sailor & galley – Cruising World https://www.cruisingworld.com Cruising World is your go-to site and magazine for the best sailboat reviews, liveaboard sailing tips, chartering tips, sailing gear reviews and more. Wed, 30 Oct 2024 20:19:43 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.4.2 https://www.cruisingworld.com/uploads/2021/09/favicon-crw-1.png sailor & galley – Cruising World https://www.cruisingworld.com 32 32 Sailor & Galley: Simply Delicious Pasta https://www.cruisingworld.com/people/simply-delicious-pasta/ Thu, 17 Oct 2024 15:35:53 +0000 https://www.cruisingworld.com/?p=56221 A fusion of Italian roots and Caribbean vibes, this tasty pasta is as adaptable and appealing as the sailing life itself.

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Omero Moretti
Omero Moretti in his element in the Alboran Sea, en route home to Italy after his most recent Atlantic crossing. Sara Teghini

The story of this recipe is in many ways the story of my life. It’s pasta—Italian, like me—but with a taste of the Caribbean, where I spent half my years. I invented it to use what was available: avocados, in this case, because sailors make do with what we have. It’s simple but unexpectedly tasty, just like the sailing life I chose many years ago.

Given my name, Omero or “Homer,” many people say that I could have been nothing else but a sailor. But I always thought that the real destiny of my name is to be a storyteller. So here’s my story. 

I was born near Modena, in the productive part of Italy known for Ferrari, Lamborghini and Ducati cars. Not surprisingly, I started working with engines and metal as a young boy. Little did I know that being able to fix anything and everything with my hands would be a skill I’d use on the ocean later. 

My life went on conventionally: a wife, a daughter, a little company of my own, 12-hour workdays. Then an acquaintance asked for my help to fix the engine on a little motorboat. We took it out to test it. And that was it. I was hooked.

The first time I took to the sea, I knew it had to be my life. Countless boats followed that first time, but I never thought that sailing was an option until an old fisherman gave me a Vaurien, a 13-foot sailing dinghy he’d found wrecked ashore. I fixed it and started sailing by myself. I learned everything the hard way; nobody taught me anything. I bought bigger boats and started sailing farther from land—to the islands in the Tyrrhenian Sea, to the Balearics, to Greece. I made mistakes, but learned from each one. 

Eventually, I sold my business to take to the sea full time. I bought an aged 40-foot sailboat, and I tried a bit of chartering locally to make a living. It didn’t take long to realize that boats, especially old boats, cost money. A few weeks of charter per year were not enough. 

A move was in order. I needed to be in a chartering hub, like the Caribbean, during European winters. I also needed a bigger boat. 

On Christmas Day 1991, I met that boat: a 51-foot Bruce Farr design built by Jeanneau. It felt huge at the time. It had been abandoned and was cheap enough for me. With all my savings, I bought it, fixed it and rechristened it Freya. I sailed it across the Atlantic Ocean for the first time with eight people crazy enough to pay me for the experience. 

Another 38 Atlantic crossings, westbound and eastbound, have followed. Sailing is still my passion and my job, if you can call it that. Thousands of people have sailed with me, for short and lazy holidays and for tough North Atlantic crossings. Freya and I have sailed in Italy, Greece, Spain, the Canary Islands, the Azores, the Antilles Islands and the British Virgin Islands. 

Some sailors cruise alone, but for me, meeting and talking to new people is part of sailing. Welcoming so many diverse people aboard has exposed me to lives and realities that I would have never known otherwise. I’ve met actors, doctors, lawyers, singers, travelers and engineers. They have been people young and old, all with different stories to tell and truths of their own. 

That’s one of the reasons I started cooking. I love to ­gather my crew around the table in the evening, share a meal, and talk like we’re ­family—because that’s what sailors worldwide are. 

It makes me happy to share my avocado pasta recipe with this broader family of sailors. It’s simple, light and tasty. It’s vegetarian (vegan if you decide not to add butter) and it’s versatile. If you’re not in the mood for pasta, then you can use the same sauce as a light guacamole. Eat it with fresh veggies, tortillas or any sort of bread you might find along your sailing journey. 

May it take you wherever you want to go.

Simple Avocado Pasta

Avocado pasta
This quick, tasty, light meal is as adaptable and appealing as the sailing life itself. Lynda Morris Childress

INGREDIENTS

  • 1 pound uncooked pasta (rigatoni, penne or similar)
  • 2 large, ripe avocados 
  • 1 clove garlic, peeled and smashed
  • ½ cup olive oil plus 2 Tbsp. 
  • ¼ tsp. salt
  • ¼ tsp. black pepper
  • 1-2 Tbsp. fresh lemon juice
  • 1 Tbsp. butter (optional)
  • A few tomatoes or cherry tomatoes (optional)
  • Fresh parsley (optional)
  • Serves 4

PREPARATION

Cook the pasta. An Italian tip: Use a lot of water. It’s the only way to cook pasta correctly. Follow package directions, and don’t exceed recommended cooking time.

While the pasta cooks, slice each avocado in half lengthwise around the pit and open it. Remove the pit. With a spoon, scoop out the avocado flesh into a bowl. (Flesh should be pale green at the outer edges and light yellow in the middle.)

Add garlic, olive oil, salt and pepper. Add a good splash of lemon juice to prevent the avocado from browning. Stir, then transfer to a food processor or blender (or use an immersion blender). Pulse ­intermittently until the sauce turns smooth and creamy. If the sauce looks too thick, drizzle in the additional 2 Tbsp. olive oil and pulse a bit more. 

When the pasta is done, drain it and return it briefly to the pot, off the heat. Add the avocado sauce and butter to get a sweeter flavor and creamier sauce. Toss gently until the sauce is evenly distributed. 

Top with sliced tomatoes and chopped fresh parsley, if desired. Serve and eat immediately.

Cook’s Note: If you don’t have a food processor or blender aboard, use a fork to mash and blend the sauce by hand. It won’t be as creamy, but it’ll still taste delicious.  

Prep time: 30 minutes
Difficulty: easy
Can be made: at anchor or underway

Calling all boat cooks! If you have a favorite recipe, 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.

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Storm-Tossed, Lobster-Blessed: A Culinary Cruising Tale https://www.cruisingworld.com/people/buttery-pan-fried-lobster-tail-recipe/ Tue, 17 Sep 2024 16:00:00 +0000 https://www.cruisingworld.com/?p=55430 An Australian cruising family finds moments of richness and culinary delight after a challenging passage.

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David Bristow with crays
David Bristow displays the day’s catch: fresh painted crays, the local name for spiny lobsters in Australia. Catherine Lawson

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)

cooked lobster tails on plate with lemon
Buttery pan-fried lobster tails Lynda Morris Childress
  • 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.

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Sailor & Galley: The Best Cinnamon Toast Recipe Ever https://www.cruisingworld.com/people/caramelized-cinnamon-toast-recipe/ Tue, 23 Jul 2024 20:28:44 +0000 https://www.cruisingworld.com/?p=54309 Whether you’re a dedicated sleeper, an early riser or a morning grump, this sweet treat will start any day underway on a high note.

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Lynda on foredeck of Stressbuster
The author treats charter guests to delicious, homestyle Greek meals aboard the classic Atlantic 70 cutter Stressbuster, based near Athens. Courtesy Kostas Ghiokas

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

cinnamon toast on plate with apple slices
Caramelized Cinnamon Toast Lynda Morris Childress
  • 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

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Sailor & Galley: Ice Cream, Anytime https://www.cruisingworld.com/people/sailor-galley-ice-cream-recipe/ Thu, 06 Jun 2024 19:13:36 +0000 https://www.cruisingworld.com/?p=53633 With this recipe, you can indulge in a tasty homemade treat wherever you may roam.

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The author on her boat, Outrider
Anne E. Mott bides time aboard Outrider while waiting for homemade ice cream to freeze. Courtesy Anne Mott

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)

Ice cream with chocolate sauce on a dish
Super-Easy Ice Cream Lynda Morris Childress
  • 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

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Sailing to the Land of Shrimp https://www.cruisingworld.com/people/shrimp-mozambique-recipe/ Wed, 08 May 2024 14:21:19 +0000 https://www.cruisingworld.com/?p=52998 This piquant dish provides a perfect meal after an overnight trek offshore.

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Michele Boulay relaxes on the deck of Simple Life. Courtesy Michele Boulay

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)

shrimp Mozambique on a serving dish
Shrimp Mozambique Lynda Morris Childress
  • 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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Good Bread for Good Health https://www.cruisingworld.com/people/good-bread-for-good-health-recipe/ Wed, 10 Apr 2024 20:43:45 +0000 https://www.cruisingworld.com/?p=52486 After a medically mandated gluten-free diet left these sailors pining for good bread, they came up with their own winning recipe.

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Brigit Hackl and husband
Courtesy Brigit Hackl

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) 

Loaf of bread on table
Gluten-Free Pan Bread Lynda Morris Childress
  • 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

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Miracle in a Bowl https://www.cruisingworld.com/people/miracle-bowl-porridge-recipe/ Tue, 12 Mar 2024 17:12:37 +0000 https://www.cruisingworld.com/?p=52134 This creamy rice porridge is guaranteed to sate your hunger and banish rainy-day or rough-passage blahs.

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Heather Francis
In 2008, Heather and her Aussie partner, Steve, bought the Newport 41 Kate in California and have been cruising it full time since. Courtesy Heather Francis

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)

Bowl of congee rice porridge
Cheat’s Congee Lynda Morris Childress
  • 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.

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Sailor & Galley: A Northwest Nature’s Bounty https://www.cruisingworld.com/people/salmon-chowder-recipe/ Tue, 16 Jan 2024 15:16:11 +0000 https://www.cruisingworld.com/?p=51439 This rich, steaming stew from the Pacific Northwest warms chilled sailors’ bones and brings back a lifetime of memories.

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Seattle Leukemia Cup Regatta
The extended Lehfeldt family sails in the Seattle Leukemia Cup Regatta to help raise money for this worthy cause. Courtesy Dan and Donna Lehfeldt

My husband, Dan, and I are based in Bellingham, Washington, in the sailors’ paradise known as the Pacific Northwest. For almost 20 years, we’ve sailed Moonlight, our 1979 Seawind 31, surrounded by the beauty of the blue-green Salish Sea, the San Juan Islands and, to the north, Canadian waters. We bought Moonlight as a 25th wedding anniversary gift to each other, and raised our three young teenagers as sailors.

Our teens’ ever-changing priorities made us seriously consider changing the boat’s name to Intuition because we always had to guess whether they’d want to join us for weekend or vacation cruises. But through the years, sailing brought us together in good times (there’ve been many) and hard times, such as when, in early 2007, our oldest son was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia. It was a difficult three years with an outstanding medical team and cutting-edge treatments before his disease went into full remission.  

That same year, the ­entire family joined together aboard Moonlight to sail in the annual Leukemia Cup Regatta, sponsored by the Seattle Yacht Club. It raises money to benefit the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society, with sponsors supporting each crew. Usually, about 50 teams compete for top spots. Live music, silent auctions, parties, food, drinks and awards round out the fun. We’ve since participated in eight of these regattas; team Moonlight always sports sponsors’ decals on our sails, and we always place in the top three teams for donations. 

Every year we did the regatta, the kids and their spouses came to Bellingham to help sail Moonlight to the venue—Seattle’s Elliott Bay. On those pre-regatta cruises, we shared many memorable meals aboard. Moonlight’s relatively small galley means that a one- or two-pot meal is our absolute go-to, especially when sailing with a full crew. We regularly cook up a good, hearty soup. 

Pacific Northwest weather can be brutal, with ever-­changing seas, winds and temperatures. Hot soup is a must, and Pacific Northwest Salmon Chowder is one of our favorites. It’s easy to make, and the flavors are all about the Northwest, with the salmon simmered amid peas, carrots, onions and potatoes in a creamy broth. The wild-caught salmon and almost everything else is locally sourced. What could be better? 

Our family, with the sea as our playground, learned to enjoy and appreciate nature’s bounty. This salmon chowder uses that bounty, and brings back happy memories of ­sailing in those regattas. Above all, every time we eat it, we’re grateful that our son is thriving: Sixteen years later, he’s still in full remission. Thanks to that, we hope we’ll all be sailing—and eating chowder—together for many years to come.

Pacific Northwest Salmon Chowder (serves 6 to 8)

bowl of salmon chowder
Pacific Northwest salmon chowder Lynda Morris Childress
  • 4 Tbsp. butter
  • 6-8 baby potatoes, sliced, or 2 medium potatoes, peeled and chopped
  • 1 medium onion, chopped
  • ¾ cup celery, chopped
  • 2 medium carrots, grated
  • 2 cups frozen peas
  • 3-4 cups seafood or chicken stock
  • ½ cup white wine 
  • 1 cup water
  • 1 tsp. salt
  • ¼-½ tsp. black pepper
  • 1-1¼ lb. fresh, skinned salmon fillet 
  • 1 cup heavy cream (or to taste)*
  • 1 bunch fresh dill, to taste
  • Dash of Worcestershire sauce (optional)
  • Liquid red-pepper seasoning or red pepper flakes (optional)
  • 2-3 Tbsp. flour (optional)

* at least 35 percent fat or it might separate

Melt the butter in a large soup pot. Briefly saute the potatoes and vegetables in the butter. Add stock; bring to boil. Reduce heat to simmer, cover, and let cook until the potatoes and veggies are al dente (8 to 10 minutes). 

Meanwhile, poach the salmon. Add white wine and water, plus a few sprigs of dill, to a large saute pan with a lid. Bring the liquid to a steady simmer over medium heat. Salt and pepper the salmon fillets to taste, and add to the pan. (If skin remains on the fillet, place the skin side down.) Add additional water, if required, to just cover the fillet. Cover the pan, and simmer for 3 to 5 minutes, depending on thickness. The fish is ready if it begins to flake when prodded with a fork; the inside might not be cooked. Remove it from the liquid with a slotted spoon, and let it rest on a plate. Peel off any skin and discard. 

Add heavy cream to the soup pot, stir, and bring to a low simmer. Flake the salmon into the pot in chunks. Add chopped fresh dill to taste and, if desired, Worcestershire and red pepper. Simmer and stir until cream is thickened and salmon is cooked, about 5 minutes. 

For thicker broth, place the flour in a small bowl. Add 2 to 3 tablespoons of broth from the pot, and blend until creamy. Stir the mixture into the chowder. 

Taste, adjust seasonings, and ladle into soup bowls. Garnish with snipped dill, and serve immediately. 

Prep time: 1 hour
Difficulty: Easy
Can be made: At anchor

Cook’s Note: You can substitute thawed frozen salmon, or use 15 ounces of canned salmon.
Editor’s Note: Leukemia Cup Regattas are held throughout the United States. Visit lls.org/leukemiacup.

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.

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4 Galley-Inspired Holiday Treats https://www.cruisingworld.com/people/4-galley-inspired-holiday-treats/ Wed, 13 Dec 2023 20:48:05 +0000 https://www.cruisingworld.com/?p=51273 Cruising through the holidays? These four festive galley-borne delights are sure to help make your Festivus afloat all merry and bright.

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Caribbean Christmas Pudding
Caribbean Christmas Pudding Lynda Morris Childress

We’ve accumulated a sleigh full of wonderful holiday recipes through the years, courtesy of our ever-voyaging readers who, in the spirit of giving, have shared some their favorites with us along the way. Each of these recipes are 100 percent galley-friendly and guaranteed to elevate your crew’s Christmas spirit on board. We think you’ll agree that the only thing better than the dishes themselves are the stories behind how they came to be. Here are four festive galley-borne delights submitted from around the globe to try out this season, wherever you may roam.  

Caribbean Christmas Pudding

It was our first Christmas as cruisers, and it arrived rather unexpectedly. We’d been anchored for a couple of weeks on Picaroon, our Hardin Sea Wolf, at Norman Island in the British Virgin Islands. Without the traditional holiday cues—decorations, holiday parties and snow—we’d hardly noticed it was Christmas Eve when we were invited to join local cruisers for a potluck dinner the next day.  

“Make figgy pudding!” insisted Philip, my British husband. Figgy pudding is a fond nickname for what we Americans call plum pudding, and I know of it only from English Christmas carols and holiday stories. I’d obliged and made it for several holidays running, but now lacked key ingredients on the boat. Then it struck me: Plum pudding is pretty much a denser, richer version of Caribbean black cake, also traditionally served at Christmas. With a recipe for neither, and no Internet access, I decided to improvise. And use lots of rum, just in case. The final result was still warm when we dinghied over to Willie T’s bar for the cruisers’ Christmas potluck. It was such a hit, even the bar’s local staff asked for the recipe! Heather Hamilton

Get the recipe here.

Jamaican Christmas Cocktail

Jamaican Christmas Drink on table
Jamaican Christmas Drink Alp Aksoy/Adobe Stock

All I was really after were some limes, but sometimes a simple errand can turn into an extended encounter—and a glimpse into local customs. I was in Port Antonio, a small city with a protected harbor at the foot of Jamaica’s Blue Mountains. One of the draws of the place—other than the excellent marina and the incredible natural beauty—was the opportunity to provision before my husband, Markus, and I set off for Panama’s San Blas islands on Namani, our Dufour 35. I was a woman on a mission, just breezing through—until friendly locals slowed me down. 

At a tiny fruit stand I met Sophia, who made her living selling just a smattering of goods: a little citrus, a few spices; enough to fill a large basket, no more. Squeezed in with quiet Sophia were two friends, outgoing Evette and kindly Andrea, 20-something girlfriends chatting away. To my delight, they immediately pulled me into their conversation. When my eye fell on the ginger—lovely fresh ginger, so different from the wizened old knobs found at the supermarket back home—the young women mentioned “sorrel drink,” Jamaica’s traditional Christmas brew. Seeing that I had no concept whatsoever of this fabulous concoction, the three launched into the recipe, each repeating it in her own words so it might penetrate my thick head. It took me about ten iterations to understand the word “sorrel,” the way it rolled off their Jamaican tongues and traveled into my uncomprehending American ear. Cereal? Sonnel? Sorrel! Finally, I understood! 

In Jamaica, sorrel is a type of hibiscus (hibiscus sabdariffa), and it’s distinctly different from the green similar to spinach called by the same name elsewhere. I asked where I might find it. Sophia glanced sideways at Evette, who looked suggestively at Andrea, who smiled widely. “I’ll get some!” she cried and disappeared into the market. Andrea eventually found some through a friend, and that afternoon, just as promised, Sophia presented me with a gallon-sized bag of wine-red Jamaican sorrel, at the bargain price of the equivalent of $1. 

That evening, I brewed up my first batch of Christmas drink, my ears ringing with instructions in melodic Jamaican voices while the scent of ginger and sorrel filled the galley. My husband sipped and heartily approved. In the end, we made several different batches until we had a recipe that worked as both a refreshing ice tea and as a cocktail. With Christmas right around the corner, I’d gained—thanks to my new friends in Port Antonio—not only a lovely memory of Jamaica but also a recipe for a drink perfect for a tropical holiday celebration. —Nadine Slavinski

Get the recipe here.

Christmas Chocolate Cake

Chocolate cake on table
Christmas Chocolate Cake Sea Wave/Adobe Stock

I always remind my mother that cruisers have intentions, not plans. So, when our lack of intentions found us plying the exotic rivers and villages of Panama’s remote Darién province longer than we’d intended, I knew Christmas dinner wasn’t going to be “traditional.” Instead of eggnog, fruitcake, roast turkey, and pumpkin pie, it would be rum, fresh tropical fruit, grilled fish, and-what for dessert? No matter how far from home our more than seven years of cruising has taken us, my husband, Jim, and I have always managed to include a few traditional family favorites in our distant holiday meals. 

Christmas morning dawned silent and gray over our idyllic anchorage on the winding Río Sabana. I was sleeping in—giving Santa a little more time to find us—and Jim was reading in the cockpit of our Tayana 42 cutter, Asylum. He didn’t hear the approaching dugout until the old guy in the leaky little canoe held up a bucket and called out, “Camarones!” A bag of rice, some cooking oil, a couple of onions and a few stale trading cigarettes cinched the deal. Not exactly the same as cookies and milk disappearing from under the Christmas tree, but when I awoke to the news of several pounds of fresh shrimp on board, it was enough to make me believe in Santa Claus again. Christmas dinner was taking shape. 

The day before, we’d meandered up the river for about six miles in Nut Case, our well-worn dinghy, until the river forked and headed left to the village of Santa Fé, which we’d been told was about ten minutes away. Our excursion was part exploration and part foraging: to see what items on our modest Christmas-dinner shopping list the little tiendas might have, and to see if there might be for sale any of the hand-woven palm baskets for which Darién is famous. The narrowing river wound along for much more than ten minutes, and when we finally reached a landing, it wasn’t Santa Fé. Without enough water in the tidal creek to keep going, we left the dinghy on the gooey mud bank and hitched a ride in a car that epitomized the term rattletrap for the 15-minute, bone-jarring trip to the village. 

Santa Fé turned out to be a tropical Dodge City: Saddled horses waited patiently at hitching posts; shops and bars lined the wide, dusty main street; and tall fruit trees provided shade for men in spurs to swap their news. We spotted a small melo, where you can buy anything from Tang to baby chickens, and it didn’t disappoint. The tiny refrigerator yielded two huge surprises: eggnog and turkey hams. Stacked at the counter were little fruitcakes. After those amazing discoveries, I even checked the shelves for pumpkin-pie filling. But it didn’t matter that there was none. I had the recipe for another family favorite, one that always thrilled us as children when mom made it: a sinfully delicious chocolate cake that forms its own pudding-like frosting as it cooks. It was the perfect cap to a perfect Christmas for cruisers.
—Katie Coolbaugh

Get the recipe here.

Christmas Star Cookies

cookies on a plate
Star Cookies Lynda Morris Childress

As active seasonal cruisers seeking winter warmth, usually in the Bahamas, my husband, Radd, and I have spent many winter holidays aboard our Island Packet 40, Sasha, far away from family and friends back home. We do miss the gatherings and traditions, but no matter where we are, we try to embrace new ways of celebrating—joining local celebrations or attending local services—while preserving a few tried-and-true traditions from our land life.   

Nassau, on New Providence Island in the Bahamas, was the backdrop for one of our most memorable holidays. We arrived a few days before Christmas, got settled, and then set out to explore. That day’s mission was to visit the Bacardi distillery. In all our cruising destinations, when venturing beyond walking distance of our harbor, we always use whatever public transportation is available (if any). Yes, we’re frugal cruisers, but public transport is a great way to interact with local people and absorb the culture. It’s always far more interesting than taking a taxi.   

In Nassau, we were lucky: There’s an extensive bus system. New Providence is a fairly large island; if you want to head away from Nassau harbor and the downtown area to the island’s south side (“over the hill,” as the locals say), you must hail a taxi, get a ride or take the bus.   After ensuring that we were going in the right direction, we asked our friendly bus driver if the Bacardi distillery was on the route.   

“No,” he replied, with a sorrowful head shake. Then, his face lit up with a wide smile. “But I’ll take you there.”   

And away we went, the only two riders on the bus. Once we got “over the hill,” we discovered a whole different world: homes with yards, small shopping centers, and no tourists. Eventually, we were out in the country. The driver took us right to the distillery’s entrance. We expressed our heartfelt thanks, and then he asked, “What time do you want me to pick you up?”   

The friendliness and courtesy of the Bahamian people are astounding. After a pleasant tour and, of course, a rum tasting, we emerged with several bottles of Bacardi to restock our near-empty liquor locker on board. Sure enough, our new friend retrieved us at the appointed hour, and back “over the hill” we went.  

Back on the boat, feeling festive, I formulated a plan. For as long as I can remember, my mom made special cookies for Christmas Eve. They were moist and creamy, with a hint of peanut butter perfectly complemented by chocolate centers. She always used packaged Brach’s Chocolate Stars, so we called them Star Cookies.  

Of course, she passed down the recipe, one she’d modified through trial and error. I began to gather ingredients on the boat and realized that I had everything but the chocolate stars. It didn’t matter: The cookies are delicious with any small, solid-chocolate candy pieces for the centers. You can use dark chocolate, milk chocolate, even white chocolate.   

When Christmas Eve arrived, we rode the city bus again, this time to attend a holiday service at the magnificent 300-year-old Christ Church Cathedral, a Nassau landmark. In yet another demonstration of Bahamian courtesy, a different driver apologized profusely for not being able to take us directly there but promised he’d get us within a short walk. We both wore wide smiles as easy-listening Christmas carols blared out of the bus speakers.   

Late that night, back aboard Sasha, we feasted on the cookies, along with eggnog spiced with fresh nutmeg and a healthy shot of our recently acquired rum. Turns out it’s possible to be home for the holidays after all. —Lorelei Johnson

Get the recipe here.

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.

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Sailor & Galley: Home for the Holidays https://www.cruisingworld.com/people/star-cookies-recipe/ Wed, 29 Nov 2023 14:00:00 +0000 https://www.cruisingworld.com/?p=51137 No matter how far away they roam, this cruising couple’s Star Cookies are a delicious way to enjoy holiday traditions on board.

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Lorelei Johnson adjusts sail cover on Sasha
Aboard her Island Packet 40, Sasha, Lorelei Johnson has spent numerous winter holidays far from family and friends. Courtesy Lorelei Johnson

As active seasonal ­cruisers seeking winter warmth, usually in the Bahamas, my husband, Radd, and I have spent many winter holidays aboard our Island Packet 40, Sasha, far away from family and friends back home. We do miss the gatherings and traditions, but no matter where we are, we try to embrace new ways of celebrating—joining local celebrations or attending local services—while preserving a few tried-and-true traditions from our land life. 

Nassau, on New Providence Island in the Bahamas, was the backdrop for one of our most memorable holidays. We arrived a few days before Christmas, got settled, and then set out to explore. That day’s mission was to visit the Bacardi distillery.

In all our cruising ­destinations, when venturing beyond walking distance of our harbor, we always use whatever public transportation is available (if any). Yes, we’re frugal cruisers, but public transport is a great way to interact with local people and absorb the culture. It’s always far more interesting than taking a taxi.

In Nassau, we were lucky: There’s an extensive bus system. New Providence is a fairly large island; if you want to head away from Nassau harbor and the downtown area to the island’s south side (“over the hill,” as the locals say), you must hail a taxi, get a ride or take the bus. 

After ensuring that we were going in the right direction, we asked our friendly bus driver if the Bacardi distillery was on the route. 

“No,” he replied, with a ­sorrowful head shake. Then, his face lit up with a wide smile. “But I’ll take you there.”

And away we went, the only two riders on the bus.

Once we got “over the hill,” we discovered a whole different world: homes with yards, small shopping centers, and no tourists. Eventually, we were out in the country. The driver took us right to the distillery’s entrance. We expressed our heartfelt thanks, and then he asked, “What time do you want me to pick you up?” 

The friendliness and ­courtesy of the Bahamian people are astounding.

After a pleasant tour and, of course, a rum tasting, we emerged with several bottles of Bacardi to restock our near-empty liquor locker on board. Sure enough, our new friend retrieved us at the ­appointed hour, and back “over the hill” we went.

Back on the boat, feeling festive, I formulated a plan. For as long as I can remember, my mom made special cookies for Christmas Eve. They were moist and creamy, with a hint of peanut butter perfectly ­complemented by chocolate centers. She always used packaged Brach’s Chocolate Stars, so we called them Star Cookies.

Of course, she passed down the recipe, one she’d modified through trial and error. I began to gather ingredients on the boat and realized that I had everything but the chocolate stars. It didn’t matter: The cookies are delicious with any small, solid-chocolate candy pieces for the centers. You can use dark chocolate, milk chocolate, even white chocolate.

When Christmas Eve arrived, we rode the city bus again, this time to attend a holiday service at the magnificent 300-year-old Christ Church Cathedral, a Nassau landmark. In yet another demonstration of Bahamian courtesy, a different driver apologized profusely for not being able to take us directly there but promised he’d get us within a short walk. We both wore wide smiles as easy-­listening Christmas carols blared out of the bus speakers. 

Late that night, back aboard Sasha, we feasted on the cookies, along with eggnog spiced with fresh nutmeg and a healthy shot of our recently acquired rum. Turns out it’s possible to be home for the holidays after all.

Star Cookies (yields 30 cookies)

cookies on a plate
Star Cookies Lynda Morris Childress

Ingredients:

  • 1¾ cups flour
  • 1 tsp. baking soda
  • ½ tsp. salt
  • ¾ cup butter
  • ¾ cup creamy peanut butter
  • ½ cup sugar plus ½ cup more for rolling 
  • ½ cup brown sugar
  • 1 egg
  • 1 tsp. vanilla
  • About 30 small chocolate pieces
  • Powdered sugar, for dusting (optional)

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit. Sift together flour, baking soda and salt. Set aside. 

Cream together butter, peanut butter, ½ cup sugar and ½ cup brown sugar. Add egg and vanilla. Beat well, then mix until consistency is like dough. (It will be slightly wet.) 

Line a cookie sheet with baking paper. With your hands, form the dough into 1½-inch balls (about the size of a ping pong ball), and roll each ball in the remaining ½ cup sugar. Place about 2 inches apart on cookie sheet. 

Bake for 8 minutes. Remove from the oven, place a chocolate piece on each cookie, and press firmly. Return the cookies to the oven and bake for 2 to 5 more minutes, or until the cookies are golden-brown and set. 

Let the cookies cool, and then sprinkle them with powdered sugar, especially if you miss snow. 

Prep time: 1 hour
Difficulty: Medium
Can be made: at anchor

Cook’s Note: 

Use a 1-tablespoon measuring spoon to scoop out raw cookie dough, then roll to shape into balls. A heaping tablespoon makes a perfect-size dough ball.

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