Page 25 of The Second Chance in the Mediterranean
“But can you make it now? We have the pot; someone might want a cup of the good stuff.”
“Yes, I can make your special coffee now. Jeez. Don’t you have work to be doing? Shoo, I’ve got to prepare dinner.”
I took a sip and closed my eyes. So. Good.
“Here.” Roy thrust my portfolio into my hands. “Go upstairs, enjoy the gorgeous day, and do some menu planning.”
* * *
After two days off,I had some time and energy to spare before our first morning management meeting after the charter. I sat outside at the bar and sipped my coffee, relishing the first time in months with a realcaffè. Justin and I had been corresponding via email to get some of the basic plans sketched out for his and Natasha’s upcoming visit and I had a few notes jotted down for ideas. My eyes darted between the paperwork and the Split skyline, memories of walking through the town yesterday warming my heart.
I had a few days to prepare for the Boyds’ arrival. We’d spend a long weekend together, and I had two objectives: I had to wow Justin and Natasha with their meals during their stay, and we were going to do a menu tasting for the regatta.
The regatta was a two-day event, andThemiswould be departing in the morning and spending the entire day out at sea as a spectator boat. We’d have fifty people on board, and I’d be serving a buffet lunch and snacks throughout the day.
The last night would be the awards ceremony, with a celebratory party afterward onThemisfor a hundred people. Justin and I planned for displays and passed canapés. Additional staff would be brought in to help with prep, service, and clean up, but the responsibility sat with me—I would do most of the cooking and presentation myself, with Roy helping me.
“Hey, Marcella.” Dom sat on the stool next to me. “What did you get up to yesterday?”
“Walked around town, enjoying the sights. Split has some beautiful history. What did you do?”
“Called my kids, mostly. We’re trying to work out a way for me to see them before we sail to the Caribbean this year.”
In November, the busy season ended in the Mediterranean. The temperatures cooled and the weather got a bit less predictable, so many boats would head across the Atlantic to the Caribbean for the high season there.
Gio and Cat came out of the crew stairs with their morning beverages and Edie joined us from the bow. Dom and I shifted to the table and the meeting got started.
“The good news is that our guests are gone.”
A small chorus of cheers went up.
“Now, the bad news is, I haven’t gotten word from the broker yet about tipping. It doesn’t mean we haven’t been tipped,” Dom rushed to add, seeing our crestfallen faces. “It’s just that we haven’t gotten anything yet.”
I’d heard stories of nightmare guests not tipping, but it had never actually happened to me. As the head chef, I got paid extremely well, and then you factor in tips and almost no living expenses, and I was doing just fine. But much of our younger, less experienced crew was still working their way up the ladder and the tips could sometimes surpass their actual paycheck.
“But I will let you know as soon as I hear anything,” Dom continued. “I do want you to know that this was a particularly tough charter, maybe the worst I’ve ever seen.” He tilted his head. “Except for that time someone brought a live cow onto the boat, but yeah.Everyone did exceptionally well given the situation. Thank you for your hard work, and be sure your staff recuperates as needed. In the meantime, let’s talk about this week.”
In two days, we would leave for Corfu, where Natasha and Justin would meet us. It was a five-hundred-kilometer trip along the Adriatic Coast, and we would do it all in one go. Then we had a few days to prepare in Corfu for our owners. Upon their arrival, we’d spend three days circumnavigating the island.
“We’ll have an all-staff meeting the day before the Boyds arrive. Undoubtedly, Natasha and Justin will have some modifications or projects they want to make to the boat before the regatta, so we’ll meet again after and tackle those before we leave for Malta.”
We went on to discuss projects that needed to be addressed, repercussions from the charter. Cat was up to her eyeballs in cleaning, and was going to have to bring in specialists to fix some of the damage to the upholstered furniture. I shook my head, glad that none of the damage I’d suffered was beyond a few missing or broken pieces of dinnerware and my dignity.
Thirteen
“So, you love the moka coffee.”
I kept dicing the celery in front of me and glanced at Roy. “I know you’re a coffee noob, but yes, it is undoubtedly the best coffee-brewing method on the planet, and I would appreciate it if you would recognize its glory.”
Roy chuckled and rounded the corner of the island. “So why did you want me to learn how to use the moka pot?”
“I told you, we might have guests who want better coffee.”
“Yeah, so it has nothing to do with Seb absolutely loving this style of coffee, right?”
I feigned innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I think you know my roommate better than you let on. But he’s pretty tight-lipped about it too, so one has to assume it’s juicy. You should have seen his face light up when he saw the moka.”
