Dear Mom,

I’m about as far from stability as I’ve ever been – a boat (fishing boat, actually) in Alaska, a hunk of steel, 40 years old, maybe older, floating on the Bering sea, home to the misery and triumph made famous by the tv show — The Deadliest Catch. Picture this: a tiny twin sized mattress as my bunk, a closet as big as my locker for swimming practice, a shower just big enough so I wouldn’t get thrown too far when the boat takes an unexpected roll. There’s a galley, with rolls of brand new duct tapes spread over the table which I just learned that people use them as cup holders so their coffee mugs wouldn’t tip over, again as the boat gets tossed around by ocean swells. All of the cabinets have these child locks on it, as if the hungry deck hands would come in and steal snacks during the fishing, but having never been on boats that are routinely in rough seas, I suppose they were there for the same reason as the other precautionary measures I described earlier.

There is no fashion statements here, only different shades of orange and yellow PVC foul weather gear that would hide the voluptuous curves on the biggest Samoan dude. The clothing of choice is sweat pants and hoodies. There is a hall way leading to the outer deck that is the designated “mud room”, but there is no mud, only cigarette ashes. Some of the deck hands have several dozen pairs of gloves near their rain gear, I only have 2. The deck boss tells me he prefers to change gloves every chance he gets, says if your hands get wet they might freeze over like a popsicle. He intends, he says, to keep all his fingers this season.

Maybe I should wear all my glove liners at once? I’m thinking hand warmers in my sleeves as well, to be on the safe side. I’ve been hearing that sometimes the boat gets iced over, and the crew would take a sledge hammer and break the ice every morning. Something about ice being too heavy and if we don’t break it, the boat might sink. I never thought ice breaking would take on such literal sense. I miss the dogs, I miss my own room, Netflix and watermelon and Taki’s. I could go for some Japanese ramen, maybe extra pork loin and a second marinated egg. Beds big enough for me to lay my arm straight. I will write you when I come back from my first trip.

Love you,

Steven

This is a pastiche work off the introductory chapter from Anthony Bourdain’s book “A Cook’s Tour”