Basket case

Cruising is all about the food. Everyone is preoccupied with when the next all-you-can eat experience will occur. I found this slightly disturbing so I began to limit my exposure to the people on the buffet lines. This did not mean, however, that I limited my exposure to food. Food was everywhere and I happily played with it.

Fabrezio smiled shyly as I tied the Holland America apron around my waist and placed the tall chef's toque on my head. His job is to teach a dozen of us sea-faring foodies how to create a light and tasty summer dish suitable for entertaining. I can see that he is nervous and much more comfortable preparing food than talking about it. But oh, how I loved when he talked about it! His Italian accent charmed me as did his expectation that we already had basic culinary skills.

The menu was simple yet elegant. He divided us into 3 groups each with the responsibility to create either the herbal mojito style cocktail, the modified Caesar salad, or the Thai inspired shrimp entree. I was part of the salad group and immediately set myself to finely dicing shallots. There was a bit of a grumble among some of the foodies who wanted to do everything and not just a part of the meal. They were not team players. They should have been stripped of their aprons and toques and sent back to the buffet line. In the end they refused to try the food we created because of inconsistent handwashing among the student chefs. This pleased me. More shrimp for me!

While I didn't appreciate the complainers' arrogance, I could understand their germaphobic orientation. Everywhere you go a crew member is trying to squirt Purell hand sanitizer on you. This reinforces a mind set that everyone around you is a vector for the plague or some hideous virus. And, while an outbreak of norovirus can be very costly to a cruise line, not to mention very uncomfortable for the passengers who come down with it, I hated being assaulted with the germ killer. I soon learned to take evasive action and dance around the sanitizer guys the same way I avoid perfume squirters in department stores. But I digress. Back to food...

Thinking about and eating food is one thing. Thinking about how you look while eating food is another. It's very important to look good while eating, especially on formal nights, when the captain can see you eating. So, to ensure that I was worthy of the captain's scrutiny, I found myself in the stylist's chair later that afternoon.

I watched orcas frolic alongside the ship through the spa window while the stylist stood behind me holding handfuls of my hair. "You want me to put all of this on top of your head?" she asked dubiously. I eyed her doubtful expression in the mirror. "As much of it as you can fit up there," I replied. "You are the expert. Do whatever you think would look good." Most experts like to be given free rein to do what they do best. I never tell stylists how to style or chef's how to cook. I just confidently place myself in their hands and see what happens. I'm rarely disappointed although I am often surprised.

I watched the whales rather than the stylist. I could feel twisting and tugging and pulling and pinning. When I did venture a look in the stylist's direction she was very focused on the back of my head. After more twisting, tugging, pulling, and pinning the curling iron came out and there was a fair bit of sizzling. Finally, she told me I was done. She held up a mirror and I gazed at my reflection. I am sure she saw my startled look.

"You don't like it." she said. "I can do something else."
"No, I like it!" I insisted. "It's really...unusual." I looked back at my reflection. Most of my hair was lifted to the right side of my face and fell in ringlets to my shoulder. Behind my head, however, was an intricate woven pattern. My hair had been twisted and threaded in and out leaving the impression of...well...of a basket! All it needed was a bunch of grapes and a couple of bananas and the look would have been complete!

I took my basket-headed self back to my stateroom and slipped into my black evening gown. The VIP cocktail party was in full swing across the hall in the Neptune Lounge. Several couples were vying for the attention of Capt. Van Den Berg but he stood there in his formal uniform with a disgruntled air about him. It was obvious that he didn't relish this part of his job. He is a man who loves the sea but not the sea-goers. I chose not to burden him with one more introduction and headed off to see a boy named Su.