From the Galley

Captain Merle might not be able to sail a dinghy across a windy pond, but he could cook like a galley pirate.  In truth, you could say he gravitated toward sailing not merely for the wind and water but for the sloop kitchen, a dazzling little teak box full of more gadgetry than a James Bond Lotus Esprit.

As chef Nanou began to demonstrate her coq au vin he felt the curl of pesky questions form at his lips.  They stood around the kitchen workspace and watched as chef systematically dismembered a chicken into its useful parts.  "What is the key with coq au vin," she would ask over and over again, so to make sure each step was remembered.  "Edible art is as great as you would like it to be.  Why not just pan sear and fry the chicken with some vegetables and be done with it?" As she asked this, Captain Merle  could still see the faint images of Her Bounty beached just down the lake.  God, what might become of her by now?  Would the anchor hold in the sand?  Is there such a thing as beach police, would they slap a parking ticket on her, unmanned as she was?  He slightly expected three men dressed in police garb to storm the kitchen doors looking for him.  "Are you the proprietor of Her Bounty, the forty foot sloop wobbling around the public beach just down the lake," they would ask before they slipped on the cuffs.  He smiled and nodded at the chef, having made this French dish himself many times, his own peculiarities already built into the process.  "Now, normally you want to let the chicken sit in a pan overnight to absorb your marinade of

garlic, carrots, leek, mushrooms and diced onion, a good red wine.  Don't forget to use half of the cut onion to stud your cloves into.  One bay leaf, fresh thyme is mandatory. Tonight I have already done this for you." The ladies of the group, despite their very obvious cooking experience by now had turned the volume dial up from hushed murmur to full cackle.  Merle had been in demos before where drinking was strictly forbidden until the finished product resulted, for fear of flaming shish kabobs or fish left in the pan still swimming unfried.  Merle slipped another swig of rum and wished for both the images of the boat and the cackle to sail away.  Madam Nanou was a soulful teacher, both brisk in her calculated execution of vegetable cuts, but always able to provide an appropriate story to go along with the food being dissected.  "When your chicken and bacon fat go in the pan along with the vegetable and reserved red wine marinade, I want you to then fill up the pot to the very top of the chicken with your best chicken stock. That itself will be another demonstration altogether.  And voila," she said, pressing down the chicken along the sides and then placing the large dutch over a medium heat, simmering, as the concocted aromas drifted in among the copper pans dangling overhead, "that is  your coq au vin."