As always choosing the product will be the most important factor. My philosophy- the more effort you put into growing, hunting, finding, sourcing you food the better it will taste and be for you. So for the perfect steak you might want to start a small hold farm! http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1691115,00.html
Seriously now there are a few simple rules to follow that produce good results.

Dry your meat
Those juices are no good get rid of them. They lower your heat and create char inhibiting steam. Pat down with a paper towel and/or if you want to get really professional place on a rack uncovered in a fridge with good air circulation and constant temperature for a couple of hours or days until drip and air dried.

Warm your meat
A similar concept to resting meat after cooking. The muscle proteins contract upon hitting the heat, this will be more pronounced the colder the meat. Also seasoning will be absorbed better by warmer meat. So take you meat out and let it come to room temperature, half hour to an hour is a good guide. Forget food hygiene worries, well use common sense ie don’t leave in the sun to get fly blown. The blazing cooking surface will incinerate bacteria and salt will inhibit growth.

Salt your meat
The best chefs in the world will all tell you one thing – use salt. Many will go on to elaborate- in the cooking process rather than on the table. It is often the reason restaurant food tastes better. When to apply has caused huge debate amongst industry heavyweights. I apply just before cooking after the meat has lost its fridge chill. I think all agree use more salt than is good for you. Check this out for a good argument on why to salt early -
http://steamykitchen.com/163-how-to-turn-cheap-choice-steaks-into-gucci-prime-steaks.html

Don’t play with you meat
Turn the bare minimum of times. Four times – including the quarter turn each side to get those desirable cross hatched grill marks. Guy’s all know that more than a couple of shakes are considered playing with it.

Rest you meat
Your meat has just taken a savage heating causing contraction on the cellular level forcing juices into the centre of the meat. Let it relax so the juices can return to their rightful place and not end up dripping off you slicing board.

New York City offers every drink anyone could ever want. Finding it is the challenge. Or is it choosing from ever evolving options? Classy cocktails, creative concoctions, perfect classics, age-old thirst quenchers and over indulgence cures.

Pegu Club

On the south side of Houston a disorientated Italian tourist inquires. “Soho?” A nod, you are on the threshold. “Where all the beautiful shops are?” Pointing him down West Broadway another advance. “Is that where all the fun stuff is?” Well for a mother and daughter shopping day, yes. Others find fun at Pegu Club. British colonial themed, it provides a sophisticated atmosphere to converse and relish professional bartending.
“I will take an Apple martini.”
“Sorry we don’t serve those here. You might like to try our Earl Grey Marteani.” The kimono-clad waitress gently guides the patron back to the menu.
Tea infused Tanqueray, lemon juice, and egg white froth.
“It is fun to drink. Also we offer The Fitty-Fitty.”
50% gin, 50% vermouth and a dash of Regan’s orange bitters.
“Ok the Earl Grey.” Dutifully agreeing on a more appropriate selection.
A dimly lit performance unfolds behind the formidable bar
“Mmmm, kind of soothing, like tea with meringue.”

77 West Houston Street, New York, 10012
http://peguclub.com

Tailor

In a subterranean cocktail lounge sip a smoky bourbon and coke drink called The Waylon. Who thinks to smoke coke syrup with cherry wood chips? Bartender/mixologist Eben Freeman (formerly WD-50) offers an array of avant garde creations. Solid cocktails? You want to get a drink to eat?

525 Broome Street, New York, NY, 10013
http://www.tailornyc.com/

PJ Clarks
The 55th street original may be part of the foundations for the 45 stories of glass and steel towering above. Other than a building surviving from the 1860’s Doug Quinn is the reason to visit. The extremely personable barman recently extolled by Frank Bruni in the New York Times. Sit at the mahogany bar, order a classic (it will be good) and enjoy the show. If you don’t know how to behave in a saloon he might try teaching you.
“Don’t ask for a Red Bull and vodka. You want an energy drink? I have coffee.” http://www.nytimes.com/2010/05/28/dining/28bruni.html

205 E 55th St, New York, NY, 10022
http://www.pjclarkes.com/

McSorely’s

Ale – the only option offered for a 150 years. Your choice; dark or light and they come in twos. Glasses receive a quick plunge in a sink of water. Beer flavour possibly builds on glasses like a well-maintained castor iron pan. You better be thirsty, if you don’t drink fast enough they might throw you out. Dress for saw-dusted floors.

15 East 7th Street, New York, NY 10003
http://www.mcsorleysnewyork.com/

Public

Late Sunday morning? Groaning through a hangover? Public is the answer. A great brunch spot. The pain may continue. “Table for two?” “Two hours.” Head to the bar for a bloody mary. A spice-rimmed glass contains an almighty kick, horseradish and a recipe you want the rest of. By the time you finish one you are likely to already be seated and pondering over an eclectic menu. Miso venison burger or green tea hot smoked salmon with yuzu hollandaise?

210 Elizabeth Street, New York, 10012
http://public-nyc.com/

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 expresso.
“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 expresso 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.

The season is done, new friends are full of emotion from the looming goodbyes. Red peppers blister, charred black skins begin to flake, a mish mash of winter follower tans soak up UV rays, beer and sangria. Vegetables known by as many names as there are nationalities present take grill markings. Aberguine rounds sizzle in olive oil and north Africian seasonings, courgette lengths wrinkle and soften over wood embers. Asparagus spears crisp, oily goodness flows from frazzled chorizo and soaks into eggplant. Halved balsamic soaked cherry tomatoes sing a deglazing tune on the hot plate. Rouquette and baby spinach leaves jump with Bouchon de chevre. All together now a warm veggie salad melds into a gooey messy.

Party goers pick and licking their finger with appreciative murmurs.

Armed with; good wishes, “je suis le cuisinier. Je coupe chose avec un couteau et je les cuisine,” a cardboard sign – NICE, 150 euro and a thumb I head towards the Riveria.

Days spent meeting crew agents and wandering the docks begging for work leave me depressed and dejected on a train to my tentsite. I see a Chamonix acquaintance hoping off the train. He gives me a number to call. A boat in Cannes needs ten day-workers for two days. I make it on the list. Rising Sun, the second biggest private yacht (at the time) – part of a mine is bigger than yours competition between the super rich.
After six hours polishing stainless to perfection. “The last day-workers did all the stainless in a day, I am not that happy.” The Dutch man’s statement witty only to himself does nothing for the morale. The Kiwi third mate grabs a rag and joins in. Dutchie ends the day. “Don’t come back tomorrow unless you have non marking shoes.”
Day two; polishing, abuse, mocking and not even a free meal.  I count out euro cents for a baguette and a tomato at lunch. The day ends, envelopes come out –my first boat cash. I splurge on a train ticket, beer and a burger and can pay next weeks campground fees.
As I become desperate again an old sea dog Saffa gets me a varnish prep job. I scrape by. No prospects of cooking work. An Asian airline hostess looking to make the transition to stew suggests a one-man crew agency.
In Antibes I locate the blue door adorned with a stylish silver plaque. Round the spiral staircase and enter his territory. A couple waits in comparative paradise to the crew agency standard – a line trailing out the door. Confused “Adrian Fisher?”
“We just called him, apparently he won’t be long.” With a shrug I join the opulent environment.
“What are you lot doing here?” Not ready for the attack. “Umm, wanted to sign up, do you have a registration form or something?” Meek. Gesticulating contempt “What do you do, have you worked on boats before?”
“I don’t deal with people who have no experience, I only work with experienced crew.” The negative jittery response crushed.
“How about you two?” he sounds like he is accusing the cute couple of trespassing. “Ar, we rang you before, we made an appointment to see you.” Slightly restrained he begrudgingly accepts “Oh, ok.”
My corner position shielded me from the initial onslaught. Now I am in his sights
“And you, what do you want?” I stand up. “Well, Sir, I heard you were an excellent agent with interesting techniques.” I sit back feeling militant.  “Oh did you just. Where did you hear that?” Perched half squat over my chair “From, um, friends.” Clearly he states orders “Well you two wait I wont be long, and you lot leave I told you I don’t take people with no experience.”

Bemused. “Is he for real? Should we go? Do you have experience?” Disbelief of the unnerved replaces boring yachtie chitchat. I nervously thumb through a yachting magazine. I see a sly white-haired mans picture, an article written by the one-boat-one-resume crew agent on crew placement.
“What are you still doing here I told you to go!” He snaps
“Huh, don’t you even want to see a CV or something?”
“Ok then hurry up.”  An impatient hand insists.
A brief glance and he shoos the two inexperienced lads out the door.
“How about you two?”
“Huh, ar what do you mean.”
“Have you worked on boats before?” Waving paper he snatches my resume. “Do you have experience?” Blue/gray eyes pierce
“Very little.”
A sighing humpff, he toddles off. We all remain, silenced but for a murmur between the couple. Is he for real?
Like a headmaster patrolling the halls we sense his presence.
“Stop wasting my time, get out.” The lads leave
He moves to the couple thrashing CV’s “Did you copy this from each other? They are identical.”
“No, well, we have been working in the same places.” With a look of is this our interview appointment.
“Well what kind of job are you looking for? Will you work separately?”
Hiding inside the magazine my presence occurs. “Anything good in that?”
I stand “Well, yes sir, as a matter of fact an interesting article on crew placement by you.” “Oh is that so.” He pauses and a smile passes the wry lips.
“Ok you two come with me.” The couple trot down the hall.
Waiting.
The couple is shooed out the door with dismal prospects. The slicked back white strands wave around to the flutters of my menus.
“Have you cooked all of these?”
Yes
“How many times?”
Ar, um, I don’t know a lot. You liked my menus?
“Lets go out to the balcony. I have more questions.”
“Are you trained?”
“I was lucky enough to work for some good chefs.”
“So its only on the job training. Ok, who? Where is that in here? Where is the training?”
Kind of point to the mobile CV. “Ar, at edgewater resort in Lake Wanaka, Sargoods Restaurant for Andrew Spegiel.”
“What type of chef?”
French trained by a renowned French Americain chef. In Portland.
“Eighteen months, is that all the training?”
“No. I started washing dishes at 13, worked hard and asked lots of questions. The chefs liked that. Brain Ross a Scottish chef for eighteen months also.”
“So tell me how good is your food.”
“I was lucky enough to work under some good very good chefs.”
“What kind of chef are you? Rate yourself? Are you Michelin star? Well you’re not, but are you five, 4 or 3 star.” Relentless, smoke all around me.
“Uh, mm. I would like to think some of my dishes are near Michelin star level and if in the right environment with the right team it would be a goal to achieve that level”.
“Ok, this is a six star industry, ok now, your appearance. You need to be looking like a professional, not like a day worker.”
“Day working is how I have been surviving.”
He sits
“Now your family tell me about them, how long since you seen them.”
Almost two years.
“That is a long time. Are you missing them?”
“Yes.”
“How long until you need to see them?”
“Um. Sooner rather than later, when the situation permits.”
“Love life, are you attached?
“No.”
“Not anyone, anywhere.”
“No.”
“Ok, come talk to me tomorrow and do something about your shoes.”

In my best gears, very smart for a scruffy snowboarder living out of a backpack in a studio with 8 others. “You look much better today” He decides to organize me an interview.

The meeting at Jacque’s teahouse goes well. I am offered the opportunity to trial for a day, a buffet lunch and a plated dinner for the crew. I immediately call Adrian as instructed and wander up the road for debrief. Charged from the third caffeine hit of the afternoon, I am relaxed compared to the Fisher ecstatic he’s guiding a young chef into the industry.

Excited and nervous but full of confidence, “good luck” thanks I don’t need any of that.  My menu consists of dishes I made working for Andrew with a couple of extras. Planning and shopping for two meals for a crew of eight takes forever as I take pleasure in every detail. Hunting ripe avocados, is the market best for everything?  Three supermarkets and the open-air morning market laden I await permission to board.

Into the galley, look professional. “Ah did you mean to have the oven on cleaning cycle.”
The pasta water begins to boil after what seemed like two hours on heat, finally I don’t need to open every cupboard to find anything.
I plate; Cesar salad, with Cajun chicken, rocket pesto tagliatelle with roast mushrooms,
asparagus and roast peppers, chorizo avocado and cherry tomato salad.
Near perfect timing, happy with the way it looks. Around the crew mess table the captain and chief stew husband-wife-team dominate the subordinates.

Awkward chitchat; hobbies, sports, food and practical jokes.
The stew’s had been undone by “Can you go get me a long stand from the salon?”
Captain can barely get it out, “Send a green horn deckie up the mast to fend of a low bridge.”
I offer, “Get a commis chef to chop flour.”

Cleanup onto dinner prep.
Lemongrass and ginger panna cotta asks the eternal question. How much gelatin do I use? Pears in the red wine with a weird selection of seeds and spices, no point to stress, so I wrap the salmon portions in nori looking composed.
“How you getting on?”
“All good pretty much ready.”
“Oh great that means you would have time to make food for crew now.”
Obsessively tasting everything stuck having to serve my gummy sesame tuiles and weird-spice pears. The talking point, wasabi mash and the complements flow; this is the kind of food I would order in a restaurant, very creative, I have never had wasabi mash before.
The job is mine, they just haven’t offered it to me yet. A subordinate asks “Will you be doing it all again tomorrow.” I look at the chief stew and stutter, “ah, I, um, well we need to talk.” Noooo, rewind I meant I would love to.
My feet hurt.

Nori Salmon
Andrew created this play with sushi ingredients. A dish that sounds and looks much harder than it is, a great show off course.

Portion fish into square shapes
Dip nori sheets in water quickly to soften enough to make pliable
Season fish lightly and wrap trimming off any excess nori
Place on baking dish or tray greased lightly with sesame oil

Wasabi mash
Boil potatoes whole in skins until very tender then pass through a potato press or mill (otherwise you will have to peel) add plenty of butter some cream and milk, salt pepper and prepared wasabi (fresh is incredible but powdered is fine) taste and adjust to your liking.

Shitake slaw
Juilliene or shred some diakon, pickled ginger, carrot, cabbage and dress with citrus, yuzu or sudachi are great but a mix of lime, lemon and orange juice makes a good substitute.
Slice shitake mushrooms thin and cook very quickly in a smoking hot pan with a little sesame oil add to the slaw while still hot and mix well. Finish with plently of ketcap manis (sweet soy).

“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.

First week as crew chef aboard a yacht. My superior, a slender German woman brought the key ingredients- Sweet potato and Spinach. Instructions, a little more than the usual – wash dishes, peeling garlic. “Make that soup, here.” The bag of spinach tossed from the freeze lures. “What how could you woman!” But no I, “um, ur I need fresh spinach otherwise it will be a horrible colour,” cry out holding back the how could you. “Ur what else can I serve for lunch?” She exudes power in her look. “You want to do more than soup?” Well, yes you wisp of paper, it’s hard labour out there, they like protein. “Another option incase everyone doesn’t feel like hot soup on a humid day.” I scour the fridges, bread, soup, salad. The deck boys are going to hate me. Meat, meat, meat. No it is off limits. Meat only once a day.  Insanity, working on a 20 million dollar boat and her budget is so tight she can only afford to serve meat once a day. “How about a cheap cut for a stew, ooh I could make a kiwi pie.” No.
Ok tinned tuna, eggs = perfect a Niciose of sorts. Bacon mushroom pasta. Enough to keep my room mate from hating me? Maybe just.

Chop sweet potato, toss in oil, some turmeric and s+p and roast with some garlic cloves. Sweat onion, add roasted potato and cover with stock or water. Add some spinach now. Simmer for an hour or two. Blitz adding heaps of fresh spinach. Season, taste and add a dash of heat. The spicy one. Try adding some water cress and play with spices.

The colour I was aiming for is a deep vibrant green. Is green soup appertising? My girlfriend says no. “It’s a bit radioactive but the taste is great.”

Half / half white vinegar to water, throw in a bay leaf, some peppercorns, lemon zest and sometimes a diced shallot. Reduce to half original volume. Ok good time for some measurement guides, per egg yolk about one tablespoon reduction and half a cup of butter. Yes 125 grams. I find it hard to make less than 4 yolk sauce.

Clarify butter

Easy as, heat it, skim off scum, and leave crud at bottom.

Throw your yolks in a bowl and start whisking. Set up a bain maire. This sauce is all about warm. Whisk in reduction slowly to start the magic (emulsification). Whisk harder, harder baby, yeah don’t stop, faster. Oooh ahhh i am getting all foamy. Now feed me the butter real slow like. Mmmm thats the stuff, its making me thick and creamy. Arm sore yet? Switch positions, i mean hands. Finish with some lemon juice and seasoning to taste.

This exercise definately justifies eating butter by the stick.

And bernaise is just as easy, add tarragon.

Head to the bottom of the fridge and pull out all the rotten stuff. Throw away the real rotten stuff. Stare at semi rotten stuff until some vague idea pops into head. Start cooking and see where it takes you.

Cut off discoloured cauliflower, then cut into rice sized pieces. Fry gently in butter until al dente but not coloured. Add sushi rice seasoning. Cool, mix in cream cheese. Smear on some nori, add some avocado and roll.

Slice scallops thin. Lay in single layer on plate. Add soy, lime and butter. Blow tourch. Lay cooked side down on top of nori rolls. Throw flames. Flakey salt, slice and serve.

I grated the potato and squeezed out as much liquid as I could using cheesecloth. Add plenty of salt and olive oil. It didn’t bind so I added an egg. Top fish and cook in butter until golden and crisp. Turn out onto a baking sheet and finish in a hot oven. Serve with peeled zucchini ‘pasta’ – Sauté just to warm with desired seasoning, I think I used olive oil and lemon juice. Finish with herbs (a little mint works great with fish) and s +p.

A better way to do the potatoes is probably to boil them whole first and allow to cool and dry then grate. Next time…..