Been on charter for over a month now, everything sucks and everyone is on edge. My fridges are empty, so is my enthusiasm. Even though the end is so close it doesn’t seem to matter. Does this mean it is time to go snowboarding? There is something about boats that gets to a lot of personalities. Even if there are a lots of good things going on people can only focus on the monotony of it all. And like now you just can’t be bothered doing anything. Nothing helps
The daily grind of a super yacht in South East Asia; Breakfast, diving, cleaning, editing underwater film, relocating, lunch, washing, diving, cooking, boat driving, anchor dropping, dining, drinking, tidying, little sleep.
A rinsed chef stands in front of two fridges, doors open swaying gently with the roll of the ocean. What are you looking for? It won’t just jump out at you. A mothers voice cries in the memory banks. But it has to. Lunch again, three courses. He tugs at his crew cut and scratches at the 6am shave stubbly missed patch.
“What are you making today?”
“I have no idea. I have no vegetables.”
The stew moves through and returns with an espresso.
“Thanks I will be on the bow.”
A radio crackles. The owner is up. The chef takes a last deep inhale and heads back to the galley.
“One Huevos Rancheros. Two eggs.”
“Eight minutes.”
Black bean portions come out of the freezer and hit the induction covered. A couple of salsa out of the fridge. Two corn tortillas soften with a little oil and gentle heat. The dial turns and the induction hums, a couple of pieces of ham splatter and crisp. Eggs crack and take their turn crackling on slick metal. A plate; the tortillas, pork scented beans, ham, the still super runny sunny-side-up eggs. Top with a green and a red salsa and some plain cheese, grill.
“Order up.”
The stew delivers. “Want another coffee? Any ideas yet?”
“Yeah, nah.” Longingly staring into the emptiness of the third fridge.
The slim French Canadian girl delivers another double espresso chuckling at the crabby Kiwi demanding fresh vegetables magically appear. “That’s why I plan out meals.” A helpful statement from the Alaskan crew cook.
A fishing boat chugs into view. In the fish hold of the Burmese boat the chef enjoys his market. A couple of lobster, plenty of prawns, some snapper like fish, a pile of cuttlefish. “No, no I don’t want that much.” A dozen beer and a couple of packs of cigarettes and the transaction is complete. “WTF am I going to do with all this?” Oversized squid-like creatures slop onto the teak decking.
Being way too positive the Alaskan states, “At least the fridges are easy to stuff.”
“Menu yet.”
“Um, mango parfait. Seafood starter and seafood main.”
“Do a paella.”
“Ok so risotto and smoked cuttlefish to start.”
Smoked cuttlefish
Burmese seafood risotto
Mango parfait
Sugar and water amalgamate in a heavy based pot while egg yolks get punished with a hand held mixer. Just before the sugar and water syrup takes color a thin strip falls into the pummeled yolks. The mixer clatters until a thick fluffy pate a bomb cools. The same treatment of whites leaves a shiny meringue waiting to join mango puree and ribbon consistency cream. A lot of folding in the kitchen and laundry – parfait into the freezer and clean clothes onto crew beds.
The pain of cleaning cuttlefish creates a monster. “I got manic depressive boating disorder, it’s not the captain’s standing order.”
“Argh, stop.” The stew runs off to another task
“Oh, I got manic depressive boating disorder, I’m well out of order. Don’t let me near your daughter.” The same tuneless song still resonates from the sink
“Oh come on. You got to stop.”
Cuttlefish enter a honey, soy and citrus cure and the chef moves on.
“Here I stand knife in hand cooking in this foreign land.”
“Please.”
Fish frames, an onion, a limp carrot and celery stalk, lime leaves, lemongrass, a chilli and cilantro stalks simmer gently for twenty minutes.
Banter fills the radio waves. The boss and entourage are off diving.
“Daughter and friends want banana pancakes.”
“That I can do.” Frozen bananas, milk and eggs party in the vita-mix. A bit of flour, bp, salt and cinnamon. A bit of jostling for pan space as crew lunch competes with guest breakfast. Prawn and cuttlefish curry heads down to the crew mess. Pancake plates up towards the sky lounge. She turns.
“They wanted banana.”
“Yes.”
“In them.”
“Yes.”
“Where is it? I don’t see it.”
“In them, just take them.”
She returns and the penny has dropped. “Ah, I never thought you would put the banana in the mix. They loved them.”
On his way for nicotine fix the chef passes through the bridge to chat with the captain.
“When am I going to be able to shop?”
“What do you need?”
“Fresh food. Fruit, vegetables.”
“Well we could go try the market in Mergui.”
“Awesome, when?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Ok I can last until then. I think. Lunch is up.”
The details occupy a smoky head. How am I going to serve the cuttlefish? Sashimi style with soy, pickled ginger, some sesame and that awful jarred diakon. Risotto? Some saffron. Greens? I might have a bag of frozen peas. Ow I could make a macadamia, lime and mint brittle for the parfait. Yeah I like that. Back in the galley it is clean up time, lunch received a few moans. Well received. The Canadian is replaced by the Danish stew, she stares out a porthole dreaming of singing on Broadway. “Wake me when they get back from diving.” Mise en place the chef heads for bed.
