Mango Mania

We took off out of the Pitons in St. Lucia, cruising across the smooth as glass waters and as I looked up at the beautiful conical mountains I thought to myself, this day is like no other, there will never again be a day like this, I should appreciate it. I don’t know why this thought went through my mind, but after an extremely trying week, it seamed like a good thing to focus on; all the possibilities that lay ahead... We pulled into Soufrere, a tiny, French fishing village with storybook architecture and winding streets – it looked like a movie set, or a lost town in the South of France. A rasta on shore helped lift my bags out of the tender and grabbed his friend, Raymond, to take me to the airport.

The taxi wound through the mountainous rainforest en route to the capital city of Castries. We passed through amazing little towns that although run down, were full of life and color. Street vendors with mountains of banana’s and alien looking local produce, women carried bags of laundry on their heads, little children in their Sunday best walking down the street, and brightly colored houses pocked the mountainside – it was just what I always imagined the Caribbean to be. As we wound through the hills, I couldn’t help but notice everywhere I looked were enormous, bushy mango trees bursting with the largest, most plump mangoes begging to be picked, and bigger than any I’d seen on the islands so far. I hadn’t eaten any breakfast that morning, or even had a proper cup of tea so I was lusting over the thought of just being able to pick and eat. My lucky moment came when the taxi ground to a halt in front of a Rastafarian on the side of the road selling coconuts and mangoes and with a live boa constrictor in his hands. The taxi driver and the rasta chatted away in their thick accents in island Creole and soon we were parked. I hadn’t made any mention of being breakfast-deprived, but the taxi driver must’ve read my thoughts for as soon as we were parked the rasta wielded his giant machete and lobbed off the top of two coconuts and handed them to us to drink, and when we finished, he hacked them in half, creating a spoon out of a piece of husk and showed me how to scoop out the young, sweet flesh to eat, all the while playing with the wild boa he had in his hand. As we all stood around chatting, the rasta and the taxi driver were friends and somehow in the course of conversation the boa (named “Daniel”, by the rasta) ended up wrapped around my neck as I held its head at a safe distance. After some joking and picture taking, he handed me a mango and said, “dis is for you, lovely lady”. Then, it was time to continue our journey to the airport….

As we made our way around the mountains and through banana plantations, I studied my mango and thought about how I should go about eating it. “Peel it wit’ your teeth, mon” and so I did, biting through the skin and then ripping the peel away with my fingers. The fruit inside was bright gold and juicy and the pulp was like custard. I gnawed and chewed at the pit and the fiber to get every last ounce of fruit. Like a four-year-old, I had juice running down my chin and my fingers were a goopy, sticky mess – which I vowed to lick clean so not one drop would go to waste. As I slurped away at my fingers, the drivers friend who was travelling with us looked back at me and laughed, and thankfully handed me a towel. “That was the best mango I’ve ever had”, “there are 52 different varieties of mangoes on St. Lucia”, the driver declared, “Great, I’ll have to come back to try them all!”. This was living…

Earthly Delights

The aroma of ganja and garlic filled the air. “five more minutes, mon”, he inhaled deeply off a joint as thick as his thumb, and easily four inches long. “D’er baking right now, all da garlic is infusin’ in dem”. His eyes were like slits, his hair pulled into a fluffly little ball atop his head, sun glasses balanced precariously above his eyebrows, long forgotten, as if they’d been resting there forever. Offenbach’s “Orpheaus in the Underworld” (the ‘can-can’ as you and I know it) played incessantly on the cell phone in his pocket.

We’d pulled into the cul de sac on Union Island that afternoon with the intention of digging a pit and making our own barbeque. But when we arrived to the beach, a man who called himself “Shark Attack” was set up with everything for barbequing, including dishes, silverware and a hot grill. We chatted over rum punch and planned out the evening. I brought him a sack full of lobster and watched in awe as he pulled out an enormous specimen of a machete and proceeded to split 4 lobsters clean in half – like a hot knife thru butter - right down the center. He nestled the lobsters into a cozy bed of hot embers and slathered them with a thick layer of “Shark Attacks” homemade garlic sauce. I was able to procure a recipe from him – lots of grated fresh garlic and ginger, the venerable ‘all purpose ‘Green Seasoning’ found throughout the Grenadines and butter. Honestly, I was distracted. Yes, by the smell of the ganja – but also by the irrepressible concern that the lobsters were being overcooked. I’d done everything right thus far with the guests and I couldn’t screw up now by having the lobsters overcooked!

I returned to the table, took a sip of my Planters rum punch – sweet and strong, walked back to the bbq and in my most calm, collected voice said, “hey man, you sure they need 5 more minutes”? “ya mon – 5 more minutes”. I stood by and watched and now I just figured the man must know what he’s doing. The smell of roasting garlic filled my senses and put me at ease. Intuition, that’s how I know how my cooking is coming along and I had to pay Shark Attack my respect and know that he uses his senses too, and knows how to cook a lobster.

“You’re a popular man” I joked with him, as the can-can number played on his cell phone over and over again. He took a rip from his never ending joint, “ya mon, but I have the choice not to answer it”. He smiled and laughed and one by one, pulled the lobsters off of the bbq and piled them onto a platter. I ferried the platters to the table and served the enormous half tails to the guests, as well as to myself, and to our first mate.

I took my first stab at the half-lobster in front of me, it that was the length and width of my forearm. For one more brief moment I was skeptical, but my taste buds rejected my fear as the buttery, garlicky sweetness of lobster, tinged with smoke, melted in my mouth. You couldn’t have bought a better dinner at the finest restaurant in Manhattan – to say the least about the ambiance. An almost full moon, casting a magical glow across the mountainous landscape of Union Island, lighted the sky. The white, sandy beach shined, the stars sparkled, the ocean provided the background music of its gentle waves crashing upon the shore, and the finest earthly aromas filled the air.

Wine flowed like water, and soon – and completely unexpectedly - the ganja did as well among this group of guests whose identity I have sworn to complete and total secrecy. The lobsters were spectacular and soon after the lobsters came a plate of bonito, heavily spiced and bbq’d. We’d brought along a crock of foie gras, German potato salad, mixed greens with local tomatoes and a cheese platter of raw milk camembert, Roquefort and Chaumes, all perfectly aged, fresh baguette and several bottles of Geourge De Boufs Boujaleaise. It was feast fit for the Crown.

I could’ve shoved all the dished to the ground, cleared the table, climbed on top and fallen asleep in a state of gluttonous satisfaction – but that would’ve been totally inappropriate in front of our guests. Instead, our first mate and I cleared the table of the glassware that belonged to the boat, left everything else and went to fetch the tender. I’d say, our BBQ on the beach was a complete and utter success.

Rasta pasta...

All was not lost on the charter with the bonafide movie star and malfunctioning galley. When it got to the point where I could only use the stovetop, I decided to bust out the pasta maker and spent an afternoon in the galley making fresh linguine – for which I was accused by said movie star of showing off. But from her, I will take that as a compliment.

I had found two bags of Italian semolina pasta flour in one of the cupboards. The flour was from Italy and based on that fact alone, I assumed it must be good. Not having a pasta recipe, I decided to wing it. There’s one great thing that I love about homemade pasta, even if it’s not perfect, it’s still heaps better than any dried pasta from the grocery store… So, with that, I piled the soft, yellow flour into a mound on the counter top adding a bit of wheat flour, as I’ve found that straight semolina flour can sometimes be a bit more fragile to work with as it doesn’t have the glutens that wheat flour has. I created a well in the center of the flour and added 4 egg yolks and two whole eggs – for no other reason other than the fact that I couldn’t recall whether pasta is usually made with whole eggs or yolks – then, a pinch of salt and some olive oil and proceeded to smoosh it around until I had a nice, soft, kneadable dough. I kneeded and kneaded until the dough was smooth and pliable, soft, but not tacky.

I started to set up the pasta maker on the tiny counter. But this was a little sailing yacht (my mom always laughs when I say “little” – 80 ft., that’s little by mega yacht standards) and there was a lip around the counter tip which created a challenge using the vice grip that secured the past maker to the counter… but with extra cutting boards, lots of non-skid, and a little patients I made it work and set to the task of cranking 2 heaping trays of linguine.

I made a sauce of local Caribbean lobsters, porcini mushrooms, leeks, white wine, cognac and a bit of cream one of the best sauces I think I’ve ever made. I served a half lobster tail atop the pasta, which was greeted with a boisterous round of applause. The guests departed early the next morning, I immediately went to the dive shop and signed up for a few dives in Antigua – then it was off to join another yacht…

Buffalo Mozzarella Napoleons to Start


Gold Plated Chocolate Mousse for Dessert

CALGON, TAKE ME AWAY!

With exception to the refrigeration breakdown, the freezer breakdown, the stove breakdown, the oven breakdown, and the mix up with the provisioner, everything is going swimmingly…

Friday afternoon: The produce delivery from the provisioner arrived. Bags of fresh basil, mint, chives, beautiful baby bok-choy, zucchinis and eggplants so fresh and gorgeous, the best produce I’ve gotten on the islands thus far, everything practically glowed. The provisioner has their own shipments flown in weekly, so they aren’t dependant upon the deliveries coming in by freighter to the grocery stores which often arrive in a sorry state of despair; sagging and wilted lettuce, over-ripe fruit – everything at least 2 weeks old before even hitting the shelves. I sorted and packed my groceries into my mini-refrigerators, washed my herbs and lettuces and wrapped them in paper towels to prevent spoilage. Broke down some of my produce to make room – but hardly an inch of space remained and I still had lots of locally made yogurts and goats cheese arriving on Saturday which I had know idea how I would make fit. I’ve been pleasantly surprised this season by the abundance of local produce in the market place. A lot of islands in the Caribbean have given up their farming culture, in the name of industrialization and convenience, and made way instead for mass produced, factory farmed produce from the States and elsewhere – but this season I’ve found beautiful local lettuces, tomatoes and herbs, as well as a lot of produce native to the Caribbean – green papayas, pigeon peas, miniature bananas (they are called “figs” by the locals – but they aren’t the figs that we know of back in the states – they are actually sweet little bananas that taste almost like a strawberry!) – but all of this that I’d found on my own had to fit, along with everything the provisioner brought.

There was a mix-up though with the provisioner, another yacht already departed had received my meat and fish order, so now my meat and fish delivery would not be arriving until Saturday and the guest pickup was Sunday. No problem, I told myself, there was still time to prep between grocery shopping trips.

Saturday morning: My Antiguan made yogurts, goats cheese and ice-creams arrived, a tough squeeze into the spare corners of the fridge. The yogurts were amazing – creamy, tart and fresh, no preservatives or stabilizers – I was thrilled. Good yogurt can be hard to find on the islands. Often times what is available is some brand loaded with thickeners and stabilizers that give it an almost grainy texture and lacks tartness. I’m finicky about yogurt; it’s one of my favourite foods. The local goat cheese was also amazing; creamy and sharp.

As I put my order away I noticed two of the three refrigerators weren’t keeping very cool. My sandwich meats and cheeses were nearly room temperature. I let the captain know that something was wrong. He pulled everything out of the refrigerators, a fan that feeds both of them had blown – no worries, another one is on its way, 15 minutes – island time. Then he got a phone call, sorry, no fan until Sunday, the day of our pickup – yup, that’s island time for you. I hoped my ingredients would last through the night. Two more half days of prep lost to refrigeration repairs.

Saturday afternoon: the provisioner said she’d be here by 3pm. 3pm came and went, as did 4pm. At 5pm she finally arrived – dropped the coolers on the dock and said she’d be right back after she made another delivery. Totally overwhelmed, my inexperience with yachts this small was apparent, three oversized coolers filled to the brim with lobsters, sushi grade tuna, filet mignon, scallops, rack of lamb, etc. sat menacingly on the dock. How would never fit everything in my limited freezer space, I thought I’d be lucky to fit half… I hastily began sorting through everything, separating what I would take and what I’d return to the provisioner, when the captain appeared. I gulped down the lump in my throat and said, “I think I over-provisioned. It won’t fit, I’m going to have to return some items”, I was sure the captain would have my head. “No worries”, he said. The captain disappeared into the galley, re-organized the freezers and amazingly fit everything, absolutely everything in!

Sunday: The day of the guests arrival and I felt totally unprepared. I wasn’t able to prep much in advance because of the refrigeration being torn apart (and everything splayed across my limited counter space) and now their was hardly room in the fridge to store anything even if I had prepped more in advance. But still, I’d made a few desserts, sauces, pestos – so I was slightly ahead of the game.

I was told the oven could be a bit temperamental – this would prove to be an understatement of epic proportion. I realized this the first morning the guests were on board. I had started to preheat the oven while I assembled my ingredients for banana bread. The oven went out 3 times before it finally decided to stay lit. The banana bread took almost an hour and a half to bake. I guessed that it may have been some sort of airflow issue and stuck a spoon in the door to allow air into the oven while it warmed up. 70% of the time, this worked. For the remainder of the charter the oven would prove as reliable a provider of heat as rubbing two sticks together. No, correction, rubbing two sticks together would be more reliable. Muffins in the morning took nearly an hour to bake, my puff pastry turned to sunken little puddles of molten butter and flour, my lamb steamed. I nearly tore my hair out of my head to get my mind off of the agonizing pain being inflicted upon my soul by this insidious, evil oven that could only have been created by the devil himself to torture me.

Then, there was the stove. The stove has four burners; three that provide just enough heat to bring a pot of water to a simmer and one just big enough to light the little Frenchman’s cigarette that built the yacht. On the third day, a burner on the stove decided to stop working – in the middle of putting out dinner. It wasn’t the cigarette lighter-sized burner that went out, it was the big one, of course. Oh, and let’s not stop there. I mean, why, after all, we’ve just gotten started? Also on the third day one of the freezers decided to go on the fritz. Fortunately it was the one with mostly bread and pastry in it – but the other freezers as well began to teeter on the verge of not-quite-frozen. On the 5th day, the odds of getting the oven to work were 100 to 1 and so the captain asked me if I could limit my meals to things that only need to be cooked on the stovetop – on the two-burner-one-cigarette-lighter stovetop. Having my eyeballs gouged out by tire irons would be a more enjoyable and satisfying experience than cooking in this godforsaken galley.

And, of course, all of this couldn’t happen under worse possible circumstances. We have a legend on board; a real-life, pinch-me-I’m-dreaming, bonafide legend. Not some tacky, Hollywood here-today-gone-tomorrow starlet. But a real legend, someone I grew up watching in the movies, someone I respect and admire and my galley is on the brink of total collapse. I am “gutted”, as the Brits would say. Crestfallen. But I put on my cheeriest face and do my best, and when no one is looking – I click the heels of my bare feet together and say, "there's no place like home, there's no place like home"...

Crew quarters, crew dimes, crew nickles...

If there was enough room for a running head start, I could slide into my bunk like a batter sliding into home plate. Fortunately, the designer of the bunk beds was generous enough to create a 6 inch lip on the bottom bunk that extends out beyond the width of the top bunk so that I can lie down and jimmy myself into the roughly 18 inch high incision in the wall. Its like spelunking trying to get in there, I need a lantern attachment on my forehead so that I can find my way to the pillow!

Not much air can circulate in this slit of a bed, so immediately upon manoeuvring myself into it – I begin to feel overheated, claustrophobic and restless, but if I sleep semi-diagonally so that my head sticks out into the room, I can breath. The real problem is this, no matter how hard I remind myself that I can’t sit up, inevitably, my alarm goes off and I shoot straight up out of bed and I conk myself on my head. HARD. EVERY MORNING. Not a fun way to wake up and I think I’m beginning to see an indentation forming - in my forehead! Then, there are the nights that I flail my arms around, probably dreaming (a nightmare, really) that I’ve fallen into the works of a sardine packing machine – packed tightly into a tin, next to all those hapless fish and the machine is just about to seal the top. I flail my arms for help and knock them on the ceiling above me hard enough to wake me up. It’s like being buried alive.

The 6’, 4” inch tall engineer aboard the previous yacht that I worked says, since joining the yacht world, he has become Cro-Magnon Man – a hunched over, knuckle dragger. I’m 5’5” and a majority of the time I find crew quarters to be so extremely uncomfortable, I can’t imagine being a foot taller! Yacht designers and yacht owners should be forced, FORCED to spend a month in their crew quarters just to get a taste for what it is like – because 99.9% of the time, the quarters are designed for midgets, halflings, or Nicole Richie. To be comfortable in the quarters I am in right now, I’d have to be so thin I’d be transparent; and some considers these particular quarters ‘good’!

Perhaps they are called crew “quarters”, because they are a quarter of the size they should be. Or, perhaps it’s because a quarter is all the owner would spend on the space the crew would be living in. Maybe they should be called crew “dimes”. Crew quarters, uggg.

One bite wonders...

The heat is stifling in Antigua; the walk down the dock from the boat to the coffee shop and my face is already bright red, and of course, I never remember to put on sunscreen. Unlike St. Martin, with its never-ending traffic jam that stretches around the island and last from 9am to 9pm, and its rush of cruise ship tourists, Antigua is quiet and laid-back. The background music to life here are birds chirping, the rustle of palm trees from the breeze, the broadcasts on television at the café and two bars of the cricket match drifting from the open windows, and the occasional car. I walk down the quiet road to English Harbour, a man walks in front of me, lanky and tall and with long dreads stretching down his back, I can see every muscle, tendon and vain in his long, sinewy body. His dirty shorts, 3 sizes too big, held up by a piece of rope are a reminder of the poverty that plagues much of the Caribbean. It seems almost sinister against the backdrop of, literally, hundreds of millions of dollars of yachts in the harbour less than 1/4 mile away. He reaches down to look through a garbage bag on the side of the road, scrounging for liquor, or perhaps something valuable, I don’t know. True to the New Yorker that still lives in me, I walk around him and continue on my way… How easily we become disaffected by the world around us.

I find Aubrey, in English Harbour, the local fruit man with the miniature Antiguan pineapples that I’ve been told I simply must try. I greet him with a big hello and jokingly inquisition him to make sure he’s the Aubrey I’ve been told about. He is, but nothing breaks his matter-of-fact, business like demeanour and until he knows exactly what I want his hands don’t stop moving – cutting ripe galleon melons and pineapples into chunks and bagging them up for his customers. I look longingly at the perfectly ripe fruit he’s cutting, “can I try? can I try?”, I plead with my eyes but don’t dare say it out loud. I admit, I’m slightly intimidated by his stoic persona. I pick up a tiny pineapple, not much bigger than my palm and I ask him, “are these sweet?”, “yah mon” he replies in his thick island accent, “very sweet, very good, how many you need?”. I tell him I don’t need them until Monday or Tuesday, will they last that long or can I buy them tomorrow or Saturday? “No ma’am, maybe no more after today. Pick out what you want now, I hold for you and you come back again”. Someone else asks for papaya – he says tomorrow, I’ll have to come back again tomorrow for those too. In the meantime I pick out 10 little pineapples, perfect for serving underway, 3 of the most beautiful galleon melons; bright gold, and smelling sweet and ripe. He holds them for me, and as I walk away he says, “here miss” and hands me one of the tiny pineapples, peeled except for its leafy top, which I grip like a popsicle. I take a bite, core and all, juice rolls down my chin and fingers– it’s as sweet as honey. An “mmmmmm” escapes my lips between bites (they’re really only about 2 or 3 bites big) and Aubrey looks pleased. “See you tomorrow miss”, and without skipping a beat he returns to his task of peeling and chopping fruit.

I head back out to the main road, this time to catch a taxi to the big grocery store in St. John – 30 minutes and a $50 taxi ride away. My feet melt into the pavement, an all-too-gentle breeze teases the air, not enough bring relief, but more of a reminder of just how hot it is…

And the beat goes on...

8am Monday morning in Antigua and the dock is abuzz with crew, day workers and Mega Yachts coming in and out. I’ve just stepped off of the yacht I’ve been freelancing on for the past three weeks and walked down the dock to my next freelance job aboard an 80 ft. custom build sloop.

Chrome and white shine against the teak deck and the backdrop of Folmath Harbour, the tender is hoisted up on the bow, white canvas awnings stretched taught to provide shade to the cockpit with its teak settee and highly varnished captains wheel. I stub my toe on a wench and I’m instantly reminded that there is inverse relationship between the size of yacht and the multitude of things one can stub a toe on, bang ones head on, etc… I wince, step into the cockpit, stretch over and around “things” and make my way towards the entrance.

“Hi captain!” I say as I look through the port and step onto the ladder extending down to the salon, “oh hello, yes, yes, do come in” he says in a proper British accent. Sporting white blond hair, blue eyes and elongated, British features I can instantly picture him in a grey suit and tie, and with a dour and dry persona examining loan papers at a bank. But on the contrary, he is laid-back, easy going and, like his Kiwi girlfriend (the stewardess), as cool as a cucumber. His girlfriend shows me my bunk. I’m on the bottom, she’s on the top and he’s on a cot that pulls out of the wall. Like I said, it’s a small yacht…

I drop my bag, get right to business and head towards the galley. I’ve already got a list together of my staple ingredients and now I’m just looking at what the yacht has and doesn’t have to tick it off on my list. Fortunately or unfortunately, small yacht = small storage space. Easy to examine, tough to store. Two tiny cupboards under the settee, a few tiny cupboards in the galley, and storage underneath 4 trap doors on the floor make up the extent of it. Plus, 4 small refrigerators and 2 small freezers. This galley makes the galley of the yacht I just got off of seem almost imposing! I compared the oven of the last galley to that of my Easy-Bake oven I had when I was 7, well, this one runs more along the lines of a dollhouse. I almost expect to look inside and find a tiny, plastic turkey with all the fixings, moulded out of clay and intricately painted…

The World Cup of Cricket is going on in the Caribbean right now – basically an opportunity for all the colonies of Great Britain to sock it out in a sporting and civilized manner. Up until now I had only thought of cricket as that annoying little creature that rubs its wings together making a racket enough to keep every living thing awake at night within miles of the little bugger. But no, apparently it’s a game too – similar to baseball, only they call their pitchers “bowlers”, the bats look more like the paddle my brother carved when he was rushing to get into a fraternity at USC, there are two hitters instead of one, they have sanctioned “drinks breaks” (leave it to the British!) and they eat their hotdogs and French fries with Branston Pickles, call them “sausages and chips” and prefer to drink their beer warm. This also means that I have to get my order in today to the provisioner because tomorrow is a national holiday, declared just for the cricket match, and everyone on the island, myself included, will be watching Britain and Australia duke it out on the playing field…

At 10am the provisioner I’ll be using drops by the yacht with lists of ingredients, I’m to fill them out and get them back to her by 3pm. I’ve sorted most of the cupboards and drawers, have put together my provisions order and am working out the details of my menus based on the guests preference sheets. At 11am, I begin to fix lunch for crew from whatever I find in the fridge – green coconut curry with veggies and fish and basmati rice. One pot wonders are really practical on small yachts and I know I can always make crew happy with curry… Plus, I have too much to do to be messing around with anything complex. The Roti Lady comes by the yacht, damn, I have to make lunch for the new crew but I haven’t had a roti yet this year. She came by last year as well and the rotis were always delicious. Warm, thin bread (like a tortilla) filled with curried potatoes, shrimp, chicken, peas… There’s always Wednesday…

At 2pm the flower lady arrives and I talk to her about what flowers I would like for garnishing plates and fruit platters. She suggests some tiny orchids and she is going to bring me some banana leaves and other tropical leaves from her backyard on Saturday (our guest pickup is on Sunday). She tells me about a local company making fresh yogurt and goat cheese on the island (Yao brand). I have to try some, so of course, I place an order. I find some coconuts aboard, left by the previous chef, and the captain and I discuss how we can cut them with a band saw and fashion them into bowls to serve something out of, that will be Wednesdays task.

3pm the provisioner is back to collect my list and discuss delivery dates and times. I give them to her and continue to work through the details of my menus and making up lists of what I need to prepare in advance (deserts, flavoured oils, sauces, etc.).

7pm and I meet up with the crew of the yacht I’d just departed, for sundowners and a bbq. Life is good.

Our guest is someone very, very special and that’s really all I am obliged to say right now. But, this should be a really, really cool charter…

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…

Life's a beach...

It's not that there hasn't been much to write about - just a little crazed at the moment. A big post is in the works.

In the meantime, I have back-to-back interviews all day today for yacht chef positions heading to the Mediterranean. The most promising so far is a sous-chef position aboard a 55m (175 ft.) super yacht leaving for Monaco in just a few weeks. The boat is one of the busiest charter boats in the Caribbean and Med. (meaning lots of big tips) and has an excellent reputation in the industry for treating the crew well. There are 14 crew which I would be cooking for and then assisting the head chef with the preperation for up to 12 guests. Since I've never worked in the Med before this would give me the opportunity to learn how and where to provision, build up my confidence, learn from an experienced mega-yacht chef how the big yachts really work and it would be an excellent stepping stone as after this I would be able to basically choose any boat I could possibly want to work on. I meet the rest of the crew and the chef this afternoon (I interviewed with the chief stew and captain yesterday) and see the galley...

Other than that - been snorkeling in St. Barth and Anguilla, went to Moonsplash (a big reggae fest in Anguilla - and if you like reggae you should definately check out Muju Banton and Bankie Banx!). Averaging 3 calls a day for chefs jobs... So yeah, life's a beach...

More food posts coming soon.

Peace out.

What a week!

I jumped on another boat for the delivery from Grenada to St. Martin and what a week it has been. The weather was as good as can be sailing up wind, and the crew are great.

Our first stop was Martinique, about 9-hours from Grenada. We anchored in Les Anses-d’Arlets and with no other boats around we had the pristine waters to ourselves. In a 30 foot anchorage I could look down from the boat and make out clearly purple, yellow and green coral. The captain and mate went diving and saw moray eels and said the dive under the boat was close to the best diving they’d ever done (and they’ve both done the Great Barrier Reef). I went snorkeling for the first time which was absolutely exquisite; there were fish that sparkled like disco balls, trumpet fish, giant sea urchins and beautiful corals. The waters were by far the most crystal clear I’ve seen in the Caribbean and I’m inspired to go for my diving certification before this adventure is finished.

After Martinique we set sail for Dominica, another 10-hour trip, anchoring in Prince Rupert Bay where, again, we ran into my friends from Safari – the 62’ catamaran whose captain and chef have become my guardian angels throughout the course of my Caribbean adventure. And of course, running into them meant another on-the-fly dinner party lasting well into the night…

Coco Pod:
Dominica is known for its tropical rainforest and much of the island is a nature preserve. Our captain arranged a tour for us and we hiked Syndicate rainforest and swam in the falls… Our guide was a wealth of information pointing out every plant and tree along the way, giving us their names and uses (building, medicinal, etc.). He pointed out and picked for us wild lemongrass, nutmeg, ginger, coffee, cacao and fresh fruit. I’d never seen cacao in its natural state before. A large pod that turns yellow when ripe, it is filled with a sweet, white fruit which we sucked off of the seeds. Neither the fruit nor the seeds tasted anything like chocolate. The seeds have to go through a process of fermentation, drying and roasting before the cacao is edible. Cacao is commonly grown in the Eastern Caribbean, although not as an export. The majority of the cacao is processed by the islanders for their own use; the end result being a hard and bitter ball of chocolate which is usually grated into hot milk or water and combined with sugar for drinking.

Eating the fruit from the coco pod:
The captain is an amateur photographer with lots of equipment so on our passage up we were sailing within a half mile of all of the islands along the way so that he could take pictures. It was really magnificent to see the coastline of every island that we passed. We sailed within a half mile of Montserrat where there is an active volcano that smothered half of the island in 1997 when it blew. As we sailed past we could see smoke billowing from the top of the volcano and ash slides coming down the sides. We could fallow the path of the ash flow from the eruption in 1997, as well as see the ruins of homes and buildings that were abandoned.

In Antigua we met up with more friends from St. Martin and spent a day relaxing before the home stretch to St. Martin…

Sail More, Work Less...

Breakfast:
Steamed Lobster Tail

With A Creamy Whole Grain Mustard Sauce

And Poached Eggs

The final meal on the boat was breakfast which I was told should become my signature dish. I had originally planned on making eggs Benedict, but learned fresh butter and fresh milk are luxuries on these little islands, and lemons, like the kind we are used to, aren’t easily found either because they are imported… So, I had to alter my plans. I started by making an aioli with egg yolks, white wine vinegar, Dijon mustard, my very last lemon which I’d been hording since after we left St. Martin, and extra-virgin olive oil. But I used whole grain Dijon mustard, and went a little heavier on the vinegar and oil, so it was more like vinaigrette. I steamed the lobster tails and served them topped with two poached eggs, the mustard sauce, a drizzle of truffle oil and toasted baguette. I may have to try this as a starter, with a little frise salad…

The owner has decided to cancel the rest of the trip which was supposed continue on to Bonaire, and my position did not go permanent because the owner is only on the boat three times a year and I don’t want to become a decky. But no matter, it’s been an amazing time and all winter my heart has been set on going to the Mediterranean for the summer yachting season.

When we finished in Grenada I set out to find my friends with the Catamaran. I had an idea of which bay they were in so I hired a taxi and brought a radio with me. As soon as I pulled up at one bay I went onto the call channel and was able to locate them. As luck would have it, I also found my friend Judith from the Crew House in St. Martin, she was hanging out with my friends on the Catamaran too. The captain of the boat Judith works on is allowing me to sail back to St. Martin with them. A straight shot from Grenada to St. Martin would take three or four days (sailing 24 hours a day) but we will be doing only day sailing and stopping on our way up for snorkeling, dinner, sleeping, etc. in St. Lucia, Martinique, Dominica, Antigua and St. Barth. Our plan is to be back in St. Martin around the first of March, in time for the Heineken Regatta; a big party week, and a great week to find a new boat to work on.

I’ll be completing my STCW, a safety certification required of crew for charter boats, on March 6 – 11. If I haven’t gotten on a boat by that time, I’ll head back down to Antigua for race week where chances will be high that I’ll get on a boat heading to Palma, Spain. Antigua is where all of the boats head after the Heineken Regatta, then after race week in Antigua everyone leaves either bound for the Mediterranean or to the East Coast of the United States.

So, hopefully by May I’ll be posting from some other exotic corner of the earth…

Picture Perfect. Well, almost...

Breakfast:

Feta and Herb Fritatta

Hash Browns

Fresh “Sqeezed” Passion Fruit and Mango Juice

Lunch:

Baguette Sandwiches with Poached Chicken, Bacon and Roasted Peppers

Hors-d’ouvres:

Fresh Caught Lobster Steamed and Served with Asian Dipping Sauce

(Soy, Sesame, Ginger and Lime)

Dinner:

Hamburgers, Homemade Buns, Green Salad

After two days in Bequia we sailed on and anchored in Tobago Cays. The sail was gorgeous and took about two hours and there were only four other boats along a beautiful stretch of beach as we dropped anchor. That was the case at least until a cruise ship pulled up and let off 300 pasty skinned, overweight holiday goers accessorized by overly festive sarongs, whining, screaming children clinging about their ankles, and the boat boys from Union hanging “Tobago Cays” t-shirts from the coconut trees, 3 for $10. It was a complete zoo, and my nightmare, in the most picture perfect, serene setting…

But I digress.

As soon as we dropped anchor we were approached by several locals in small, colorful motorboats with names like “Desperado”, “Irie”, and “Soul Jah” offering fresh caught lobster, ice and bread. We bought two lobsters which I steamed, made a dipping sauce with lime, soy, sesame oil and cilantro and served as an hors-d’eouvre, along with the captains homemade margaritas made from fresh squeezed limes and Patron …

Caribbean lobsters are large and spiny and don’t have claws. There is a debate going on as to which is better; Caribbean or New England. I’m sure anybody who reads this, especially anyone from New England, probably would scoff at that debate. But I happen to think they are both good in their own way. A lot of people complain that Caribbean lobsters are tough, but like any shellfish, it gets tough when it’s over cooked and anytime I’ve had one in a restaurant it’s been completely overcooked (as have the New England lobsters), but not when I’ve cooked them myself, they’ve been very tender. Their shells are hard and thick and they are quite large in size, which is probably why they are so often overcooked, kind of like the Thanksgiving turkey… In my quest not to overcook the lobster, I undercooked my first ones and rather than putting them back in the steamer I marinated them overnight in a tangy tarragon and lemon vinaigrette for lobster salad. They were absolutely delicious the next day, and perfectly cooked. Now, I pull them out of the water before they are cooked through and let them finish cooking from the residual heat and then I either serve them warm or marinate them for a salad. Caribbean lobsters don’t have the same buttery-ness that NE lobsters do, but they lend themselves to a different sort of cooking too and go well with Caribbean spices and produce. And the fresh lobsters, I have to say, are far superior to the frozen lobster tails that you buy through the provisioners here in the Caribbean.

For dinner I decided to make hamburgers, which meant that I’d have to make buns because where the hell am I going to find American hamburger buns on a deserted island in the West Indies? Fortunately, I discovered early on the quirks of bread making in a warm, humid environment… The bread dough takes half the time to rise, if not less, and requires twice the amount of flour that I’m used to for my dough. A sponge with a teaspoon of yeast and one cup of flour will quadruple in size in about 20 minutes and require around four cups of flour to make nice soft dough for flatbread. The second rise takes maybe a half an hour, and the final rise when the balls have been formed, takes less than ten minutes. I made focaccia dough for the buns which came out perfect. The men loved the hamburgers, and the effort that went into them…

Bequia Rasta Market

Breakfast:
Eggs to Order

Hors-d’ouvres:
Crab Cakes with Sun Dried Tomato and Herb Aioli

Dinner:
Callaloo Vichyssoise
With Yoghurt and Crispy Pancetta

T-Bone Steaks with Bana Cota
(Anchovies, Garlic, Chives, Lemon and Olive Oil)
Jerk Roasted Potatoes
Sautéed Christophine with Red Onion and Cilantro

We’ve just wrapped up a ten day tour sailing from St. Vincent to Grenada with three lovely gentlemen from Chicago (the owner of the boat and two of his friends) and it couldn’t have gone smoother. The weather was perfect, they loved my cooking, I provisioned really well for the trip, and the captain has been great.

We spent three days in St. Vincent and funny enough, ended up anchoring right next to my friends that I sailed with from St. Barth to St. Martin with on New Years day, and had dinner aboard their boat the night before we picked up the owner. Dinner was great. Two friends of theirs were anchored nearby and came with wine, I made breadfruit salad and marinated ribs in the seasoning that Vee taught me to make the day I spent in her kitchen, and my friends made steaks, roasted vegetables and a big green salad. All three boats were preparing for guests and we’d all spent long days cleaning from top to bottom and getting ready. The dinner party was a welcome break and a good time was had by all.

It’s amazing the transformation the boats go through before the guest’s arrive. Before our owner arrived their were “crew covers” on everything, like the plastic coverings over the couch in the living room at Aunt Martha’s, only much nicer. The floors were bare, nice glassware and dishes packed away. But in preparation for their arrival crew covers came off to reveal leather couches; oriental rugs were laid out on the floor; artwork was uncovered; dishes and glasses were put out; the wine cabinet and liquor cabinet were stocked, etc. and every single inch of the boat is cleaned and polished. The captain even sanded and re-stained the floors… Voila, a new boat…

The owner and his friends arrived early in the evening on the 8th. I prepared dinner which received rave reviews and everything started off just right. We spent two days in St. Vincent and then set sail back to Bequia, although this time we wouldn’t see our friends, as duty called...

I shopped at the Bequia produce market, a series of enclosed stalls in a small building near the harbor. I felt like an injured calf amongst a school of hungry piranha as I entered the market, chumming the water with my boat uniform and pasty hue … I was quickly swarmed upon by half a dozen dreadlocked Rasta’s saying, “miss, miss, you want to buy something from me today?” Everything I touched cost at least $10 E.C. (East Caribbean Dollars), or $10 E.C. a pound. As soon as I began to buy from one stall, the Rasta’s from another stall would come over to me and say, “miss, miss, save something for me, ok?”… $80 U.S. dollars and three not-so-big bags of groceries later I knew I’d been had…

On my second trip to Bequia market I was confident that I wouldn’t be taken as badly as I had been on my first trip. Upon entering, as the Rasta’s started to approach with their, “miss, miss, what do you want to buy from me today” I was quick to announce that I wanted to look around first and they stepped back and let me pass. I walked from booth to booth checking everything out and not touching – because as soon as you’ve touched something, they assume you’re buying it. Then, when I found the things I liked I would point to it and they would say, “for you $10 E.C.” and I’d walk away and they’d follow saying, “miss miss, I give you very nice price. I take care of you…” to which I’d laugh and reply, “no, no, you’re just taking me” then the price would fall to $8 E.C. and I’d look at them and say “come on” and roll my eyes, and then they’d throw in some “free” passion fruits, banana’s or a soursop. By my third trip, they wouldn’t even approach me when I walked into the market and I’d have time to roam free and touch anything I wanted. Then, I’d buy and I was able to get them down around $7 E.C., with lots of goodies thrown in for “free”. But still, these prices were far different than what the locals would receive.

Calalloo in the wild:
On one of my trips to Bequia market I bought a large bag of calalloo. I’d seen calalloo soup on the menus in St. Vincent and Bequia and the guests had told me about the calalloo soup that they had at a restaurant – a thick, green, pureed soup similar to Vichyssoise. The calalloo leaves were beautiful, dark green and looked similar to the leaves of a Bird of Paradise. I tasted a piece raw and within minutes my throat was burning, half my face felt like it was going numb, and the inside of my mouth felt like it was being stabbed by millions of little pins… Interesting, I hoped I wouldn’t die from eating it and when the numbness passed and I knew I would live, I went on preparing… After cutting out the thick stalk and shredding the leaves I sautéed some onions, garlic, chili pepper and ginger in a pot, added the calalloo and cooked it ‘til it was very soft. Then I added chicken stock, seasoned it and pureed it; crisped some proscutto in the oven and garnished the soup with the crispy proscutto and a dollop of yoghurt (in lieu of creme fraiche). The guests loved the soup and were amazed that I could make it just from their description. I though the soup was really tasty and I can’t wait to make calalloo soup again; but I’ve also been told to bring a big bag of calalloo to a friend in St. Martin who supposedly makes an excellent calalloo lobster bisque... can’t wait!

School for Wayward Chefs...

February 5, 2006

I spent the day today cooking in the kitchen with Vee (Veronica), Quembe’s sister. Quembe woke up the boat at 6 a.m. so that he and Captain could go play soccer. They were set to begin by 6:30 a.m. because by 9 a.m. it’s too hot… We rode the dinghy ashore and walked to the soccer field where I left the boys and took a taxi up to Vee’s house. She said she woke up early on Sundays to cook – but I think I startled her when I knocked on her door at 7:15 a.m., giddy with anticipation…

Vee has a very warm and gracious personality and she looked so cute when I arrived; her hair in three pigtails, pajamas and glasses on. With a big smile and in her thick island accent she welcomed me into her home. We chatted and made small talk and all the while she was squeezing fresh fruit into a pitcher; Caribbean lemons (nothing like the lemons we are used to, these have rough, pale green flesh and a fragrant lemon and floral smell), fresh grapefruit, Caribbean oranges (again, totally different than navel or juice oranges), and limes. She then added water, bitters and sugar which made for an amazing elixir. We drank some, talked more and set to cooking…

Vee had a pot going on the stove with boiling water into which she poured a bag of flowers, which she called “sorrel”, and fresh ginger and clove. Like everything I’m finding in the Caribbean, what they call “sorrel” is nothing like the sorrel I’ve seen in the states which is a leafy herb. She showed me the plant in her yard, a branchy shrub with very few leaves and bright red tubular flowers. Once the brew had boiled and cooled we added sugar, strained and chilled it; another amazing drink tasting very similar to hibiscus tea but which is called sorrel juice.

She set into bread making like a pro, pulling a giant bowl from her cupboard and adding a large amount of brown sugar, copious amounts of yeast, pounds of white and wheat flour, condensed milk (fresh isn’t available on the island) and vegetable oil – nothing measured - and within a few minutes was kneading a mammoth ball of dough. I was fully impressed. She threw a towel on top and set it aside to rise.

Aromas began to fill the kitchen; breadfruit boiled in a pot for breadfruit salad; plantains boiled for a gratin; a mixer worked the batter for a rum cake; cornbread baked in the oven. Vee was seasoning some spare ribs (which she had hacked up outside with a giant machete) with a green marinade which she referred to just as seasonin’. It smelled divine. When I asked her what was in it she said it was made from something called “tikki thyme”, then she took me to her garden and showed the plant to me; a large succulent with juicy, fuzzy, silver-dollar sized, incredibly fragrant leaves. She told me that she would mix up a batch for me before I left that afternoon. I couldn’t wait!

Around noon the boys came back from soccer; Captain, Quembe, Clem, Otis (Vee’s son), Turkey (everyone has nicknames here) and more. Vee and I rushed to finish up lunch; we mixed up the breadfruit salad with an egg, carrots and green beans and with a mayonnaise based salad dressing just like potato salad in the states. The spareribs stewed in the oven with the seasonin’ and some jerk barbeque sauce that Vee’s sister had brought her from Trinidad; cornbread cooled on a rack…

I had asked Vee about a vegetable that I had seen in the marketplace. It had a pale green, wrinkly skin and had a crease down the middle like a peach, only much deeper. She called it Christophine and pulled one out of her fridge. As she peeled it she kept dipping it in fresh water, explaining to me that the skin releases a substance that will make your hands break out in a rash so you have to rinse it constantly while peeling it. Once peeled, she sliced a piece off for me. It was crunchy and tasted had the taste and texture of the core of a stalk of broccoli, or a cross between a cucumber and celery. It’s eaten raw in salads, steamed, roasted or mashed with ginger and coconut milk. Vee put some in the salad and some in a pot with other mixed vegetables to steam.

We set up the counter with plates and silverware and laid out the food for all who stopped by (the crowd was growing). Vee’s whole wheat bread was absolutely perfect in the texture, consistency and taste and surprisingly not sweet considering how much sugar she had put into the batter. I was really amazed at her skill with the bread making. She whipped up four loaves of bread like it was nothing; then she gave one to me, gave two to friends and kept one for herself. She says that she makes bread every Wednesday and Sunday, and always makes some for friends…

I never saw any prepackaged bread on Bequia. Everywhere you went, even the grocery store, the breads were homemade and of all the breads that I tried, Vee’s was definitely the best…

Well satiated from our venerable feast, we sat out in the backyard, in the hot Caribbean sun, told stories and drank ice-cold Harroun’s, the local beer. Vee told me to pick a large handful of the Tikki Thyme, I did but it wasn’t enough so she had me go pick more, and more, and more… She was out of garlic and onions so she gave me the recipe for making the “seasoning” myself. I’ve now noticed is in every market in the Grenadines – green bottles simply labeled “seasoning” is sold everywhere and everyone down here knows what that means…

Later in the evening the Captain, Quembe, Clem, “White Boy” (another nickname, another cousin of Quembe’s) and myself headed back to the boat loaded down with gifts from Vee – tikki thyme, fresh bread, charcoal roasted breadfruit, rum cake, a bottle of sorrel juice, roasted cumin seeds from Trinidad, hot peppers from Vee’s yard, etc. On the way we stopped by Rush Hour where Clem grabbed a bottle of a white milky looking liquid that he calls “Okra Punch”…

Back on the boat I blended up my seasoning with the tikki thyme, onions, garlic and salt. A lengthy debate ensued between Quembe, Clem and “White Boy” as to whether to add ginger or other spices to the seasoning (Vee adds ginger, clove and chives). The final verdict was to leave the seasoning as simple as possible because you can always add those other ingredients when you’re cooking something specific – but you may not always want those other spices. So, I blended up my seasoning and passed it around for the men’s approval – they all smelled and tasted it and in unison agreed that it was “right on target”.

Clem poured glasses of the okra punch for us all. It was thick, white and milky, slightly sweet and hinted of nutmeg – reminding me a bit of eggnog in taste and texture. It didn’t contain any alcohol, but certainly wiped away the effects of that days drinking. We all got a second a wind from the okra punch – I found that it left me feeling relaxed and awake. I tried to pry the recipe from Clem, to no avail… But it seems that each island in the Caribbean has some sort of elixir that is known for certain beneficial effects…

All in all, an amazing day.

Green Banana Soup

After some more cleaning and polishing of the boat, Clem came by with bunches of green bananas and breadfruit and he and Quembe set in on teaching me how to make the Bequai boys favorite soup… These green bananas weren’t plantains and although they looked similar to the bananas you would find in a grocery store, these won’t ever ripen. Quembe taught me to score and peel the green bananas without breaking them, not an easy task, but by the 25th banana I think I had it down. Next we peeled, cored and chopped breadfruit, the potato of the Caribbean. This was the first time I’d seen a breadfruit, but how do I describe it other than that it looks completely alien to this planet with its emerald green glow, honeycomb pattern across the skin, and uncooked has the texture of foam rubber. Odd, but intriguing. Breadfruit secretes a milky substance through its skin which dries on the outside, a sign of ripeness.

Into the pot went the staples of Caribbean aromatics; garlic, onion and sweet peppers, covered with water, a pat of butter and a couple tablespoons of Matouks hot sauce which the boys say isn’t hot, but which sets my mouth afire. After all the ingredients came to a boil we added the green bananas and breadfruit and let them simmer for about a half hour, until they were soft. The aroma of the pot filled the air as we sat on deck, appetites growing, and friends and relatives of Quembe’s dropping by in gradual succession to relieve us of our stash of Presidente Beer (which isn’t available on the island).

When the bananas and breadfruit were cooked, we threw in chunks of dorado (dolphin fish) and the split open head of a kingfish (for Quembe and Clem to fight over); turned the heat to a simmer and cooked just until the fish was done, about 10 minutes. Seasoned to taste with salt and more hot sauce, we all sat down with our steaming bowls of fish soup.

The breadfruit was similar in texture to a potato only more firm and not mealy like a baking potato. The green bananas didn’t taste anything like the bananas that you and I know. They were savory and similar in quality to a potato but not starchy. The fish was flaky and perfectly fresh having only been caught a day prior by Quembe and the captain. The soup was savory and nourishing but not heavy or overly rich. The spice was just enough to make you sweat but not enough to send you to the doctor, and mellowed slightly by the pat of butter and the sweetness of the fresh fish.

Clem and I talked long about breadfruit and all the different things that could be done with it (I see some breadfruit fishcakes in my future) – basically anything you would do with a potato you could do with breadfruit, and just like a potato you would boil or roast it first… Clem said to come by “Rush Hour”, his snack shack, later that evening for “sauce” (stewed pigs feet, pronounced “sow”-“ess” by those in the know) and he promised to make me roasted bread fruit with salt fish. I kindly obliged and at eight o’clock last night the captain and I were chowing on roasted breadfruit and salt fish followed by hearty bowls of “sauce”. We blissfully supped away on the rich, porky broth and gnawed and sucked the knuckle bones with fervor as meltingly soft pieces of fat gave way to pockets of rich meat and succulent morsels of marrow; not a meal for the squeamish but worth the reward if you can get over your gastronomic inhibitions to eat it... Clem is known for making the best “sauce” on the island and when word spreads that he’s cooking up pig’s feat, the whole island makes its way to his snack shack…

Clem is a chef, and Quembe’s cousin (I’ve come to learn that everyone on the island is Quembe’s cousin). He’s warm and friendly with a heart as big as he is, and a deep, baritone voice that can be heard around the island. He was a great duet partner as we belted out “Red Red Wine” by UB40 at a local karaoke bar, Clem hitting the low notes that I couldn’t reach even in my most tragic attempts…

Then the captain, myself, Quembe, Clem and an entourage of about 13 others, that were all related to Quembe and Clem in one way or another, made our way to a local nightclub for a Reggae shakedown and dance party of epic proportion.

We made it back to the boat just in time to watch the sun come up…

Boilin’ A.K.A. Green Banana Fish Soup
(pronounced “bow”-“lin” by the locals)

1 Very large pot
25 Green Bananas, peeled and soaked in lime water to prevent browning
½ sweet pepper, sliced
1 med. onion, sliced
1 tomato, seeded and diced
2 cloves garlic, sliced
Hot pepper sauce (preferably “Matouks”)
8+ cups water
1 Breadfruit, peeled, cored and quartered
3 lbs. kingfish and/or dorado steaks, plus head, split opened and cleaned (eyeballs intact, they’re a delicacy here)
2 Tbsp. butter
Salt to taste

Add water to pot along with sweet pepper, onion, tomato, garlic, hot pepper sauce, butter and salt. Bring to a boil and allow to simmer 10 minutes. Add bananas and breadfruit and simmer for 20 to 30 minutes, or until breadfruit and bananas are soft and cooked through. Turn heat to a gentle simmer, add fish and cover until fish is cooked through – about 10 minutes. Ladle into big bowls and serve with hot sauce…

Boilin’ – Breakfast of champions…

Bequia and the return of the prodigal sons...

This whacky adventure began around 2am Wednesday morning as we set sail from St. Martin down island. Yesterdays journey was spent basking in the sun and reading as we breazed passed Guadaloup in near perfect weather except for an early evening squall followed by the starriest skies I have ever seen.

This morning we cut the engine power and were cruising along between 8.5 and 10 knots with the genoa and the main out. I learned how to hoist the main sail; the captain and I walked the length of the boat as he pointed out and described all the different mechanics to me – which halyards were for what uses, etc. and I was given a piece of line to practice my clove hitch and bowline.

A ways off of Martinique we had thought we came upon a life raft and all of us began preparing for a “situation”, possibly rescuing someone. But upon closer inspection it was a nude Canadian couple in an ocean-fairing row boat heading for Costa Rica! Only 5,000 miles to go, they were moving at about 1 knot a mile; completely exposed to the elements; a solar panel the size of a shoebox lid; and space for only one person to sleep at a time not to mention food storage, etc. It’s a thin line between adventure and suicide, but to each his own; we waved goodbye and sailed off…

The boys caught a beautiful dolphin fish, probably close to 12 lbs., just past St. Lucia. When they pulled the fish on deck the captain poured rum into its gills which killed the fish immediately; then, with one small slit below the gills and the quick stroke of three fingers, Quembe (the captains sailing buddy we picked up in St. Martin) had the entire fish gutted! I want my fish monger to be able to do that. I went to take a nap and missed the excitement of them catching and butchering a kingfish…

We sailed into Bequia around 6pm Thursday night, welcoming committee waiting… The captain and Quembe were greeted like the prodigal sons returning home. Before we even dropped anchor people were cruising past us in their dinghy’s waving and hollering – Clem, Burnin’ Flame, Gregoire. The captains has been here before and has sailed down with Bequians on his crew, so he’s known amongst all the locals; Quambe grew up here but hasn’t been home in almost a decade and in one way or another is related to absolutely everyone on this tiny island…

Quembe has promised to make us green banana and fish stew, which I can’t wait to see and taste. We are going to go to the market tomorrow (after cleaning the boat) to buy the ingredients that we need. But tonight we went to the Hotel Frangipani where Quembe’s sister works and had a lovely dinner which I was happy to not have to cook.

Afterwards we walked to the local snack shack for drinks with more friends and relatives of Quembe’s, and after that it was off to another large gathering of locals only this one on a tragic note as two days earlier Quembe’s young nephew returned after being away working on a cruise ship and on his first day back was killed in a car accident. It was awkward to walk into this family tragedy, but everyone had heard about the captain and was happy to finally make his aquaintence, and welcome Quembe back home. I was blown away by their welcoming and graciousness amidst their personal devastation and I can’t help but believe that the return of Quembe and the captain are a happy and much needed distraction for all of them…

After many more visits to friends and family from one end of the island to the other, in the wee hours of the morning, shoes tossed aside, I found myself dancing in the street with a local rasta to some great reggae streaming from a small (12 x 15) bar called the Penthouse, and known by the locals as the best club in town.

At that moment I realized that this is the Caribbean I’ve been dreaming about…

Is it still snowing in NYC?

Ok, so I'm totally slacking on my writing, been having a wee-bit too much fun!

I got a job aboard a beautiful 74' cetch sailboat, custom built by Joel White in Maine. The captain is really easy going and fun and the boat is in impeccable condition - so the captain believes in working and playing hard. I'm the chef/mate so I'm actually learning to sail and today we let out the genoa and sailed to Anguilla, and I learned how to drop anchor and check if it is caught or skipping, etc. The boat is entirely wooden, hull and all and there is really nothing mechanical on it - all the winches are hand cranked, etc. so I'm learning everything...

After spending 3 days provisioning the boat and getting ready for the guests we'll be picking up in February we headed to Anguilla to hang out and party with friends for two days. Funny enough, the captain has friends that were visiting from Mass. and they happened to know someone who knows my friend over there as well so we all had a good time hanging out together, had a little get together on the boat and then went out to dinner. We sailed back to St. Martin this morning to pick up a new crew member who will be sailing with us down to Bequia, which we leave for tonight. We'll be hangin' in Bequai for a week and then on the 8th we pick up the owner of the boat and two of his friends in St. Vincent. We'll be sailing the Grenadines for 10 days with them and then they leave and we sail on over to Bonaire for a month of working on the boat and windsurfing... The owner will come back down sometime in March for another visit and then we'll find out where we go next - perhaps through the Panama Canal to the Sea of Cortez and Mexico, or we may check out Venezuala and spend the rest of the season down there. Sometime around May or June we'll be heading back up to Maine with stops in Florida and possibly the Carolina's - unless we go to Mexico, then we'll be doing Mexico and the West Coast of the US.

So, all is good and it pays to be picky and wait for the right job. I've had seven solid job offers in three weeks down here. The mega-yacht industry is STARVED for good crew - and especially chefs. I was offered a full-time position aboard the charter boat that I just finished up on, but I decided that the job on the sailboat offered more opportunity for adventure and fun. In the yachting world - the sailboat people tend to be more laid-back and easy going... The pay isn't as high as on a charter --- but it's still great and beats the hell out of slinging hash at a restaurant in New York!!!

I have yet to worry about a budget. These people want the best of everything, and are more than happy to pay for it. I use a provisioning company to order my meat, fish, wine and specialty ingredients. I get excellent quality from the provisioners - sushi grade fish, angus beef, milk-fed veal, organic, free-range chicken, etc. and there really isn't anything that I can't find through them. On the charter I just left and the boat I'm on now, the crew eats the same food as the guests and their is an unlimited crew wine budget. I get some guidelines as to what the guests like - but basically the menu is up to me and so far I've been able to have a lot of fun.

So, all is good. Well, I have to sign off now - we're heading out. Next time I write we'll be down in Bequia...

Peace out.

The Daily Grind...

Lunch:
Seared Duck Breast Salad with Blood Oranges, Fennel and Pomegranite Vinaigrette

Dinner:
Curried Butternut Squash Soup
Pan Seared Sea Scallops with Caper-Lemon Sauce
Roasted Celeriac
Sauteed Spinach

Dessert:
Ginger and Vanilla Bean Poached Pears with Vanilla ice-Cream and Dolce de Leche

The biggest challenge in being a charter chef is coming up with menus that are fresh and new everyday, three meals a day, seven days a week, for two or more weeks, for twelve people. I had created menus and had all my meals planned out on paper, but that went out the window as I had to make adjustments to suit everyone’s eating habits, the availability of ingredients and the daily requests of the clients. But all in all, our guests are very easy and I know that on some charters people can be very demanding…

My day begins at 7am making pastries, frittata’s and fruit salad then I begin prepping for lunch so that if we go anywhere and I can’t cook in transit then everything will be ready (or close to it) when we arrive. The waters can be rollie so I have to keep all my prep on top of towels on the counter or it will slide away. Yesterday I had a near miss with a jelly jar as it went sliding out of my reach and last night I had doubts about my rice cooking properly with the water sloshing about in the pot.

I’m constantly reading cookbooks and picking up cooking magazines to get new ideas. Desserts are the biggest challenge as I have five small refrigerators that cool down too easily when doors are opened and shut so custards and things don’t tend to set very well. The freezer is all drawers and is so crammed full there isn’t room to put desserts in their either and it’s too hot and humid to leave a dessert out on the counter. But I’ve found that fruit desserts work well; mango shortcake, poached pears; and cakey things like flourless chocolate cake, cheesecake. I’ve been cooking professionally now for almost seven years and yet every time I step into a new kitchen I feel like my brain falls out of my head and I can’t think of anything to cook. Another challenge of feeding all these people on the charter is that meal time comes in waves and many times everyone wants something different. For breakfast I feed the crew one thing, the guests another, the children of the guests another and on top of the frittata’s and pastry and fruit there are special requests for eggs to order, omelets, pancakes, etc. For lunch I feed the crew first, and then the guests and I have to come up with something for the non-meat eaters and the children, and sometimes again, the guests each want something different for lunch. At dinner time the crew eats early (so that they can help me clean up when the guests are done) and some guests may eat earlier or later than others and the children eat different food at a different time at a different table. It definitely keeps me on my feet and my day sometimes doesn’t end until 11pm.

Working on this thus far has been a great experience. The crew are fantastic, everyone lifts their weight, works hard, helps each other out and maintains a sense of humor, because if we didn’t all have a sense of humor we’d kill each other or go out of our minds – as the captain said, we’re adults living like children (bunk beds, shared quarters, etc.).

We’re in Anguilla again, this time for two days. We had planned on going to St. Barth but the weather at sea has been rough and our crane isn’t working to hoist the dinghy and we would flip it or lose it if we were to tow it in high seas. We left on very short notice (about an hour) so I didn’t have time to grocery shop and my supply of fresh produce and ingredients is running a little low – but it’s amazing how one can make do. I rationed the vegetables to the crew last night so that I would have plenty for the guests and they are talking about going out to dinner tonight which would be great, otherwise it’s frozen spinach! But I’ve got ample supply of other provisions so everything will be fine.

This charter was supposed to be ending on Monday, January 23rd but it has just been extended for two more weeks. I’ve got another charter lined up beginning on January 28th so I will have to leave this one and go directly on to the next one without any time off, which is kind of a bummer as I am totally and thoroughly exhausted. But the next charter is aboard a 74’ sailboat heading down to St. Vincent. We’ll be hitting the Grenadines and lots of little islands down and around South America. The captain and I are the only crew and I believe there are only two guests so we’ll be doing everything on this next adventure and I will really be learning to sail – I wouldn’t miss it for the world! I hope to find time to sleep sometime in late February or early March…