All The Chips on The Table
To the love of my life, Annie Leng.
The gossamer blue waves glisten in the afternoon sun. Their only interruptions the occasional crest of a white cap crisscrossing the horizon. In the distance between the anchored ships sits the tropical paradise Saipan.
I stare out over the railing of the deck, the island in the background. Waiting for the launch boat to make its rounds from ship to ship. I can see it two ships away. The anxiety of the moment forces my mind to retreat.
A few hours early
The ship and by extension the prep table in the galley pitch and roll as my knife glides through the room temperature butter. Two pounds exactly.
I slice the last cube and steady my feet to cross the galley. With the cutting board in hand, I approached the sixteen quart Hobart mixer. It’s paddle attachment fixed to the mixing arm. Using the spine of my knife, I scrape the butter into the bowl.
I scoop three cups of granulated sugar and three cups of brown into the bowl with the butter. I turn the mixer on slow and the paddle begins its task. A few revolutions later, the butter is stuck to the paddle, I raise the speed to medium. The motion hypnotizes me as the paddle churns the butter and sugar into a homogenized mixture.
