg of lamb, 8 lbs. of lamb loin chops wrapped those in 2 lb. parcels, 7 lbs. of those organic pork tenderloins, 2 whole pork loins and 4 lbs. or ground pork”
“Having a barbeque?”
“No, just a little shopping. You know what they say, you shouldn’t shop when you’re hungry!”
“Anything else for you today?”
“Yes, 2 whole organic tenderloins. You don’t have to trim or tie them. 8 dry-aged Chateaubriands, 4 dry aged New York strips, 8 lbs. of ground buffalo and 10 lbs. of ground Kobe”
“So, how long is this going to last you?”
“Maybe a couple of weeks…”

Next, it’s on to the fish market and then Hi-Times Wines, a massive temperature controlled warehouse dedicated to the best grape juice from around the world – and they even have a “serve yourself” wine tasting bar!






Our day ends at a little shack, at the end of a short pier on a little inlet behind a trailer park – sounds like a horror movie, right? Wrong. It’s the best place in town to buy live, spiny lobsters for which the season has just begun.






After a long day of exploring the local goods, I’ve got coolers full of meat and fish and the SUV is loaded with tons of fresh produce. Hopefully it’ll last me the week and I won’t have to go shopping until we hit our next port…

San Francisco Days

Squash Blossoms Stuffed with Ricotta, Pancetta and Heirloom Sun Dried Tomatoes with Opal Basil Pesto and Farmers Market Greens

Pork Tenderloin rubbed with Marjoram and Savory with Brandied Chanterelle Mushrooms, Roasted Victoria Farmers Market Pine Mushrooms and Braised Romano Beans

Crème Fraiche Ice Cream with Port Poached Figs

If someone had told me five years ago that I’d pass underneath the Golden Gate Bridge by way of Mega Yacht, returning to the place I grew up, as the kickoff to traveling around the world – I wouldn’t have believed them. But now, here I am, the wee-hours of dawn, looking out at a glassy ocean, reflecting a cloudless, tangerine sky. The Golden Gate Bridge towering in the distance, with only a few puffs of fog dissipating on the north side. A pod of short, fat, black and white spotted dolphins leap across the bow as if to welcome me home.

We cruise into the bay in Sausalito and through my galley window I see the house my mom used to live in up on a hill in the distance. I take breaks from rolling out pasta dough for butternut squash ravioli for another day, to stand out on deck and take it all in. After a cruise around Alcatraz, we head for Pier 38 where we’ll be tying up for a few days, waiting for a spot to open up in Sausalito. But Pier 38 is perfect for me, only a mile and a half from the bounty of the Ferry Terminal Farmers Market!

I have strict orders from Mrs. X; I have to investigate the farmers market ASAP! Hey, someone’s got to do it. “Captain, can I go ashore to provision?”, we haven’t been docked five minutes. “Sure”. I grab my cloth grocery bags, flip-flops, sunglasses and wallet and leap onto the dock. I’m outta here…

“Excuse me, do you know where the farmers market is from here?”, I say to the tan, sailor-ish looking man with the sun bleached hair and flip-flops walking up the dock. “Sure, turn right, it’s just down the road – probably a 10 minute walk. I’m heading in that direction, would you like a ride?”, he says as we approach his car, conveniently parked right at the end of the dock. “What, in that piece of crap?”, I look down at the red, convertible Lotus Elise – the top of the windshield is about knee height. And with the sun shining on my face and my hair tussled by the wind, we speed off. “Can I jump over the door like they do in Dukes of Hazard?”; I ask as we approach the farmers market, he shrugs, “sure”. God, sometimes I love being a girl. I opt for the more lady-like exit by door, because knowing me, I’d fall flat on my face and break my teeth and Lord knows, I just don’t have time to deal with that…

The market at the ferry terminal is bustling - stalls of Romano beans, heirloom tomatoes, opal basil, breads, organic meats and artisan cheese line the sidewalk. My first order of business is to pay a visit to Recchiuti Chocolate to pick up some samples for Mrs. X to see if we can use them as our pillow chocolates for the guest rooms on the yacht. Fleur de sel caramels, ginger hearts, Lemon-Verbena infused truffles. Yum, I think they’ll go over well. But I’ll have to sample a few more just to make sure. I stop by Scharffenberger as well for cocoa nibs and baking chocolate, and stroll through the produce stalls – my first finds are beautiful squash blossoms, perfect for stuffing for a starter, two fragrant musk melons, baby greens and fresh shell beans and some sun dried heirloom tomatoes – which I think will go into the stuffing for the blossoms as well. Saving room on my arms, I head back inside to Golden Gate Market, which has an impressive selection of organic and game meats. So, I stock up on elk, wild boar, organic lamb, organic beef tenderloin and pork. Loaded down by 40 lbs of wild animal, bags of veggies and chocolate – I make my way towards the exit – but the rosemary focaccia at ACME bakery has been calling to me every time I pass by their shop front. I have nowhere to put it. But I can’t resist, so I take two loaves and grip the paper bag between my teeth. With a bent back and arms loaded, I struggle to make my way to the curb to hail a taxi – but I manage. The taxi ride back to the yacht is not nearly as exciting as the ride in the Lotus, but then, I don’t think the Lotus has the trunk space for all my groceries. Hey, you know, who wants a car that can’t fit a case of wine and a few bags of groceries in it, anyway?

Little Sacrifices

The Bivalve Mollusk Brigade

Don't worry little oysters, 72 virgins await you in Heaven...

I sit at the Oakland airport, enjoying some fine international airport cuisine and wonder if I’ll be able to chug down my giant bottle of water before my row is called for boarding. An announcement has just been made that solid food can be brought onto the airplane, but with the recent ban on liquids, salad dressing and condiments must be applied before boarding the plane. I fear abject stupidity more than a terrorist attack… Where is the line between rationale thinking and unrestrained paranoia?

As I bite into my “gourmet” burrito, I indulge in thoughts of the meals I’ve had over the passed three weeks of road tripping around Southern Oregon and Northern California. After four days jet skiing, hiking and hanging with friends in Lake Tahoe, and a weeklong reunion in Oregon, I made the long drive down to Sonoma, California to visit mom. Passed cow pastures and cornfields, the smell of hay and dry fennel, which grows wild on the hillside and along the side of the road, filled the air, tickled my senses and reminded me that no matter where I am, this is home...

En route, I called mom and asked her if she would be up for going out to Mexican food, because as any Californian that has transplanted themselves to New York knows, there’s no truly respectable Cali-Mexican food in New York (Rosa Mexican aside, but by California standards, it is preposterous to pay $20 for guacamole). Mom said 'no Mexican tonight', but promised that something better awaited my arrival… My curiosity was piqued.

Upon arriving in Sonoma I was greeted at mom’s house by 4 dozen fresh Tamales Bay oysters, a hot grill and a chilled bottle of Robert Sinsky Vin Gris. Who’s better than mom? Manolo Blahnik couldn’t create a finer pairing... As the embers glowed, my step-dad set to smashing garlic, melting butter and making quick work of red onions and summer squash for the grill; plus a big, crisp, green salad, all fresh from the local farmers market.

The Saucing Committee

For me, grilling is never merely a spectator sport so I couldn’t sit by idly watching as my step-dad set to martyring 48 oysters. I jumped right in and we placed the oysters on the grill; tongs, garlic butter and barbeque sauce close at hand. With a whiz, pop and a little splatter – the oysters unwittingly opened their mouths to reveal the treasure within. We quickly removed their top shells, brushed them with the garlic butter and bbq sauce and pulled them off of the grill. Trying to remove the shell of a hot oyster with tongs (without losing all the luscious juice, or losing the oyster entirely through the grates of the grill) is akin to trying to build a house of cards after downing four Grande Triple Shot Lattes from Starbucks… it just doesn’t work. So I relinquished the tongs and, much to the chagrin of my overprotective mother, began working the oysters with my bare hands (they really weren’t THAT hot) and within a few minutes I had not only taken command of the grill, but earned the respect of the men…

*Behold the Glory*

After a few exploding oysters, we second guessed our earlier mocking of safety goggles but none of us were willing to leave the excitement of the grill to actually go and find a pair… Besides, that would make me feel about as much safer as I feel right now, watching a lovely, frail grandmother pouring salad dressing on her salad at gate 9A, with an inspector looking menacingly over her shoulder… But I digress. In less than time than it takes to say "cavity search" a feast awaited, and nary a thing to wash! We polished off the Sinksy Vin Gris and moved on to an Eden Vale Pinot Noir. The friends that had brought the oysters promised fresh caught salmon and elk steaks for the next nights grill-off... So good to be home. So, so, so good to be home…