Victoria Allman's Blog, page 6

Stumbling Home-Germany

I'm not sure how I got there. It was five-thirty on a Sunday morning in Hamburg, Germany, and I was in the middle of a fish market. On stage in front of me, a band vied for the attention of the crowd with the beer vendors. The shouting cries of bantering fish prices between hardened men and even harder women could be heard above both the music and the beer sellers. In the far corner, a stand-up comedian entertained a group who were eating smoked eel for breakfast. The couple beside me in black leather with piercings in their lips and through their eyebrow slammed their bodies into one another in some sort of dance to the crashing sounds of the music. Where was I?

Last thing I remember, I was trying to keep pace with shots of Jagermeister over dinner. That was Saturday night. It was now Sunday morning. Apparently, I was lost.

As night slid into morning, I wandered from the bar my friends had wound up at to the open-air market in search of something to make for lunch when everyone arose.

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Published on June 19, 2011 12:56

If There is No Heat-Being a Freelance Yacht Chef

This story originally ran in Dockwalk Magazine, an international magazine for crew on yachts, in my Dishing It Up column. It is a "somewhat fictional account" of what happens on yachts. The names have been changed to protect the incredibly guilty

If There is No Heat

My chef toque is off to the freelance chef. You are called into a galley that you do not know, to serve guests you have never met. You scramble to gather the special ingredients that make your food your own. You rummage through cupboards for particular utensils that don't exist. You start from scratch learning the likes and dislikes of the crew with each job, just to be sent home as soon as you have things figured out.

I've only done it once. It didn't turn out well.

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Published on June 13, 2011 20:31

A Review for SEAsoned from Bookpleasures

As an author, one is always thrilled to receive a positive review, but today I was extra-thrilled.
Check out June Maffin's review of SEAsoned on Bookpleasures web-site. And, if you are looking for more interesting reads, poke around their site. It is full of great reviews.
Thank you June!

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Published on June 07, 2011 14:45

Under the Shade of the Hazelnut Trees-Piedmont, Italy

"Here is a good place," Stefan, our owlish truffle-guide told us as we entered the forest. We were just outside Alba, in the Piedmont region of Italy. We had spent the last few days in the wine country, staying in a 19th century Gothic castle, hemmed in on three-sides by the Alps and discovering the simple, rich food of the area. It was early June and black truffles had just started making their first appearances on summer menus. With the first bite, we were hooked and wanted to go find some for ourselves.

Kira, our guide's English pointer bounded ahead of us, tongue-wagging the whole way. The enthusiasm of her five years almost equaled our own. Patrick's blue eyes shone as bright as Kira's black ones. If it were not rude, he would probably hang his tongue out of the side of his mouth in excitement of what was to come. Piedmont had been on our list of places to visit for years and hiking through the hazelnut and oak forests in search of the elusive truffle was the ultimate culinary experience.

Black truffles are an uncultivable mushroom. They are more common than the highly-prized white truffle, but their habit of growing underground, away from sight, limits their numbers. They are held in the highest esteem by chefs and foodies alike, often called the "diamond of the kitchen". In the last few days, Patrick had developed an unnatural affinity for them shaved paper-thin over his eggs in the morning and then again on buttered toast in the afternoons. He was becoming either a gourmand or a glutton, depending on the way you looked at it.

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Published on May 29, 2011 12:32

In The Red Kitchen-Morocco

I lounged in the courtyard of our Riad (guesthouse). Sultry African sunlight streamed through the branches of an orange tree, casting shadows like a paper doily on my skin. The soothing sound of water bubbled from the fountain and the serenity of the abode was in stark contrast to the chaos of the market we'd been in the day before.

I could've spent every meal in Morocco at that market. Cauldrons of snails bubbled in broth, sending a woodsy aroma through the air. Roasted sheep's heads lay in wait of adventurous eaters. Carts heaped with dates, apricots, and figs sat beside mountains of almonds and walnuts. Snake charmers lulled both serpent and audience with haunting melodies, while fire-eaters rallied the crowds with daredevil performances. Almond-eyed boys led monkeys through the square and the small hennaed hands of young girls begged for coins. The market was alive with mystery.

But I wanted more than taste the spiced foods of Marrakesh. I wanted to learn to make them. That's where Abdelwahed, the cook at the Riad, came in.

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Published on May 22, 2011 13:15

A Lucky Encounter-Hong Kong

Maybe it was the rain or the grayness of Vancouver that transported me to another city surrounded by water, not so long ago, just across the ocean. Physically, we were in sitting down to dim sum in a restaurant in Chinatown engulfed by the clatter of plates and the rumble of the carts rolling past. But, in my mind, I was seated in an identical restaurant in Hong Kong, escaping, not only the rain, but also the chaos of the street.

It was six years earlier and I had been overwhelmed by Hong Kong. The lights of the city burned neon bright. The whirl of people passing, rushing to their destination, disoriented me. My newfound friend Vivian was leading me through her city and I was drowning in the confusion. I needed a reprieve. It was a Saturday morning and we ducked into a crowded dim sum restaurant for a meal.

"Har gau, chiu-chao," a short woman with straight black hair called as she weaved her rickety cart through the labyrinth of tables. The bamboo steamers piled precariously on top jolted forward at an unnatural angle as the cart bumped to a stop against our table leg. The oolong tea in my glass leaped up and over the edge.

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Published on May 15, 2011 15:11

Springtime in New York

Spring had arrived in New York. The streets glowed with sunshine refracted down the walls of glass that towered overhead. Curbside planters burst with lemon yellow daffodils, cerise-colored tulips, and hyacinth the shade of blueberry mousse.

Patrick and I were in town to dine and spring shone from the plates in front of us at each meal. Tendrils of lightly pan-roasted vibrant green pea shoots twirled beneath a fan of skate. At Prune restaurant, we dipped sweet radishes into soft butter and sprinkled them with coarse salt before popping them into our mouths. Momofuko Saam Bar showcased the first baby artichokes of the season with woodsy grilled trout. Tender tips of asparagus poked out from a plate of gnocchi swimming in a light vegetable broth and melted leeks hid beneath barely-poached shrimp at the three-star Le Bernadin.

It was New York and we couldn't help but eat well. But, no matter how many perfectly executed, stunningly beautiful, tasty meals we ate in the cities finest restaurants, there was one meal that screamed of spring to me.

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Published on May 02, 2011 23:40

A Day To Remember

This piece originally ran in Dockwalk, a magazine for yacht crew. It is a "somewhat fictional account" of what happens on yachts. The names have been changed to protect the incredibly guilty

A Day to Remember

It's supposed to be one of the most important days of your life. One you will remember forever-your wedding day. And, What better way to create the perfect memory than to hold the ceremony aboard a yacht?
Let me be the first to say: there are A LOT of better ways!

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Published on April 25, 2011 22:20

The Early Morning Hunt-Spear fishing

This article originally appeared in MarinaLife Magazine

I stumbled down the dock, my eyes only half registering the sky the color of Eyore. I swallowed another gulp of Oceana coffee in hopes of being alert before I back rolled off the boat and into the water. I was about to go spearfishing.

"We'll go down about thirty feet," Jason, a Florida sport-fish captain told me as we loaded the boat with dive gear and spear guns. "That's the best place to sight fish." The early hour did not seem to bother him. Between diving for lobster, spearfishing, deep-sea fishing and surfing, he was up at this time most mornings. That's what life here in Ft. Lauderdale was all about for him.

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Published on April 19, 2011 12:43

Guest Blogging on Femmes Fatales

I am thrilled to be guest blogging today on Femmes Fatales, a web-site dedicated to the fine art of crime fiction. I just hope the readers realize that I try NOT to kill anyone in my books about being a yacht chef...it doesn't look so good on my resume.
But, stop by and check out my post about a day in the life of a yacht chef and my recipe for a Lobster, Corn and Basil Salad.

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Published on April 18, 2011 17:11