Navy Chefs Take Savory Voyage at San Diego School : Cooking: The service is out to improve its culinary image by training its best and brightest chefs at a school for advanced cooks.

“No guts, no glory,” said former Navy Master Chief Petty Officer Romeo Basmayor as he wielded a knife in front of 20 sailors.

With surgical precision, he attacked a turnip, deftly carving it into a pristine white rose.

“When you’re out on a six-month deployment aboard a destroyer, don’t just dump out all your parsley,” Basmayor ordered. “Because you won’t be getting any more.”

At the Navy’s only advanced culinary school, 25 students hone specialized skills such as cake decorating, garnishing and ice carving. They are the Navy’s best and brightest cooks, who earn the cumbersome title of mess management specialist. They can whip up beef stew for 300 or bake Virginia ham with pineapple raisin sauce for an admiral and visiting dignitaries.

A Navy vessel “is a big city that floats, so you need people with different specialties,” said Lt. Ken Luchka, spokesman for the Naval Training Center, which hosts the advanced food preparation school as well as boot camp for thousands of sailors.

For sailor-chefs, kitchens of the sea pose unique challenges. Mike Burkhart, 19, had just made nine coconut cream pies when his submarine abruptly dove down, sending the pies flying.

“We’re supposed to get warned before they do that,” said Burkhart, an Orrville, Ohio, native stationed aboard the submarine James Madison.

Burkhart and others come to the school in San Diego because they love their trade, despite the aggravations. Most sailor-chefs acknowledge that Navy cuisine suffers an image problem and that crews usually call cooks “stewheads.”

“Cooks have a really bad reputation--it’s come with the years,” said Colleen Larreau, a 28-year-old New Jersey resident who used to cook for Adm. William J. Crowe, the retired former chairman of Joint Chiefs of Staff. “The Navy is trying to teach more pride and professionalism.”

Each year, about 300 sailors graduate from the advanced food preparation school. In groups of 25, they attend the three-week school that includes classes in Italian and French cooking, and teaches how to manage a kitchen aboard a sea-bound vessel for up to six months. When they cook, they must pay attention to nutrition, taste, cost, visual appeal, color scheme and morale.

“If sailors start a day with a bad stomach, it’s not only that you messed up a meal but you’ve possibly made a bad crew,” said Lt. Cmdr. John Pemberton, director of supply schools at the training center. “You’re concerned not only with the person eating, but morale. And the further you are from payday, the more you need to serve morale-boosting food.”

In the Navy, that means pizza, steak, ice cream, strawberry shortcake and, when possible, lobster.

For most of the cooks, the reward is in the creation and appreciation of the meal. “It really gets me going when someone comes back and says, ‘Great chow,’ ” said Walt Berrey, a 26-year-old Washington native who cooks aboard the submarine Georgia.

Others rein in their creative instincts to cater to the more traditional palates of crews. And they all, more or less, follow the prescribed recipes devised by the Armed Forces Recipe Service.

“Most people in the Navy grew up with overcooked green beans. So I won’t cook al dente, “ said Regis McDonald, 32, a Louisville, Ohio, native who enlisted 12 years ago. “You try subtle changes--you do a little at a time.”

For sailor-chefs, garnishing, ice carving and cake decorating are one of their few chances at culinary creativity.

Shawn Burns, a 19-year-old Minnesota resident, gazes at an undecorated cake like an artist looking at an empty canvas. “I look at it and think of what I can do,” said Burns, who adds that an award-winning cake takes about two hours to decorate. Burns won four first-place awards in Minneapolis contests recently.

Burns and others sometimes buck their families when they join the Navy and become cooks. “My family was shocked,” said Burns, whose father had hoped he would follow in his footsteps and become a foreman in a utility plant. “I say that’s just not me.”

About 90% of the school’s graduates end up on vessels at sea. But most would rather be on shore and close to their hometown, Pemberton said. “We say, ‘Join the Navy and see the world.’ Most students don’t want to do that.”

Only those at the top get to choose their assignments. Aside from short postings, duty aboard the newer vessels, like Aegis cruisers, are usually popular because of the more modern and spacious kitchens.

The school is an effort to bolster the flagging image of Navy cuisine, dubbed “mess,” by instilling more pride in cooks, officials say. Some, including cooks, say it’s an uphill battle. But those at the school are confident that they will win.

“In the old days, only the captains’ food was garnished. When it comes to garnishing, if it looks good, I bet it tastes good,” Basmayor said. “The majority of people eat with their eyes.”

To prove his point in one recent class, Basmayor showed students how to make bachelor’s button flowers out of radishes, a bird-shaped bowl from a pineapple and a banana, a rose bush from celery and turnips, and rosebuds from tomato peel.

For major holidays or events such as change-of-command ceremonies, Basmayor suggests the chefs make ice sculptures from 3-foot-tall blocks of ice, which cost about $37.

Using such niceties, officials say they hope to stem the attrition of sailors and boost morale aboard Navy vessels. But as a former Navy man, Basmayor recognizes that not all commanding officers will look favorably upon frills like garnishing.

“Sure, you run into some who say, ‘Don’t garnish, it’s a waste of time and money.’ But I’d rather spend a little money on garnishing rather than just throwing the food down,” he said. “Garnishing is what? It’s imagination.”