because every food blogger has to blog about hamburgers

Hamburgers are one of those things that I could never cook for myself and enjoy. It is the food of kicking back and relaxing, it’s a craving happily satiated, it’s a night off – and if I’m going to have a hamburger, damn it, it had better be good.

I’ve noticed an outcropping of trendy burger “eateries” popping up around the city over the past year or so, places offering organic burgers on homemade bread, every incarnation of veggie burger, turkey burger, bison burger, kobi burger, etc. All these places seem to have a very modern-trendy, clean lined and sterile feel about them – not entirely unlikable, but when I think hamburger I feel much more drawn to the places better referred to as a ‘joint’ rather than an ‘eatery’.

I confess to being totally biased on the subject of what environment I like to eat my hamburger in, to the point that I haven’t even stepped foot in one of these newfangled hamburger places. Perhaps, for posterity or in the name of scientific research, I should check one of these places out. But when I want a burger I don’t want a white table clothe restaurant, I don’t want to be staring out the window checking out the shoes and handbags of the passers-by on the streets, or pompously displayed New Yorker, Zagat and/or Wine Spectator reviews stuck on the wall. I want a place where unfettered pleasure is the goal; a place where I can guiltlessly and blissfully throw down a pint and a burger without being reminded that there are vegetarians in this world, without having to debate whether I should go for the healthier choice on the menu, without having to choose whether I want foie gras or truffles. I want the decision making process to be simple and straightforward, streamlined in fact. Choice 1: Hamburger, Choice 2: Cheeseburger. Choice 3: There is no choice 3. Rare/ Medium Rare/ Medium/ Well (God forbid!). I don’t want a bun so thick or crusty that I must disconnect my jaw, like a boa constrictor, before taking the first splendid bite. I don’t want some fruity, homemade ketchup or fancy ingredients.

I want it medium-rare on a soft, white, fluffy cloudlike bun. Mayo, pickles, lettuce and ketchup. Lots and lots of ketchup. Ketchup on the bun, ketchup to dip it in. I love ketchup. I hate broccoli. And much to my parents dismay, that’s just about the only thing a Bush president and I will ever agree upon. But I digress.

One of my favorite places to get a hamburger is Café Fanelli on Prince and Mercer. That place never ceases to be an experience. A dark wood interior, long bar and comfy barstools, old black and white boxing pictures line the walls, two-tops in a row along the wall opposite the bar, the staff as checkered as the table clothes. The tattooed and pierced waitresses have a look like you’d better be careful how you behave or they just might kick your ass. The bartenders are salty, surly and sarcastic – just the way I like them. The clientele too is a pretty checkered bunch. The same drunk has been at the end of the bar since I first started going there eight years ago, and their is a cross between old-school SoHo artists (can you say, “rent controlled apartment”?), a few businessmen, a tourist or two and a few starlets who’ve wandered in off the street to use the toilet. The place is strangely unchanged and unaffected by the retail storm that has slaughtered much of the neighborhood charm, unfazed by the mignons of fashionistas and bankers that have come through its doors and replaced the old artists, bohemians and mobsters of yesteryear. Amazingly, it maintains a little bit of what the rest of SoHo used to be - brash, eccentric, and smug.

They have a decent burger served on a soft onion roll. But the pickles are on the side, and aren’t cut for proper placement on a hamburger. Their fries are good and they have Heffeweisen, Guiness, Stella, Bass and Brooklyn Lager on tap on tap so I can’t complain.

But recently, I found a new favorite hamburger joint (sacre bleu!). And I can’t believe it, but I was taken there by friends from South Africa! How is it that someone from S.A. knows where to get a great burger in this town without me knowing about that place first?! Impossible, or so I thought. I was hesitant but by my friends description, I knew I had to investigate.

We pulled up on 56^th Street in my friends bright orange rental car. It was like riding in a pumpkin, perfect for the season. By some strange stroke of luck (that I never seem to have), we found a parking spot right in front of the Le Parker Meridien Hotel and I thought to myself, how good could it really be? We walked into the grandiose lobby; polished, chic and trendy and I thought, “oh no, here we go”. We ducked behind a long, curtained wall behind the front desk and I felt like Jody Foster in Contact when she slid through the worm hole to another dimension. Suddenly I was in this tiny cube shaped hovel, maybe 400 square feet – maybe. Ramones and Soprano’s posters adorned the wood panneled walls, thick wood tables and walls carved up with initials “J.M.” heart “B.L.”, autographs, stickers from the women’s roller ball league, a few carved-up, vandalized booths, a large communal table in the middle. The counter and kitchen open to view and two guys working – one taking orders, the other flipping burgers over a flaming grill. And the best part was the smell – it smelled like grill smoke, char and sizzling meat. The menu was written in magic marker on torn cardboard and states:

If you aren’t ready you go to the back of the line.

They also had fries, milkshakes, Sam Adams and sodas.

I waited in line and mulled my choice, sure to be prepared when it was my turn at the front. I wasn’t going to be sent to the back of the line for not having my order ready. I waited and waited and like a good New Yorker, when I got to the front of the line and spat out my order so quickly the guy told me to slow down and repeat myself…

After a weekend of gluttony cooking (and drinking) up a storm at a friends farm in Pennsylvania, a stop for lunch at my favorite Middle-Eastern restaurant in Bay Ridge where we gorged ourselves yet again, I thought that there was no way I would possibly be hungry for dinner, much less a hamburger. I was thinking more like Perrier and a lemon…

But once I smelled that fine, fine smell of fat dripping into a fiery grill, I was suddenly famished. It was my dream come true and I was taken their by a tourist! Say it isn’t so… The burger was great, the flaming grill leaving its stamp on every tasty bite. The pickles fit, the bun was soft and fluffy. Perfection. I can’t wait, wait, wait to go back again – many more times before I leave for the Caribbean.

The Crew at The Hamburger Joint at Le Parker Meridien

On a side note, I know many New Yorkers will say Corner Bistro (Burger Bistro, as some call it) is the place to go for burgers. It was my favorite for years – but ever since a friend of mine got a glue trap with a rat on it stuck to his foot there, I can’t ever go back.

So happy to have finely found a decent replacement. Plus, you won’t have to endure the frat boys and drunk chicks at The Burger Joint.

The Burger Joint at Le Parker Meridien
118 W. 57th Street
Between 6th and 7th

Cafe Fanelli
Corner of Mercer and Spring
SoHo

Bollywood Nights

If I died tomorrow and went to Heaven, it would smell like the prep kitchen at Devi.

The air was fragrant with the intoxicating aroma of roasted spices - cardamom, coriander, cumin, fenugreek, asafetida and cinnamon; and the walk-in full of kuri leaves by the sack full, fresh ginger and chilies. I was dilerious by the smell of it all and didn’t hear a word the pastry chef was telling me as we entered the walk-in and she pointed out which side the dairy was on, where the produce was kept, the prepped veg, the fruits for desserts, etc. The squeal of a Bollywood soundtrack played in my head as I drifted into a world of coal rimmed eyes, bright sari’s, tabla’s, sitars and spicy food. The sultry, heady aroma of curries, masalas and biryanis stealing my attention away like an opiate… I was pulled reluctantly back to reality as we stepped out of the walk-in and back into the prep kitchen and I realized that every word Surbi had just told me in the walk-in had gone in one ear and out the other. All I wished for was some time alone in there and a spoon so that I could sample from each and every brightly colored quart container. I was completely transfixed, I’d found olfactory nirvana, my taste buds salivated. I closed my eyes and drew one more deep breath before the walk-in doors closed and I returned to my prep station in a spice induced haze.

My prep list included making shortbread dough spiced with fresh, green cardamom and garam masala, cardamom kulfi (Indian ice-cream made with milk cooked until it is thick and sweet), mango panna cota, tangerine and saffron custard, black cardamom and bittersweet chocolate truffles. A circle of prep cooks gathered around a table listening to the Dead Can Dance while making trays of lentil cakes and samosa, mincing chilis and peeling sweet potatoes. Another prep cook made potato croquettes spiced with chilis, cilantro, ginger, cumin and curry, another one still was busy decorating miniature spiced pineapple cakes. I was in bliss as I weighed and measured.

Cardamom Kulfi (Indian Ice-Cream)
layered with pistachio's and a passion fruit sauce

I figured staff meal had to be good but was afraid I’d missed it as I hadn’t arrived until after 1 o’clock. But luck shined down upon me and at 3 o’clock and I was invited to dine with the rest of the kitchen staff. A cook peeled away the aluminum foil hiding the contents of a deep hotel pan. Inside was a thick, green sauce with yogurt, curry spices and cilantro, chicken and potatoes. Another tray held fragrant jasmine rice and another of naan bread, fresh from the tandoori and still warm. The naan was perfect, lightly chard on the outside, slightly sweet and chewy on the inside. We gathered around the steel tables of the prep kitchen, sitting on glass racks tipped on their side, the pastry chef handed me a bowl of heavily spiced black beans and a friendly banter was tossed back and forth among the kitchen crew and the wait staff like a game of Frisbee on a sunny day in the park. Never before have I enjoyed staff meal quite so much…

Pears with funagreek leaves for a sweet and tangy chutney cook on a giant burner along with peas cooked with mint chutney, cumin and chilies for pea croquettes

Day two was full of rolling spicy pea croquettes, shaping tandoori salmon and crab cakes, cooking down pear chutney, coating cashew brittle in tempered chocolate and gold dust, cutting out fruit jellies and rolling them in sugar. The salmon for the salmon and crab cakes was coated in a red, tangy tondoori sauce and skewered in big chunks on long steel rods, over two feet in length and placed in the tandoori to roast. When trays of it were brought down to the prep kitchen, several cooks (me included) took the liberty of sampling it – we had to making sure it was up to snuff, and it was…

Salmon in the Tandoori

Staff meal this time was yellow curry with potatoes, peas and chicken. Although delicious, I had to comment to Jonathan, the youngest of the kitchen crew, that perhaps curry for lunch everyday might get old. He laughed and said that he didn’t want to burst my bubble by telling me that the day before.

The crew worked away in the prep kitchen and every once in a while chef Hermant, squat and round with his smoldering black eyes and thick black moustache, would come down and make sure that the prep was moving along smoothly, and switching between Spanish and Hindi as he guided and advised the kitchen crew.

I’ll be hanging in the kitchen of Devi for the next few weeks doing some recipe testing with the pastry chef, learning a few new tricks. Then, in just 22 days – it’s off to the Caribbean…

Rolling in the Dough

29 days left in New York City and then I’m out of here… It’s off to the Caribbean or Florida although I’m not sure where exactly. We’ll see which way the wind blows…

I’ve given up my apartment and am leaving New York once and for all – not an easy task given that I have lots of friends and family here and New York has this way of roping me back in. I’ve been trying to leave for five years now! But those Caribbean waters are calling my name. A fellow yachty and I have been talking about sharing an apartment down in St. Martin for the season and I’m also considering getting a place in either Miami or Fort Lauderdale. Either way, I’ll be heading down to FL in a few weeks time to meet with some crew agencies and friends that have arrived from the Mediterranean. I’ve sent out my cv to crew agencies, emailed crew friends and looking to jump on a boat sometime in November. The Caribbean season doesn’t really get going until mid-December, but there should be plenty of work doing deliveries from the Med and the US down to the Caribbean.

As of November 1, I no longer have a place to live! AH! This should scare me, but it doesn’t. To some, it would seem inconceivable to give up an apartment and have no place to “live”, throwing caution to the wind and just taking off. But I feel free, and for me, that’s just how life works out best. Whenever I try to plan too much is when things start to go awry. I function much better just jumping in, and after last season on the yachts, I have a pretty good idea of what to expect, where to go and what the challenges will be. I can’t wait to be on the water again and feel the wind in my face. I feel totally optimistic about the coming season…

In the meantime, I’ve been keeping myself entertained by interloping in friends kitchens around New York. I spent the day today at the restaurant Barolo on West Broadway, learning to make fresh pasta! I went in this morning and met up with my friend, Maurizio, the chef – a bald-headed, overly caffeinated, Vespa riding Italian from Genoa. We met over a lengthy conversation at his bar the other night about chestnuts, as friends and I waited for a table for dinner. I’m preparing for an Iron Chef Chestnut cook-off at a friends farm in just a few weeks and pasta has been on my mind. So, I saw the chef and figured who better to talk to… We talked about savory chestnut cakes, chestnuts and game, and then he brought out some freshly prepared chestnut pasta to taste. After a great dinner (I had the cocoa pasta with wild mushrooms) and a ’78 Barolo, I decided to hit him up to let me hang out in his kitchen and learn to make pasta.

Maurizio put me in the capable hands of his master pasta maker, Manny. Expecting to walk into a hectic and chaotic environment, lots of bustling around, Manny perhaps being too busy to really show me his magic, I was pleasantly surprised that the kitchen was the exact opposite of what I'd anticipated. It was calm and sane as I walked downstairs into the prep kitchen; Mexican radio piping out of a flour dusted boom box, the butcher hand mincing lamb for a lamb ragout, another prep cook picking basil leaves and coring tomatoes. Something about Mexican music and foreign languages being spoken around me always makes me nostalgic for my time in restaurant kitchens…

Manny, a soft spoken and friendly Salvadoran, has been the resident pasta maker at Barolo for eight years and also moonlights as a pasta maker for other restaurants around the city. We started out the morning making 24 lbs. of pasta dough with eggs and durum flour; kneeding the dough in a giant mixer (you’d need Andre the Giant to kneed that amount of dough by hand!). He offered up the recipe: 18 lbs. of durum flour, 6 lbs. of a.p. flour, 50-something eggs. I declined writing it down, I don’t think I will ever be making that much pasta! Manny said he doesn’t need a recipe; he just goes by how it feels. And all along, as the dough was kneeding, Manny would grab a lump of dough and show me how the dough should feel – not too wet, not too dry, not too soft, not too hard. I fed a few pounds of dough at a time through a large pasta roller, which squished it out in thinner and thinner sheets - #3 for spaghetti, #1 for papparadell and ravioli.

We rolled and cut – busting out pounds of hand cut papparadell, linguini and spaghetti. Then we moved on to the ravioli making. Manny mixed up a batch of filling; ricotta, mascarpone, parmesan and lots of fresh herbs. After dusting them with semolina, he draped the ravioli molds with long, thin sheets of dough and showed me how to pipe in the filling. He worked like a machine, his dough was perfect, not a ripple out of place as he piped in the filling. Of course, when it was my turn to start piping, my raviolis really stood out – because each one was a different size! I didn’t quite have the trained precision that this pasta master had…

He said it was a slow day for him, not a lot to make (besides the 24 lbs. we’d just busted out), so we toured the walk-ins and he pointed out the black farfalle he’d made with squid ink, the chestnut linguini made with chestnut and chickpea flour, the cocoa pasta, apple and cheese filled ravioli’s, etc. Then, of course, it came time to sample and the chef set me up with a plate of apple and cheese filled ravioli’s with a lamb ragout. The ravioli’s were much lighter than expected and the lamb ragout was a delicious accompaniment to the mildly sweet filling.

On the way home, I stopped at the Buon Italia in the Chelsea Market and picked up chestnut, chickpea, durum and semolina flours to test out my new pasta making skills, and indoctrinate my new, hand-crank pasta machine…

Tomorrow I’ll be hanging with pastry chef Surbhi Sahni at the Indian restaurant Devi, on 18^th Street in Manhattan, picking up some new tricks to bring to the Caribbean with me…

Ahhh, life is good.

Brooklyn Beet Off 2006

1st Annual Brooklyn “Beet” Off:

September 2006

Location: Kitchen Stadium Brooklyn

The Ingredient:
Beets

The Rules:

Use of Goat Cheese is Strictly Forbidden,

Arugula and Candied Walnuts are Highly Discouraged.

Wine must be a Chilled Red.

Iron Chef Amuse-Bouche: Cristina

Iron Chef Entrée: Michelli

Iron Chef Main: Greg

Iron Chef Dessert: Ian

~~~~~~~

Amouse~Bouche:

Pan Seared Garam Masala Dusted Sea Scallops

Served in a Roasted Cipolini Cup

Red Beet, Bitter Orange, Cipolini and Pepita Chutney

Garnished with Beet Green-Chive Puree, Honeyed-Beet Puree and Toasted Coconut

Medici Ermete Reggiano Solo Tenuta Quercioli 2005

Entrée:

Beets Three Ways

La Poussie Sancerre 2003

Vodka Flambéed Golden Beet Soup

Roasted Golden Beets, Roasted Golden Tomatoes and Yellow Peppers

Candy Cane Beet Ravioli

With Salt Cod Ricotta and Garnished with Fresh Pea Shoots

Raw Yellow Pepper Pesto

Caprese Salad of Smoked Mozzerella, Tomatillos, Roasted Beets

And Sautéed Beet Greens in a Mustard-Lemon Vinaigrette

Main:

Red Beet Ricotta Lasagna with Fresh Egg Noodles

Garlic-Onion Bechamel, Greyere and Parmesan

Tuscan Bread with a Grape Must and Pumpkin Pesto

Salad of Wild Field Greens, Heirloom Tomatoes and Aged Balsamic Vinegar

Cantine Federiciane Monteleone Peninsola Sorrentina Gragnano 2005

Dessert:

Curried Farmers-Cheese Cheese Log

In a Sweet Beet Chip Cradle

Salted-Caramel and Roasted Golden Beet Ice Cream

And Red Beet Sorbet

Drizzled with White Truffle Honey

Les Clos De Paulilles Banyuls Rimage 2003

~~~

It was late in the afternoon and between the rain and endlessly subways delays, the cause of which came in a barely discernable announcement over the din of crackling loudspeakers and subway station acoustics, my trip to the Grand Army Farmers Market and to my favorite fish monger, Fish Tales in Cobble Hill, ended up taking ten times longer than expected. I jumped on the subway home, but I knew by my second transfer and making the trains within seconds of each other, that my luck would soon run out. And it did, at 59^th Street when suddenly and without warning, the train was being put out of commission and there would be no more subways running on that line for the foreseeable future. Accepting my lot in life living on the worst possible subway line in New York City, rather than wait for a train that my never come, I hopped off and hoofed it the remaining 16 blocks to my house, weighed down with bags of scallops, beets, wine and various other ingredients. In three hours, three friends, all fellow professional cooks, would be arriving for our 1^st Annual Brooklyn Beet Off, and I hadn’t even begun cooking. Iron Chef “Beets”, we’d been talking about it for weeks with the enthusiasm of five year olds at Christmas time. So many ideas, so many things we could do, and of course the double-entendres flowed like cheap beer at a college tailgate...

I’d walked through the farmers market, a basket of perfect cipolini onions called to me, for what, I wasn’t sure but I’d find some way of incorporating them into tonight’s dish. Back at home I carved them into little cipolini cups and began roasting them off in the oven while I prepared the chutney, beet green puree, beet puree and other little garnishes. Beet tops, a fresh and healthy plumage in green and red, made for a festive centerpiece jammed into an antique Ball Mason jar; with cinnamon sticks, nutmeg, peppercorns and chili’s working their way into the final display. I set the table, worked my way through my prep list and tried not to think too much about what everyone else might be doing (lest I starting get nervous about it).

At 7o’clock the doorbell rang. I felt as if Morimoto himself was waiting, I hurriedly rushed to greet my friends. Like a troupe of Cheshire Cats, they pranced through my door with their tales in the air, grinning from ear to ear. Each one of us knew we had stretched our imaginations and had something great up our sleeve. Michelli set to unpacking quart containers on to the speed rack. Ian was put to task on the laptop picking out this evenings soundtrack and Greg had the ever important task of making room in the refrigerator for the wine and assisting me with concocting some sort of martini. Throwing together seemingly random ingredients we created an espresso-coconut martini with a cardamom-sugar rim. Several toasts and a round of fresh pomegranate martini’s later and we were sufficiently lubricated set to begin.

I was the first up with an amuse-bouche. Amuse-bouches are fun because the possibilities are endless and it can be a little bite of just about anything, as long as it’s pretty and flavorful. An amuse make people feel doted upon and taken care of because it’s a surprise, something they weren’t expecting. And, because it’s just a simple bite, it’s a great opportunity to play up expensive ingredients – in my case, day boat scallops.

I sprinkled the scallops in garam masala, a blend of cumin, cinnamon, cardamom, cloves, black pepper and nutmeg and then pan seared them. For the chutney, I caramelized cipolini’s, deglazed the pan with fresh orange juice and added orange zest, bitter orange marmalade, sugar, currants, pepita’s and spices. I did my best Kandinsky on the plate in beet puree and pureed beet tops, a roasted cipolini cup with two scallops topped with the beet chutney and garnished with toasted coconut, pepitas and long chives. Against black ceramic plates, the colors were bold and bright and made for a nice presentation. I only hoped that they would be as tasty in the mouth – and I think they were…

Prepared to be impressed, I watched as Michelli plated her masterpiece of Beets Three Ways. Roasted golden beets, roasted yellow peppers and roasted yellow tomatoes pureed into a bright golden soup and ladled into antique art-deco champagne glasses was lush and rich – the roasted vegetables giving it dimension and texture; thinly sliced candy cane beets fashioned into ravioli wrappers with an ethereal bacalla-ricotta filling and a raw yellow pepper pesto was fresh and vibrant in both presentation and flavor; beet “caprese” salad with smoked mozzarella and tomatillos all made for a sublime creation, beautifully presented and a delight to eat. Her pairing with an ‘03 La Poussie Sancerre was perfection.

Still basking in the glory of Italy’s World Cup win and in celebration of an up coming trip, Greg went strictly Italian with his creation, not only with his use of the Italian colors on his plate – but with his delicate pasta and bright, farmers market greens and heirloom tomato salad. Layering fresh egg noodles with a beet and ricotta mixture gave the lasagna a bright and festive look, the béchamel was light and well balanced, not heavy and laden as can often be the case, so the beets shined through and the sweetness was a nice counterpoint to the sauce. His use of Gruyere was a masterful act in that it added depth and dimension and played off of the more subtle flavors. Of course, Gruyere is a French cheese – but it’s said that Catherine di Midici’s cooks taught the French everything they know about food, so one way or another it can all be traced back to Italian.

The piece de resistance came in the form of dessert. None of us having a clue what the other was doing, we could only have imagined what this course would be like… The salted-caramel and roasted golden beet ice-cream with truffled honey was rich and intoxication, thick and creamy almost like a gelato, the contrast of salty and sweet played a game with our pallets and immediately making addicts of us all. The salt pushed and the sugar pulled and when the creamy-rich-salty-sweet became too much, a bite of the red beet sorbet proved to be the perfect pallet cleanser. Accompanying this heavenly creation was a curried farmers-cheese cheese log piped into a sweet-crispy beet chip – again a play on flavors and textures – and our taste buds loved it.

By the end of it all we were drunk on laughter, lively conversation and lots and lots of wine. And as my kindergarten teacher would say, “we’re all winners”.

For the next Brooklyn Iron Chef: Chestnuts paired with wines from the Mediterranean. Stay tuned…

Up for interpretation...

I had just begun working an internship at a restaurant in Paris. It was the first professional kitchen I had ever worked in and to say that I was a little naive to the inner workings of a restaurant kitchen could be the greatest misnomer of the 21st century. I walked into the kitchen timid and soft spoken (oh yes, there once was a time where I was actually timid and soft spoken. Thank god I got over that!); nervous but excited about cooking in a foreign country; and with delusions of grandeur built up by too many friends saying, “oh you’re such a great cook; you should really be a chef”, and actually believing them, along with foolishly romantic ideas about what working for the French would actually be like. Add to my complete and utter delusional state, the hubristic notion that since I’d already had a successful profession as a software developer on Wall St., I’d somehow have instant respect in the bowels of a French kitchen. The proverbial ass kicking that ensued (for many years to follow) was humbling, to say the least…

My first day in the kitchen I was a complete rube; every five seconds driving the chef crazy with, “chef, where are the bain maries”, “chef, where are the sheet trays”, “chef, where are the bandaids?”. Within hours of stepping into the kitchen she said to me, “Look before you ask, Cristina. Look, look!” and with that, sent me packing to the basement with two crates of tomatoes for coring and quartering, and a stern warning, “don’t get blood on anything!”. For the next four months, my home was that basement. My vegetable peeler and pairing knife, an extension of my hand as my main task every day was to peel cases of white asparagus and quarter cases of tomatoes. “In New York you have Mexicans, in Paris we have Americans” I was informed by the kitchen staff.

Everyday after lunch service the crew would wash down the kitchen from floor to ceiling and then take two or three hours off before returning for dinner service. I, on the other hand, would stay and prep vegetables for ratatouille, cut and toast hundreds upon hundreds of croutons, slice buckets of onions, blend gallons of tapanade and then go home before dinner service began. One day the chef had asked me to bake off some bread. I was excited; I was actually allowed to touch the stove! And in a moment of bumbling stupidity, I asked her how long I should bake it for. She looked at me perplexed and screamed, “Until it’s done, Cristina. Until it’s done!”.

But that was long ago…

An invaluable part of cooking is not just following weights and measures, temperatures and cooking times, but knowing how something should look, taste, smell and feel. There are many variables in cooking (which increase 10-fold cooking on a yacht). Humidity affects moisture content when you’re making bread dough; every oven is calibrated differently (which is why it’s important to have a thermometer in your oven); different pans handle differently and so forth. It’s important to know how to interpret a recipe and how to adjust it. But once you understand how to look at food, how to see beyond a recipe, envision what the final product should be and make the adjustments to get it there (rather than complain that the recipe said something would take eight minutes to cook and it actually took ten), that is when you are really cooking…

In my final week in Paris, I finally made a friend. Her name was Angelique, she was a writer and had a small apartment overlooking the Pere Lachaise cemetery; which I thought was infinitely cool since my pubescent heart-throb and rebel roll model, Jim Morrison, was buried there (of course, at the time, my naivety also included a complete lack of appreciation for the great Oscar Wilde, Chopin and Moliere – all of whom are also buried at Pere Lachaise). We planned a small dinner party one night at her apartment and I was to cook the entrée, salmon with a buerre blanc sauce and ratatouille; a recipe from culinary school that I was certain would impress my new French friend. We bought baguettes and sausage to nibble on before dinner and she and her sister made dessert. As I studiously followed my recipe for buerre blanc; adding the specified amount of peppercorns, herbs, shallots and wine and carefully weighing the butter, Angelique roared ahead with her cake making sans recipe. Fearlessly scooping flour with a coffee cup, cracking eggs into a bowl without counting them, scooping sugar with a soup spoon, adding pinches of spices and chopped fruit, she made a cake of unsurpassed perfection and I though to myself, “holy sh*t, what am I doing with this stupid recipe?”.

Of course, there is plenty to learn from a recipe; balance, complexity, layering flavors, new techniques, different cooking methods, etc. But cooking is a tactile craft and requires the use of all of your senses; seeing, smelling, touching, tasting. And recipes are merely guidelines; one should never be afraid to experiment, interpret and tweak.

And with that, here is my recipe for the day:

Crepes in orange-buttered rum sauce:
(make the sauce first, as it can reduce while you are working out your crepe batter)

Orange Butter and Rum Sauce

1 cup butter, cut into small pieces
2 cups freshly squeezed orange juice
1 cups sugar
2 ½ tablespoons dark rum
1 tablespoon grated orange zest
1 ½ teaspoons freshly grated nutmeg

In a small sauce pan, combine orange juice, sugar and nutmeg. Bring to a simmer and reduce by half. Add rum and orange zest and return to a simmer for five minutes. Set flame to lowest setting and whisk in butter, piece by piece, until incorporated. Do not allow it to boil as this will “break” the sauce (i.e. the butter fat and solids will separate and the sauce will look oily).

Pour a small amount of sauce into a small sauté pan. Add the (already cooked) crepe and swirl it around. Fold the crepe in half and then in a loose triangle. Using a spatula, gently lift it out of the pan and place it on the plate. Drizzle with a little more sauce (if needed), sprinkle with orange zest and toasted coconut…

Sweet Crepes:

A mound of flour (about 1 ½ cups)
3 eggs
A spoonful of sugar
Pinch of salt
Milk, enough to make the batter not to thick and not too thin.
Butter (for cooking)

Whisk the eggs, sugar, salt and flour together adding milk slowly and fully incorporating into batter. Batter should be coat a spoon, slightly thick, but not too thick. Taste it, does it need more salt or sugar? Add some if necessary. Pass batter through a sieve. Heat a non-stick pan and rub it down with a buttered paper towel. Pour in a small amount of crepe batter and turn pan to evenly spread. If crepe is too thick, add a little more milk to the batter. Crepe should be thin and lacy. When crepe is browned on one side, carefully lift it with a spatula (I find it easier to use my fingers, but I’m also a sadist) and flip it over. Cook until evenly browned on second side. Spread cooked crepes out on a sheet pan or plate, don’t pile them up as they will steam and stick together. Complete with the buttered rum sauce…

I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts

Chilled Cucumber, Avocado and Watercress Soup

Whole Roasted Wild Black Bass with an Herb Pistou

Grilled Escarole with Lemon

Wild Rice Salad with Toasted Almonds, Cranberries, Mint and Raspberry Vinaigrette

Coconut-Espresso Panna Cotta with Chocolate Sauce and Toasted Coconut Shavings

~~

I cooked for a client yesterday at their lovely vacation hideaway on Fire Island. The kitchen had open, airy, floor to ceiling glass walls and a full view of the gardens including a vast expanse of green grass and a drop-off pool that melted into the Sound. The view was stunning, I watched wind surfers and kite surfers cruising across the water, and was reminded, once again, just how much I miss the Caribbean… But the view, with the added benefit of an eight burner Viking range stove and concrete and chopping block counter tops peeled me away from my nostalgia, if only momentarily. And yet, even with all that, working on land still seems slightly mundane. In fact, life on land seems slightly mundane…

The Caribbean season is right around the corner and I can already feel that sun shining down on my shoulders, the cool, clear water splashing around my ankles, the smell of the salty air and the taste and tingle of an ice-cold beer sliding down my throat… Mmmmm beer, as Homer would say…

On one of my trips last season, aboard the ketch, we were anchored out in Tabogo Cays with guests aboard. The captain had made espresso for everyone and I happen to have an open can of coconut milk, so I added some to my espresso – then of course, the captain put some in his and brought some to the guests and it turned out to be a hit.

This got me thinking… I’ve had Coconut Panna Cotta on my mind lately but I wasn’t sure if I should just replace the milk entirely with coconut milk, or do a 50/50 split. So, I was playing around the kitchen the other day and I decided to test out a few recipes.

The first batch I made with just coconut milk, to which I added sugar and gelatin and steeped with nutmeg. This batch came out tasty, if not a bit sweet. What I learned though is that although I knew that coconut milk separated in the can, it didn’t occur to me that might happen after I poured the mixture into the molds. And, when I went to un-mold the dessert, low and behold, it had separated. This didn’t pose too major of a problem, as it still gelled, but the clear coconut water had separated and gelled on the bottom and the coconut milk gelled on top.

Seperated Coconut Milk from Batch #1

For the next batch, I used equal parts coconut milk and half-and-half and the same amount of sugar, nutmeg and gelatin as batch #1. The addition of dairy added another dimension to the panna cotta entirely. The texture was more rich and creamy and the dairy gave the dessert an almost custard quality, the coconut flavor was slightly more subtle but still distinct and it didn’t taste nearly as sweet as the batch made with just coconut milk. As well, the coconut milk didn’t separate, at least not discernibly so. Although I thought both batches were delicious, the addition of milk made for a more luxurious dessert and enhanced both the flavor and texture.

Next, I played around with the addition of espresso. First I added espresso to the mixture containing just coconut milk. And, well, it made the coconut fat solids really stand out. The solids didn’t melt enough, even when heated, to give the base a homogenized color. Instead, it looked kind of gross so I tossed it and didn’t bother adding the gelatin. Then I made another batch with coconut milk, half and half and espresso and, well, it was bliss – even better than the version without the espresso.

And finally, I had to do the deconstructionist thing and make an espresso gelee which I poured on top of the 50/50 batch (without espresso). Un-molded, it looked beautiful, but my gelee was a little too strong so I’ll have to work that one out. All things considered though, my top pick is the 50/50 batch with the espresso added right into the mixture. And, well, the guests loved it. In fact, they said the food was better than going to a restaurant – and that is the reason I love what I do…

Coconut Panna Cotta

(serves 10 – 12)

2 cups coconut milk

2 cup half and half (light cream or whole milk would work fine)

1/2 cup sugar

Pinch of fresh grated nutmeg (or ground cardamom)

5 sheets gelatin, softened in cold water

3 rounded teaspoons espresso powder *optional

(Medalgio D’Oro brand instant espresso coffee)

12 2 oz. ramekins or molds

Combine coconut milk, milk, sugar, spices and espresso in a pot and bring to a simmer. Add softened gelatin and stir until dissolved. Portion into ramekins or molds and refrigerate overnight. To un-mold, remove from refrigerate and allow to stand for five minutes and then invert onto a plate. Dipping the outside of the ramekin in hot water will help release the dessert, but I also find that it speeds the melting process and the panna cotta can become drippy. It’s best to leave the panna cotta out until it loosens up on it’s own. Garnish with toasted coconut, chocolate sauce and mango.

Voila.

(I'm working on my photography here people. bare with me, I'm better with knives than I am with a camera...)

On the Horizon

It’s been over three months since I’ve set foot on a boat, and what an adventure land life is… I missed New York’s ethnic markets so much before I’d left on my Caribbean voyage; but to tromp through China Town in the dog days of summer, or to get in a taxi cab even, is a full-frontal olfactory assault. My eyes sear from the smells walking down the street and my sinuses have crawled into the back of my head seeking refuge. I’m afraid my adenoids have gone on sabbatical, never to return. I’m not attuned to this city life anymore and I’m feeling slightly out of step…

Friends have offered me catering work, job referrals, even the opportunity to buy out my former employers’ gourmet food business. But I feel like a ghost in the material world – the light beckons me, and that light is the sun reflecting off of the clear, cool waters of the Caribbean. I can’t possibly imagine doing anything else… Land is nice, sea is better…

Through the wonders of internet (Skype and email), I’ve been keeping in touch with my yachty friends from the Caribbean who are now scattered about the globe; the Mediterranean, Adriatic, South Pacific and New England. They’ve been asking when I’ll be able to return to the boat world and keeping me abreast of their adventures…

I’d met a gal in St. Martin she was one of my roommates at the crew house and had come from South Africa to join a yacht as a stewardess. She had every proof of employment from the yacht, but had to go to Barbados to get her B1-B2 visa before she started her position. Upon arriving in Barbados, she was denied her work visa because the consulate said that she didn’t have enough ties to South Africa and was afraid she wouldn’t return. An unfortunate predicament for many South Africans yachties that I’d met along the way… To add insult to injury, upon returning to St. Martin, her passport was taken by authorities at the airport because they said she only had a single entry visa. They gave her two weeks to remain in the country and informed her that she could not have her passport back until she was leaving…

The crew house and yachty circuit was abuzz with her dilemma. We were brainstorming on what we could do to get her passport back, get her a work visa, etc. It’s St. Martin, there had to be an official that we could bribe… The boat she was to be employed on couldn’t pull any strings and couldn’t employ her. I left for Antigua and my friend’s day of departure back to South Africa was close at hand… So, I was thrilled to get an email from her recently that she had gotten a job as a decky aboard another yacht. The captain was able to get her passport back and secure her a B1-B2 visa for the trip to Florida, as well as a Shengen visa for the Mediterranean. She’d just taken some time off and been traveling around England and Italy and sounded like she was having a great time!

Some friends that I had made in Grenada and sailed back up to St. Martin with are based on a boat in Annapolis and they came up and spent a week with me here in New York. A few weeks later they sailed into Sag Harbor and dropped off a charter. I met up with them and as we cruised out to the yacht on the dinghy, the wind in my face, I felt at home again…

Over the course of the past month my knee has gotten much, much better and after an MRI, the doctor has said that I don’t need surgery! I’ve been doing physical therapy two days a week as well as a litany of exercises every day at home. Don’t be fooled, p.t. does not stand for physical therapy, it stands for PAIN and TORTURE! I go back to the doctor tomorrow and am hoping that he will tell me that I can go back to work soon…

I won’t be rejoining the boat in the Mediterranean. Unfortunately they couldn’t hold my position open indefinitely and so I’ve been replaced (not that I can be replaced, but apparently, I can)… Ahhh, but life goes on. I’ve already had inquiries as to my availability from other boats that I worked on in the Caribbean that are now on the East Coast of the United States. And from what I’ve heard through other yachties, there is just as much work available here as there was down in the Caribbean. So, as soon as I get the green light from the doctor I’m going to head down to Florida and meet with some crew agencies, walk the docs and frequent the local yachty haunts to inquire about work…

Mmmm, I can almost smell the salty air (and taste the cold beer)…

Suffice to say, my sea legs are gone. It's going to take some time to re-adjusting, but hopefully my next adventure won't be quite as harrowing as this previous season... No 30 foot seas, please. Been there, done that...

Well anyway, I know I’m a slacker of a blogger… But stay tuned, the next adventure of The Wayward Chef is just over the horizon!

NATHAN 54:12

This 4^th of July comes at a time when our country struggles with a war that has divided its people, a political crisis in the White House and growing racial and religious intolerance. But it’s comforting to know that even through these troubled times; the people of our great nation can put aside their cultural, political and religious differences and come together in unity to revel in one of America’s greatest pastimes; that of Competitive Eating.

And no, I don’t mean stuffing your face at the family barbeque, although I’m sure many of you were holding eating and drinking contests of your own. What I mean is the great, the history making, annual Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest in Coney Island.

I was tempted to enter myself, but as I’m working to restore my body to its pre-Caribbean luster, I’ve given up meat (temporarily, mind you), tobacco (permanently, god-willing), and alcohol (well, not really. I have to have one vice.). And despite my pleads and calls that the judges were being discriminatory, they weren’t willing to make an exception with zucchini’s and cucumbers in place of hotdogs for fear of inciting the already overheated, overweight, beer swilling, carnivorous mob that had gathered for this years event.

I did, however, make one exception to my newly adopted “healthy lifestyle” and sucked down a dog with onions, kraut and mustard while I stood among the unwashed masses and waited for the contest to begin. The hot dog hit my stomach like a rock and remained there the rest of the day as a gentle reminder that healthy living and highly processed meat byproducts just don’t mix.

Despite my inability to convince the judges to offer a vegetarian option for the contestants, the games went on… The crowd hopeful that 22-year old Joey Chestnut, of San Jose, California would break the 5-year reign of Japan’s Emperor of competitive eating, Takeru Kobayashi. The race was neck in neck as the contestants sucked down dog after dog. Chestnut was in the lead for the first half of the contest and the crowd roared, “Joey, Joey”. Kobayashi using the “Solomon Method” he developed in 2001, breaking each dog in half, eating the two halves at once, then dipping the bun in water and eating that, left Joey in the dust as Kobayashi downed each dog with Ninja-like precision and a nimble gullet. Once again, Kobayashi held on to his title with 53.75 hot dogs in 12 minutes. That’s roughly 10 lbs. of, ummm, "meat".

The average American consumes 115 lbs. of red meat per year. Kobayashi consumed 11.5% of the national average in just 12 minutes.

And the prize for winning the “International” Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest? Two cases of Nathan’s franks.

On second thought, maybe I really don’t need to eat meat. Ever, ever again…

A Curry A Day...

As I recoup back here in NYC and await my knee surgery, I have time to test out some new recipes – a little re-organizing of the kitchen and I can sit and do my prep.

My mind is wandering though lately, the sense of wanderlust and adventure creeping back in… I found myself in Union Square, standing in the middle of a pedestrian/taxi/bike-messanger traffic jam, thinking how nice it would be if the concrete would just simply melt into sand, and the glut of people and taxi’s were instead schools of brightly colored tropical fish. I imagined, all too vividly, slipping into the warm, crystalline waters of the Caribbean…

But the blazing of taxi horns and the smell of exhaust ripped my cruelly back into reality...

I’ve heard rumors that I can buy canned callaloo here in the city, not too keen on canned, but then a friend told me that she saw fresh callaloo at an ethnic market in Queen’s. This rumor definately warrants further investigation...

It doesn’t look like I’ll be making it back to the boat world this season, which is incredibly frustrating, but it’s giving me plenty of time to research new recipes. Perhaps by satiating my taste buds with sufficiant varieties of Caribbean and other ethnic foods I can quelle my growing restlessness until, once again, I can head to bluer waters...

I found Christophine in the market in Brooklyn China Town the other day. Here in the States it is called Choyote squash, but doesn’t really resemble a squash at all. Its taste and texture are a cross between cucumber and kohlrabi. I bought some and made tangy Thai pickles out of them to go with my curry – they worked really nicely and were much crispier than using cucumbers.

Christophine/Choyote Squash:

If you happen to find them in the store, no matter how you plan on preparing them, just remember to peel them first. And peel them under running water or you will get a serious rash all over your hands! In the Caribbean, they are often steamed and mashed with ginger and coconut milk or served raw in salads.

Here are the recipes for the Christophine Pickles and Coconut Thai Curry.

Tangy Thai Christophine Pickles:

2 Christophine, peeled, cored and sliced
1/2 Cup Hot Water
1/2 Cup Sugar
1 Teaspoon Salt
3 Shallots or 1/2 Red Onion, very thinly sliced (best using a mandalin)
1 Fresh Red or Green Thai Chili, thinly sliced

Combine hot water, sugar and salt and stir until dissolved. Add vinegar and allow to cool to room temperature. In a large bowl add Christophine, Shallot and Chilies and pour over cooled vinaigrette. Chill at least 24 hours and serve cold. The Christophine hold up much better than cucumber and get better the longer they are pickled - I made mine four days ago and they just keep getting better, but I have no idea how long they will last (or if I can keep myself from eating them to find out)...

Thai Coconut Curry

2 Tablespoon Veggie Oil
1 Tablespoon Finely Chopped Garlic
2 Tablespoon Red Curry Paste
2 Cups Coconut Milk
2 Cups Chicken Broth
2 Teaspoon Curry Powder
2 Tablespoon Soy Sauce
1 Teaspoon Sugar
1 Teaspoon Salt
2 Tablespoons Fresh Squeezed Lime Juice
1/3 Cup Fresh Cilantro, Chopped

Optional:

1 Package Thick Fried Tofu
2 Small Carrots, Thinly Sliced
½ lb. Baby Bok Choy, Thinly Sliced (almost any veg will do)

Or:

1 lb. Boneless Chicken Thighs, cubed

Heat oil in a large, heavy bottomed pan. Add garlic and cook 2 minutes. Add curry paste and stir. If using chicken, add and cook 1 to 2 minutes. If using carrots or other thick veg that needs time to cook, add now (Bok Choy or other veggies that don’t require as much cooking time can be added after other ingredients so as not to overcook). Stir until meat/veg is combined with curry paste. Add coconut milk, chicken broth, curry powder, soy sauce, sugar and salt. Bring to a simmer. (Add chicken and simmer until cooked through or add any remaining veggies and cook until veggies are done). Stir in lime juice.

Serve with jasmine rice, thin rice noodles or thick Chinese egg noodles. Garnish with fresh cilantro.

It's only a flesh wound...

More posts to come...

But for my friends and family who are reading, here's the diagnosis:

1 - Bone fragment in my knee
2 - Torn MCL
3 - Partially torn or sprained ACL
4 - Cartilage damage
5 - Frozen joint.

Have to get an MRI, then it's looking like surgery...

Fun update!

In a previous post, “Bequia and the Return of the Prodigal Sons”, I had written about sailing from St. Martin to Bequia and how, just off of Martinique, we’d come across a seafaring rowboat with a Canadian couple aboard. At first we thought it was a life raft and we might be rescuing someone, but when we asked them if they were ok they said that they were just fine and they were rowing to Costa Rica! We came across them on Thursday, February 2^nd, 2006.

Today while searching the web I came across a website for the couple. They are circumnavigating the globe entirely on human power – rowing, biking and walking! When we saw them they were just 22 days away from completing a transatlantic crossing that took them nearly 6 months! They actually rowed into Limon, Costa Rica (from Portugal) on February 24, 2006 - twenty two days from the day we saw them!

Check out their adventure - you can read about them and see pictures. Presently, they are biking across North America and are expected to finish up their circumnavigation on May 21, 2006.

Their home page:
http://www.expeditioncanada.com/expedition.htm

Pictures of the transatlantic crossing in the row boat:
http://www.expeditioncanada.com/photos/thumbnails.php?album=40

Unfortunately, I get seasick looking at a bowl of soup so no rowboat crossings for me...

Home again, home again...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Can someone bring me some cheese? ;o)

Fish Out of Water

The boat in the yard:


Rigging going up:


Dillon hanging from the mast:


Today was a big day. The rigging went up; a process which took the entire day and one very big crane… The guys finished just as a giant rainstorm hit. I was in the kitchen putting away all the provisions I’d shopped for today when I heard the blip-blop of rain on the hatch. Then, I heard the scampering of feet running overhead and all the boys came barreling into the boat. It was a big accomplishment to get the rigging up, and that everything fit properly. This means that tomorrow we go into the water, and then the sails will go on. Now it is a mad dash to get everything ready to set sail on Monday or Tuesday…

I spent hours this morning on the phone talking to my meat and fish purveyors and placing orders. On Friday morning I’m picking up 160 lbs. of fish including sea bass, sea bream, salmon, halibut, cod, tilapia, calamari, shrimp and scallops. On Saturday I’ll be picking up almost 200 lbs. meat and cheese including beef, lamb, pork, quail, duck, venison, a whole proscutto, cured meats and sausages. I’m a little freaked out about how much I’ve ordered but Dario told me to provision the meat and fish for six months – including parties.

We have a deep-freeze unit, called a coffin. I’m tempted to make the crew get in just so I can figure out how much it will hold! I’m holding my breath… I’m also holding my breath to find out how much my meat order is. My fish order is $1,600! And I’m guessing my meat at about $2k. Other provisions are probably going to total another $2k. I have spreadsheets with all my prices on them and have been haggling between my purveyors for the best deals. I’ve got Quicken on my laptop now and have to keep detailed accounts of everything I spend, as well as all my receipts for Dario to go through to make sure that I stay in line and am not feeding the crew Kobe beef. I’m basically running a small restaurant on the boat. Only I’m open for breakfast, lunch and dinner and the menu changes every single day…

Dario was on the boat for dinner tonight. I hadn’t expected that he would be here as he doesn’t usually stay on the boat when we are out of water at the Marina. So, this was the first time that I cooked for him. He walked into the kitchen and said, “what’s cooking, chef boy-r-dee?”. Is now a good time to tell him that I call him Papa Smurf?

I made my own version of fajitas for dinner tonight; black beans with Chorizo, sautéed Portobello mushrooms, zucchini and red onions, roasted red peppers, roasted pablanos, and fried queso fresco. The queso fresco that I found was really firm, much like Hallumi, and it cooked up really nicely. Papa Smurf asked me if I was cooking tofu, I think he was relieved that I wasn’t. Everyone, including Dario, enjoyed dinner and they said that they wished I had been there all summer (but I can honestly say, I’m glad I wasn’t because it would’ve really sucked to spend a summer in a boat yard in Staten Island).

Dario designed this sailboat and had it custom built in South Africa. It took five years to build and was completed in 1993. He had built four other 88 foot sailboats before embarking on this one, which was the realization of a dream. This past year, while the boat was in the Caribbean, the mast snapped in half. Amazingly, it didn’t cause any significant damage to the boat. But the 150 foot mast, originally built in Holland, had to be shipped back there for repairs and then back to be New York to be replaced on the boat. It took two giant cranes to get the mast back on the boat, bigger cranes than the one used today…

As I walk through the boat, I feel as though I’m in a humidor. The interior is almost entirely wood – all of it polished to a high-shine (and all the responsibility of that, thankfully, is on the steward and the deckie). It’s a very handsome boat.

Big day tomorrow, must sleep…

Aboard the boat...

It’s early Wednesday morning and I’m sitting up on deck as I write this. I slept like a baby my first night on the boat because it was the first time in three weeks I haven’t been wondering what the boat is going to be like!

I came on board Monday morning as planned. The crew greeted me and helped me bring my bags and cookbooks on board. I had packed and re-packed so many times, afraid that I had brought too much, but Sheila laughed and said she was amazed that I had packed so little. It feels good to know that I can pack for six months with only two bags…

When the crew and I started talking they told me that their favorite foods were curry and a good Bolognese. Coincidence?

My bunk-mate, Christian, and also the steward and my part-time sous-chef couldn’t be a better person. He’s a pseudo-vegetarian with a weakness for Andouille, a philosophy degree and a basket full of $2 words. At first, I was a little concerned when he said he was a vegetarian as that meant one person that I would have to cook separately for but he said that he was pretty lose about it and that he was still a foodie and wanted to hear and see the things I was making. I told him that I was making a cod stew with Andouille and he said he likes a little Andouille now and then. He also likes a little duck now and then too, but I saw completely through his façade when he did a face plant down the front of the boat and when I gave him a D’Artagnan ice-pack for his split lip and sprained wrist – he looked at the ice pack and remarked how he couldn’t understand how anyone, even a “vegetarian” like himself, could resist foie gras. It’s only a matter of time before he comes to the dark side… (D’Artagnan is a distributor of foie gras and other specialty ingredients).

Aubrey (a.k.a. “Leatherman”), our engineer, is a really nice fellow. Aubrey’s been on the boat the longest, over three years. He has an old-school work ethic and sense of loyalty which I think everyone on the boat respects and appreciates. He also has a great sense of humor and is a little bit shy and after dinner he usually disappears down to the engine room with his laptop and Alias DVD’s. On a boat with four others where privacy can sometimes be lacking, I think he’s happy to be in his own little world down there.

Dillon, the deckhand, always has a big smile on his face and is quick with the jokes and the witty/ sarcastic remarks. He’s made himself the official kitchen taster and if I’m cooking, he’s always nearby with a spoon in his hand… After dinner he usually retires to the roof to smoke – but given his sense of humor and his constant need to snack, I can only wonder what it is he’s smoking!

Shiela is the stewardess that will be leaving us when we arrive in St. Barth’s. She is a wealth of information and has taken the time to show me where everything is on the boat. She’s been keeping the crew fed and the pantry stocked since the previous chef left and is also the one responsible for organizing all the cupboards, storage spaces, etc. We get along really well and I’ll be sad to see my one female companion go…

All in all, the crew gets along well and enjoys each others company. Everyone is very positive and there is a good sense of camaraderie, friendly banter and always a joke or a sarcastic or witty remark being tossed about.

Everyone is in especially good spirits considering they’ve been living aboard the boat in an industry ship year in the middle of nowhere for the past three months! But just as much, everyone is really itching to get the hell out of here and be in the Caribbean.

The boat is actually still out of the water. The rigging arrived yesterday and today it will all go up. We should be back in the water by tomorrow, a process which I can’t wait to see!

We are shooting to set sail by Monday or Tuesday. I did a big shopping trip to Kalustyan’s and China Town yesterday to stock up on spices and ingredients for the pantry. Today I’ll do a big Costco trip for more dry goods. And between Friday and Saturday I’ll be picking up over 300 lbs. of fish and meat which will all have to be portioned, vacuum sealed and frozen! And I’ll have to make a few more MRE’s before we leave…

The crew has been living off of hot-dogs, Campbell’s Mushroom Soup and pasta for the past three months so I made my culinary debut with pan roasted salmon, vegetables in coconut red curry, basmati rice and chocolate chip cookies. It’s always nice to feed an appreciative audience…

I don’t think I could have picked a better working environment. And I have a feeling that the adventure ahead is going to be really, really fun…

Last Broadcast From Brooklyn - and it's about time!

"One doesn't discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time." ~Andre Gide

Well my little grass-fed, free-range chick-a-dees, I am happy to report that this will be my last post from my ghetto-fabulous Brooklyn abode for tomorrow morning I am off to Staten Island to join rank with my fellow yachties…

Yes, yes. You’ve heard me say this before. But at 6:15 this evening I picked up a car from Dario to load up my belongings, food and groceries and in the morning I drive down to the marina and board the boat…

The adventure has finally begun…

People have asked me if I’m scared about going on this adventure, but what is there to be afraid of? In mid-February, when you all are freezing your lil' buns off, curled up next to your noisy, steamy radiator with a box of tissues and some Thera-Flu, in your over priced studio apartment, listening to Jeff Buckley again and again and wondering if that guy/girl you hooked up with at Automatic Slims the other night, while you were on a post-blizzard bar crawl, is ever going to call – I’ll be cooking for five people on a private yacht in St. Barths and in my free time I'll be working on my tan, enjoying a gin and tonic or three, catching up on my reading, learning to scuba dive, and well, ya’ know... So, what exactly is there to fear? sharks? A shortage of limes, perhaps? Price gouging on suntan oil?

Although I’m not scared, as in paralyzed by fear or afraid of something terrible happening, I do have that "looking out of an airplane door with a parachute strapped to my back and thinking holy shit, I’m actually going to jump” sort of a feeling. It’s something that no amount of preparation could alleviate; a combination of excitement, anticipation, anxiety and maybe a little indigestion from some bad mayo on my chicken sandwich this afternoon - but I wouldn’t exactly call it 'fear'.

All jokes aside - for a moment at least - my grandma gave me some sage advice that really helped me when I was in a career funk (no, not when she suggested I move to Oregon and get a job at Applebee’s - you think I'm joking!). She said that one of the most important things in life is to be content, and that being content has nothing to do with what you do or don’t have, it’s a state of mind. Her words resonated and when I quit focusing on everything I didn’t have and instead began to appreciate the things that I did – inspiration and opportunities flowed from the most unlikely and unexpected places. And this adventure I’m about to embark on, well, I just feel extremely fortunate…

Tomorrow I jump out of the airplane and freefall into the abyss. I have no idea what the future has in store, but I can’t wait to find out!

Ok, that reads like a lead-in to Sally Field's Oscar speech... Aakkk!

I promise, from here on out, no more transgressions... Nothing but scandalous detail after scandalous detail about the eating habits of the rich and famous; the dark and seedy underworld of cooking aboard a yacht in the playground of the privileged; lecherous accounts of good food gone bad; harrowing tales of collapsing soufflés; chocolate stashes being raped and pillaged in the dead of night; a stacked and drizzled display of dining debauchery fit for a king…

Better quit while I'm ahead...

Bye everyone! I’ll try and post this week as I’m provisioning the boat – but I have no idea when I’ll have internet access again. We should be setting sail for the Caribbean by next weekend. So, if you don’t see a post from me before then, check back in early December!

Cheers,
Cristina