For restaurant manager Constanzo DiMeglio the Newport-Bermuda race was not only a dream come true but the thrill of a lifetime.

As a local resident who has shuttled between Bermuda and Newport by air for over 25 years, Mr. DiMeglio had often pondered how he could more meaningfully connect the two points.

His answer came this year when Mr. Francis Carter, skipper of the 80-foot long maxi boat, Longbarda, gave him the break he was looking for.

Mr. DiMeglio had never been to sea before but he was an excellent cook and experienced caterer, and that, apparently, was good enough for Mr. Carter.

Well, almost. Before giving his final okay, the skipper took the jovial Italian on for a trial sail in Bermuda waters.

"Apparently I passed the test so he took me with him,'' Mr. DiMeglio said with a smile.

As part of his mission, the cook went to Newport to get the full measure of his prospective domain.

"It was a little box, about three foot square,'' he said of the 30-ton boat's galley.

From the prospective of a landlubber used to industrial size kitchens, Mr.

DiMeglio knew he had some adapting to do. Still, it all looked pretty good while the boat was anchored in flat calm waters. After all, there was an oven, a microwave, a freezer, refrigerator, pots, pans ... he figured he'd make out fine.

When it came to designing the menus, the professional restaurateur approached his task much as he would for a catered party, where adaptation to circumstances is a must.

Naturally, the size of the crew -- 28 -- did not faze him. People are people, he reasoned.

Thus did those who sailed in Longbarda ultimately thrill to what one described as "stupendous'' fare.

"It was like eating at the Little Venice!'' one exclaimed, not inappropriately.

So what did Mr. DiMeglio come up with? "The first day they had baked macaroni and steak pizzaiola, on another tortellini alfredo. There was also stuffed chicken, and veal stuffed with spinach, pine nuts and onion,'' he said.

Breakfast was scrambled eggs with bacon, or with ham, and at lunchtime there were sandwiches -- big, big sandwiches -- made with large, round loaves of Italian bread brimming with roast beef, tuna, turkey or cheese.

In between, there were pep-up snacks galore: candy bars, "goldfish'' and chips.

And there was masses of fruit: oranges and apples, the latter being one crewman's sole fare for the entire voyage.

"By the second day I was getting concerned about him, but he assured he only ever eats apples at sea,'' the caring cook explained.

Like all neophyte provisioners, Mr. DiMeglio over-ordered based on reports of how hungry crewmen got at sea.

"They told me `plenty of apples and oranges' so I ordered two crates of each and they didn't eat half of them,'' he related.

It was the same with the dozens of eggs still in the hold as Longbarda approached the finish line.

"That morning I gave them masses of scrambled eggs, about six eggs per person,'' Mr. DiMeglio laughed. "I don't think they want to see eggs again for a long time!'' "We had way too much food,'' he added.

It was just one of the things the now deeply-tanned Italian learned from his ocean racing baptism.

For example, preparing sausages and mashed potatoes in the limited galley of a listing, tossing boat proved a no-no, unless you want to spend precious time chasing the former around the bilges and wiping up the latter from the suits of sails covering the floors while 28 hungry men wait for their lunch.

"I turned my head for a fraction of a second and everything went flying off the counter. Vegetables are no good on a boat. If something drops, it had better be in one piece!'' he joked.

Then there was the style in which seagoing food is prepared. Mr. DiMeglio knew that crewman had to eat with one hand while performing some nautical task with the other.

"So I rolled everything -- the steak, the veal -- and then I cut it up into small pieces so they could eat it with a fork.'' On land the scheme seemed a good idea, but with hindsight the cook says next time -- oh yes, there will definitely be a next time -- he will do things differently.

"I will prepare the same sort of food but I will roast things: beef, whole salmon, veal, chicken. Then you can slice it the way you want it.'' Reflecting on his voyage, Mr. DiMeglio said: "For three days your whole life changes. It's not like going (for a cruise on calm waters) where the boat is always flat. At sea, the boat is always tilted at 45 degrees.'' Among the problems that caused were: microwaves don't work because not only does the rotating fan in the top present problems, but dishes slide around inside and rest either against the door or the back wall. Also, back muscles ache unmercifully until the body gets used to fighting the boat's unusual angle.

Certainly, the landlubbing expert was not impressed by galley -- which he still calls "kitchen'' -- design.

"For such a big boat the space is so tiny,'' he said. "There must be better ways to utilise it. In the refrigerator, for example, somebody should come up with compartments to store things, and containers to hold various drinks which can be accessed through taps on the outside instead of having to open the door all the time. I'm going to see what I can do about designing a better kitchen for boats.'' Even recognising the limitations of sea-going "kitchens'', Mr. DiMeglio does not believe in compromising on food. Mention freeze dried and tinned food and he winces.

"Disgusting!'' he exclaims. "I think people who work hard deserve better than freeze-dried food and sandwiches.'' Which is just fine by Longbarda 's crew, who were ecstatic about their culinary luck.

And indeed the word is out.

"I've had three offers already. I never realised there was such a demand!'' the delighted Italian exclaimed.

So thrilled is he, in fact, that his eye is already set on distant horizons.

"I will do a California race, I want to do the Syney to Hobart race, and of course I will do Newport again,'' he promised.

Sailors are no different to landlubbers, the way to their hearts is through their stomachs, and whoever cooks for them must understand that.

Whether they're pitting brawn against brine, catching 40 winks in a cramped bunk, or steering for a finish line, yachtsmen look forward to mealtimes as eagerly as kids do to Christmas.

So a ship's cook must be competent, organised and prompt.

This week, as Bermuda's harbours filled with competitors at the end of the 1994 Newport-Bermuda Yacht Race, among those stepping ashore were the inner engine drivers who kept the crews alive and well throughout at least 76 hours of tough physical activity.

So just what makes these galley guys and gals tick? And what do they feed the hungry masses working on deck? Taste sought the answers in dockside interviews this week. Here is what we learned: Mr. Constanzo DiMeglio.