June 16, 2005--Nourishment
by Scott and Wendy Bannerot

	Fresh-caught seafood is a mainstay for us when we are out cruising. Sometimes we get lucky and get two fish at the same time on one lure, like these two lyretail grouper (also called coral trout), which Scott is holding up for Ryan and Paea Tavake to examine. We were trolling in the Vava'u Group, Kingdom of Tonga, South Pacific.

A couple of months ago we discussed the inevitability of maintaining contact with society regardless of far-flung travels. This month we'll discuss aspects of a topic more pressing - how to go about keeping everyone aboard well-nourished. Once more our approach is mostly not very high-tech, yet our routine has worked out well for us over the years. Several premises drive the simplicity of this routine.

First, we cook fresh meals virtually every day. We've known a number of competent voyagers with admirable protocols for pre-cooking, canning, and vacuum-packing, conferring the ability to whip up hot, nutritious meals offshore regardless of the conditions. We don't do this, and I think several factors contribute to our choosing to do it "island style":

• (1) Until recently, neither of us had ever been seasick, even when working on commercial vessels in very rough conditions in our pre-cruising days. (Interestingly, ever since Wendy gave birth to Ryan, she has tended to get seasick a bit more than in the past.)
• (2) Our boat handles rough conditions very, very well, so that we have stability and comfort over a wide range of sea states.
• (3) We don't find ourselves in extremely rough conditions all that often, because we are nearly always in the tropics and subtropics, picking the optimum possible passage conditions.
• (4) Our service on commercial vessels, where cooking goes on daily in almost all sea conditions, pre-disposed us to do the same thing on our own boat.

As a result we cook meals daily or at the very least every other day, regardless of what sea state we're in. If it's rough we might do a big soup or stew in one pressure pot, or microwave fish, rice, and vegetables, but we still cook.

Also, we catch a lot of fresh seafood. We love fresh-cooked seafood, and the joy of living off of hot grilled tuna, wahoo, mahi mahi, and other fish and invertebrates straight out of the sea strongly motivates our meal routine and our provisioning.

The public market in Suva, Fiji, like most such venues, has lots of fresh produce from which to choose .

Third, our professional fishing backgrounds made it seem logical to construct a 300-pound capacity freezer midships under a bunk. The presence of this large holding-plate system means we can catch, process, and preserve large tuna and other pelagic fish and literally eat the same fish for weeks. We can also purchase frozen chicken and beef for variety and to suit the tastes of guests, and keep it frozen, for months if necessary, until we're ready to consume it. We also can freeze yogurt, fruit and juices, and vegetables, providing us with freshly thawed produce many months and miles from the nearest market or store.

Fourth, despite the modest size, our 41-foot aluminum sloop has immense storage capacity. The stringers happen to be exactly two can-widths apart, allowing snug packing throughout the dry areas of the bilge, and the boat is peppered with compartments low in the hull.

Obviously this makes provisioning rather simple as well. Basically, we buy large quantities of rice and pasta, some canned greens, canned tomatoes, tomato sauce and paste, pigeon peas or similar legumes, a limited amount of canned pre-cooked food for when the chips are really down offshore, and then we load up the freezer with meats, vegetables, fruit juices, fruit products, yogurt and yogurt mix, leaving room for a few big fish. One time we did our big-store shopping in Raiatea in the Leeward Society Islands, sailed off to the Line Islands for 5 1/2 months, and didn't do any major shopping again until we returned to Tahiti the next season. The combination of massive on-board storage capacity, 300-pound freezer, and the tendency to catch most of our protein makes it possible for us to provision for 6 to 8 months, minimum, if necessary.

We don't have an elaborate system for keeping track of provision location. We have used the same areas for the same categories of foods for so many years that we just know where things are. I used to have the same casual system for parts and supplies, but finally I had to break down and devise a labeled map of where everything was. The luckier you are with not having breakdowns, the more you forget where you put all kinds of tools and spares. It got so bad eventually that I had to dig it all out, take inventory, and then make the map. Since we access provisions daily it's not so bad. We still come upon little surprises, usually seasonings or specialty items, which get lost for a while.

Of course normally we have access to grocery stores of some size or other, and public markets at least every few weeks if not more often. We're typically provisioned to maybe one-third capacity, and we hit the fresh food markets and bread bakeries regularly. In the public markets throughout the Pacific Islands we've fallen into a pattern of perusing a new market, choosing a particular vendor or vendors, and doing business with these individuals repeatedly. Particularly in Polynesia, once we have selected our purchase, the tradition is for the vendor to pile on some extra items as a way of saying "thank you for your return business and loyalty to my stand." This is not something you can politely refuse. I also really enjoy the fact that, in this culture, bartering is basically frowned upon as poor form. The prices are reasonable to begin with, so you either pay it or you don't, no games, no overtly greedy behavior. For one Polynesian to approach another and attempt to chisel down a price would be considered rude and disrespectful. Their cultural system is more about giving than about getting ahead of someone else by taking something from them. It can be so extreme that we've learned to be very careful about what we say - for example, I once complimented a Tahitian port official that we'd known a couple of years on his t-shirt, and he smiled, went out to his car, and brought me three new ones just like it and handed them to me. If you say you like something, if it's at all possible, they feel obligated to give the item to you, at which point you would be extremely impolite to attempt to return the item.

	The great selection of seasonings available in the public market (Suva, Fiji) reflects the ethnic diversity of this port.

So that's our fundamental approach, load up on dry staples and canned goods that keep indefinitely and can be combined with fresh-caught seafood for delicious meals. If we plan to cruise coral atolls, where fruit and vegetables are typically non-existent or in very short supply, we load up on canned and frozen greens and fruit products. We use our large freezer to full capacity, although we cover ourselves with canned goods in case it were to fail. If high islands with abundant produce sprinkle our voyage plans we don't go quite as heavy on the greens and fruits, knowing we'll frequently re-supply at stops along the way.

Our main tip for cooking on passage is to be sure to do it. There's nothing like a hot, fresh meal for crew morale. We do a lot of microwaving in the very roughest conditions to prevent the possibility of hot spillage. However, seldom is it too bumpy to put a large pressure cooker on our gimbaled Optimus kerosene stove and oven and do up a big pot of stew or chowder. Left to my own devices, for example, during the few interludes when Wendy was back home, I tend to go back to old habits, summarized in Chapter 13 ("More Seafood Recipes") of The Cruiser's Handbook of Fishing, particularly the recipe "Island Fish Soup" on pages 365-366 and in the section "The Simple Approach", pages 378-379. The rest of the chapter presents recipes from simple to more elaborate that Wendy, the true chef aboard Elan, has created from adapting various island and other concoctions to sailboat living.

Now, admittedly, Wendy's cooking gets the rave reviews from sailors and from her adoring husband and son, and I'll also admit that the habits I developed from living and working among fishermen in the Bahamas and West Indies are considered by some to be a bit rough around the edges. Nevertheless, I'll leave you with a quick story. Wendy had flown out of Tonga to be treated for what turned out to be parasitic meningitis, leaving me to secure the boat. I'd cooked up a big pot of fish soup, which I planned to eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I was working out on deck when an immense squall descended on Neiafu Harbor. I spotted local carver friends in an open boat and motioned them to come aboard for shelter. Petelo, the patriarch, is very shy but I finally got him below and, without asking, placed a huge bowl of steaming fish soup in front of him. As soon as he emptied it, I took it away, re-filled it, and put it back in front of him. He speaks little English; his eyes and expression said it all. He slowed considerably and barely finished the second bowl, just as the rain stopped. I helped the family back aboard their boat and we all waved goodbye. The next morning I was in the engine room when I heard a sharp knock on the hull. It was Petelo. He stepped briskly on deck with a beautiful Tongan carving in each hand, took me below, and showed me where they were to be installed. He'd measured the spaces at the end of two bookshelves by eye the previous day, and the carvings fit to the millimeter. With that he smiled, shook my hand, jumped back on his boat and motored away.