1989, Part 2

"Oh, no. We don't need any of that," I shook my head.

My first task as chief cook was to plan the menus and then meet with the supply officer and order all the food we would need for the time we were out to sea. After recording my requisitions for meat, fresh vegetables, bread, eggs, cheese, pasta, and other basic pantry staples, she had suggested adding some frozen meals, like lasagna or meatloaf. 

Both my upbringing and my culinary background were strictly cooking from scratch, and giant aluminum foil pans of anything were not part of that vision. The supply officer raised her eye brows and shrugged. I was the chief, after all. 

Our ship was designed for construction, not cruising, and so a Coast Guard cutter would tow us up the Atlantic seaboard to Newport. We were scheduled to get underway around midnight, and after a day of drills and other preparation, we officially reported for duty at 8 PM. We stowed our gear in our adjoining cabins, which were separated by a shared bathroom and shower, and went to bed, because breakfast was at 6 AM.

I don't remember my alarm buzzing, but I do recall rising in the dim light and making my way to the head. When I opened the door, I saw my sister across the way in her cabin, arms spread wide, and staggering back and forth past the door. It was then that I realized that we were actually at sea, and the boat was rocking rather emphatically from side to side. 

Standing still was a challenge, but somehow we dressed and reeled our way down to the galley. Coffee was brewing 24-7, and so we put some orange juice concentrate into the cold drink machine, set up the cereal bar, and began cooking bacon and sausage. Scrambled eggs were on the steam table, but we would cook eggs to order, too. 

Service went pretty well, although several guys wanted to know where the doughnuts were. When the captain came through the line, he did not seem impressed. "I'll have fried eggs," he said. "Make sure to get the snot out of them."