Free Mediterranean Summer by David Shalleck

appetites of my co-workers. I planned on creating crew menus from what I was preparing for the owners by extending things like sauces and side dishes and replacing the obscure ingredients like rare and expensive seafood with more substantial fare, like meats and pasta dishes. They’d also want different cereals, cookies and biscuits, jams, chocolate, snacks, soft drinks, spring water, and, of course, plenty of beer.
    Getting the base ingredients on board was only the half of it. Michele,
Serenity
’s land-based money manager, gave me an open ticket to go into town and buy whatever kitchen supplies the galley required: pots, saucepans, casseroles, and sauté pans (the high sides are great when cooking while under way). I measured my new “marine oven” to make sure the roasting pans, sheet trays with grills, and ceramic baking dishes that I bought would fit inside. Molds for tarts, canapés, and
panna cotta;
a rolling pin, pastry brushes, mixing bowls, and a two-kilo scale (the easiest thing to use when cooking in metric); knives, ladles, kitchen spoons, whisks, and strainers. I wished for spring-loaded tongs that all cooks swear by in American kitchens, but I had never seen them in any of the Italian restaurants where I worked. If I couldn’t find them, so be it. Out of necessity I had developed the dexterity to use a large fork and spoon like tongs, and discovered how versatile the technique can be. Then I went through my journals again, marking the pages where I thought certain dishes or recipes would work for the season’s repertoire and making a mental note of what kinds of kitchenwares they would require. I didn’t rush completing my lists.
La Signora,
who had come off in my interview as a woman with scant tolerance for incompetence, had made it clear that she expected me to be ready for any eventuality within reason. I had little doubt that if something I prepared failed to meet her standards, she would not be interested in why.
    Kevin came down to take a break and reintroduce himself while getting a drink from the reefer. He took a place at the mess table, looked around the galley, inquired about my lists, and made some comments about the challenges I faced. He agreed that the dishwasher would be better used as a storage space. Then he asked if I would be cooking Italian food this season.
    “Not only do I want to, but according to
la Signora
I have to,” I said, and then added, “I’d like to pull this into crew menu, too.”
    “Great. I like pasta. Especially a nice carbonara,” he responded, and then left.
    His preference was noted, but a little tweak in seasonal eating would be in order, something I preferred to furnish in practice rather than by explanation. A rich carbonara sauce based on pork fat and egg yolks was perfect in winter but would give way to a lighter summer alternative based on olive oil and tomatoes and no less shy in flavor.
    With all of the activity of the refit going on, mechanics, electricians, and other installers passed continually through the galley. Eventually, I met our two deckhands, who were both in their twenties. Nigel was a burly New Zealander who stopped in Antibes for the season while on a world tour, and Ian was a happy-go-lucky Australian day worker turned crew member. Ian came off like a seasoned pro who had worked on boats his entire life. A few days later, I was surprised to learn that this would be his first job at sea.
    I spent most of my first two days in the galley writing equipment lists and preparing menus, taking an occasional break from what had come to feel like school homework to go up on deck, get some sun and fresh air, check out what was going on, and get to know the crewmates with whom I’d be spending the season. I picked up that among the crew,
everyone pours the coffee,
so I made sure to help out wherever I could. Also, from my past experiences in restaurant kitchens, I knew that everyone’s eye was always on the new kid, to see if he thought too