Boating with Blade

A 175 foot white hotel glides into Singer Island. Miami beach flickers through the portholes. Lines are secured. Hustle all over, the guests are due to arrive any moment. Each high-powered engine’s squeal brings epaulette-clad antipodeans to attention. Every surface is gleaming, the stainless handrails beg for a single fingerprint. A dozen crew standby. The chef has every base covered at a moments notice; breakfast, snack, lunch suggestions. The induction elements induce aromas of supreme service. Maritime flags flutter from freshly varnished poles throughout the marina. Those who no longer stand on the edge of standby have a perfectly creased crewmember standing by the passer rail, the boat’s doorman gaurds.
Pushing it to obtain the freshest a delivery van drops off the seafood discreetly. Can’t be having service vehicles been seen around the ultimate service vehicles.

“Argg.” the plates are ghastly Versache. Hang these on the wall don’t put food on them. The children’s charity event has already raised a million dollars just from the dock space raffle. The boats drop hundreds of thousands to decide who gets the best park. Everything is a competition – best cocktail made from the sponsor’s rum.  Owners and guests schmooze between the flotilla of opulence – which chef has the best canapés? Who of the chief stew’s has the most impressive style of service? What boat is the shiniest?
The Uni is gleaming with richness. The might Striped Bass has barely had time to go through rigor mortis. The lobsters crave freedom. A lobe of foie gras softens.

“Nobu’s tacos”
“But what is it?”
“Sashimi.”
“And inside it?”
“Well, sea-urchin.”
“So what do I tell them it is?”
“Nobu new style sashimi. And if they ask more – striped bass with uni and ponzu.”
The chef in freshly pressed and whiter than ever whites ignites a blowtorch.

Wispy Togarashi dusted lotus root chips sandwich lobster mousse, a micro green dangles suspended in artsy splendor.

“Arzak inspired broiled Foie on apple with raspberry and Keller’s cones”

“The judges are here, what is the drink again?”
“Young Thai coconut water, pineapple foam, lime, mint palm sugar rim.”
Unlucky crews have their boats turn into a party after the gala dinner. Fortunate deck crew chamois around looking like busy professionals. A smoker lurks in the super structures shadows. The night stew waits for the last guest to turn in, the exterior caffeine’s up for 24 hour passer-rail watch with only re-polishing to keep them awake.
The chef jumps at the rare possibility of six hours sleep and is in bed by midnight.

The sun raises the next wave of crew. Morning stew is up around six like the dreary chef, a freshdeckie coaxes a coffee out of the stew on his way to watch and re-re-polish.
Baking scents drift through the hulls, the not so perfect muffins and pastries are snaffled up by crew along with fruit off cuts. While the captain takes tea on the bridge the lowly laundry stew begins her day confined among heat venting apparatus, chef even sympathizes a little.
“Mr. and Ms Richpeople are up.”
“Ok.”
Few words are uttered; it’s super extra deluxe service time.
“BLT on whole-wheat with extra crisp bacon for him and egg white omelet with vegetables for her.”
“What vegetables?”
“She just said ‘some veggies’.”
“Ok.”
A few grumpy chef mumbles amongst the clang of foaming whites and sizzling fat.
“Order up.” Now. “Service please.”
“Sorry, sorry.”
As the plates move fear stricken the chef cries out. “No, no stop that BLT. Bring it back. It is only a LT” The chief stew races off in chase. Relief as the bacon moves off the kitchen roll and into its rightful place.
“Just.”
Miso dough takes a beating as the chef still has a monster of a prep list ahead. Crew lunch presses on the mind. It is always in the way guaranteed to clash with guest’s requests.
“Ah, um, sorry can you do Belgian waffles?” As is bread.
Hands covered in unbound dough the chef’s is silent screaming are you kidding me?
“20 mins, can ya set da waffle iron up for me?” The stew is only too happy to finally hear a response.
“Ar, um have you got the menu finalized.” Timid and meek, at yet another moody chef.
The same look with a shade of knowing she needs it. “Almost.”
Napa cabbage wrapped striped bass with foie and grilled mitake mushrooms in a yuzu dashi and enoki, nah too long.

Smoked mussel bloody mary
Striped Bass “torchon” in yuzu dashi
Tableside Chai dry ice cream

Aghast the stews worry about explanations in full bed and head 6 star room service swing. A pasta pot boils and crew lunch beckons. Japanese steel on bamboo board frenetically beats out a goat’s cheese salad.  Some rice to keep the Filipino happy, yesterdays bread garlic buttered and that will do.
“Have they seen the menu yet?” WHAT TIME DO THEY WANT LUNCH
“No, sorry.”
“How they looking, what time ya think?” Maybe I could be ready by two
“Hmmmmmmmm, don’t know, no way of saying really.”
Cooling char-grilled mistakes ooze earthy juice.  Blanched Napa cabbage leaves sit like wrapping paper on a cling film topped board. Well-trimmed bass is arranged slim ends in and overlapping for even cook time. Mitake, foie and, a tight roll. Well it kind of resembles Charlie Trotters dish. Milk and cream mingle with Indian spices anticipating the arrival of egg yolks and sugar. Tobasco honey and soy cure drips from drying Green-lip Mussels awaiting the call to the stovetop smoker.
“Ok they saw the menu.”
A snappy “And”
“They would like to eat whenever you are ready.”
The chef’s gapes “Really? That is very good of them. They liked the menu?”
“They were intrigued.”
“Ok let’s go, you ready?”
“How long do I tell them?”
“How long ya need? I ready to seat them.”
“I’ll go tell’em.”
The log of fish passes into the heating threshold bathed in yuzu dashi. An induction element transfers a glowing orange to the smoker. Tea rice and woodchips change from solid state to an alarm bell ringing smell. The Boson runs through the galley proclaiming fire.
“No that’s me.”
“Is that thing on?” He points to the extraction hood
“Of course.”
“You’re gunna set the fire prevention systems off.”
“Nah it’s done. But it might help if ya take this outside.” A tea towel clad hand offers up spent fuel in a buckled pan. He is more than happy to get rid of the problem.
Chilled glasses hold a cold ginger yellow tomato sauce spiked with fresh micro planed horseradish, a warm layer of herbaceous consume insulates warm mussels suspended on celery sticks.

“Take em.”
The log is basted and poked. Fatty foie fragrances the recycled air.
“Ok I almost ready to clear.”
“That was quick.”
Sweaty glasses come back, content somewhat consumed. Slice, pour, add a few enoki and a bonito flake garnish.

“Go.”
Steaming chocolate brown dairy strains onto fluffy sugared yolks. A flick of the whisk and back on the heat with a spatula. Double tea towel wrapped dry ice suffers the rage of a granite pestle. Not for human consumption packaging never existed.  The pounding subsides, whisps of CO2 rise as the powder is sifted from the icy rubble. Cleanish plates make an apperance.
“Showtime.”
A kitchen aid billows theatrics through the salon. A round of chuckles and a few claps.
“I have no idea what that is but I am looking forward to trying it.”
“I hope you enjoy. Thank you.” With a haste exit.

“Mr. Richperson wants more.”
“Awesome.”
Another beep from the dishwasher a steamy facial and crew dinner demands time. Thai fish off cut cakes, rice, stir fry napa cabbage and mushrooms, satay and a bean salad.
“The guest confirmed they will be out for dinner.”
Everyone is happy.

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