Hub – Provisioning On A Superyacht
Provisioning on a Superyacht: The Tinder Blind Date of the Culinary World by Luis Rafael Hurtado. #24/0149.
October 7, 2024 · 2 min read
Provisioning on a Superyacht: The Tinder Blind Date of the Culinary World
Using a superyacht provision service is a lot like going on a Tinder blind date: you’re full of expectations, hoping for the best, but somewhere deep inside, you know you’re about to get disappointed. You think you’re getting what you need? Oh no. It’s all about what they want to sell you—or whatever’s about to expire and they’re trying to pawn off before it turns into a science experiment.
You ask for two pounds of Black Forest ham, and somehow you end up with a five-pound slab of “slimming ham.” Because hey, why not save your waistline and disappoint your guests at the same time? And the microgreens? They arrive looking like they just finished filming their last will and testament—perfect for a “funeral salad.”
Then there’s the beef situation. You ordered 90/10 ground beef for a nice, hearty Bolognese. What you got? More fat than actual meat. Two-thirds fat, to be exact, because apparently, we’re making a Bolognese soup now.
Ordering dry goods? Prepare for your surprise guests: flour bugs, pantry weevils, rice bugs—take your pick! They come at no extra charge, which is always nice, especially when you’re in the middle of a remote cruise. It’s like a bonus protein package, but one that you never asked for and definitely don’t want.
And let’s not forget the organic eggs. You crack five for an omelette, and two of them smell like… well, let’s just say they’re far from “fresh.” I didn’t know eggs could age like fine cheese, but here we are, discovering new culinary frontiers.
The cherry on top? Your provision order arrives either right before lunch (when the crew conveniently vanishes to their cabins) or at 6:30 p.m., when everyone’s suddenly Houdini and dinner is expected on time. And don’t forget the next morning, when they ask for breakfast and you’re scratching your face with the middle finger, mentally preparing yourself for the day ahead.
Oh, and the bill? A cool $4,000 for five cases of goods, half of which are either missing or, even better, spoiled. Of course, when you called them, they assured you everything was under control—right up until the moment they hit “send” on their invoice and disappeared like the crew at provisioning time.