Page 6 of The Second Chance in the Mediterranean
A tall blond man dressed in a chef’s uniform came around the corner, his jacket white withThemis’s logo embroidered in black on the breast and a few smudges from the day already.
“Ah, Roy,” said Dom. “This is Marcella.”
My crew chef. I gave Roy a big smile and a firm handshake. My job as head chef was mostly to cook for the charter guests and the Boyds, but Roy was responsible for the meals for the rest of the crew, and would also help me with prep work.
“Hey, welcome aboard,” he said. I’d read Roy’s CV prior to accepting the job, and had a refresher read on the flight over. Another Brit, Roy had worked in a variety of kitchens on the mainland before stepping into yachting.
“Thanks, Roy. Happy to be here.”
“Want to give her the rest of the tour?” Dom asked Roy.
“Yeah, mate, someone’s got to show her where our stuff is. You’ll be no help.”
“Can’t fry an egg to save my life,” Dom admitted. “Take Marcella over to her quarters when you’re done here, yeah?”
We said goodbye and Dom stepped out of the crew area.
“Right, so,” Roy started, “do you actually want me to give you a tour or should you just poke around and I’ll hover annoyingly at your shoulder?”
I bit my lip and gazed in excitement at all the bells and whistles. “Yeah, you can hover.”
I worked counterclockwise through the space, opening cabinets and poking my nose around. “How do you like the self-cookers?” I asked.Themishad two stacked on top of each other, an intriguing piece of kitchen technology that could steam, roast, and bake in one unit. I didn’t have as much experience with them as I’d like, so I was going to have to be a quick study.
“Love ’em. I don’t think I’ll be able to go back to anything else.”
When I opened up the cabinets, I found the spices immaculately stored in custom-labeled boxes. I raised an eyebrow at Roy, who was smug. “I may be a bit obsessive about keeping order.”
There were specialty cookwares, like Thermomixes and Salamanders, and generous standards, like six hot plates and roll-out refrigerated drawers.
When I reached the other side of the kitchen, I peered down the hallway. Across from me was an open doorway and a room with cabinet space and two large booths. I looked back at Roy. “Crew mess?”
He nodded.
“What else is down here?”
“Crew cabins are down this hallway, and through this door are the guest cabins. After dinner service, I can walk you back to your room, show you the shortcut.”
“Okay.” I turned back to the galley.
“Right, so tonight’s crew menu is street tacos.” He pulled on a chef’s jacket and an apron and I did the same. “You met everyone on your tour with Dom, right?”
“Most of the crew.”
Roy showed me the folders where crew preference sheets were kept. “The street tacos are pretty easy. We’ll dress some up traditional and some fusion, meats on the side because we’ve got the odd veg. And all the toppings go up here.”
“Okay, sounds easy enough. What would you like me to do?” I asked Roy. It was a bit of a test. I would be working incredibly closely with Roy and we had to work out our dynamics as a team. Based on his past experiences, I was sure he’d be looking for a chef’s job soon. I needed to know how we would get along. Would he be resentful of me because he wanted my job? Would he have trouble slipping between working as a team and being a subordinate?
“Can you make guacamole while I get the chicken going?”
Roy showed me where the ingredients and tools I needed were, and I started peeling and seeding avocados, putting the flesh into a bin for mashing later. Roy went to work trimming and prepping the chicken.
“So, where were you before this?” he asked me as we worked side by side.
“I flew in from Tahiti. I was on a small sailboat with some friends.”
His eyes lit up. “Oh, like a vacation?”
“Not really. It was a proper sailing yacht. Seventeen meters, fully outfitted. I was on board for several months, sailing from Antigua to Tahiti.”
