On Research for My Next Book by Kathleen Flinn

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I'm still swaying. Until 24 hours ago, I was on a 74-foot boat named the Catalyst weaving along Alaska's Inside Passage. The reason for the trip was to watch my friend "Ace," a fellow alumni from Le Cordon Bleu in Paris manage her galley as research for my next book.

I thought her life on board sounded idyllic. She'd cook for the twenty or so guests aboard as she gazed out at the splendor of the Alaskan landscape. In the evening, she'd mingle with them over wine.

I was wrong.

Ace wakes up each day at 5 a.m. to start coffee and breakfast. most guests wake when the engines start at about 6 a.m. After that, she is in constant motion, preparing three meals, baking fresh breads and cookies. She's learned to expertly provision and portion. "I want there to be enough for second helpings, but not a lot of leftovers. We don't have the space." The hardest part isn't the cooking, she says. "It's being ‘on' all the time."

The galley of the Catalyst is on the main deck with the parlor, the place where all the guests hang out. Summer in Alaska is a cold, rainy affair marked by infrequent bursts of sunshine. Of the six days at sea, five featured pouring rain. Guests spend a lot of time inside, swathed in fleece, their hands curved around a cup of hot something. Most spend their time reading, looking at the landscape out the steamy windows or watching Ace cook.

"What kind of meat is that?" ‘Really, you use leg of lamb in stew? Huh." "What are you doing now?" "What was it like to study at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris?"

She cheerfully answers questions, many she's heard dozens of times. She is part of the show, and she knows it. She tries to find time for quick naps, or get in a bit of discreet yoga when guests leave the boat to hike or kayak.

When the rains descended, people started reading the few copies of the book I'd brought along. Suddenly, I was sharing tight quarters with people who learned on page nine that my husband and I once broke a bed in three places. (At times, I wish that I wrote fiction.) Then I started getting the questions, too. "What did the chefs think of that passage?" "What ever happened to [insert character's name]?"

Ace - the chef on the boat - isn't in the book. "I got edited out," she advised them. She did. For length, I cut her and a couple of friends' tales. I will never live this down. This invited more questions. "Why? Who else did you edit out?" Even at the airport, a woman asked, "Why didn't you just kick out those bad houseguests?"

But the questions are good. After culinary school, she worked for a catering company.  "I'd make all this food, put it on trays and leave. Servers would take it to the event. But I missed the interaction. I'm a chef because I want to feed people. Food is undervalued in its power to reach people."

I thought about her comment, and all the questions. People who are not interested do not ask questions, the same way that people who don't like a dish don't ask for seconds. Did I mention that I'm at work on a second book? Ask me anything you want...

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Kathleen Flinn, The Sharper Your Knife, the Less You Cry, Le Cordon Bleu, cooking school, France, cooking, food, wine, restaurants, books, Penguin Books