My husband, David, and I started our cruising life on a 20-foot trailerable boat. At the time, neither of us had ever taken the helm, but we were avid expedition sea kayakers keen to go farther and see more. More than 20 years later, we’re on boat number five. In all that time, we’ve never lived on land. 

Our daughter, Maya, now age 12, was born onto Footprints, our Wharram Tiki 31 (boat number three). She took her first overseas passage on our fourth boat, Storyteller, a 35-foot Hitchhiker catamaran. 

Now, all three of us are partway into our first circumnavigation on our fifth boat, Wild One, a 41-foot Grainger catamaran. Our registered home port is Darwin, Australia, but we call Cairns home. We’re all drawn to the sea—an endless horizon that reminds us the world is bigger than we are. Besides sailing, there’s other fun to be had: riding waves, ogling underwater life, and catching meals that come unwrapped, fresh from the source to the table.

Every day at sea is different, even after 20 years afloat. There are inspiring days of such magnificence that we smile just remembering them. Sometimes, days that are blissful and fun can turn challenging in a heartbeat. Yet all of this brings an intimate connection with nature and the sea that, while not always peaceful, is deeply enriching. 

On one of those “challenging” days, our meal from the sea came from an entirely unexpected source. We’d been sailing since midnight and were braving trade-wind swells inside the Great Barrier Reef. We raced ahead of gale-force winds gathering quickly to the south. Stormy squalls hid the horizon. There was no place to hide, but we hoped to be tucked around the tip of Cape York and safely at anchor before the weather really went to hell.

The fishing dory came out of nowhere, tossed clean out of the sea, its propeller spinning midair atop an enormous cresting wave. It veered toward us, maneuvering parallel with our surfing catamaran as we battled to hold course. 

Over the roar of the waves, we confirmed two things: Yes, we were indeed all mad bastards, and yes, we would most definitely like a catch of fresh painted crays (as we call our local spiny lobsters in Australia). These were thrown over our rails as we surfed wildly at 13 knots. 

Dave gripped the helm to keep the boats a safe distance apart. I moved quickly to scoop up the crays before the sea washing over the aft rail claimed them back again.

Minutes later, the dory peeled away, back to its mothership rolling at anchor behind the slenderest of sand cays. With dinner in the bag, we continued, eventually coasting alone through Albany Passage at dusk. We rounded Cape York as the sea finally calmed.

To live on the sea is a dream that many of us turn into reality. Whether at sea full time or only seasonally, sailors everywhere are united by the watery adventures that we take. We’re bonded by the feeling that life is better, simpler and richer when we live it on or near the sea—and most of us agree that a good meal after a challenging passage is always a magnificent one. 

After Wild One was safely anchored, we reveled in one of those moments of magnificence. As we savored our dinner of buttery, delicious, pan-fried lobster tails, we lifted our last cold drinks in a toast: to an outstanding day at sea, a tip-of-Australia sunset, and the generous fisherman who’d gifted us dinner.

Buttery Pan-Fried Lobster Tails (serves 2)

• 2 spiny lobsters
• ¼ cup butter, softened
• 3 garlic cloves (or to taste), minced or crushed 
• 3-4 Tbsp. dry white wine
• 2 Tbsp. fresh-squeezed lemon or lime juice 
• Salt and black pepper, to taste
• Few sprigs of fresh parsley, chopped, plus extra for garnish (optional)

Prep the Lobster

We freeze live lobsters for up to 1 hour before cutting, rendering them motionless and inducing a numb, sleeplike state. Using a sharp knife, make one rapid cut through the centerline connecting the head, chest, abdomen and tail. Separate the halves, then twist and break the tail pieces away from the head (or cut apart with a knife). Pull out any intestines running down the middle of the tail and discard. With sharp scissors or kitchen shears, snip away any spiny bits covering the tail meat. Give the tails a quick rinse, and briefly set aside. (If you catch enough, you can save the lobster heads to make stock.)

Melt butter over low or medium-low heat in a pot big enough to hold tail pieces along the bottom. Add garlic, and gently sauté for about one minute. Add white wine and simmer briefly, until slightly reduced. Add the lemon or lime juice. Add salt and pepper and 1 tablespoon parsley, if using. Whisk to combine. Immediately remove from heat. Pour the sauce into a small bowl, leaving only a flavorful coating in your pot. 

Return pot to stove, keeping heat low to medium-low. Add lobster tails, meat side down, and gently sauté (cook time will depend on tail size; average is 5 to 10 minutes). Turn and brush both sides of tails with sauce as they cook. After 5 minutes, check for doneness. If more time is needed, check frequently. Lobster is cooked when meat turns opaque white, with no areas of translucent, grayish flesh. Cooked lobster should easily part from the shell when gently prodded with a fork. To serve, arrange tails on a plate, sprinkle with parsley, and garnish with sliced lemons or limes.

Editor’s Note: This is an edited excerpt from The Hunter & The Gatherer: Cooking and Provisioning for Sailing Adventures by Catherine Lawson and David Bristow.

Calling all galley gourmets! Do you have a personal favorite galley recipe you’d like to share? We’d love to see it. Email your recipe, the story behind it, and two or three high-resolution digital photos of you aboard your boat to editor@cruisingworld.com.

The post Storm-Tossed, Lobster-Blessed: A Culinary Cruising Tale appeared first on Cruising World.

I heard a loud splash at the end of the dock just as I hit “brew” on the coffee maker.

It was 0630. We were docked stern-to on Poros Island, in Greece’s Saronic Gulf. I was in the galley aboard Stressbuster, our Atlantic 70 cutter, setting up for breakfast. All was silent behind the closed cabin doors. It appeared that our charter guests, two fun-loving Australian couples, were sleeping. 

I popped up the companionway to see what was up outside.

Nothing was up, but something large was down—and it was in the water heading toward our stern. I realized the shape was human before it hit me: It was one of our humans! Evidently, one guest had risen early and gone walkabout.

Swimming in busy yacht harbors in Greece is a no-go; our guests knew this. The stream of creative ­expletives from the easygoing Aussie in the drink confirmed my hunch: His morning swim had not been intentional. Also, he was fully clothed. 

My husband, Kostas, the ever-vigilant captain, materialized beside me. “Pete, you OK?” he asked, offering a hand as Pete climbed our swim ladder. 

“No. I mean, yeah, I’m fine, mate, but I’m a bloody idiot,” he fumed. “I was awake early, so I took a stroll. I was looking around instead of down and walked straight off the bloody dock. And I had this in my pocket,” he said, holding up a sodden wallet. He flung it down in disgust. 

“Never mind,” I told him as I ducked below for a beach towel. “We’ll dry it all out.” 

“Crikey, I’m bloody embarrassed,” he went on, shaking his head. I assured him no one else had seen—we were the only three people awake on the dock. As I balmed his bruised ego, I sent silent thanks skyward that no other part of him had been injured. 

While Pete rinsed off with the deck shower, I fast-walked to the bakery for extra bread. I had something in mind that was guaranteed to soothe his soul.

When I was growing up, my mother’s go-to remedy for anyone in a mood in the ­morning was caramelized cinnamon toast. The aroma alone launched us out of bed and to the table.

When I returned, he had followed my advice and spread the contents of the beleaguered wallet under the dodger to dry. His wet shirt dripped from the lifelines. He’d poured ­himself a coffee and sat on the sun bed, sipping morosely. “I guess I should wake everybody up for breakfast,” he said with a loud sigh. 

Crikey. The man was, as my mom used to say, in a mood.

“Relax,” I replied. “And leave it to me.” 

When I was growing up, my mother’s go-to remedy for anyone in a mood in the morning was caramelized cinnamon toast. It also worked to rouse dedicated ­sleepers. The aroma alone launched ​us out of bed and to the table. “Just what the doctor ordered,” she’d chirp as she put the platter in front of us. I’ve made her toast ever since, in a mood or not.

In the galley, I got to work. Minutes later, the heavenly scent of toasting butter and cinnamon filled the boat. I looked at my watch: 3, 2, 1…

Cabin doors flung open. The sleepers had launched. “What are you making?” they asked in full chorus, rubbing their eyes. “Oh, my God. It smells good!”

While everyone helped themselves to coffee and continental breakfast fare, I finished the toast and put the platter on the table.

As they ate, I heard yawns and “yums.” Then the group went silent. 

I glanced up. All eyes were on Pete’s wife, Olivia, who was poised over the toast, snapping photos. “Lynda, I’m posting everywhere about our American cook in Greece who makes this unbelievably brilliant cinnamon toast,” she said. “You’re going
to be famous in Oz.”

I laughed. Fame didn’t interest me, but Pete’s mood did.

“What do you think, Pete?” I asked. 

“I reckon this is the best bloody cinnamon toast I’ve ever eaten in my life,” he answered, lifting his coffee mug in my direction. “And this morning in particular, I’d say it’s justwhat the doctor ordered.”

He was grinning from ear to ear.

Caramelized Cinnamon Toast

• ¹/2 cup salted butter, plus 1-2 ­ tablespoons for pan 
• 1/3 cup white sugar
• 1 tablespoon cinnamon
• 8 slices bread
• 1 apple (optional)
• Sprig of fresh mint (optional)

Note: For large bread slices or more ­servings, double the recipe. Save extra sugar-cinnamon mix for future use. You can use any type of bread, but I prefer fresh. The texture is firmer, and it absorbs butter better. 

Use soft butter or soften stick butter until easily spreadable. In a small bowl, combine sugar and cinnamon. Mix thoroughly, then spread out evenly on a dinner plate. 

Spread softened butter over both sides of bread slices, then dredge each side in sugar-cinnamon mix. Set aside. 

Briefly preheat a large nonstick pan over low-medium heat. Add 1 tablespoon butter to the pan. As soon as butter melts, add bread slices, three or four at a time. Toast over low-medium heat for about 1 or 2 minutes per side, moving toast around in pan to absorb butter. Toast until sugar caramelizes and bread begins to brown, being careful not to let butter or sugar burn.

Serve warm on a large platter with optional garnishes of sliced apple and a sprig of mint. Dust platter with additional sugar-cinnamon mix.

Cook’s Notes: Using salted butter is critical to counteract the sweetness and get a slightly salty-sweet taste. White sugar is best for quick caramelizing. This is a great way to use day-old fresh bread.

Difficulty: easy
Prep time: 15-20 minutes
Can be made: at anchor or underway

The post Sailor & Galley: The Best Cinnamon Toast Recipe Ever appeared first on Cruising World.

You may have heard the saying: Life is like ice cream. Eat it before it melts. 

My husband, Jeff, and I fully embrace this idea for living life to its fullest. We spend most of every year living aboard and cruising our Westsail 42, Outrider, based in San Carlos, Mexico. 

We’re also fans of actual ice cream, but that part of living the good life was elusive on Outrider until recently. Limited freezer capacity meant that, when cravings struck, we were forced to go ashore for a fix. Storing a half-gallon of ice cream on the boat was just not possible.

Not long ago, I was aboard Outrider doing chores when, weary and warm, I craved ice cream. I wasn’t in the mood to go ashore to get it, so instead, I decided to try making it. I knew it was doable; my mother always made her own without much fanfare. Unfortunately, I’d never learned how. All I could remember about her recipe was one ingredient: condensed milk. 

An online search for that ­ingredient netted several recipes. I chose the least-­complicated one. It looked quick and easy. Eventually, I did go ashore—to the supermarket for ingredients—and, back aboard Outrider, I ­dutifully followed the recipe.

“Pour whipping cream into a bowl and beat until it forms a peak,” it instructed. I have only a hand whisk on board. Thirty minutes of increasingly frenetic agitating later, the cream hadn’t whipped into anything resembling a peak. It was as flat as a prairie. Frustrated but determined, I followed the remaining instructions, fearing that this whole exercise was turning into an epic fail. 

With nothing to lose, I poured the mixture into a quart-size freezer container and made space in the freezer. Six hours later, it was ready. The recipe said to eat it within two weeks. Were they kidding? We polished off half of it that night. It was good.

Despite my love of ice cream, I knew I wouldn’t repeat that time-consuming drill every time we craved it, which was often. Fresh whipping cream as an ingredient was also a minus; it’s not a priority when it comes to fridge stowage, and its shelf life is short. 

Perusing local grocery store shelves, I spied an old favorite: Nestle Media Crema—canned table cream. I knew that it was a thick cream, so I decided to give it a try. I grabbed two cans, plus a bottle of vanilla extract and a can of sweetened condensed milk. 

Back on board, I ditched the whipping process and instead whisked the cream for two to three minutes, then added the condensed milk and vanilla extract, and whisked briefly again. I poured the mixture into my container, stuck it in the freezer, and crossed my fingers. 

Wondrously, this ice cream was far superior to the first batch. It was delicious and creamy, sweet and smooth. It was perfect. 

A few weeks later, we set sail before sunrise for a crossing of the Sea of Cortez, bound for Playa Santispac in Bahia Concepcion on the Baja peninsula. About 15 miles out, just as we encountered a line of shrimp boats dragging nets, alarms began sounding. The autopilot flashed a communications error, and the depth sounder stopped working. There was an odd ticking sound coming from somewhere. We swung back toward the marina to sort things out. 

To ease our disappointment, I whipped up a batch of ice cream while we sailed. Safely back in our slip, we relaxed and savored bowls of vanilla perfection, our troubles fading with every delicious spoonful. 

Homemade ice cream on board anytime, anywhere. If that isn’t living the good life, what is? Just remember to eat it before it melts.

Super-Easy Ice Cream (Yields: About 1 quart or 10 scoops)

• 2 7.6-oz. cans Nestle Table Cream*
• 1 14-oz. can sweetened condensed milk
• 1½ Tbsp. vanilla extract or other flavoring
• 1 cup strawberries, halved, or other berries (optional)
• Chocolate or other syrup for topping (optional)

* Also sold as Nestle Media Crema. Consistency of other brands may vary.

Pour canned cream into a large bowl. Whisk by hand for 2 to 3 minutes. Add sweetened condensed milk and vanilla extract. Whisk another 2 minutes, or until smooth. 

Pour mixture into 1-quart freezer container, or divide among smaller containers, and cover with lids. Place in the freezer for at least 6 hours, or overnight. 

Top with syrup and fresh berries, if ­available and desired.

Cook’s Notes: For fruity ice cream, blend and strain 1 cup berries, then add to ice cream mix before freezing. Or cook berries on stovetop with 1 teaspoon water and ¼ cup sugar for roughly 15 minutes. Strain, cool, and ­drizzle on top of the mix to form swirls. 

Prep time: 20 minutes, plus freezing time
Difficulty: Easy
Can be made: At anchor or underway

The post Sailor & Galley: Ice Cream, Anytime appeared first on Cruising World.

The overnight passage offshore began, as usual, with­ ­exuberance. We were off! As the day wore on, time slowed. We relaxed. The dark of night descended. I was on watch in the cockpit of Simple Life, our Island Packet 37, while my husband, Joe, rested below. As we surged forward into blackness, my mind wandered. Besides imagining plowing into a snoozing whale or striking a submerged container, I was ­contemplating something pleasant: fresh shrimp.

We’d departed Port Royal Island, South Carolina, that morning, bound for St. Marys Inlet at the Georgia-Florida border and, ultimately, Fernandina Beach. Now we were fast approaching what I call the “land of shrimp.” It’s a hub where, thanks to the commercial boats plying the waters day and night, you can find an abundance of the freshest, finest shrimp you’ve ever tasted. 

During seasonal migrations south from our home port of Pawtuxet Cove, Rhode Island, we’ve logged numerous overnight passages. The Intracoastal Waterway is one of the most popular routes south from New England, but we’ve learned over the years that sailing offshore, while sometimes tiring, is generally less stressful. Especially in the Georgia marshes along the ICW, shoals abound, requiring constant vigilance with charts and at the helm to avoid groundings. Offshore, we have plenty of water.

The sun was rising as we approached the border. From my perch at the helm, sunrise was a welcome sight. Joe got up and prepared to take his watch, and I steered Simple Life west toward the inlet. Conditions overnight had been manageable, but now we had a stronger breeze. Seas began building just as Joe appeared, to take the helm. Soon, a large following sea ushered Simple Life down each wave toward the inlet. 

I spotted three local shrimp boats ­already plying the waters at daybreak, and thought about that night’s dinner: shrimp Mozambique. I’d first sampled this delicious dish in Portuguese restaurants in Fall River and New Bedford, Massachusetts, not far from our home port. I loved it so much that it inspired me to make my own version.

The last couple of miles into the inlet seemed to take hours. After a well-earned nap, I spent the early afternoon zipping ashore in the dingy, headed for Atlantic Seafood Fish Market. 

Located directly on the shrimp-boat docks, it has some of the freshest shrimp on the Eastern Seaboard. The crustaceans I bought probably were swimming beside us as we aimed for the inlet that morning.

This recipe, rooted in the former Portuguese colony of Mozambique in East Africa, is rich with spices and flavor. I’ve shared it with many cruising friends who now regard it as their go-to recipe for entertaining guests aboard, or whenever they’re lucky enough to find fresh shrimp.

Shrimp Mozambique (serves 2)

• 1 packet Sazón Goya con Azafran or 1½ tsp. homemade shrimp spice mix (see below) 
• 3 cloves garlic, minced 
• ¼-½ tsp. crushed red pepper, or to taste
• ½ tsp. salt, kosher if possible
• ¼ tsp. pepper, or to taste
• 1 2-14 medium or large fresh shrimp, peeled and deveined*
• 3-4 threads saffron 
• ½ cup beer 
• 1½ Tbsp. butter 
• 1 Tbsp. olive oil 
• 1 medium or large sweet onion, chopped finely 
• 1½ Tbsp. freshly chopped parsley, or 1 Tbsp. dried 
• 1½ tsp. additional butter
• 1 Tbsp. cornstarch dissolved in ½ cup cold water 
• 3 green onions, sliced for garnish 
• * Frozen shrimp, thawed, can be substituted. 

In a small mixing bowl, combine either Sazón Goya or 1½ tsp. homemade spice mix with garlic, red pepper, salt and pepper. Mix with a fork and set aside. 

If using fresh shrimp, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and set aside. If using frozen shrimp, skip the salt. 

Immerse saffron threads in beer, and set aside.

In a large saute pan, heat 1½ Tbsp. butter and the olive oil until melted. Add onion, and cook over medium heat until translucent. Add spice-garlic-red pepper mixture. Cook while stirring, 1 to 2 minutes. Add the beer with infused saffron, bring to a boil, and ­reduce for 2 minutes. 

Add the shrimp, parsley and remaining butter. When shrimp have begun to curl and turn pink, remove them to a bowl, then cover. 

Add cornstarch-water mixture to the pan, stirring constantly until the sauce is ­thickened. Return the shrimp to the sauce. Stir until warmed. 

Serve immediately over rice. Garnish with green onions and additional chopped parsley.

Homemade Shrimp Spice Mix

If not using Sazón Goya, mix together in advance: 1 Tbsp. each of ground coriander, ground cumin, turmeric, garlic powder, and kosher salt with 2 tsp. ground oregano and 1 tsp. ground black pepper. Save extra for future use.

Cook’s Note: If you’re doubling this recipe, do not add more Sazón Goya or spice mix. 

Prep time: 45 minutes
Difficulty: Easy
Can be made: At anchor

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Thirteen years ago, my husband, Christian, and I set sail from Croatia aboard our Sparkman & Stephens 41, Pitufa. We cruised the Mediterranean, the Atlantic and the Caribbean, and then sailed on to the South Pacific, where we’ve been cruising for the past decade. 

Life was good until we reached Tonga, where Christian began losing weight at an alarming rate. He ate well, and local doctors couldn’t find anything wrong. We were getting desperate, when a cruising friend, a retired ­doctor, made a ­suggestion: “Why don’t you try a ­gluten-free diet?” 

We were already eating a healthy, pescatarian diet, but we stopped eating bread and pasta—and Christian immediately began to feel better. He regained weight. Later exams revealed that he is, in fact, gluten-intolerant. We’ve been cooking and baking gluten-free ever since.

Nowadays, gluten-free products are easy to find near large cities and towns, but for world cruisers, sourcing can be challenging. In Tonga, we made do with what we found. 

Now we squirrel away gluten-free products whenever we find them. When we head to new destinations, we ask friends who arrive ahead of us to report back about the local supermarkets. When Wi-Fi is available, we check Facebook groups for advice on local shopping, or browse supermarket websites. If we’re shopping in person, with a language barrier, we bring screenshot images of products to show the clerks. 

Still, finding good bread was proving impossible, so I ­decided to make my own. Online recipes contained ingredients that we could never hope to find, so I experimented with rice flour and cornstarch. The bread turned out flat and rock-hard. Then, in a supermarket in the Cook Islands, I discovered a game-changer: buckwheat flour. It rose well, and testing it out eventually resulted in this recipe for rustic stovetop bread with no kneading required.

Thanks to the internet, I also discovered that names for the same ingredient often vary by region. What I know as linseed is called flaxseed in many places. Tapioca flour is also sold as tapioca starch, and in some places is known as cassava, manioc or yuca. (And yuca, an edible root from which that flour is made, is frequently misspelled yucca, which is a spiky, ­warm-climate shrub.)

The big lesson, of course, is that provisioning before any long passage takes planning, and having special-diet requirements adds another dimension. But with a dash of effort and a splash of flexibility, you can still make delicious meals, including bread, while cruising.

Pitufa’s Gluten-Free Pan Bread (yields a 10-inch round loaf) 

• 1 Tbsp. whole flaxseeds soaked
  overnight in ½ cup water in a small covered bowl
• 1¼ cup tapioca flour (tapioca starch)
• 1¼ cup buckwheat flour
• 1¼ cup gluten-free all-purpose flour
• 2-3 tsp. salt
• 1 scant Tbsp. instant dry yeast
• 1½ cups warm water (105 to 115 degrees Fahrenheit)
• 2-3 Tbsp. olive or vegetable oil, for greasing pan

Note: You’ll need a 10-inch-wide by minimum 2½-inch-deep nonstick skillet with a lid. 

Mix together all three flours and salt. Add yeast. Add 1½ cups warm water. (Do not use hot water or it will kill the yeast.) Add the gooey, soaked mixture of flaxseeds and liquid. Stir until smooth. Dough will be wet, like thick batter. 

Lightly oil the bottom and sides of a nonstick pan, and warm it slightly. Pour in bread batter, cover with lid, and let rise until dough has doubled in size (rising times vary depending on ambient temperature). Check every 15 minutes or so to ensure that it doesn’t rise more than that; dough should be cooked while still rising or it will collapse. 

Place pan on the stovetop, covered, over medium heat, and cook until the loaf is solid enough to be flipped and the edges are slightly browned (15 to 20 minutes). Remove pan from heat. 

Using a spatula, slide the loaf onto a dinner plate, cooked side down. Using oven mitts, invert the frying pan over the plate, and flip the plate and pan. Return the pan to the burner. Bake for another 10 to 20 minutes with the lid slightly open to achieve a crunchy crust. 

When done, the bread should be golden brown. An instant-read ­thermometer should show 190 to 200 degrees Fahrenheit; a skewer into the center should come out clean. The bread should sound hollow if you tap the top gently.

Cook’s Note: You can adapt this recipe to your preferences and climate. The flaxseed mix is needed as a binder, but you can add additional dried nuts, seeds or herbs of your choice. 

Prep time: Overnight soak plus 2 hours, including rising time
Difficulty: Medium
Best made: At anchor

The post Good Bread for Good Health appeared first on Cruising World.

It was a rainy day in the Philippines aboard Kate, our Newport 41. Though my husband, Steve, and I have been cruising full time in the tropical Pacific since leaving California in 2008, I still find myself occasionally craving a warm bowl of something—­particularly during rainy season, when the blahs set in. 

I knew exactly what to make. I discovered this miracle porridge when I was fresh out of college. Armed only with small-boat coastal-­sailing experience, I’d landed a job as second stewardess aboard a 164-foot sailing yacht. The boat was preparing to sail from Phuket, Thailand, to Darwin, Australia, via Singapore and Bali. I had no idea what to expect from an ocean crossing. 

Our passage to Singapore was flat and uneventful. As junior crewmember, I drew the graveyard shift: se­­condary watch keeper, 0300 to 0700. My job: Make coffee and keep the primary watch keeper company. 

The Singapore-to-Bali leg was a little more exciting. The seas kicked up a bit, and moving topsides to deliver coffee became a timing and agility test. Occasionally, I felt queasy, but no more than that. 

By the time we set sail for Darwin, I had nearly 3,000 nautical miles under my belt. I felt like I’d earned my sea legs. I would soon learn otherwise. As seas became steep and confused, our sturdy yacht pitched and rolled like a bathtub toy. Soon, it wasn’t moving around that I was concerned about; I was struggling to keep down even a sip of water. 

I’d thought I was hiding my mal de mer, butZam, our Malaysian chef, spotted my green gills. I was lurching back to my cabin to rest when he called my name. Standing by the stove looking cool and calm, he ladled something thick and white into a bowl. He held it out, and the scent of chicken broth wafted from it. 

“What is it?” I asked. (He’d had a history of serving “delicacies” such as chicken’s feet concealed in soup.) “It’s good for body,” he replied, thrusting the bowl into my hands. 

I ran my spoon through what looked like creamy rice speckled with vegetables. It had the soft consistency of porridge. Like a bowl of chicken soup made by my mom, it made me feel hugged. Spying nothing sinister in it, I lifted a spoonful to my mouth. 

It tasted oddly familiar, somehow reminding me of childhood. The delicate, plump rice with bits of peas and carrots was comforting. It was so easy to eat that I finished the whole bowl before ­retiring to my cabin to await the inevitable nausea. 

Instead, I woke several hours later, hungry for the first time in days. I returned to the galley, bowl in hand. Zam nodded knowingly and dipped his ladle once again. His never-ending pot of porridge saved me.

Later, I learned its name: congee (pronounced KON-jee). It’s a traditional comfort food throughout Asia. I ate it for breakfast, lunch and dinner for the remainder of the passage. 

I never did ask for Zam’s recipe, but I’ve used the indelible memory of that first bowl to re-create my own version. This dish has endless variations and names. “Cheat’s Congee” uses leftover or already cooked rice. The vegetables I add depend on what I have on hand, although the simple combination of carrots and peas is still my favorite. 

The next time you’re under the weather, or simply in the mood for comfort, this quick and simple porridge will make you feel better in no time. It’s a miracle in a bowl.

Cheat’s Congee (serves 4)

• 1½ cups high-starch white rice*
• 4¼ cups chicken or vegetable stock 
• 1-inch piece of ginger (or to taste), peeled and grated
• ½ cup carrot, diced 
• ¼ cup frozen green peas or frozen green beans, chopped

*Carolina or jasmine; do not use basmati 

Toppings (optional):

• 2 cups cooked chicken, sliced
• 1-2 green onions, chopped finely or curled

Cook ¾ cup rice according to package directions and let cool thoroughly, or use leftover rice. Add 1½ cups of the cooked rice, 2 cups of the stock, and grated ginger to a medium pot. Stir to combine. Bring to a boil over medium heat, breaking up any rice clumps. Boil uncovered for 5 minutes. 

Add remaining stock and diced carrots. Bring back to a steady simmer. Leave pot uncovered. Cook for 15 minutes. 

Add frozen vegetables. Bring to an active simmer; cook until the rice absorbs most of the stock and starts to break down slightly and veggies are cooked, 15 to 20 minutes more. Check and stir every now and then to prevent rice sticking to the bottom. 

The congee is ready when it turns thick and creamy, like a porridge with a smooth texture. If the mixture is too soupy, simmer longer; if it’s too dry, stir in ¼ cup additional hot stock or water. 

Ladle into bowls, add optional toppings, and garnish with sliced or curled green onions. Serve warm.

Prep time: 45 minutes to 1 hour
Difficulty: easy
Can be made: Underway or at anchor

Cook’s Notes: Use whatever veggies you like. Alternative toppings: cooked pork, shrimp or fish. If desired, drizzle with soy sauce, sesame oil or ­sriracha. To curl green onions: Slice green tops into 1/8-inch-wide by 3-inch-long matchsticks. Soak for 10 to 15 minutes in a small bowl of ice water; drain briefly on a kitchen towel.

The post Miracle in a Bowl appeared first on Cruising World.

Fog is a fact of life along the Maine coast, where my husband, Bud, and I cruise Opus, our 28-foot wood sloop. One day, we were anchored in the Barred Islands, a small archipelago in Penobscot Bay. It was isolated, beautiful and peaceful. We’d awakened early to a world of cottony gray, with fog so thick that visibility was reduced to near zero. A fine mist seemed to permeate everything, including our bones. 

Sailing in fog isn’t especially dangerous if you’re paying close attention to your navigation, but it can be nerve-wracking and tedious. At the time, we didn’t have a reliable radar aboard—and we were, after all, on vacation. We decided to stay put until the pea soup lifted, likely in a few hours.

For extended vacation cruising, we usually opt for Penobscot Bay because (to quote A Cruising Guide to the Maine Coast) if you “dream of perfect cruising grounds, of islands large and small…of intriguing harbors and ­alluring towns, of lonely ­outposts lost in time…that place is Penobscot Bay.”  

We’d departed our home port of Kittery Point, Maine, on an extended summer cruise in search of all of the above, plus a few reunions with old friends in ports along our route. Fog was a familiar foe; our record for fogbound days one previous summer was nine out of 14 days. We knew that with the dampness permeating everything aboard, life would be a bit uncomfortable till the sun came out again.

Opus is a true coastal-­Maine sloop, designed by Ralph Winslow and built in Camden in 1953. When we discovered her for sale from a boatbuilding school in Rockport in 1984, her hull was sound, but she needed ­significant refurbishing and repair. Fortunately, Bud is a boatbuilder by trade, so tackling all this was well within his wheelhouse. We bought her and lovingly brought her back to life. 

Among her classic charms is a tiny coal stove complete with Charlie Noble pipe on the cabin top, which we use for both cooking and heat (even in summer, Maine can be chilly). Because we were growing damper by the minute, we decided to fire it up. It was a good time to get busy in the galley and bake something quick and easy that would lift our spirits and help kill the chill.

It was a good time to get busy in the galley and bake something quick and easy that would lift our spirits and kill the chill.

We always carry plenty of staple dry stores aboard when cruising; I had some canned cherry pie filling, as well as sugar and flour. I had butter in the fridge. Making pie crust has never been my favorite galley activity, so I decided on an easy and relatively quick alternative: cherry crumble. It’s perfect for boat cooks with a sweet tooth who don’t want to spend a lot of time creating elaborate desserts. 

Crumbles (also called crisps or cobblers) are also ideal for cruisers because any fruit—canned pie filling, frozen fruit or fresh fruit—will work. Apples, peaches, cherries or berries are always a good bet. 

As the crumble baked, we were warmed in more ways than one. The baking crumble filled the salon with a delicious, buttery aroma, transforming our dank, chilly quarters into a warm, cozy refuge. 

A bit later, as often ­happens in New England, the fog vanished as fast as it had descended. The sun burned it off, revealing a bright day. We weighed anchor and sailed west for a prearranged reunion with friends in Camden. Later that evening, they came aboard for a grilled-steak dinner followed by my fogbound crumble. The verdict was unanimous: utterly delicious.

Fogbound Cherry Crumble (serves 6)

• 1 can (21 oz.) cherry pie filling
• 1 cup flour
• ¾ cup white sugar
• ¼ cup brown sugar, packed*
• ½ tsp. ground cinnamon (optional)
• ½ tsp. salt (optional)8 Tbsp. butter

*Use white sugar if you don’t have brown sugar.

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Grease an 8-by-8-inch baking dish, and spread fruit evenly over the bottom. 

In a medium bowl, combine flour, sugar(s), cinnamon and salt. Mix well. 

Melt butter (alternatively, use cold butter, diced). Add butter to dry ­ingredients. Stir and blend with a fork or your hands. This should result in a slightly dry, crumbly mixture. With your hands, sprinkle the topping evenly over the pie filling. 

Bake for 20 to 25 minutes, or until the fruit is bubbly at the edges and the crumble turns golden (check after 15 minutes). Allow to cool slightly. Serve warm or at room temperature, plain or topped with a dollop of whipped cream, yogurt, or ice cream. Garnish with fresh mint leaves if available.

Cook’s Notes: If using fresh fruit, use firm pieces. Slice if needed. Mix with 1 teaspoon lemon juice and 2 teaspoons cornstarch. Depending on the fruit’s natural sweetness, you can add up to ½ cup sugar along with the cornstarch. If using frozen fruit, don’t thaw. Increase cornstarch to 2 or 3 tablespoons.

Prep time: 40 minutes
Difficulty: Easy
Can be made: At anchor or underway

Jean Kerr is the author of The Mystic Cookbook: Recipes, History and Seafaring Lore (Globe Pequot, 2018).

Do you have a favorite boat recipe? Send it to us for possible inclusion in Sailor & Galley. Tell us why it’s a favorite, and add a short description of your boat and where you cruise. Send it, along with high-resolution digital photos of you aboard your boat, to sailorandgalley@cruisingworld.com.

The post Sailor & Galley: Chasing Away the Fog With a Tart Cherry Crumble appeared first on Cruising World.

What do you when the stalk of green bananas hanging from the shrouds turns yellow overnight? Some cruisers manage to eat half and leave the rest dangling, a blackened, mushy admission of defeat. We don’t give up so easily. We stuff as many as we can into the fridge and start cooking and blending our way through them.

Bananas Flambe

Split bananas lengthwise. Melt equal parts butter and brown sugar in a pan, sprinkle some lemon juice over the fruit, and fry until golden. Pour rum into the pan, set the bananas on fire, and serve them in the glowing blue light of the burning rum.

Elvis sandwich

Slice bananas and spread them on bread with peanut butter or Nutella, drizzle with honey. This comfort sandwich is good for whatever ails you.

Banana daiquiri

Blend bananas, a squirt of lime and a sip of rum, and pour over crushed ice—the perfect sundowner at the end of a tropical day. Leave out the rum and blend with yogurt, milk or vanilla ice cream for a smoothie.

Banana chutney

Chop ginger, garlic, chiles and onions, and fry with a ­coriander, cumin and cinnamon powder mix. Add a squirt of lemon, pinch of brown sugar, salt and at least 10 bananas. Simmer gently for 20 minutes.

Banana swap

Swap bananas with another boat whose bananas are in a different stage of ripeness, or give them away—what goes around comes around in the cruiser’s world.

The post Going Bananas appeared first on Cruising World.

You’d be hard-pressed to find a dish more versatile than a frittata, which is probably why so many cultures and cuisines have something comparable. In Spain, tortilla Española is a regular part of a classic tapas spread; China has its egg foo yung; and France, of course, is famous for omelets and quiches.

A frittata is a simple Italian dish that can be served at any time of day. It’s a favorite aboard our wooden cutter, Opus, for either brunch or an equally tasty lunch or dinner, with a green salad and a loaf of good bread. It can be made quickly if surprise guests come aboard; it keeps well and makes a great snack while underway, during any watch. It can be vegetarian, gluten-free, served hot or cold, and made with just about any ingredients you have on hand. The main thing is: Don’t overcook it! You want a creamy, custardy consistency.

Cook’s Notes

If you’d prefer a lighter frittata, consider replacing sausage with 1/2 to 3/4 cup smoked, shredded salmon; add it to pan just before adding egg mixture. For a fancier touch, make a soufflé frittata by separating egg whites and beating into soft peaks before folding into the yolk mixture.

Check out more: Recipes and Food

Sausage Frittata with Spinach, Red Peppers and Cheese Recipe

• 2 Tbsp. olive oil
• 1 cup sausage, sliced
• 1/2 cup chopped onion
• 1/2 cup chopped sweet red pepper
• 2 cups raw baby spinach (or to taste)
• Salt and pepper, to taste
• 8-10 eggs
• 1/4 cup whole milk or cream
• 1 cup fontina cheese, coarsely grated (can substitute Gouda or Emmental)

Yields 6 servings.

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. In a nonstick, lightly oiled, ovenproof 10-inch skillet (cast iron is ideal), heat the oil over medium heat. Saute sausage until it begins to brown. Add onions and peppers, and saute until slightly soft. Add spinach, and cook down until wilted. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Break eggs into a large bowl. Add milk or cream and whisk lightly. Stir in 3⁄4 cup of the shredded cheese. (Reserve 1⁄4 cup to sprinkle on top.) Add egg mix to pan, and gently stir to mix ingredients. Cook on medium-low heat until edges just begin to firm up. Top frittata with reserved cheese.

Place on middle rack of oven and cook until center is just set, about 10-12 minutes. (Center might not be brown; this is OK.) Remove and let cool for about 10 minutes if serving warm. Either slide it onto a serving dish or serve from the pan. Cut into wedges and enjoy.

Preparation: at anchor

Time: 30 minutes

Difficulty: easy

The post Galley Recipe: Sausage Frittata appeared first on Cruising World.

What kind of coffee maker do you use aboard your boat? Recently, we posted this question to readers on Facebook. Responses revealed clear-cut winners — none require electricity, and all you need is a stove to heat water. A few readers with regular access to shore power or an onboard inverter singled out electric K-Cup coffee makers, such as Nespresso, Keurig or Nescafe Dolce Gusto, but the vast majority preferred simpler options.

Pressed Coffee (the Immersion Method)

1. The Winner: French Press

This classic press was the overall favorite; users claim it makes the best-tasting cup of coffee, hands down. The design is simple: a cylindrical glass or metal carafe and plunger/lid with mesh filter. Just add hot water to ground coffee in the carafe, allow it to brew, then press grounds firmly to the bottom. Invented in France in the 1800s, the aptly named French press didn’t gain popularity in the United States until the mid-1970s and ’80s, when Danish company Bodum designed its own unit and launched a literal full-court press on the worldwide retail market.

Brewing Tips: Use hot, not boiling, water and coarse-ground coffee. Measure coffee into the carafe; add a small amount of hot water; let coffee puff up, or “bloom”; stir. Add remaining water, and let brew for three to five minutes before gently plunging. Brew time: about five minutes (excluding water-heating time).

Pros: Sweet, full-bodied coffee. Easy to use. Widely available; multiple styles (insulated stainless steel, glass, plastic), sizes and prices.
Cons: Cleanup can be messy. Occasional sludge in coffee, the occurrence of which varies depending on quality (and condition) of press and filter.

Good Bets: Planetary Design’s high-quality Table Top French press with Brü-Stop is ideal for onboard use: New technology creates a barrier between grounds and brewed coffee, so it never gets bitter. Its stainless-steel mesh screens ensure a clean brew (sizes small, medium, large; $40-$60). Bodum continues to make high-quality coffee presses, such as the thermal/stainless-steel Columbia; three sizes ($60-$80); also available on amazon.com. The Espro Press (also sold by Starbucks) is attractive and durable, with a vacuum-sealed/insulated double-walled stainless-steel carafe. A double micro filter guarantees sludge-free brew (sizes medium, large, $100-$120).

2. AeroPress

A close second to the French press was the less-familiar (but equally praised) AeroPress by Aerobie, invented and launched in 2005 by Alan Adler, an aerodynamic-toy designer. It’s a sleek, small, one-of-a-kind device: a cylindrical plastic chamber and plunger, filter cap with seal and a funnel, for placing over individual cups. Just scoop coffee into the chamber, add water, stir 10 seconds and gently plunge. The result is a liquid coffee concentrate. For Americano coffee, add water to fill a cup; for latte or cappuccino, add milk. For espresso — pronto! — it’s ready (amazon.com; about $30, price varies by retailer).

Brewing Tips: Heat water to a maximum temperature of 175 degrees Fahrenheit (185 degrees for light roasts). Use espresso- or fine-drip-grind coffee. Brew time: about one minute, excluding water-heating time.

Pros: Compact; portable (available with a zippered nylon tote bag); lightweight; quick; easy cleanup; used grounds can be ejected; makes excellent coffee.
Cons: Only makes one to three cups at a time.

3. Manual-Drip Coffee Makers (the Pour-Over Method)

This method was pioneered about a century ago by Dutch housewife Melitta Bentz. Evidently fed up with the lingering grounds in boiled coffee, she made the first pour-over filter using a perforated brass cup and a sheet of blotting paper. Today’s familiar coffee makers that bear her name are now synonymous with pour-over coffee. The technique is simple: Measure coffee into a filter-lined cone that fits snugly over a carafe (or cup), and pour hot water over coffee; it brews as water slowly drips through the filter.

Brewing tips: Use hot, not boiling, water. Add a small amount first; wait 30 seconds for coffee to bloom. Add remaining hot water slowly, in a circular motion. Brew time: about five to 10 minutes (excluding water- heating time).

Pros: Simple to use. Easy cleanup. Thermal carafes available; filters come in multiple sizes, including one-cup. Slow-drip method draws out flavor.
Cons: You can’t walk away while coffee brews. For a full pot, the slow-drip process can take time.

Good Bets: The Melitta thermal pour-over and stainless carafe (10-cup) is one of the few insulated stainless-steel/pour-over “sets” available (amazon.com; $30-$50); glass carafe sets are widely available. For one- or two-cup brewing, a patented filter device that’s both a pour-over and immersion brewer is worth a look: The Clever coffee dripper brews coffee right in the self-contained filter; a built-in lever automatically releases the brew when the cone is placed over a cup or small carafe (small, large; $15-$18; amazon.com).

4. Stove-top Percolators

Many readers remain faithful to stove-top percolators for onboard brewing. When water is heated in percolator pots on the stove-top, very hot water is drawn upward through a metal tube, cycling continuously through ground coffee in an attached filter basket, brewing coffee by cycling almost-boiling water through it. Enthusiasts say they prefer the resulting very hot coffee, as well as its stronger taste. The stove-top coffeepots still in use today were patented by an Illinois farmer in 1889, who called his brewing method “percolating” — hence forever coining the generic name.

Brewing Tips: Use coarse-ground coffee, moderate heat and avoid boiling. When perks are audible/visible, begin timing (maximum 10 minutes). Prolonged perking results in very bitter coffee. Remove filter and grounds before pouring. Brew time: about 20 minutes, depending on stove/heat setting.

Pros: Inexpensive, widely available and easy to use. Makes a strong, hot cup of joe.
Cons: Cleanup can be messy. Stray coffee granules can end up in brew. Takes time. Must be watched or timed carefully.

Good Bets: Farberware’s classic stainless-steel Yosemite eight-cup (amazon.com; $25) and Chinook’s Timberline six-cup ($27) or nine-cup (about $40) offer heavy-duty, high-grade stainless-steel construction, dent-resistance and durability (available at amazon.com).

5. Nonelectric Espresso Makers

Espresso fans were in the minority, but singled out some specific products (almost none of them electric).

Stove-Top: The Moka pot: Made of aluminum or stainless steel, two screw-together compartments plus a filter basket with tube fit together to make the complete pot. Just add water to the lower section and fit the filter basket holding coffee just above it. Screw top on and heat; water and steam are forced up through the coffee and into the upper container to create the brew. The first Moka pot was patented in Italy for manufacturer Alfonso Bialetti in 1933; Bialetti is still a market leader. Other popular brands include Cuisinox (pricey), Vremi and Amfocus.

Brewing Tips: Use espresso or Moka-grind coffee. Preheat water to avoid prolonged boiling. Use moderate heat. Lower heat when caramel-colored coffee spurts into top section (some leave lid open). Stir and pour immediately after top container is full. Brew time: about five minutes.

Pros: Various models and styles available. Unbreakable. Stable when placed on stove-top. Versatile. Makes espresso or (strong) conventional coffee.
Cons: Cleanup can be messy. Uninsulated handles get very hot. Must be watched carefully (not boiled) to avoid scorching coffee.

Good Bets: The Bialetti Moka Express (largely unchanged from the original design) remains one of the best. The octagonal pot is designed to diffuse heat for ideal coffee flavor. Available in one- to 12-cup sizes (bialetti.com, $25-$60). The Bialetti Venus four- or six-cup is stainless steel with an insulated handle, and can be used on all stoves, including induction ($40-$45); also available at amazon.com.

Espresso On The Go: The Minipresso and the Handpresso are unique, portable units that can go anywhere; all you need for a quick espresso fix is a way to heat water (or hot water from a thermos). Both use a hand-pump pressure-brewing technique (like pumping a miniature bicycle tire). Neither requires electricity or batteries, and they can also make Americano coffee — a shot of espresso with hot water added — or even cappuccino if you’ve got milk.

The Minipresso GR by Wacaco is lightweight and compact. Wacaco makes another model, the Minipresso NS, which is for use with Nespresso coffee pods. It includes a built-in espresso cup and scoop; a small carry bag is available (amazon.com; $50).

The Handpresso is small, lightweight and can use either coffee pods or ground coffee. Two basic models are available (handpresso.com; $80-$100), as well as options including coffee maker plus carry bag or case with thermos and cups ($129-$179).

Brewing Tips: Use espresso-grind coffee or pods. Don’t overfill coffee container.
Brew time: about one minute using preheated water from a thermos.

Pros: Made of lightweight, sturdy plastic or plastic with some metal. Quick. Very compact. Easy to use. Easy cleanup. Makes tasty coffee.
Cons: Small yield – one cup espresso (about 1.5 to 2 ounces) at a time.

No matter how you make it, coffee is an individualized taste — some want it strong; others like it weak or in between. Some prefer only the finest blends, and still others like supermarket brands. Whatever your preference, using one of these methods for onboard brewing will yield a pleasure like no other: savoring a steaming cup of fresh-brewed joe while watching the sun rise over your favorite cove, or as a welcome boost of warmth and aroma on a cold night watch at sea.

Lynda Morris Childress has cruised and chartered her Atlantic 70 cutter, Stressbuster, in the Greek islands for the past 15 years.

Fresh is Best

If you want a really fresh-tasting cup of coffee, consider buying whole beans and grinding them aboard. The Hario manual coffee mill is a popular, affordable choice and stows easily in a galley locker.

The post Making Coffee Aboard appeared first on Cruising World.