Windfall

Our table, after the charter.

This morning at muster Captain explained about the barge that had come up alongside us in the night – how it worked and how it’s signals worked (or were supposed to work). He’s really good at taking moments to teach us things. Last night he reviewed the near miss we'd had, and why it happened. I’m sure he doesn’t think it’s for my benefit, as the cook, but little does he know how much I appreciate it. I don't feel like I'm out of the loop. The first mate is great to me too, showing me how to tie certain knots or having me help her tighten a line. 

For lunch I made gazpacho, which I knew he wouldn’t eat. And quesadillas, which I knew he would. The first mate, whom I have yet to give a nickname – can I call her Smith? - asked me if I could make a snack at four o’clock since dinner will be late. We had a date with the City until 9 pm, involving a photoshoot and a sail with city officials. I thought, I had better do my hair.

Sometimes during the sail people will stop to talk with me about what I’m cooking. I tell them about how much I love the job. What I don’t often get into is the greatest challenge of my job: my budget. I feed eight people on $48 a day. That’s three meals for $6, per person. And that’s .50 cents more than my budget on the Neverland.

If it sounds like I make potatoes a lot – that’s because it’s one of the cheaper substantive foods I can fill them with. We go through about 20-25 pounds of potatoes each week. Since the last grocery run, I’ve made hash browns, samosas, re-baked potatoes, potato salad, home fries, corned beef hash with potatoes, potatoes with corned beef, curried potato soup… and… well, I’m sure I’m forgetting something.

The crew puts the sails away after sunset.

I try to put veggies in – but when I’m at the market I’m always looking at the price per pound. Mustard greens were less than a dollar a pound; collards were about $1.25 – I chose the mustard. And this is how my shopping run looks. I make a menu and write down, “Beef shoulder,” but get to the market and see corned beef is on sale for half what beef shoulder costs per pound… the choice becomes obvious. Again, a choice: buy granola bars at .27 cents an ounce or make them for less than .10?

You have to get creative. And you also, unfortunately, have to throw out your ideals about eating grass-fed beef and organic vegetables. The crew would starve.

When our guests from the charter departed this evening, they left behind what they didn't eat. Hurrah! I thought - that's at least three meals, if I'm smart about it.  

I would not be here today if it weren't for...

The safe haven of my galley.

We almost crashed today. We were on one of our afternoon sails. Usually I am down in the galley, making dinner. But there is a shield that I have to "tack" when the boat changes course. Otherwise the wind comes straight down the chimney and dampens the flame on the diesel stove; smoke fills the galley and bits of  creosote spit out onto the range. I just happened to be on deck tacking the shield when I looked up and noticed that the shore, and the Georgia Queen (the sight-seeing boat that docks in front of us), were closing in at great speed. And we were not heading in the right direction (that is to say, we were not facing up or down river).

Since it is my job, when we dock and undock, to position the roving fender, I ran for the fender. But I realized as I got to the bow how futile that was. Our bowsprit is over ten feet long. (Ie., we would have needed a twelve-foot fender to fend off the Georgia Queen.) The first mate called out to drop the sail and the captain steered us away under engine power.

As I walked to mid-ships, I heard the passengers were talking amongst themselves; they knew it was a close call. How could we reassure them? Turn their expectations around? Make them feel that it really was a very safe ride we were about to have? Not wanting the passengers to see that my hands were shaking from the post-adrenaline rush, I went back down into the galley.

May 23rd, Take Two

Though it's a liability if something goes wrong, in the galley I can think. So after I our close call with bowsprit destruction, I went down to my bunk and made grocery lists and menus. And thought about Mollie Katzen. If it weren't for Mollie Katzen, I would probably not be cooking today.

My mother is a fabulous cook. I didn’t realize how great she was until I went away to college and was forced to subsist on dorm food. But growing up, I didn't cook all that much, but I can’t claim to be like those chefs who were inventing ways to freeze bacon grease before they were potty trained. In fact, I don’t think I realized how much I liked to eat until college. For me college was an awakening: to the complexities of the Christian church; to the academic world; to serious discussions about life; to Bob Dylan and the Indigo Girls (thank you, Chris); and to cooking and eating well.

Molly Katsen's pickled red onions.

Somewhere during this period, I bought The Enchanted Broccoli Forrest. I cooked my way through that book. I learned to bake bread for the first time using that book. In the back there's a guide to using spices,  if one opted to go free-wheeling. What I learned most from her were flavor profiles, before chefs started using that term. 

Though I may have indeed found my way to a food-loving lifestyle without Ms. Katzen, I certainly would not have cooked what I cooked today.

For lunch I served a salad of oven-roasted zucchini, yellow squash and eggplant doused in red wine vinegar and olive oil, with chopped roma tomatoes and basil and sautéed garlic on top. (I think I actually got this from Moosewood Cooks at Home, but I wouldn’ve have discovered that cookbook without Molly either). And for dinner I’m making Re-baked Potatoes according to Mollie’s recipe.

I do not have either The Enchanted Broccoli Forrest or the Moosewood Cookbook with me on this trip. My copies are battered and torn and re-glued along the seams and reinforced with packing tape. I feared for the fate on a schooner. Besides, I no longer really need them. The recipes are so ingrained in me, I have only to think about polenta, say, and her recipe for polenta pizza comes to mind. Curried Potato Soup. Artichoke Pasta. Cabbage and blue cheese sandwiches. Marianted Red Onions. I left the books with my sister and told her to treat them very carefully.

A few weeks went by before she wrote to say that she was preparing to make dinner that night and brought out the Moosewood cookbooks.  Her two-year-old son was at the table eating an orange for his snack and he looked at her and said, "That's C-C's cookbooks."

Wednesday's Menu

Oven-roasted eggplant and squash salad.

Breakfast

Sausage gravy and biscuits

Lunch

Meatball Subs

Dilly Beans

Oven-roasted vegetable salad

Carrot sticks

Leftover potato salad

Dinner

Deconstructed Corned Beef and Cabbage: Corned Beef, homemade bread, Re-baked potatoes, carmelized carrots, and coleslaw

Dessert

Ritz-Carlton Brownies

Le Creuset, Le Creuset, How I Love Le Creuset

My galley's cookware drawer.

If you know me well, you know I have sworn by my Calphalon pots for years. A wedding gift by someone in my ex-huband’s family (thank you very much, ex-relatives), I have used them well. I carried them piece by weighty piece in suitcases on each trip I made when I moved to Sweden, and then again, I carried them piece by piece back with me when I returned to the U.S. When I moved onto my grandfather’s boat, I took a cast-iron skillet and the four-quart Calphalon pot. Most of my pot and pans – excluding the large skillet – look brand new.

But until I boarded this boat, I had not been formally introduced to Le Cruset. The affair has a time limit; I know that after this six-month’s absence, I will say good-bye and watch Le Cruset sail away. I will go back to my Calphalon, because I could never afford to replace it, and besides, it’s really been good to me. But for now – ah! how I love Le Cruset. It heats up instantly and keeps the heat so well. I can throw the dough in the pot and have it come out as bread with a thicky crusty shell – even though the oven temp is barely over 350 degrees.

I love how easy it is to clean. And I love that although this set is heavily used and who-knows-how-old, it still works like it’s brand new.

Today I used almost every pot. And for dinner, I made my best-loved meal yet. Reminder to self: the crew likes BBQ. Then again, who doesn't?

Tuesday's Menu

Breakfast

Cheese grits and sausage

Lunch

Spaghetti Marinara; freshly-baked no-knead bread and salad

Dinner

Pulled pork sandwiches

Homemade rolls

Potato salad

"BBQ" butternut squash for the vegetarian

Coleslaw

Braised greens

Dessert

Rice Krispy Treats

Braised greens, as I learned to make them 

at Somewhere in Manhattan.

Broiled BBQ butternut squash (with cayenne, brown sugar
and cider vinegar.)

Slow-cooked barbecue pork butt.

A little land time goes a long way

Bly and Rigby on St. Patrick's Day.

If the upside of this strange, small floating community is intimacy, then the downside is the lack of privacy. Given my satisfaction with the way the previous evening ended, you might be surprised to learn that on my day off, the only thing I wanted was to be completely alone.

The City of Savannah has booked us a hotel room for every night we're in town. We use it for showers, but the crew also rotates through so that everyone gets to sleep there once a week. I had been anticipating that I would get the hotel room on Sunday night, since the old cook had been on the rotation and got Sunday, and since Monday is the cook’s only day off. Let me say that again: it's the only day I get to sleep in. 

Well, I could have the room – but I would have to share it with Rigby. Don’t get me wrong. He’s a nice guy. (The washwoman at the hotel across the street even went so far as to call him sexy.) But having Rigby in the opposite bed was not my idea of being alone. I would be more alone in my bunk. I was tired. I was a little peeved. And I wasn’t thinking. I booked my own room at the Westin. Where I slept. And took a bath. And then spent six hours on Monday doing my taxes.

Then I went to the gym and ran four miles. As I lay in the sauna, I couldn't help thinking about all hotels I've stayed in, all the workout rooms I've used, and the fact that my mother said I'd really miss all that once I left my corporate job. Okay, so maybe I have. Just a little.

Curse of the picky eater captains

At lunchtime I typed on my Facebook page that I had just watched the captain take the pimiento cheese off his sandwich. Have you ever tasted pimiento cheese? Besides being delicious, it's totally innocuous. Not spicy. Not hot. It doesn't even add much texture.


Kackan, my Swedish friend from the Neverland (my former boat), responded that I was cursed with picky eaters for captains. And it's true. Though I really think I'm going to like our main captain, who's on break right now, she doesn't like... onions!!!

Sunday’s Menu
Breakfast:

Cheese eggs (with parmesan, white pepper and cream); Mark Bittman’s banana bread with a hint of cinnamon added; and bacon
Lunch:

Pimiento cheese sandwiches, roasted tomato soup (flavored with cumin); leftover mac-n-cheese; dilly beans and grapes
Dinner:

Ham and scalloped potatoes
Coleslaw (Bobby Flay's recipe)
Biscuits
Dessert:

Chocolate chip cookies

A Dirty Story (How I Spent St. Patrick's Day)

Today was St. Patrick’s Day. Though everyone else in Savannah seemed to be partying, I spent the day cleaning and restarting a diesel stove. 

The streets are packed with drunk people dressed in green. A band set up their stage on the harborfront directly across from our boat – facing our boat – so we were serenaded all day long.

I’m exhausted. My day began before the 9 am DJ started mixing. At 3 am last night I heard someone stirring in the galley beside my bed. It was Eve. Smoke from the diesel stove was finding its way into the folks’l where she and Bly and Rigby sleep. 

Needless to say, when I heard Eve stirring again at 5:45 am, worried about the gross black stuff coming out the chimney top, we turned off the stove. I made breakfast on the hot plate and using the electric oven. Then I spent most of the rest of the day trying to start a flame in that darn stove – and then keep it alive.

Captain Morgan throws hats to the partiers.

What we discovered was that the stove was choking on its own thick ash. It wasn't burning quite hot enough - likely because I had been running the fan to contradict the draft when we were sailing yesterday... but I forgot to turn it off. The fan probably caused the fuel not to burn hot enough to burn off the residue it creates inside the firebox. Yes, I now understand (somewhat) how a diesel stove works!

Later we wandered the streets a while, marveling at the decibel level, checking out the crowd. 

Around 11, as I was crawling into bed, one of those magical moments happened - the kind I always hoped for on the Neverland. First one, then another, and then another crew member slowly congregated around my bunk until everyone but the captain was there, talking, laughing. I felt like Wendy telling bedtime stories to the Lost Boys. 

Everyone was wearing green - except this guy.

I'm Officially the Cook Now

My bunk (aka., The Apartment).

Yesterday the old cook departed, and I moved into my bunk. It's pretty exclusive. The other crew members call it The Apartment. My bunk is in the "pantryway" between the main salon and the galley. There's a door to the main salon, so I can shut off the rest of the boat if I so choose.  And there's a "head" (ship-speak for bathroom) in the pantryway, so I can even pee with the door to the head open if I want. Pretty cool. I also have a velvet curtain and my own bookshelf and cupboard. 

Bread in a Pot 

This morning I made biscuits and pitti panne (Swedish hash) for breakfast. Rigby had a friend staying over, another tall shipper, and she took us on a Home Depot run. I bought potted herbs which now sit on top the fridge.

For lunch I took the Italian roast I cooked last night and re-made it into sloppy joes by adding ground beef and ketchup and mustard.

In the afternoon we had our second sail, and while we were sailing I baked the no-kneed bread that Allen sent me the recipe for back when I got on the Neverland. It is AMAZING. I made bread in a pot! It turned out gorgeous. 

http://www.nytimes.com/2006/11/08/dining/081mrex.html

I might start making it every day. It is a hundred times easier than any loaf I've ever made - and a hundred times lovelier. You would have thought it was an artisan loaf.

"Rollovers"

At dinner our bosun, Kip, asked me what meat I had used in the enchiladas. I explained: “It started out as the beef butt I roasted last night with Italian seasoning. Then it became American today for our Sloppy Joes – and for dinner, I Mexicanized it.”

This is a new approach to leftovers that I’ve been testing: it’s the rollover method. In fact, they could be called Rollovers instead of leftovers. This way I’m sure nothing is sitting unused in the fridge because I find a way to integrate it the next day. Smart, eh?

In addition to the rollover enchiladas, I also made mushroom enchiladas, homemade tortilla chips, mango salsa, a salad with fennel and oranges, black beans and Spanish rice.

In the evening four of us trekked over to the Westin on the other side of the river and hung out, watching TV and taking showers.

A Real Adventure

Dinner included a deconstructed Waldorf (the captain doesn't like grapes).

Our first sail since I got onboard involved a small adventure. We use our "small" boat (a dingy with a motor on it) as a tug, and it died as we closed in on the dock. Had I not quickly run to the right place on the boat with the fenders, we would have crushed in the side of a large motor-yacht.

I’m responsible for fenders when setting off and returning to the dock, and I was holding them to protect our back end, where it's widest. I wasn't sure whether the captain thought he could clear it, or what was going on - but I heard the mate and the engineer tell me to run to the mid-deck. I got there just in time to lower the fender - a large, bulbish plastic ball - alongside our boat. We squished it against the yacht only a few seconds later, as the yacht owner stared dumbfounded from the dock and his wife looked terrified from inside.

It reminded me of a similar near-mishap last summer in Sweden, when we had to get our sloop out of a tight spot. I never thought then to use our fenders.

There's room for Jean-Georges in my boat

Muffin tins half-filled with batter, waiting for the ganache filling.

High drama on a flat river

Last night in the middle of the night I heard whispers at the hatch that leads down into the main salon, where I currently sleep. I jumped up and threw open the doors, upon which a teenage girl, standing less than a foot away, let out a high-pitched scream that surely woke everyone along the waterfront. “there are people sleeping on this boat,” I said. “I didn’t know she replied. “It’s not a toy I said, “We’re getting off!” And get off they did.

This was not the first time I’d heard footsteps above me in the night (and surely it won’t be the last). Because of Saint Patrick’s Day (though still several days off) the revelry is constant, day and night. The waterfront is lined with ruffians and families, spring-breakers, bands of drag queens, retirees and lovers – all dressed in green and slung with beads, their cameras all a’clicking.

This may be the most drama you get from my adventures on this new boat. It's so healthy! Everyone is kind to one another. Yesterday morning we cruised briefly down the river to test our engines, and when I asked the first mate if she could explain a few things to me, she took the time to do so.

The extended hand-off

The only other drama left to tell - and it's an episode that will soon be over - is the lingering of the Old Cook. Today he cooked breakfast. I’m not sure why he’s still here – or why he’s still working. If I had to be here, because, for instance, my plane ticket to Arizona wasn't until Wednesday, I would not be cooking anymore. I would have handed over my responsibilities and started painting the town. He spent most of yesterday – a glorious, 75-degree Sunday – in his bunk, curtains drawn.

For lunch I made linguine carbonara; ham on the side and broccoli for the vegetarian. Homemade bread. Carrot sticks and the remainder of the thai cucumber salad (which the first mate said she would not be opposed to my making gallons of).

For dinner I put out the leftover stew, made agradolce with butternut squash, yams from the Chinese Market, turnips, parsnips and potatoes. The sauce was balsamic, brown sugar and currents.

For dessert, I was inspired by the article in Saveur on Jean-Georges’ molten chocolate cake. I wondered: could I make these in muffin tins? Indeed I could. I loved the moment when the captain took his cake, put the fork in and watched the chocolate seep out. Perfect.

Completed Molten Chocolate cakes.

Day #2 - Aka., I get to cook dinner

Phad Thai with cucumber salad. 

I have crumbs on my fingers as I type this. The remains of the pineapple upside down cake I made are sitting all too near my bunk.

This morning I went shopping. I found Savannah's only Asian grocery market within walking distance. Then I walked a mile in the wrong direction toward Kroger (or away from it), backtracked and finished my shopping. I came under budget but I'm also short a few things.

When Mark told me I could start cooking tonight, I decided I should do something I know ... Something I know well. So I made Thai food. We had leftovers from a stew the night before so I knew I had something to satisfy the captain (a big, sweet, meat-and-potatoes Santa Claus of a man), and Mark said the rest of the crew would love it. So I made potatoes, onions and carrots in massaman curry with rice. I made phad thai, and cucumber salad. And I made pineapple upside down cake for dessert.

"I've never had this cake before," said Bly. "I've never made it before!" I admitted. It was, notwithstanding, delicious.

Thanks, Betty!
http://m.bettycrocker.com/recipes/pineapple-upside-down-cake/a1c9a639-0748-4f2c-89f5-fd33cf138986?WT.mc_id=partner_mobile_bettycrocker_com

I added a dash of salt, ginger and cardamom.

Betty Crocker's Pineapple Upside Down 

Cake, or what was left of it.

Day #1 - Apple Pie

The real version of last night

Okay, my imagined version of my arrival differs slightly from the real thing. When I got to the boat, no lights were on. I heaved my bags over the side. It was dead silent. I stood on the dock thinking that I would need to call and wake the captain if someone didn’t appear, when a blonde girl with a friendly face came out of the engine room. “Are you the new cook?” she asked.

She helped me with my bags, showed me to my bunk, and proceeded to give me what she called the “two-and-a-half-cent-tour.” I met two deckhands along the way, who I will affectionately dub Bly and Rigby. Bly is thin as a rail. He has a ponytail’s worth of hair with small curls popping around his face, which give him an angelic look. Rigby has two looks – a smart, suave sailor look when his raggy, half-dreaded hair is tucked inside his hat – and a disgruntled, disordered look, when it’s not. When I met him last night, it was the latter Rigby I was introduced to.

Before saying good-night, my tourguide (I’ll call her Eve), showed me the galley. She could sense my anticipation. Even in the dark, I could tell I would like it immensely.

Day #1 draws to a close.

It’s been a great day. Though there have been awkward moments, the crew generally seems to gel with a refreshing ease and sincerity. It just feels different than the Neverland.

Of course, I am also different this time, too. I’m less trepidatios. More confident. I am more myself.

We did not go sailing today because the boat got a little bruised coming into the harbor. In a way this is a good thing, putting less stress on my duties. Among the other things putting less stress on me is the fact that the old cook (who I will grant the name of Mark) is still here. And made all of the meals today.

I like him, too. But he’s different from me. He isn’t really into food; he said so. He knows how to cook.

Dinner tonight was decent, but to my tastes under-seasoned and under-salted. His dessert was my favorite of what he made: apple pie in a homemade crust, which looked like it had been lovingly folded around the apples like a swaddled babe. The top was flecked with cinnamon sugar.

He doesn’t really want me in the galley with him; he said this, too (“The galley isn’t really big enough for two.”), but I wheedled my way in, and sat on the steps leading to the deck, and asked him a dozen questions.

And he told me a million useful things – about how the stove works, techniques he uses while cooking on a starboard or port tack, just where things are stored and how long the pots keep their heat.

Then I left him in peace. I went and sat on a bench in the cold sun of this bright but blustery Savannah day, and planned my meals for the week.

I Have Confidence (Right?)

This was taken by Susan Michini, photographer
and list-maker extraordinaire (www.michini.com). 

This morning I awoke, giddy and terrified to the realization that by nightfall I would be on the boat. Does every sailor, every sea cook, feel this way before stepping aboard a new vessel?

I feel a bit like Maria from The Sound of Music, in that scene where she leaves the abbey.

"I've always longed for adventure,
To do the things I never dared.
Now here I am facing adventure
Then why am I so scared?"

What will the galley be like, I wonder? Will there be a knife magnet? Bins for sugar and flour? How big will the freezer and fridge be? Will I have to leave an empty space in the middle of the shelves so the cold can sink down to the bottom like I did on the Neverland? Will there be a crockpot? (Yesterday Susan suggested picking one up at the nearest Goodwill if there isn't.) How long will the current cook stay on after I arrive? Where will I sleep? Will anyone be waiting up for me when I arrive?


A Lot To Do
When not worrying over these small details, I am spending the 13.5 hour train ride to Savannah listening to an audiobook (Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil), eating dining car food, watching the last half of Inception, and making lists for the coming days and weeks.

Here is an inventory so far:
- Things to do on the train
- Things to do in Savannah
- Things I want to talk to the captain about
- Books to read
- Meals: breakfast/lunch/dinner/snacks/desserts (including a special list for St.Patrick's Day)

The first list (Things To Do on the Train) goes like this:
- Plan meals/grocery list
- Listen to book
- Research meals onboard privateers in 1812
- Plan days, making room for running and writing
- Write blog post describing how it feels to be yet again setting off into the unknown

I don't have a way to upload images, so you'll just have to imagine me, dressed in my rain boots and marine coat, a giant backpack on my back, an old green satchel-like purse around my neck, my computer bag on one shoulder, dragging a roller bag through a train station to a cab outside that will take me the last three miles to the riverfront. Here a boat, though its masts are invisible in the dark, emits light through its galley windows revealing several silhouettes. See? You didn't need the photo.

Cook hooky

Yesterday I asked the chef and pastry chefs from Somewhere to join me for lunch. I wanted to thank them for welcoming me into their kitchen and teaching me a lot. (I admit it: I did not know how to make a perfect dice until Chef showed me.) This lunch also had a selfish motive. I wanted them to brainstorm with me: what would they do given the constraints of a galley and a crazy-low budget (which is $6 per person per day, by the way - and yes, that's three square meals and believe it or not, it's fifty cents more a day than on the Neverland (my previous boat).

As we sat there, digging in on amazing take-out in the form of Meng Kum Na from Wandee Siam, we talked about food. This is what chefs do when they play hooky, I thought. Some of the great ideas I got?

1. Instead of making individual samosas, the pastry chef suggested I roll out one big slab of dough, fill it, bake and slice. Brilliant.
2. Canned fruit for chutneys and fruit compote. Duh! Why hadn't I thought of that?
3. Dried beef.
4. Tofu for protein. I am not a fan of tofu, but Chef convinced me to give it another try since it's a cheap source of protein if we have vegetarians onboard, or just to lighten our dependence on meat.

I'm still digesting all their ideas, but it was great to sit down with them for a few minutes, steal some time out of their busy day to talk food.

Stop #2: Coffee with Al at Dean & DeLuca, where we sat in the sunshine catching up and talking about nothing other than food. Al gave me a lovely knife.

My new sporty, lightweight knife bag.

Best peeler ever.

The Great Microplane

Being back at the restaurant reminded me of some of the lessons I learned there - and some of the tools I came to depend on. So what did I do next? Stop #3 took me to the Broadway Panhandler. I bought a few items I've been needing - a proper sheath for my chef's knife (the charm of the cardboard/duct tape version is literally wearing thin), a particular peeler chef introduced me to, a microplane (though I have one in a storage unit somewhere), and my first knife bag. Maybe there's anotherword for knife bag? There was a time when I would have felt pretentious carrying a knife bag, since I haven't previously considered myself a chef. But standing there, thinking about that cardboard sheath, and the way I stick my knives into my luggage every which way... I figured it's high time I exchange my "that's too pretentious" stance to "that's so utilitarian!"

Stop #4: Franny's.

Stop #5: I had to wait until none to conduct a conference call before I could leave Manhattan, so I went back to Isabel's and watched the latest episode of Top Chef. Yes, I teared up.

As I sat on the train back to Philly, listening to Downeaster Alexa on my iPod (yes, I am that geeky), I was consumed with ideas about all the things I'm going to wrap in dough and bake.

Sea vs. Land (or, Why I Chose the Sea)

The "Like Wow" en route to Catalina.

I’m just now getting to reading the 70-page orders for my new post. Perhaps this seems odd – that I took a job without reading what is required of me. Thing is, I wasn’t worried about the details. The only thing I needed to know was that we’d be sailing.

I realize I keep waxing metaphysical about this business of going sailing, my "sea call." I'm not the first one to feel this way – if you read Moby Dick and Joshua Slocum and the accounts of thousands of sailors before and after, you will hear the same mystical sea-talk. But it may be hard to comprehend if you’ve never been in a sailboat, exactly what these guys are talking about.

When I was growing up, I remember listening to songs like "Boots of Spanish Leather" and "Brandy" and thinking that sailing was merely a means for men to get away. To simply be... away. For why would you choose the sea over a woman, over love?

But as I get older, and after having learned to sail, I get it.

The Backstory 

In the past week I’ve met a dozen new people, and they usually ask about my new job. I often get the question: “So did you grow up sailing?”

The answer is no. In the spring of 2009, I quit my corporate job. I planned to roam around the U.S. in a motorhome looking for a place to put down roots. But when all my passengers on The Great American Roadtrip bailed, I was left sitting at my parents’ house wondering what to do with myself. “If I were you,” my father said, “I would go and live on your grandfather’s sailboat.”

My father and my grandfather aboard the Like Wow.

The Boat 

My grandfather is almost 80 years old. He lost one leg in a motorcycle accident around 2002. He still goes to work every day as a machinist in Southern California. My grandmother takes him dancing once a week. Only recently did he sell his red corvette (I believe in order to build a new hot rod). And for some odd reason, a few years ago, he bought a sailboat. A 27’ Newport. He got it for around $3000. He did not know how to sail. He took it out a few times with a friend who knew how to sail, but I don’t think he fell in love with it. During the summer of 2009, he was planning to sell the boat when I called and asked if I couldn’t come live on it for a month and learn how to sail.

Looking back, I can’t believe how little we knew when we took it out the first time. And for all of the things that went wrong, it’s amazing that I still wanted to learn. Our first trip out? Engine failure. Twice. My grandfather stood in the cabin with the engine compartment open fiddling with it (engines being his expertise, I figured I was in pretty good hands), while I stood on deck, watching the tide push us closer and closer to the rock embankments that line the harbor. I didn’t know how to use the radio. I didn’t know how to put down an anchor. And since neither of us really understood how to sail, we didn’t even think to raise the sails.

Early Lessons
The next time we went out, I hired an instructor to come aboard with us. We didn’t tell him about the engine. The winds were already over 20 knots when we set out that day, so our first lesson was on how to reef a sail. I will never forget it. Even with the sail reefed, which means it’s smaller and therefore reduces the amount of power the boat can capture from the wind, even then – we were cruising.

When the engine failed the instructor, an experienced sailor, looked visibly distressed. The winds had increased to around 30 knots, and we had a downwind slip – making it risky to bring the boat in without an engine. (With an upwind slip you can easily sail right into the slip, since going into the wind will stall the sails, but in a downwind slip, even without any sails up, the wind is pushing on the back of the boat and unless you have an engine, there is no way to “break” – except perhaps by jumping off the boat at lightning speed and using the lines to secure it.) Fortunately, the problem with the engine was sporratic, as we’d noted on our previous outing, and the engine grunted back to life just in time to bring the boat in.

Me at the tiller.

Did I still want to sail? Hell yes. I got out every chance I could with anyone at the marina that would accompany me. I met a guy my parents' age who was preparing to sail around the world, and we spent hours tightening the stays (the wire lines that create tension on either side of the mast, essentially holding it in place). We even replaced the back stay. He showed me how to use a climbing harness to get to the top of the mast in order to repair things, like the spreader lights and the caps on the ends of the spreaders.

Lessons = Adventures
Other  adventures were to follow – like the morning I sat on the telephone with a friend in Sweden and suddenly noticed water pooling at my feet. I quickly hung up and drove to the marine store in order to buy a new bilge pump. On another occasion, while making our way up the California coastline, our jib sheets – the ropes that control the front sail – fell underneath the boat and got wrapped around the propeller. My friend jumped in and untangled them while the boat bounced up and down on the waves.

Another time we took the boat through the channel in the Port of Los Angeles unaware that one should radio to the drawbridge an hour ahead of time in order for them to lift it. We had to keep the boat heeled over in order to clear the bridge. I swear we were an inch away from losing our mast.

After all this – and more – I still loved that boat. I loved being at sea. I think like most sailors, I love that moment, just after the mainsail is up, when you turn off the motor, and the world is suddenly still. The skyline recedes. It’s only you and the wind and the waves. 

The Sea and the Absolute 

The sea is often compared to god, to truth. It is one of the few absolutes. When there is no human life left on this planet, there will probably still be water. When you are at sea, you are forced into solitude. Even if you are on a boat with two or sixteen other people, you are aware of your finality in a whole new way when you're surrounded by water on all sides.

One of the competitors in the Golden Globe race, after rounding Cape Horn and beginning the stretch back to England, realized that winning was not the point – he decided to go where the wind would carry him. When the wind changed direction, he abandoned course, turned around, and started sailing around the world a second time.  “At sea,” he said, “man is an atom and a god at the same time.”

When you’re out there, sailing, you are nothing to anyone. The universe could crush you and no one would see. And at the same time, you are everything – you and the boat are the only things that matter.

Another one of the Golden Globe competitors, a former submarine commander, got teary eyed when asked about his experience, “I never felt lonely. It’s all so beautiful. No, you never get depressed. At least I didn’t. You are sort of alone with god. You aren’t chasing some wee girl or trying to get money or do anything else. There’s no opportunity to sin. Time means nothing. You just live – for the moment. You’re happy. Happy. Well, you’re not happy when you’re upside down, but otherwise you’re happy.”

This morning as I read through the 70-pages of ship’s orders, I realized that for me, excluding my father, the sea is both more constant and comprehensible than any man I’ve ever known.

Despite being liquid, it is a solid thing – ever-changing yet ever present. If going becomes difficult, or the winds come up suddenly, or something goes wrong with the engine or the lines, all that is fixable. Or at least, it is up to me and my own ingenuity and perseverance to find a way.

And that is why I have chosen to go to sea again. That is why I chose the sea over men. Over a city. Over roots. That’s why I was able to say yes, I accept these orders, without having read a single page.

Last glimpse of the Like Wow.

Cold Feet

"Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; 

whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off - then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can." 

- Moby Dick

"The reason I [sailed in the race] was that after 15 years' service in submarines and commannding submarines continuously throughout WWII, I was really a nervous wreck. I undertook this voyage to pull myself together... psychologically.” 

- Bill King, one of the nine competitors in the 1968 Golden Globe Race

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Things I miss...

Paul says I should settle down. Come back to California. You had a life here, he implores me. Come back and we'll throw parties and invite lots of hot guys. You can even stay here on our couch for two weeks - rent free!" In the back ground his daughter yells, "Three! Three weeks!"

And it's tempting. Every once in a while I get this sudden panicky feeling and I just want to throw in the towel. Usually these doubts are caused by silly things. Like thinking about my china, my great aunt Mable's limoge, which is sitting in storage somewhere. Silly, right? I miss the opium pipes I bought in Cambodia, and the painting I bought in Bangkok and  my terry-cloth bathrobe. And those pink linen napkins I bought at an estate sale outside Philly. Sometimes, but surprisingly not that often, I miss a particular dress (like the white one with the eyelet) or I wish I could wear a certain pair of shoes (my Kate Spades).

I think about getting coffee with Paul or sailing with Mark or running along that part of the ocean that was mine, where I lived in L.A. I think about parties we threw, Lia and I and Asher and all those things just add up to a big desire to NOT go to sea.

But then I think about the boat, and the sea, and the moment passes, and I'm fine again.

Best pie in the keys

Mrs. Mac's key lime pie

I'm recently back from Florida, a brief respite from the cold with my family and an old friend. (No surprise: we rented a hobycat so we could spend at least one day sailing.)

Before leaving, still on a quest to find the best key lime pie in the keys, we stopped by Mrs. Mac's.

I've had key lime pies before that were so rock-hard from the freezer that you had to sit and stare at them for 10-15 minutes before you could eat them. But at Mr.s Mac's, our forks slid through the custard.  I thought, these can't have been frozen. But I asked the waitress and she said they were - in fact, she said if they kept the pies in the refrigerator they would separate.

If anyone knows a recipe that captures Mrs. Mac's secret, please clue me in.

Mrs. Mac's sign has a sailboat on it. Maybe I was predisposed to like her pie.

Sea Call

View from the end of Grace Court, Brooklyn.

One of my favorite things about the Brooklyn Heights apartment where I've been staying is that from here I can hear the horns of the ferries and boats pulling into the East River. When I walk down the street to my place, I can see the water in front of me. It's the only time I see the water in New York, odd as it may seem given the fact that Manhattan is... an island.

The books I've been reading lately are: Peter Pan; The Perfect Storm; and A Voyage for Madmen.

I have a playlist which includes the following: The Downeaster Alexa; Into the Mystic; my friend Claire's song, Visit Me; Take Me to the Water by Nina Simone...

Each day when I dress, I look at the contents of my suitcase and my backpack and am reminded of the fact that I still live like I would on a boat. When I leave the apartment, I often look like I'm just off a boat - my rubber boots the best protection against the snowdrifts and the slush; my west marine jacket the best protection against the wind; my fuzzy fleece my best weapon against the cold.

I have no curling iron and minimal make-up in my possession. No dresses (not that I would wear one given the cold) and no high-heeled shoes.

In a sense, I have never been far from the sea in my mind, possibly in part because I haven't given myself much of a chance to become grounded.

Reading the stories of the men in Voyage for Madmen, who set off hell-bent on non-stop circumnavigation, there is something recognizable about the mentality - the restlessness, the desire for an odyssey... and among some of them, an inexplicable desire to be surrounded by water.

As I take my leave of yet another place, I am filled with a contrast of emotions - the desire to stay, or simply stay put, conflicting with the call of the sea.

I pluck a grey hair from my head and consider my situation. I'm not getting any younger. I think of the Yeats' poem, Sailing to Byzantium. What am I looking for this time? Will I find it? Or at least will I find that sense of peace that I found before?

I can only hope.

Preparing to launch

So it's official. In just a few short weeks I will show up for my new post. I've accepted orders - it's all been very formal - the orders are in fact around 70 pages long! - for a new boat, a beautiful vessel, that I will join in Savannah, Georgia.

Everyone at the restaurant has had to suffer my repeated question, "Have you seen my boat?" After which, if they haven't (and sometimes even if they have), I pull out my phone and show them a few pictures of her under sail.

Family meal
My second sublet in New York has been a studio in Brooklyn Heights. Another fortuitous Facebook match-up. But this apartment has been more or less vacated, since its owner is moving out. The first night I arrived, not having eaten all day, I had very little to make dinner with - strange leftover ingredients from a few meals with friends: broccoli, bacon, vermouth (for my martinis), currants, and some Korean hot sauce. Voila.

In my last weeks at the restaurant, I have taken great pleasure in making family meal - which feels a lot like serving up meals for a crew. This is a meal commonly served to the staff at restaurants prior to the beginning of service. At some restaurants, it becomes a competition among the cooks, who otherwise don't get a chance to show their own talents and preferences because they are bound to the chef's menu.

So one night last week, designated with the task of making the vegetables for the family meal and handed a bunch of broccoli... well, you can guess how this story ends.

New job on the line

Doing Thyme, Somewhere

Yesterday was a great day. I got into work and found that the chef had added an item to the menu that was basically my reformulation of one of her ingredients (bacon butter) with popcorn. We have several popcorns on the menu - one with lavender & rosemary and one with curry. The bacon butter popcorn replaced the horseradish. That felt pretty good.

Then chef and I "did thyme" together, and we had a great conversation about the possible schedules I could have at Somewhere if I didn't get a boat job.

And then I checked my phone to find an email from one of the boats I had applied to. And today I got the call.

In other words, I may be shipping out again shortly. Stay tuned.

Somewhere in Hell's Kitchen

Elephant garlic pate with pretzels and veggies.

Part of me feels like I'm not being quite truthful by writing under the guise of "sea cookery" when I'm no longer at sea (not in the physical sense, anyway), but I am applying for positions on tall ships and hoping one will work out. In the meantime, I've been enjoying NYC. Because I know it's temporary, that I am not confined to an apartment in a block in the middle of a gridlocked city, I'm able to relax and see it as a kind of vacation.

In my spare time I've been eating at all my old haunts. Franny's had a dish on the menu I fell in love with called Agrodolce. They have since taken it off the menu, so I gave it shot and replicated it at home - baked butternut squash, purple fingerling potatoes and golden potatoes, tossed in a vermouth-vinegar-maple sauce with currants, then broiled for another 15 minutes and topped with toasted pecans. It wasn't exactly like theirs, but was a good enough substitute to feed me for three days.

I've also been having a lot of fun working at Somewhere - (my stage name for my friend Al's new restaurant in Hell's Kitchen). Famous people like Doogie Howser, Meredith from The Office, and a certain infamous ex-governor and his family have all eaten within our walls. We're reviewed pretty highly on Open Table, so people are finding us!

As far as my work goes, there's never a dull moment. I've worked as host, runner, server-in-training, prep cook, and dun-dat-a-dun! - this week I started as Garde Manger - essentially the cold foods part of the line. I was prepared for some of the responsibilities beforehand, since it's an easy position to watch from the "pass," the place in the kitchen where the wait staff picks up dishes. It's my job to assemble  dishes like the caviar plate, the carrot timbale, and the beet and horseradish salad. On my first day I made the candied nuts with garlic chips and the chef said my plating of the garlic pate was one of the best she'd seen yet.