When I walked onto the Regent Seven Seas Splendor ship, I had no idea what to expect. The Bittman team was hosting a special event and luncheon on the ship before it sailed off to parts unknown (just kidding, it was headed to the Caribbean). Thirty lucky Bittman Project subscribers joined us for a meal, plus a tour of the ship, tons of champagne, and a fireside chat between me and my dad—with lots of thoughtful audience questions.
My first thought upon boarding the ship was that it didn’t feel like a ship at all—if I’d been asleep during the boarding process, I’d have thought we were in a fancy hotel. I’d never been on a ship like that before. When I was a teenager, my family all went on some cruise for my grandparents’ anniversary, but that was a relatively crappy ship. (Sorry, Gram and Pop; rest in peace; I love you.)
The Splendor is extremely elegant, reminiscent maybe of that one famous ship that will go unmentioned. It has elevators that go up ten floors, multiple restaurants that look like real restaurants (I mean, they are real restaurants, but… you know what I mean); suites that have their own decks with jacuzzis on those decks; grand pianos; a spa that looks exactly like a fancy hotel spa. I’d never seen anything like it before, and it was very cool. If I can get over my fear of seasickness, I’ll likely be going on a Regent cruise in 2026.
I digress. The ship is beautiful, and I love the Regent team—they’re fun and smart and we’ve been having so much fun working with them. A couple other things made the day really special, though. First off—getting to meet subscribers in person was such a joy. (Thank you to those of you who joined us!) Hearing about people’s cooking hits and misses, what my dad’s recipes and social justice work have meant to everyone, and seeing our members make friends with each other IRL—many numbers were exchanged, and some of you have gotten together since!—was heartwarming even for Mark, who is not easily swayed. Which brings me to the second thing.
Mark: “I’m always impressed by people’s energy in the kitchen and how they try new things. I don’t do it that much anymore. I really do take good ingredients and try not to screw them up. I really do do that—I live that every day.”
Being able to, for maybe the first time, show our audience how well my dad and I actually work together was fun and weird and even surreal. I worked independently of my dad for the first 15 or so years of my “career,” at which point I was freelancing and my dad’s agent asked if I’d (these are my words) be the Mark Whisperer. My dad has been unfairly categorized as a curmudgeon for so long that at this point none of us close to him really even know if it’s true or not. Friends, he is the most loving, sweetest, most loyal human you’d be lucky enough to know. But he saves that for the three people he likes. Around everyone else, he’s kinda sarcastic and a little snarky, but decently warm; he just doesn’t suffer fools. (So, as aforementioned, his feeling touched by the warmth on display at our Regent event cannot be discounted.)
Okay, so now we’ve been working together for about ten years; part time for a few of those, and then I really started working full time for him around 2020, and that’s when I really began self-accusing of nepotism. If I was smart and worth something on my own, why was I hitching my wagon to my dad? Talk about big shoes—I don’t even want to try. I was never going to be a famous New York Times food writer; I have no desire to write a cookbook; I like to cook, but I’m no recipe-developing genius. But I’m okay with all that. In all honesty, I just feel lucky to have this time with him, both personally and professionally.
Kate: “Are you judging people when they’re cooking?”
Mark: “No.”
Kate: “You judge me.”
Mark: “I don’t judge you when you’re cooking.”
Struggling with those thoughts and emotions has actually proved to be a decent exercise. First of all, the one downside about knowing so much about cooking and food justice is this: You start to assume everyone else knows what you know. “Why would I write about that? Everyone knows that!” My dad says this to me pretty much on a weekly basis. But everyone doesn’t know “that,” and that’s something I know; so I’m very good at bringing him back to reality to help him engage with those of us who are less informed (I’m including myself here).
Mark: “I was so mad. I saw this tapenade recipe and it basically turned tapenade into four steps. When you make tapenade, you can use a mortar and pestle or you can use a food processor; you put everything in there and you mush it together. That’s the recipe. Don’t get me started.”
I’m also good at forging real and lasting connections. Helping people feel comfortable. Offering up self-deprecation when it’s needed most. Networking, but not in an artificial way—actually building networks, both my own and assisting with other people’s. And so, yes, part of the reason we have awesome partners like Regent and Bob’s Red Mill is because of my dad’s name. But the friendships we build along the way make the partnerships truer. And I like to think that because of these genuine connections, you, our audience, know that you can trust us.
This post was meant to focus on some of the food we had on the Regent ship—there was a soup that I can’t stop thinking about—but it’s the holidays and I turned into a sap. I hope you don’t mind. The quotes that are in this piece were all taken from my fireside chat with my dad on the ship; it was, according to my colleagues and many of you, a good one, so if you have some downtime and want to partake, you can watch it here.
Our little content team is largely taking the next two weeks off, with the exception of a couple posts (be on the lookout! They’re fun) and the podcast. But we’ll be back in full swing in early January, and we’re looking forward to continuing all of our cooking journeys with you then. We appreciate you being here with us so much, and from our little team to you: happy, happy holidays.
Mark: “I actually think cooking is one of the kindest things you can do for anyone. When people cook for me, I’m grateful. In a restaurant, I’m critical, but in people’s homes, I’m never critical. If someone’s going to go through the trouble of actually cooking for you, it’s a gift.”
Kate: “But will you ask for salt if you need it?”
Mark: “Yeah.”
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