Victoria Allman's Blog, page 7
April 12, 2011
The Memory of Jerk-Jamaica
This piece was originally posted on a great web-site for passagemaking, OceanLines. If you are interested in boats and life on the water, check out the site.
The Memory of Jerk
I've been stuck in port for too long now. The yacht I work on is in the shipyard. It is a time of sitting and staying in one place; a time when my mind wanders back to earlier travels.
Today, I've been thinking about Jamaica; a place of carnal color and debaucherous tales. But, my favorite memories are not so much of climbing the waterfalls at Dunn's River, jumping off the cliff 45-feet above the Caribbean Sea at Rick's, or reverberating to the sounds of reggae. My favorite memory is of what came after a trail ride through the ganja fields on a horse called Smoke. Now, before you jump to any conclusions about what that memory may entail, or how hazy it might be, let me tell you about the jerk chicken I had.
Hot and sweaty from the ride, I tied Smoke under the shade of a logwood tree. Not twenty-feet away, a caravan had parked on the side of the road. The sharp smell of chilies from a steel barrel barbecue beside the truck had lured me off the trail and set my mouth to watering.
The Memory of Jerk
I've been stuck in port for too long now. The yacht I work on is in the shipyard. It is a time of sitting and staying in one place; a time when my mind wanders back to earlier travels.
Today, I've been thinking about Jamaica; a place of carnal color and debaucherous tales. But, my favorite memories are not so much of climbing the waterfalls at Dunn's River, jumping off the cliff 45-feet above the Caribbean Sea at Rick's, or reverberating to the sounds of reggae. My favorite memory is of what came after a trail ride through the ganja fields on a horse called Smoke. Now, before you jump to any conclusions about what that memory may entail, or how hazy it might be, let me tell you about the jerk chicken I had.
Hot and sweaty from the ride, I tied Smoke under the shade of a logwood tree. Not twenty-feet away, a caravan had parked on the side of the road. The sharp smell of chilies from a steel barrel barbecue beside the truck had lured me off the trail and set my mouth to watering.
The Memory of Jerk
This piece was originally posted on a great web-site for passagemaking, OceanLines. If you are interested in boats and life on the water, check out the site.
The Memory of Jerk
I've been stuck in port for too long now. The yacht I work on is in the shipyard. It is a time of sitting and staying in one place; a time when my mind wanders back to earlier travels.
Today, I've been thinking about Jamaica; a place of carnal color and debaucherous tales. But, my favorite memories are not so much of climbing the waterfalls at Dunn's River, jumping off the cliff 45-feet above the Caribbean Sea at Rick's, or reverberating to the sounds of reggae. My favorite memory is of what came after a trail ride through the ganja fields on a horse called Smoke. Now, before you jump to any conclusions about what that memory may entail, or how hazy it might be, let me tell you about the jerk chicken I had.
Hot and sweaty from the ride, I tied Smoke under the shade of a logwood tree. Not twenty-feet away, a caravan had parked on the side of the road. The sharp smell of chilies from a steel barrel barbecue beside the truck had lured me off the trail and set my mouth to watering.
The Memory of Jerk
I've been stuck in port for too long now. The yacht I work on is in the shipyard. It is a time of sitting and staying in one place; a time when my mind wanders back to earlier travels.
Today, I've been thinking about Jamaica; a place of carnal color and debaucherous tales. But, my favorite memories are not so much of climbing the waterfalls at Dunn's River, jumping off the cliff 45-feet above the Caribbean Sea at Rick's, or reverberating to the sounds of reggae. My favorite memory is of what came after a trail ride through the ganja fields on a horse called Smoke. Now, before you jump to any conclusions about what that memory may entail, or how hazy it might be, let me tell you about the jerk chicken I had.
Hot and sweaty from the ride, I tied Smoke under the shade of a logwood tree. Not twenty-feet away, a caravan had parked on the side of the road. The sharp smell of chilies from a steel barrel barbecue beside the truck had lured me off the trail and set my mouth to watering.
April 5, 2011
This is Greece!
"Are we there yet?" I whined like a six-year-old on Christmas Eve. We were racing from the crowded town of Oia to the fishing village of Ammoundi to taste the local grilled octopus that we had fallen in love with all over Greece.
"Almost." Patrick was giddy with excitement too.
We were on the island of Santorini, high above the Aegean Sea and making our way towards it. Hardly noticing, we passed the blue-domes and whitewashed walls of the buildings nestled into the side of the sunken volcano. The dramatic view over the caldera was lost on me. I could see nothing but the narrow steep steps under my feet as we descended. We reached the bottom and collapsed into the plastic chairs of the first tavern we came to, our stomach's growling. A man with shoulder-length dark curls approached with bottles of water in his hand. I smiled—my own Greek God.
"Almost." Patrick was giddy with excitement too.
We were on the island of Santorini, high above the Aegean Sea and making our way towards it. Hardly noticing, we passed the blue-domes and whitewashed walls of the buildings nestled into the side of the sunken volcano. The dramatic view over the caldera was lost on me. I could see nothing but the narrow steep steps under my feet as we descended. We reached the bottom and collapsed into the plastic chairs of the first tavern we came to, our stomach's growling. A man with shoulder-length dark curls approached with bottles of water in his hand. I smiled—my own Greek God.
March 27, 2011
Tahitian Toodles
Days start early when you are so close to the equator. Or maybe it was that there was so much to do during the day? Cooking for guests and thirteen crewmembers made my French Polynesian days hectic. Stress onboard was high. But that didn't stop me from claiming my own few minutes of paradise.
Whah! Whah! Whah! The incessant noise filled our cabin each morning. It was still dark when I tiptoed across the deck and started the uphill hike to Vaiana's. I didn't take a direct route—that would have meant by winding along the waters edge from the marina, through an abandoned field, over the jagged volcanic rock to the grove of banana trees where Vaiana, a Tahitian fruit-seller sought shelter from the hot tropical sun under the broad green leaves. Instead, I first climbed the hills overlooking her particular piece of paradise to watch the suns first rays light up the distant island of Moorea across the bay. It was my few moments of calm before the chaos of the day began.
The weightiest decision I had to make on my stroll was whether to tuck a white tiare flower or the larger bright yellow hibiscus bloom behind my ear. I cherished those few moments of peace.
Whah! Whah! Whah! The incessant noise filled our cabin each morning. It was still dark when I tiptoed across the deck and started the uphill hike to Vaiana's. I didn't take a direct route—that would have meant by winding along the waters edge from the marina, through an abandoned field, over the jagged volcanic rock to the grove of banana trees where Vaiana, a Tahitian fruit-seller sought shelter from the hot tropical sun under the broad green leaves. Instead, I first climbed the hills overlooking her particular piece of paradise to watch the suns first rays light up the distant island of Moorea across the bay. It was my few moments of calm before the chaos of the day began.
The weightiest decision I had to make on my stroll was whether to tuck a white tiare flower or the larger bright yellow hibiscus bloom behind my ear. I cherished those few moments of peace.
March 21, 2011
A Review for SEAsoned from the Keys Citizen
I was thrilled to see SEAsoned reviewed in the Florida Keys' The Citizen this weekend.
Joanna Brady Schmida's column, Keys Cuisine is always a great read with recipes from the sunshine islands. This week, I particularily liked her calling SEAsoned "Think Fawlty Towers at sea."
Thanks Joanna!
March 14, 2011
Elephant Ear Fish-Vietnam
"You have lunch today?" Luc, my guide asked.
"Of course," I replied.
"Today is special," Luc told me. "Elephant ear fish."
Elephant ear? I had seen so many different things here in Vietnam, but I had yet to come across any elephant ear fish.
"Of course," I replied.
"Today is special," Luc told me. "Elephant ear fish."
Elephant ear? I had seen so many different things here in Vietnam, but I had yet to come across any elephant ear fish.
March 7, 2011
Free Book Giveaway
My latest book SEAsoned: A Chef's Journey With Her Captain has just been released.
For a limited time, (from now to March 21th) if you order a copy of SEAsoned from the publisher, they will send you a free copy of my first book, Sea Fare: A Chef's Journey Across the Ocean
That's two books for one!
February 28, 2011
Family Time-Ontario
"Mommy, what's a butter tart?" My niece held her slender fingers to her mouth to hide as she whispered to my sister.
"Um, well. It's a treat." If Mara had not yet tasted a butter tart in her short life it was a good assumption that Nancy didn't make them or know much about them. She paused for a moment to come up with a satisfactory answer. "It's aunt Tori's favorite."
"They're my favorite, too." Mara pushed back her shoulders, swiped at the honey colored curls that fell on her forehead and spoke with all the experience of the five years behind her.
February 22, 2011
Searching For Salmon-British Columbia
On our way to British Columbia, I had visions of watching grizzlies swat passing salmon out of the river for their dinner. The salmon runs are legendary and the stuff of National Geographic specials. I had seen enough of those documentaries to think it would be easy to just hike up and watch the salmon—maybe pluck one out of the racing waters for dinner myself.
Sometimes, I am so naïve.
We saw no salmon as we cruised from Vancouver to the island of Salt Spring. Orcas played in the bay as we ferried past. A seal bobbed his smooth head up and down to take a curious look as we kayaked passed. A bald eagle sat sentinel in a tall cedar, but no salmon.
Sometimes, I am so naïve.
We saw no salmon as we cruised from Vancouver to the island of Salt Spring. Orcas played in the bay as we ferried past. A seal bobbed his smooth head up and down to take a curious look as we kayaked passed. A bald eagle sat sentinel in a tall cedar, but no salmon.
February 15, 2011
Rediscovering Pesto-Genoa, Italy
For the past year and a half, the memory of one dish of pasta has haunted me.
It was our first and only night in Genoa, Italy. We arrived tired and worn from a long day on the train. We lugged our bags, heavy from everything we would need for the next two years of travel on the boat, down narrow streets to the busy port. Frustrated by lack of taxis and grumpy from empty growling stomachs, we stopped at the first restaurant we came to.
It was nothing special, just a few plastic patio tables and chairs overlooking the commercial port. A laminated menu translated a handful of pizzas and half a dozen pastas into a comical form of English. Smelly Blue Cheese seated on Linguini was the one that made me smile. But, I opted for a simple dish of Pesto Pasta that I ordered with Drink Water. I was too tired to try and think of anything more exciting.
It was our first and only night in Genoa, Italy. We arrived tired and worn from a long day on the train. We lugged our bags, heavy from everything we would need for the next two years of travel on the boat, down narrow streets to the busy port. Frustrated by lack of taxis and grumpy from empty growling stomachs, we stopped at the first restaurant we came to.
It was nothing special, just a few plastic patio tables and chairs overlooking the commercial port. A laminated menu translated a handful of pizzas and half a dozen pastas into a comical form of English. Smelly Blue Cheese seated on Linguini was the one that made me smile. But, I opted for a simple dish of Pesto Pasta that I ordered with Drink Water. I was too tired to try and think of anything more exciting.
