Author: Luis Rafael Hurtado

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.

Crew Meals: Because No One Likes a Hangry Crew by Luis Rafael Hurtado. #24/0147.

October 6, 2024 · 2 min read

Crew Meals: Because No One Likes a Hangry Crew

Never underestimate the power of keeping your crew well-fed. Seriously, if you think serving them half-hearted sandwiches is going to cut it, think again. Great-tasting food translates into a happy crew, and guess what? A happy crew means fewer mutinies, fewer complaints, and a captain who isn’t breathing down your neck. It’s like a magical recipe for peace on the high seas. And yes, this extends to the owners, who might just thank you for not having a grumpy crew knocking on their cabin door.

If you actually want to succeed in this industry, here’s a pro tip: show the same enthusiasm for crew meals as you do for that meticulously plated lobster bisque you whipped up for the guests. And no, I’m not saying you need to serve filet mignon with a side of gold flakes at lunch (although, who wouldn’t love that?). But let’s at least pretend the crew deserves food that doesn’t resemble something you’d serve at a prison cafeteria.

Believe it or not, chefs have lost jobs over this. Yes, really. Because, shocker, it turns out that if you consistently treat the crew’s meals like an afterthought, word gets around. How many times have you heard, “Yeah, they make a killer soufflé, but their crew meals? Total garbage.”? Reputation is everything, folks.

Remember, your food says a lot about you—not just as a chef, but as a human being. So, if your crew is staring at their plates wondering what they did to deserve this culinary punishment, maybe it’s time to reassess. Because hangry crew members? They’re just one step away from staging a kitchen coup.

Good morning! Dementia, Diabetes, Alzheimer’s by Luis Rafael Hurtado. #24/0144.

October 5, 2024 · 1 min read

Good morning!

Dementia, Diabetes, Alzheimer’s—these modern-day diseases don’t just sneak up on us; they’re the result of inflammation, fueled by processed sugar and a sedentary lifestyle we’ve subconsciously embraced. But here’s the good news: it’s reversible, or even better, avoidable! The solution? Start today by taking shots—no, not tequila—of pure ginger, turmeric, green apple, jalapeño, and lemon! Juice your greens like it’s your new religion, say no to all forms of sugar, and drastically reduce alcohol. And, yes, practice safe sex—because believe it or not, it has healing powers! Also, get rid of everything (and everyone) that’s just taking up space and not adding value to your life. The human body has an incredible ability to heal itself; we just need to give it the right tools. Take action now, and you’ll thank yourself later!

The time is now cabrones! Have a great weekend!

José Andrés: The Chef Who’s Feeding the World While the UN Decides What’s for Lunch by Luis Rafael Hurtado. #24/0145.

October 5, 2024 · 4 min read

José Andrés: The Chef Who’s Feeding the World While the UN Decides What’s for Lunch

Move over, UN. There’s a new global superhero in town, and he’s not coming to shake hands, give speeches, or pose for awkward group photos. He’s coming with a paella pan and enough chorizo to feed a small country.  José Andrés, the Spanish chef with a heart as big as his portions, is doing more for humanity than a room full of diplomats ever could. While the United Nations is busy drafting resolutions no one reads, José is rolling up his sleeves, whipping up some gazpacho, and feeding the world—literally.

Feeding People vs. Talking About Feeding People

Let’s start with the basics. The UN has a committee for everything—world hunger, poverty, climate change, probably even one for figuring out how to pronounce quinoa. But what’s their strategy? Organize endless meetings, take years to make decisions, and maybe, just maybe, release a statement. Meanwhile, “José Andrés”is like, “Oh, there’s a natural disaster? Cool, I’ll be there in 24 hours with a food truck and a smile.”

His nonprofit, World Central Kitchen, has fed millions of people after hurricanes, earthquakes, and wildfires. And here’s the kicker—he’s not just handing out sandwiches. This man is out there cooking gourmet meals in disaster zones! People are getting calamari in the middle of a crisis. Take that, UN! Last we checked, no one’s lining up for a plate of bureaucracy with a side of red tape.

While the UN Discusses Solutions, José Andrés Is Serving Them

It’s a classic move. Something terrible happens, like a hurricane or earthquake, and the UN rushes in with—you guessed it—another meeting.  After several days of “strategizing,” they announce a plan to announce another plan. José Andrés? He’s already got five pop-up kitchens set up and is flipping tortillas like he’s got no time for politics (because, spoiler alert, he doesn’t).

When the world was hit with the COVID-19 pandemic, what did the UN do? You guessed it—more meetings! José? He turned restaurants into community kitchens, feeding frontline workers, families, and pretty much anyone with an appetite. While the UN debated which color ties to wear for their Zoom calls, José was out there handing out meals like a benevolent food wizard.

Disaster Diplomacy: José Andrés Style

If the UN really wanted to solve world hunger, they should hand over the keys to José Andrés, His disaster diplomacy is simple: go where people are hungry, cook food, feed them. No speeches, no committees, no waiting for world leaders to approve the plan. Because let’s be honest—when was the last time a UN resolution ended with a freshly grilled octopus?

When Hurricane Maria devastated Puerto Rico, the UN sent, you guessed it, thoughts and prayers (and some logistical support). Meanwhile, José Andrés was on the ground serving 3.7 million meals in the time it takes for the UN to find the “reply all” button. He even wrote a book about it, “We Fed an Island” because apparently, saving the world with food wasn’t enough. He had to rub it in too.

José Andrés: The Real Global Leader

Forget secretary-generals. We need head chefs running this world. José Andrés doesn’t wait for approval or international permission slips. He just shows up, does the work, and leaves a trail of well-fed, grateful humans in his wake. The man is a one-man NGO. And he’s doing it with a smile and some of the best food you’ve ever seen in a disaster zone. Think about it—while the UN sends out a three-page press release, José is grilling fresh seafood on the shores of some hurricane-ravaged island.

The United Nations? More Like the United… Maybe Later

The UN loves to talk about the big problems: world hunger, climate change, disaster relief. They spend millions on conferences, summits, and speeches where world leaders give dramatic nods but very little actual help. José Andrés? He doesn’t have time for that. He’s too busy changing the world with a ladle in one hand and a spatula in the other.

And here’s the thing—José isn’t just helping; he’s inspiring. While diplomats are reading long-winded reports, he’s turning volunteers into kitchen warriors. He’s proving that food is more than just fuel—it’s a force for good, a way to rebuild communities, and, quite frankly, a lot more satisfying than whatever the UN’s serving.

José Andrés for Secretary-General?

At this point, we should just hand over the UN to José Andrés. Let him run it like one of his kitchens—fast, efficient, and with a flair for the dramatic. Instead of endless debates, we could have a global paella cook-off. Imagine world leaders discussing peace over a steaming pot of arroz con pollo. I guarantee you things would get solved a lot quicker if there were tapas involved.

Conclusion: When in Doubt, Follow the Chef

So, while the UN continues to pat itself on the back for issuing another statement, “José Andrés” is out there saving lives with a frying pan. He’s proving, day by day, that sometimes the best way to solve global problems isn’t through bureaucracy and endless debate—it’s through action, compassion, and a little garlic. If the UN wants to stay relevant, they might want to take some cooking lessons from José.

Because at the end of the day, you can’t eat a resolution. But you can definitely enjoy some of José’s world-saving paella.

And there you have it! Hope this brings a smile to your face while capturainge José Andrés’ incredible impact. 😄

Life’s Lessons, Served Hot in a Bowl of Soup by Luis Rafael Hurtado. #24/0141.

October 3, 2024 · 2 min read

Life’s Lessons, Served Hot in a Bowl of Soup

Dear crew,

If there’s one thing I believe we should all learn early in life, it’s how to make a good soup. Yes, you read that right—soup! You see, soup is more than just a meal; it’s the gateway to understanding the beautiful process of critical thinking. Don’t believe me? Think about it.

Soup is one of the simplest, most profound creations. You start with basic ingredients—some vegetables, a little seasoning, maybe a stray chicken leg if you’re feeling fancy—and from this humble beginning, you transform it into something nourishing, comforting, and healing. Soup delivers subliminal messages of love in every spoonful, like a hug for your stomach! It has the magical ability to transport us back to childhood or evoke memories of home, holidays, and the people we cherish.

All you need to make soup is good intentions and the will to throw things into a pot. With simple, affordable ingredients, soup welcomes everyone, no matter their budget. It’s democratic, inclusive, and oh-so forgiving.

And here’s the best part: the soup you make tells you a lot about who you are. Are you a “throw in all the spices” kind of person or a “less is more” minimalist? Do you follow recipes to the letter or add a dash of chaos to the pot? Learning to make a good soup is a sure sign you’re on the right track to success and, dare I say, to a harmonious life.

So, next time you find yourself staring at a pot, wondering if you have what it takes, remember—if you can make soup, you can do anything.

Yours in broth and wisdom,

Chef Raffie

Sous Chef Nightmare: The Legend of Consuelo, Culinary Disaster Extraordinaire by Luis Rafael Hurtado. #24/0137.

October 1, 2024 · 4 min read

“Sous Chef Nightmare: The Legend of Consuelo, Culinary Disaster Extraordinaire”.

Ah, the joys of running a VIP venue for the world’s most important people—where everything must be perfect, where timing is key, and where the food must not just taste good, but should sing, dance, and perform an opera on your tongue. Naturally, when I needed a sous chef for such an event, I didn’t just want someone competent. No, I wanted someone who could practically *levitate* over the stove while creating Michelin-star masterpieces. Enter **Consuelo**—the woman who, in theory, was about to make my life a breeze. Spoiler alert: *theory* is where all the good stuff stayed.

### The Phone Call: A Symphony of Lies

It all started with the phone interview. You know those moments when you think, “This is too good to be true”? Yeah, that was Consuelo. On the phone, she was the culinary equivalent of Beyoncé: multitasking goddess, menu designer, restaurant owner, administrative wizard, and, most importantly, someone who could “run the whole show.” A miracle, right? Sent from the gods of gastronomy to bless my kitchen.

She talked like she’d designed menus for royalty. She assured me she knew her way around any kitchen blindfolded and could whip up a soufflé with one hand tied behind her back. She spoke fluent “kitchen”—terms like *mise en place* and *reduction* flowed from her lips like poetry. I’m thinking, *Wow, this is it. She’s the answer*. Boy, was I wrong.

### When Consuelo Arrived: The Plot Twist

Consuelo showed up at the venue, and from that very moment, my confidence crumbled faster than a stale croissant. I handed her the menu, smiled, and asked her to start setting up for service. You know, nothing crazy—just the *basics*. Well, turns out, Consuelo’s version of *basic* was to stand there like a deer in the headlights, staring at the kitchen like it had suddenly transformed into a NASA control room.

When I say she was running in circles, I mean that quite literally. The woman was sprinting from station to station, flailing her arms around like she was reenacting some sort of interpretive dance routine. “*Mise en place*?” I asked her, trying to keep calm. She blinked at me like I had just spoken to her in Klingon.

“Mise what?” she asked, holding a paring knife upside down and gripping a tomato like it was about to explode.

### Chaos in the Kitchen: Cirque du Consuelo

For those unfamiliar, **mise en place** is a simple concept. It means “everything in its place.” It’s basically Kitchen 101: chop your onions, measure your ingredients, have everything ready so when service starts, you’re not running around like a lunatic. But for Consuelo, it might as well have been nuclear physics.

The only thing she placed in that kitchen was pure, unfiltered **chaos**. I swear, at one point, I saw her try to *boil* butter. Butter! There she was, stirring it like she was about to make soup. Then, when I asked her to make tea, I half-joked that she’d probably burn the water.

Turns out, I wasn’t kidding. I didn’t even know it was possible to scorch water, but Consuelo found a way.

### The Grand Finale: I’ll Just Do It Myself

It became clear, about 10 minutes into this culinary disaster, that I had two options: fire Consuelo on the spot and attempt to save the kitchen myself, or let her continue and watch the world burn. Being the responsible, well-adjusted person I am, I chose the former. So, while Consuelo continued her one-woman kitchen circus, I swooped in to save the day, chopping vegetables, sautéing, and assembling dishes faster than I ever thought possible.

I was a one-man kitchen army while Consuelo looked on, occasionally stirring something that didn’t need stirring and asking every five minutes if the oven was on. I even saw her try to fry something in a pot of cold oil at one point. *Cold. Oil.*

Six hours later, service was done. Plates were served. The VIPs were fed (thank God), and I was ready to collapse. But it wasn’t over. Oh no. You see, Consuelo—our culinary genius—came over with a smile and casually asked for her pay.

Four. Hundred. Dollars. For what was essentially a six-hour audition for the role of “most chaotic sous chef on the planet.”

### Moral of the Story: Seeing Is Believing

So, what’s the moral of this story, dear readers? Don’t believe anything anyone says on the phone. I don’t care if they tell you they’ve cooked for the Queen of England or personally taught Gordon Ramsay how to swear. Until you see them in action—*in person*—assume they don’t know a paring knife from a hammer. Because while Consuelo talked a good game, when push came to shove, she was about as useful in the kitchen as a waterproof teabag.

Next time, I’ll be hiring based on one simple criteria: can they boil water without setting off the smoke alarms? And if they start running in circles, I’ll just ask them to dance… and call for backup.

0

0

Published on October 1, 2024

Luis Rafael Hurtado

Unemployed Crew Lifestyle: From Dumpster Diving to Delusions of Grandeur by Luis Rafael Hurtado. #24/0133.

September 28, 2024 · 3 min read

Unemployed Crew Lifestyle: From Dumpster Diving to Delusions of Grandeur

Welcome to the thrilling world of unemployed yacht crew life—a glamorous existence where dreams are as dried up as that two-week-old Chinese takeout sitting in the crew house fridge. Picture it: a bunch of adults huddled around a mystery container, trying to decide if that grayish lump is General Tso’s chicken or something that once lived under the bed.

When you’re jobless and broke, the standards drop faster than a deckhand’s dignity after a night out. Lunch? That’s whatever survived the last crew house apocalypse, usually some petrified slice of freezer-burned pizza that could double as a weapon. “Is it edible?” becomes more of a suggestion than a question.

But then, like a fairy tale straight out of the twisted minds of the Brothers Grimm, the phone rings. The magic words: “You’ve got a job on a superyacht!” Suddenly, our intrepid crew member is transported from ramen noodles and bargain-bin beer to a world of champagne and caviar.

And just like that—poof!—a miracle occurs. The person who, just days ago, would’ve inhaled a stale bagel they found behind the couch now has a laundry list of food allergies and dietary preferences. Shellfish? Only if it’s hand-dived. Gluten? They break out in hives at the mere thought. Vegan, but only if it’s plant-based without the plants. Yes, you heard that right.

It’s like watching a creature evolve at lightning speed, transforming from a scavenger who’d wrestle a rat for the last piece of pizza to a food critic who expects their avocado toast to be served on a slab of hand-quarried marble. “Oh, is this tuna sashimi not from Japan? Sorry, I can’t eat this. It gives me hives.” Really, Brad? Last week you ate a sandwich you found under the couch cushion.

And let’s not even get started on the demands they unleash on the poor yacht chef. The same people who once lived on gas station burritos and ketchup packets are now sending back dishes because the sous-vide lobster wasn’t cooked “just right.” They want their kale massaged, their quinoa fluffed, and their eggs coddled like a newborn baby. They’ll whine over wine pairings, lecture about lactose, and critique the coffee with the intensity of a sommelier grading a 1982 Bordeaux.

And heaven forbid you serve something that doesn’t fit their new, self-imposed “lifestyle.” One wrong move and they’ll be in the captain’s office, complaining about how the chef “clearly doesn’t understand my needs” and how “this is just not the standard I’m used to.” Right, because they’ve *totally* become accustomed to a life of artisanal goat cheese and truffle oil in the three days since they stopped eating cold fries off the floorboard of a friend’s car.

In short, the moment they step on board, they become living proof of the old adage: money changes everything. They morph into self-proclaimed connoisseurs, forgetting the days when their “diet” consisted of whatever they could scrape together from a takeout menu and the questionable leftovers in the fridge.

So, to all the chefs out there dealing with these prima donnas: we salute you. May you have the patience of a saint and the skill of a magician. Because while they may have left behind their crew house days, the entitlement they’ve picked up along the way seems here to stay.

Bon appétit, and good luck—you’re going to need it!