FOR­TU­NA­TO CAR­NO­VA­LE

Superyacht - - Chef - By Mar­ti­no Mot­ti

Whe­re do you co­me from chef? I’m Ita­lian from Calabria. I was born in a to­wn cal­led Pi­sco­pio near Vi­bo Va­len­tia a sea port to­wn whe­re I li­ved up un­til 2000 when I re­lo­ca­ted to Sie­na in Tu­sca­ny. I stayed the­re for ele­ven years. Cur­ren­tly I am li­ving in Bra­zil wi­th my son and wi­fe. How did you get ac­quain­ted wi­th the sea? Well thanks to a good friend of mi­ne. Back in May 1996 Cap­tain Pao­lo Ma­ri­no rings me up and asks me if I want to work th­rou­gh the sum­mer sea­son on a 24 me­tre char­te­red ya­cht! I’ll ne­ver for­get that ex­pe­rien­ce whi­ch led to a se­cond sea­son as well, and that got me star­ted as crew and cook. Your trai­ning? In the be­gin­ning I was self taught but I soon went on to as­si­st a grand chef and friend of mi­ne Mi­che­le Sor­ren­ti­no who was wor­king out of the Bot­te­ga­no­va in Sie­na, then wi­th on­ly one Mi­che­lin star award. Af­ter that I went on to at­tend se­ve­ral advanced cour­ses at the Gam­be­ro Ros­so si­tua­ted on the pre­mi­ses of the Cit­tà del Gu­sto di Roma. I’m cur­ren­tly kee­ping abrea­st of things cu­li­na­ry th­rou­gh on li­ne web si­tes, this is a field whe­re the­re’s al­ways so­me­thing mo­re to learn... Whi­ch are your fir­st re­col­lec­tions of what went on in the kit­chen? My ini­tial re­mi­ni­scen­ces go back to chil­d­hood, to the smells and un­mi­sta­kea­ble plea­sant whiffs of what my mo­ther was coo­king whi­le I would run up to her to look at what she was in the pro­cess of pre­pa­ring, evi­den­tly wi­th una­ba­shed spon­ta­neous and ar­ti­stic in­te­re­st. In fact in my ear­ly teens I went to art school as I en­joyed pain­ting as well.then at about 24 I di­sco­ve­red I had a pas­sion for coo­king whi­ch led me to open up Lo Zo­dia­co a small con­cern in Vi­bo Va­len­tia whi­ch of­fe­red piz­za and beer es­sen­tial­ly, in fact it is still ve­ry ac­ti­ve to­day. Your ini­tial ex­pe­rien­ces at sea? As men­tio­ned be­fo­re­hand I be­gan thanks to my good friend and cap­tain out of Vi­bo Ma­ri­na whe­re I wor­ked for six sea­sons on ”Dol­phin” then on “Sea Wea­ver” ano­ther ya­cht for char­ter, but my mo­st for­ma­ti­ve and ac­com­pli­shing ex­pe­rien­ce in this field was the fi­ve year stint I did on M/Y “TRIBU” sai­ling he­re and the­re around the glo­be. Pre­ce­ding ex­pe­rien­ces as Chef ? As al­rea­dy said an im­por­tant one was no doubt thanks to the pla­ce I had in Vi­bo Va­len­tia whi­ch we la­ter ex­pan­ded in­to a bar and re­stau­rant. Then in Sie­na I wor­ked for se­ve­ral re­stau­ran­ts. How is wor­king on board dif­fe­rent to wor­king on land? We’re loo­king at two di­stinct and to­tal­ly dif­fe­rent rea­li­ties. On land you ge­ne­ral­ly ha­ve a team to work wi­th to whom you de­le­ga­te and or­ga­ni­ze ac­cor­din­gly. You ha­ve a me­nu for the gi­ven sea­son whi­ch trans­la­tes in­to pre­pa­ring the sa­me di­shes for th­ree mon­ths at a ti­me, al­beit wi­th a num­ber of dai­ly im­pro­ve­men­ts even. On board of ya­ch­ts up to as mu­ch as fif­ty me­tres you are alo­ne mo­st of the ti­me and mu­st think of eve­ry­thing from or­ders to sto­wing the­re’s no one to de­le­ga­te any­thing to. You mu­st ca­ter for lun­ches and din­ners for the crew and guests, whi­ch al­so means spe­cial re­quests and per­so­nal die­ts. Fur­ther­mo­re on ya­ch­ts you ha­ve to asto­ni­sh guests as mu­ch as you pos­si­bly can. Whi­ch are your cur­rent cui­si­ne’s main fea­tu­res? Ba­si­cal­ly it is de­fi­ni­te­ly ve­ry Ita­lian. It is of­ten la­bel­led as “Me­di­ter­ra­nean Cui­si­ne” but wi­th a pin­ch of in­no­va­tion and per­so­na­li­sa­tion of so­me of

the re­ci­pes whi­ch can ma­ke se­ve­ral di­shes truly uni­que. Your pre­fer­red re­ci­pe? My fa­vou­ri­te is fi­sh coo­ked wi­th a thick cru­st whi­ch can be ma­de of sea salt, bread, po­ta­toes, zuc­chi­ni, dried fruit and ci­trus fruit lea­ves. Whi­ch are the ba­sic in­gre­dien­ts you pre­fer? I ve­ry mu­ch li­ke to cook fi­sh and fre­sh ve­ge­ta­bles ve­ry brie­fly and scen­ted wi­th herbs. My fa­vou­ri­tes are thy­me, ro­se­ma­ry, lau­rel lea­ves and pos­si­bly fre­sh ore­ga­no all pre­fe­ra­bly from Sou­thern Ita­ly sin­ce their fla­vour and scent is clear­ly mu­ch mo­re in­ten­se. Your pre­fer­red di­shes are the ones you pre­pa­re for the ship ow­ner or tho­se de­di­ca­ted to char­ter par­ties? The di­shes I de­li­ver to char­ter par­ties are mo­re sti­mu­la­ting to pre­pa­re. I am al­ways loo­king to crea­te new ones; at the sa­me ti­me thou­gh, eve­ry­thing be­co­mes mo­re de­man­ding and al­so stres­sful at ti­mes, but it’s mo­re gra­ti­fy­ing and gi­ves me great sa­ti­sfac­tion. The wor­st thing that hap­pe­ned to you as Chef? Whi­le I was li­ving in Sie­na I’d of­ten put in ex­tra hours in a ca­te­ring com­pa­ny and one mor­ning at th­ree a.m. well be­fo­re da­wn, we set off for Pe­ru­gia to ca­ter for 220 guests in­vi­ted to lun­ch fol­lo­wing a wed­ding and 130 for din­ner. The cho­sen pre­mi­ses we­re real­ly beau­ti­ful but the area in whi­ch to in­stall the kit­chen was a buil­ding si­te on whi­ch a hou­se was being built. The­re we­re ce­ment bags eve­ry­whe­re and heaps of du­st. To stop the ce­ment du­st from ri­sing we de­ci­ded to wet the floo­ring al­mo­st con­ti­nuou­sly. It was all ve­ry stres­sing and fa­ti­guing but in the end all went ve­ry well. Ne­ver­the­less that was a trau­ma­tic ex­pe­rien­ce I still re­mem­ber di­stinc­tly. Whe­re do you pur­cha­se the goods you re­qui­re, fre­sh pro­duc­ts and out of the or­di­na­ry in­gre­dien­ts you need for the di­shes you pre­pa­re? Fin­ding what’s ge­ne­ral­ly re­qui­red in the Me­di­ter­ra­nean is no pro­blem wha­tsoe­ver, the­re are se­ve­ral sup­pliers rea­di­ly avai­la­ble at all ti­mes. I’ve been pla­cing or­ders as of this year wi­th Plu­sma­ri­ne si­tua­ted in Ge­noa. They de­li­ver qua­li­ty, are ca­pa­ble of fin­ding pri­me raw ma­te­rial wi­th short no­ti­ce, in a nu­tshell we ha­ve a good wor­king re­la­tion­ship. Still I ha­ven’t drop­ped my old ha­bit of de­ploy­ing the ser­vi­ces of se­ve­ral lo­cal mar­ke­ts as over ti­me I’ve got­ten to know the ro­pes and the net­work of peo­ple wor­king this sec­tor.

Six­ty works by Mo­net (18401926) co­ming from the Mar­mot­tan Mo­net Mu­seum are cur­ren­tly ex­hi­bi­ted at the Com­ples­so del Vit­to­ria­no in Ro­me up un­til Ja­nua­ry 28th 2018. The cu­ra­tor of the ex­hi­bi­tion Ma­rian­ne Ma­thieu ran­ges from the ar­ti­st’s re­no­w­ned ca­ri­ca­tu­res re­pre­sen­ting so­me of his mo­st si­gni­fi­cant ear­ly works car­ried out in his la­te teens to the pain­tings de­di­ca­ted to Wa­ter li­lies and Wi­ste­ria in his Gi­ver­ny gar­den whe­re he spent mo­st of his la­st de­ca­des. The ex­hi­bit com­pri­ses works per­for­med du­ring his fre­quent trips to Lon­don, Pa­ris, Le Ha­vre,vé­theuil, Pour­vil­le and se­ve­ral por­trai­ts of his chil­dren. “A uni­que ex­hi­bi­tion, sin­ce the works ex­hi­bi­ted are not ‘on­ly’ pain­tings by Clau­de Mo­net, but are tho­se he was per­so­nal­ly ve­ry fond of, tho­se he kept all his li­fe in what was his la­st pro­per­ty in Gi­ver­ny – tells Ma­rian­ne Ma­thieu – this is mo­re of a voya­ge in­to Mo­net’s li­fe, in his things, in his idea of a gar­den. When he fir­st mo­ved in­to the hou­se in Gi­ver­ny in 1883 the­re was no­thing el­se but an or­chard around it, the­re was no gar­den to speak of, no flo­wers. It took Mo­net ma­ny years to tran­sform it. Whi­le work re­mai­ned in pro­gress in the gar­den, he’d of­ten tra­vel th­rou­gh Fran­ce and as far as Ita­ly loo­king for ideal land­sca­pes and ma­te­rial to paint on can­vass but al­ways “en plein air “.His pas­sion for dra­wing be­gan ear­ly when ju­st a boy. “I used to draw wrea­ths on the mar­gins of the pa­ges in so­me of my books and I would usual­ly de­co­ra­te the blue co­vers of my exer­ci­se books wi­th fan­ta­stic or­na­men­ts or wi­th ir­re­ve­rent car­toons and ex­tre­me ca­ri­ca­tu­res of my tea­chers”. Mee­ting Bou­din pro­ved to be a de­ci­si­ve turn around in Mo­net’s trai­ning. Bou­din pas­sed on to him lo­ve for pain­ting out­doors in the open air: “He stu­dies, learns to see and draw, to paint and crea­te land­sca­pes”. Bou­din per­se­ve­red in his tea­chings re­len­tles­sly. “My eyes fi­nal­ly ope­ned wi­de whi­le I be­gan to un­der­stand and lo­ve na­tu­re for what it is. I ana­ly­sed na­tu­re’s sha­pes and I re­pro­du­ced them wi­th a pencil and stu­died its co­lours and di­ver­se hues at­ten­ti­ve­ly”. All of the­se aspec­ts played an im­por­tant ro­le in Mo­net’s evo­lu­tion as a pain­ter and fa­ther of im­pres­sio­nists. Mee­tings wi­th Al­fred Si­sley, Jean Fré­dé­ric Ba­zil­le, Gu­sta­ve Cour­bet and mo­re espe­cial­ly wi­th Pier­re-au­gu­ste Re­noir who was at that ti­me ju­st be­gin­ning as an ar­ti­st wro­te:“i spend mu­ch of my ti­me wi­th Mo­net. We of­ten don’t know whe­re our next meal will be co­ming from. Ho­we­ver I’m hap­py all the sa­me be­cau­se as far as pain­ting goes Mo­net is won­der­ful com­pa­ny”. Im­pres­sion is of­fi­cial­ly born in Pa­ris in Na­dar’s pho­to stu­dio si­tua­ted in 35 Bou­le­vard des Ca­pu­ci­nes on 15th April 1874, whe­re thir­ty ar­tists in­clu­ding Mo­net, Dé­gas, Cé­zan­ne, Bou­din, Pis­sar­ro, Ber­the Mo­ri­sot, Re­noir and Si­sley ex­hi­bi­ted their works for the fir­st ti­me. It was then that Mo­net and his peers adop­ted the term “Im­pres­sio­nists”. Wi­th a tou­ch of pro­vo­ca­ti­ve iro­ny they ac­cep­ted the ad­jec­ti­ve th­ro­wn at them by Louis Le­roy whi­ch he had coi­ned to be de­ni­gra­ting and whi­ch pa­ra­ph­ra­sed the ti­tle of one of Mo­net’s pain­tings Im­pres­sio­ne, le­var del so­le.” Ah, he­re, it’s he­re! What on ear­th does this can­vass re­pre­sent? Look at the ca­ta­lo­gue”.“im­pres­sio­ne, so­le na­scen­te”.“im­pres­si­ve I am su­re.yeah and so­me im­pres­sion in that can­vass. And what a li­ber­ty! and wi­th su­ch a free and ea­sy way of pain­ting! Un­fi­ni­shed pain­ted wall pa­per is de­tai­led bet­ter than this! Le­roy was not the on­ly one; Al­bert Wol­ff com­men­ted: “the on­ly im­pres­sion the­se im­pres­sio­nists con­vey is com­pa­ra­ble to that of a cat step­ping along a pia­no’s key­board, or that of a monkey wi­th a box­ful of co­lou­red crayons in its hands”.in the group sup­por­ting thou­gh, Ju­les-an­toi­ne Ca­sta­gna­ry, whi­le ac­cep­ting the neo­lo­gi­sm re­fer­red to im-

pres­sio­nists, wro­te: “They are im­pres­sio­nists for the way in whi­ch they do not re­pre­sent land­sca­pes the sa­me way, but in the heart­felt emo­tions rai­sed and im­pres­sed by the land­sca­pes them­sel­ves.this spe­cial term has step­ped in­to and is part of their lan­gua­ge. From this point of view rea­li­ty has been left be­hind gi­ving way to pu­re idea­li­sm.the dif­fe­ren­ce the­re­fo­re bet­ween im­pres­sio­nists and their pre­de­ces­sors is a mat­ter of so­me­thing ex­tra and so­me­thing less than the fi­ni­shed work. The ob­ject whi­ch is to be re­pre­sen­ted is in­deed the sa­me, but the tools de­ployed to trans­la­te it in­to image ha­ve been mo­di­fied”. As for Paul Man­tz the im­pres­sio­ni­st was: “a sin­ce­re ar­ti­st, freed from for­mal pro­ce­du­res who has been af­fec­ted by short li­ved fa­shio­na­ble so­phi­sti­ca­tion but due to his heart’s can­dour is com­ple­te­ly fa­sci­na­ted by na­tu­re and trans­la­tes the over­whel­ming in­ten­si­ty it evo­kes, in all sim­pli­ci­ty and wi­th the grea­te­st pos­si­ble frank­ness”. As far as Ed­mond Du­ran­ty is con­cer­ned: “Di­sco­ve­ring im­pres­sio­nists main­ly con­sists in ha­ving re­co­gni­sed that big light di­sco­lours hues, that the sun’s rays boun­cing off ob­jec­ts tend, for the sa­ke of cla­ri­ty, to re­turn to that bright shi­ny sour­ce whi­ch mel­ts the seven pri­sma­tic rays in­to a sin­gle co­lour free ray whi­ch is light. From in­tui­tion to in­tui­tion and lit­tle by lit­tle they ha­ve co­me to brea­k­do­wn sun­light in­to rays and to re­com­po­se its

who­le­ness th­rou­gh the pro­jec­ted har­mo­ny of its iri­de­scen­ce spread on­to pain­ted can­vass”. Guy de Mau­pas­sant con­tri­bu­ted wi­th the fol­lo­wing words: “In the cour­se of this la­st year I ha­ve been fol­lo­wing Clau­de Mo­net in his que­st for ‘im­pres­sions’ to paint. He wa­sn’t a pain­ter as su­ch, he was a hun­ter. He would go about wi­th a team of young car­riers – chil­dren - clut­ching even half a do­zen works re­vea­ling the sa­me su­b­ject sce­ne in dif­fe­rent mo­men­ts of the day and wi­th di­ver­se sha­des and light, ac­cor­ding to the po­si­tion of the sun. He would ta­ke them up again to mo­di­fy this or that de­tail of the sky as it chan­ged. He would at ti­mes pau­se for the sun to reap­pear from be­hind a cloud and ca­st a dee­per sha­dow whi­le wi­th few stro­kes of the bru­sh he would fix the sun ray as it reap­pea­red, or a wind­swept pas­sing cloud.... He would look upon fal­se­ness, and wi­th what is con­ve­nient, wi­th con­tempt. Mo­net was quick to exe­cu­te pier­cing bru­sh stro­kes on­to can­vass...i saw him cap­tu­re a spot of light on a whi­te rock and pin it to it in yel­low. Stran­ge­ly the stro­kes con­veyed the flee­ting ef­fect of an un­gra­spa­ble sun beam. Ano­ther ti­me wi­th cup­ped hands he took rain wa­ter up as it hit the sea and th­rew it quic­kly at the can­vass he was wor­king on. And in­deed it was rain he was wan­ting to paint as it vei­led the sight of the wa­ves in the sea, rocks and the sky too whi­ch could hard­ly be di­scer­ned du­ring that rain­storm.” Mo­net used pain­ted sha­pes as a pic­to­rial ve­hi­cle by whi­ch to trans­la­te the in­te­re­st he nou­ri­shed for the ra­dia­tion of light: na­tu­ral light. In fact Mo­net pain­ted out­doors in the open. The re­ply he prof­fe­red to Emi­le Ta­bou­reux a jour­na­li­st who asked if he could vi­sit his stu­dio is self ex­plan-

ato­ry: “My stu­dio! I ha­ve ne­ver had a stu­dio and I fail to un­der­stand why we should clo­se our­sel­ves in a room” he then went on to point an in­dex fin­ger at the ri­ver Sei­ne, the sky abo­ve them and Vé­theuil vil­la­ge in so­lemn fa­shion whi­le ad­ding: “He­re’s my stu­dio”. But ac­cor­ding to Gu­sta­ve Gef­froy: “You ju­st had to see Clau­de Mo­net in Gi­ver­ny, to be able to say you know him, his per­so­na­li­ty, his lo­ve of li­fe, his in­ward na­tu­re. For he who has con­cei­ved and ma­de this small uni­ver­se whi­ch si­mul­ta­neou­sly exu­des fa­mi­ly feel at­mo­sphe­re and is truly ma­gni­fi­cent is a great, grand ar­ti­st”. “Sin­ce the co­lour sche­me he crea­ted as bac­k­drop to that of the flo­wers was even mo­re pre­cious mo­re mo­ving than the flo­wers them­sel­ves. Even when a ka­lei­do­sco­pe oo­zing wi­th vi­gi­lant, chan­gea­ble and yet si­lent hap­pi­ness would fill wi­th du­sk light as so­me far away ports do at the clo­se of day, the co­lour sche­me would spar­kle al­mo­st from be­nea­th wa­ter li­lies in la­te af­ter­noon wi­th hues of chan­ging drea­my red pinks pre­ce­ding sun­set – whi­ch in­car­na­te that whi­ch is dee­pe­st, mo­st flee­ting, mo­st my­ste­rious wi­th that whi­ch is in­fi­ni­te- see­min­gly it was as if pot­ted flo­wers had bloo­med un­der an open sky, whe­re wa­te­ry beds of flo­wers min­gled wi­th ten­der wa­ter li­lies the Ma­ster had pain­ted on­to su­bli­me can­vas­ses. They’re ve­ry mu­ch li­ke a fir­st but de­light­ful ta­ke of li­fe”. (Mar­cel Prou­st) “Ber­n­heim tal­ked to me about an enor­mous and my­ste­rious de­co­ra­ti­ve ele­ment, the pain­ter is cur­ren­tly wor­king on and is one he’d pro­ba­bly li­ke us to see..... he leads us along the pa­ths li­ning his gar­den ro­ws till we rea­ch a new­ly com­ple­ted stu­dio re­sem­bling a vil­la­ge chur­ch. In­si­de the­re’s a sin­gle hu­ge room wi­th a glass roof. A do­zen or so pain­tings li­ne the floor for­ming a cir­cle. They’re all about two me­tres across and one me­tre twen­ty hi­gh. Our eyes fill wi­th wa­ter li­lies, light and sky. The­re’s a sen­se of in­fi­ni­te con­ti­nui­ty bet­ween wa­ter and sky wi­th no be­gin­ning or end. We felt as thou­gh we we­re wit­nes­sing the fir­st hours of the world’s crea­tion.the sight of this is whol­ly my­ste­rious, poe­tic, en­chan­tin­gly un­real, whi­ch de­li­vers a stran­ge sen­sa­tion, a mi­xed fee­ling of unea­se and plea­su­re trig­ge­red off by the sur­roun­ding wa­ter”. ( Re­né Gim­pel) Art cri­tic Fra­nçois Thié­bault-sis­son com­men­ts his vi­sit to Gi­ver­ny as fol­lo­ws: “On en­try my eyes ope­ned wi­de as I mar­vel­led at the sight be­fo­re me. As for the ef­fect the co­lour sche­me had on me, it was li­te­ral­ly ou­tstan­ding. The ar­ti­st’s de­li­ca­te way of di­stri­bu­ting co­lours al­lo­wed pur­ple hues and yel­lo­ws, ame­thysts and pinks, vio­le­ts and mal­low to stand out in per­fect har­mo­ny on a light or dark al­mo­st black ba­se en­ri­ched wi­th tou­ches of green. The wa­ter li­lies in the calm wa­ter of the pond see­med to re­st upon their wi­de flat ba­se lea­ves as they lif­ted up their co­rol­las con­tou­red by green do­mes whi­le the cen­tre of the com­po­si­tion was near­ly al­ways emp­ty, but in a ve­ry re­la­ti­ve way sin­ce it re­pre­sen­ted the pain­ter’s cho­sen spot on­to whi­ch he con­cen­tra­ted the co­re and play of re­flec­ting light on shi­ny, calm, rip­pled, or slightly wa­vy wa­ter in the pond. The­re in that ve­ry spot the viewer could see the re­flec­tion of a small clu­ster of clouds as if su­spen­ded in the pink or fi­re red sky abo­ve, it was al­so ea­sy enou­gh to di­scern fog li­ke strands lift and dis­sol­ve in­to mi­st at da­wn. Ano­ther pain­ting and the who­le sce­ne spar­kles wi­th sun­light at the clo­se of day – sun­se­tand the beams of gol­den light are li­ke ri­vers flo­wing along a pearl grey and tur­quoi­se sky. Eve­ry­thing was in­cre­di­bly po­wer­ful and sump­tuou­sly ri­ch un­der­sco­red by in­ten­se co­lours oo­zing wi­th li­fe”. We wi­sh to end this brief ex­cur­sus wi­th a few li­nes bor­ro­wed from Amé­dée Ozen­fant’s Me­moirs (pain­ter and art wri­ter).“mo­net de­di­ca­ted the la­st few years of his li­fe to a play­ful se­ries of wa­ter li­lies. When I saw him I mar­vel­led at the fact that I caught my­self rai­se my hat to him, to the man, who had achie­ved all of this and had pain­ted them. When a pain­ted can­vass de­li­vers su­ch in­stinc­ti­ve reac­tions, the­re is no way of try­ing to de­ny: Mo­net’s work is no­ble and po­wer­ful”.

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