ABSTRACT
When I first joined the private chef world back in the 1990s, yachts were small, Michelin quality chefs in homes were rare, and the Food Network was just beginning to start the movement of gourmet groceries available to the masses. We would head down to the local supermarket and fill six carts with everything we needed for next two weeks for ten guests and five crew members. If we needed fine meats and fish, we hit up the local butcher and fish market. The captain would meet us at the checkout with the credit card, and the food was often beat up by the time it arrived at the boat. It was fun to see other chefs doing the same thing and barter over who got the last box of Cheerios. Local residents would interview us when they saw how much and how fast we were purchasing. The middle class would marvel at how we asked for the most expensive cold cuts instead of inquiring what was on sale. It was all we knew; it was all we had. It was South Florida, and whether we were cooking at the boss’s house or heading over to the Bahamas with the boss’s brand-spanking new 100-foot Broward motor yacht, we
were living the dream. Whip up a few recipes from our last restaurant, and we were stars.
