Arnaud Callier

The Galley Shaped Everything

I didn't set out to become a yacht chef. I set out to see the world. Cooking was the skill that opened doors—and galleys, it turned out, were everywhere.

At 18, I traded a science degree for a one-way ticket. Australia first. Then Southeast Asia, where I learned more from street vendors than I ever did from textbooks. Bangkok grandmothers making the same pad thai for forty years. Pho broths that were three generations old. Mastery without Michelin stars.

Then the yachts found me.

The Vessels

Ten years. Five oceans. Galleys ranging from claustrophobic to world-class.

Symphony. Where I learned what "owner's standards" actually meant. Nothing good enough. Everything questioned. Every plate photographed by guests who'd eaten at the best restaurants on earth.

Vava II. 96 meters. Crew of 52. The logistics of feeding an army that lives at sea. Provisioning in ports where you don't speak the language. Making it work anyway.

Christina O. The history. Cooking in a galley where Onassis hosted heads of state. Where every meal carries the weight of legacy.

Cloud 9. Charter intensity—new guests every week, new dietary requirements, new expectations. The relentless reset.

Kismet. Where I finally understood that technique without understanding is just mimicry. That knowing *why* something works is the only way to improvise when things go wrong.

What the Sea Taught Me

The galley is the most demanding kitchen environment on earth.

You cook while the floor moves. Your walk-in is the size of a closet. The nearest supplier is a day's sail away. The owner changed the guest count an hour ago. The dietary restrictions arrived ten minutes before service.

In this environment, bullshit gets exposed immediately. Recipes that assume stable conditions fail. Techniques that work on land break at 12 knots in beam seas. Equipment corrodes. Plans change.

What survives: understanding. If you know *why* an emulsion holds, you know what to do when it doesn't. If you understand Maillard chemistry, altitude and humidity become variables you adjust, not mysteries that defeat you.

Why Littoralicious

I spent years looking for a publication that respected yacht chefs. That understood our constraints. That gave us science instead of stories, data instead of dogma.

It didn't exist.

Food media writes for home cooks who want entertainment. Restaurant coverage ignores the 90% of professional cooking that happens outside restaurants. Nobody writes about provisioning in Montenegro, or emulsion stability at sea, or the actual yield you get from a turbot when the fish isn't textbook-perfect.

So I built what I wanted to read.

The Philosophy

Five principles. Non-negotiable.

Buy once, cry once. Quality tools last decades. The cheap mandoline will fail when you need it most.

No gadgets. Every tool must earn its space. On a yacht, space is finite. Justify everything.

Temperature is truth. Opinion is worthless. The thermometer doesn't lie.

Mise en place is everything. Prep before you cook. The galley in motion forgives nothing.

The guest is why we're here. Every plate matters. They're paying for perfection. Give it to them.

The Offer

Littoralicious is what I wish existed ten years ago. Science-backed. Yacht-aware. Zero bullshit.

If you're a professional who takes the craft seriously—whether on a yacht, in a restaurant, or in your own kitchen—this is for you.

If you want listicles and influencer content, you're in the wrong place.

The sea doesn't care about your Michelin stars. Neither do I.

What matters is whether you can execute. Whether you understand the science behind the technique. Whether you can adapt when conditions change.

That's what we cover here. That's all we cover here.