The great variation from summer to winter in Alaska means that the residents of the Last Frontier are adept at catching and preserving wild food. Whether it’s with caribou or blueberries, Alaskans make sure their larders are stocked before the darkness and snow descend.

As transient sailors in Alaska for a number of years, my husband, Seth, and I got caught up in the notion of gathering wild food and preserving it for future eating. Long-distance sailing tends to draw people who welcome a life of self-reliance, and providing for yourself from land and sea is an obvious extension of that (see “Sailing for Fishing,” January 2020). In particular, we got excited about catching and preserving salmon. As nonresidents, we were limited to rod-and-reel fishing, and so our harvest wasn’t a patch on the year-rounders’ net-fishing, but we still pulled in much more than we could eat. We don’t have a freezer, and the catch would have taken up more room than a typical boat freezer offers anyway, so we canned it.

Canning fish or meat requires a pressure canner. Water-bath canning is acceptable for jams and pickles and the like, but the low temperature isn’t safe for low-acid foods such as fish and meat. Seth and I have a Presto 16-quart stainless-steel pressure canner, which holds 12 half-pint jars and can reach a pressure of 15 psi. Before setting up the canner, however, we liked to hot-smoke our fish.

When you buy smoked salmon, you are buying cold-smoked fish; it’s been brined, refrigerated, and then smoked for between 12 and 24 hours. We don’t have a smoker capable of that, so when we were in Alaska, our method was to hot-smoke fish in our grill, using green alder branches to provide the smoke.

In the meantime, while the fish was cooking, we washed all our Mason jars and got out new lids and rings. It’s a good idea to keep the jars hot (leave them in very hot water) so that they don’t crack. We then filled each jar with the fish, a little lime or lemon peel, and vegetable oil, getting rid of any air bubbles with a clean plastic spatula (metal utensils can damage the jar). It’s imperative to always leave about an inch of airspace below the lid and to wipe the rim of the jar very clean. Otherwise you risk not having a good seal, which can lead to spoiling and even botulism, which is odorless and very dangerous, and sometimes fatal.

Once the rims were perfectly clean, we put on the lids and rings, making sure not to tighten the rings all the way. This way air can escape during the canning and cooling. Once all the air is eventually released by the end of the process, a vacuum has been created and the lid will seal. It makes a characteristic popping noise once it does.

Read More: Hands-On Sailor

But we were still back at the stage of putting on the lids and rings. Once that was complete, the rack that came with the canner went into it in order to hold the jars off the bottom. I poured warm water into the canner to the amount specified (there’s a line on the inside of the canner), and then placed the jars in, careful to leave enough space between them. Then I secured the lid of the canner (which has a gasket), but I left off the pressure-regulator weight on the air vent. That way the canner could vent off all the air and create a purely steam environment for the canning.

After the water in the canner boiled, the venting took about 10 minutes before I could put on the weight and watch the pressure in the canner mount to the appropriate pounds per square inch—in this case, 11 psi. (There is a dial on the lid that measures pressure.)

The canner required fairly constant monitoring to make sure the pressure stayed at the right level; I frequently adjusted the gas on the stove to keep the right heat, even while using a “flame-tamer” heat distributor. For our salmon and canner, we maintained the 11 psi pressure for 100 minutes before turning off the stove and letting the canner and jars cool.

Once all the pressure in the canner was gone, we could open the lid and remove the jars with the tongs that came with the canner (the jars are still very hot!). I placed them on a thick dish towel and left them there to cool. When the lids had sealed and we’d tightened the rings, the jars were set to store. We always make sure to write the date on the lids with a Sharpie first though. It’s usually not that long before we’ve opened a jar for a delicious hors d’oeuvre, but it’s good practice.

I find canning in the galley to be fairly easy and straightforward, and not too much different from canning in a house kitchen. The three big differences are space, of course, the lack of a dishwasher, and the size of the canner.

Canning takes up most of the saloon space, between washing the jars and laying them out to be filled with fish, and then laying them out to cool at the end. So, it becomes an activity that everyone on board is necessarily involved in (there’s no room to do much else!), whereas at home I can do the canning in the kitchen, and life in the rest of the house goes on as usual.

Washing the jars is a bit more of a project on the boat than it would be at home, where I could simply put the jars in the dishwasher and take them out one by one to fill and place in the canner, thereby keeping them very hot from the dishwasher steam while they await filling.

And finally, the canner is smaller than the one I have at home and therefore requires about two batches for every one I make at home. But our boat canner fits perfectly on our galley stove, and it stores well in a deep locker, while a bigger one would not fit. Otherwise, the process is pretty well the same, and the resulting food is just as good!

Salmon To Go

Here are three ways we put our canned salmon to good use when we’re sailing:

• Hors d’oeuvres. It’s a classy and delicious topping to a cracker and cream cheese.

• Maki sushi rolls. Rolled up in nori (roasted seaweed) and sushi rice, it’s great on its own or combined with avocado, cucumber and/or cream cheese.

• Fettucine Alfredo. It makes your favorite homemade creamy pasta sauce a whole lot more interesting, and it’s fast and easy to add. This one is a stand-by for me on passages.

Writer and photographer Ellen Massey Leonard is a frequent CW contributor.

The post How to Can Fish on Your Boat with a Pressure Cooker appeared first on Cruising World.

The United Nations estimates that 1.5 billion tons, or one-third of all food produced, is wasted annually. It is also estimated that more than 40 percent of that food is wasted by the ­consumer. What you put on your plates has far-reaching ­environmental consequences, and that means you have the power to make big, positive ­environmental changes. On a more personal level, reducing food waste means less stinky trash to deal with on board.

Reducing food waste doesn’t mean going vegan or giving up favorite foods. It doesn’t even require major changes to your routine. Simply by being a little more mindful about the food you buy and eat can help prevent global food waste.

Use What’s on Board

The first step ­toward reducing food waste is simply to use what you have on board instead of heading ashore to buy more. Start by checking what fresh goods need to be ­eaten before they spoil, and build your meal from there. Sometimes this means creative substitutions, but cooking is about the creative process—embrace it. This is also a good opportunity to rotate stock and check expiration dates on canned goods in the dry stores.

Make a Plan and Stick to It

Taking a few minutes each week to create a meal plan and a provisioning list is a great strategy to reduce food waste, not to mention stress. Arming yourself with a list when heading out to provision means you can reduce impulse purchases and avoid doubling up on things you already have on board. Buying only the food you need means your shopping trip will be time- and cost-effective.

Eat Ugly

Approximately 46 percent of produce never makes it from the farm to the galley simple because of cosmetic preferences. Apples that aren’t big enough, carrots that aren’t straight enough and lemons that aren’t yellow enough are all thrown away despite being perfectly nutritious. “Eating ugly” is accepting that nature is not cosmetically perfect, and that produce grows in all sorts of shapes, sizes and colors. Small producers and farmers markets are likely to have more variety when it comes to cosmetically imperfect fruits and veggies. As well, check for the “ugly”—and often discount—produce section in conventional stores. Save a few pennies, and the planet too!

Shop Local vs. Organic

Many people choose organic over locally grown, thinking that it is a better choice for the environment. However, it is important to consider farming practices, shipping distances and packaging when choosing your food. Buying something organic that is from an industrial farm, wrapped in plastic and shipped to a remote island will have greater negative environmental impact than choosing locally grown but not certified-organic food.

Eat Sustainably

Eating sustainably asks that we consider where and how our food is grown, the resources used, the ­environmental impact of the entire ­process, the conditions of the animals, and how the workers are treated and paid. You can eat sustainably by reducing your meat consumption, choosing wild-caught instead of farmed fish, eating seasonally, buying local, buying fair trade, growing or making your own, and eating less packaged and processed foods.

The post Five Ways to Prevent Food Waste Aboard appeared first on Cruising World.

On charters aboard our Atlantic 70 cutter, Stressbuster, in the Greek Islands, I try to keep it simple—especially when it comes to onboard meal prep. After breakfast, we set sail; underway, the captain and guests enjoy the sailing while I duck below to start lunch—usually a cooked meal, per Greek tradition. Since food must be ready by the time we drop anchor between islands around midday for swimming and ­sustenance, prep time needs to be fairly quick and easy to do underway. The fewer pots and pans, the better—ensuring easy cleanup so we can get sailing again after lunch. Thankfully, Greek cuisine seems tailor-made for boats—fresh, local, simple and divine. One of my favorite recipes is avgolemono soup, which gets its name from the creamy broth—an ingenious combination of beaten eggs (avgo) and lemon (lemono). In its simplest form, this traditional soup is made with chicken broth, salt, pepper, rice or orzo pasta, and the last-minute blending of the eggs and lemon juice with the hot broth to make the base. There are many ­variations of this basic recipe. I’ve tried other versions, but—based on my love of Italian meatball soup—I created this one. It’s filling, but light and lemony enough to be perfect even on a hot August day. It never fails to be a crowd-pleaser!

Greek Avgolemono Soup

• 2 Tbsp. olive oil
• 4-5 green onions
• 1 large carrot, grated (about 1 cup)
• 2 small zucchini, grated (about 2 cups)
• 5 cups chicken broth
• 12 frozen, packaged meatballs**
• 1/2 cup orzo pasta
• Salt and pepper, to taste
• Handful of fresh parsley, chopped

For the avgolemono:

• 2 large eggs, brought to room temperature
• 1/4 cup fresh lemon juice

**or substitute ­homemade, frozen

Chop green onions. Use the pale bottom parts for the soup; reserve dark-green tops for a garnish. Cut carrot and zucchini in half, then grate lengthwise with a box grater. Heat oil in a large soup pot over medium heat. Briefly saute veggies. Add chicken broth, ­meatballs and orzo. Stir, cover pot, and increase heat to medium-­high. When liquid comes to a boil, reduce heat, cover, and cook at a healthy ­simmer for 20 to 25 ­minutes.

Make avgolemono: Crack eggs into a large (4-cup), heatproof liquid measuring cup or bowl. Add lemon juice. Whisk and set aside. When soup is done, remove from heat and remove cover. Let cool until broth is no longer scalding (at least 5 minutes; test temp with a clean finger). Use a soup ladle to gradually add broth to egg-lemon mix, whisking as you add. When liquid in the pot is almost diminished, slowly pour avgolemono back into the pot, a bit at a time, stirring after each addition. Stir to blend, cover, and let sit for 1 to 2 minutes, or until thickened slightly. Stir in chopped parsley. Garnish individual servings with reserved green onion tops, and serve immediately.

Preparation: At anchor & underway

Time: 35-40 minutes

Difficulty: Easy

Cook’s Notes

For perfect, smooth avgolemono, DO NOT add broth that’s too hot to the egg/lemon mixture—it will “cook” the eggs and clump. Use room-temperature eggs to decrease likelihood of clumping. If you reheat leftovers, use low heat and do not simmer!

The post Galley Recipe: Greek Avgolemono Soup appeared first on Cruising World.

My wife, Tenley, and I do a lot of coastal cruising in New England, mostly short 6- to 20-mile hops on our 1972 Pearson 36, Snoek. I did a refit to Snoek in 2016 in my backyard that was chronicled in a series of CW articles, and we have since done tons of great cruising on her. One thing I installed in the original refit was an Engel 12-volt DC/110-volt AC free-standing cooler that draws about 3 amps when it kicks (it runs off the Solbian dodger-mounted solar panels) and is super-efficient. It’s perfect for chicken, fish, milk, butter and other perishables. But where do we keep the beers and soft drinks cold?

That was something we still needed to address.

At first we used the original built-in ice chest to starboard, but insulation technology in 1972 wasn’t so dialed in; a block of ice would last about 12 hours on a good, cool day in June but not on a scorcher in August. I suggested to Tenley a proper compressor-style refrigeration system for the old ice-chest space, but “the boss” said: “No, I like using ice. Let’s improve that system some and keep our little boat simple.” Music to my ears.

I did some research and figured out that there was enough room in the original ice-chest space to fit a Yeti Tundra 45 cooler without having to rebuild the whole galley countertop. I did have to enlarge the access hole to the ice chest by about 3 inches on the long side and about 2 inches on the short side. This was done with a jigsaw. I then filled the exposed foam edges with wood strips that I epoxied in place with Thixo Flex. I then filled, faired and painted it. It looked like new.

Next, I built a subfloor in the bottom of the ice-chest space from Starboard, first measuring it with a cardboard template. I then cut it to fit with cleats on the side of the box fastened with stainless self-tapping screws. Obviously, the Yeti cooler had to be lashed down in the space, and this was achieved with 1/8-inch, low-stretch Spectra tie-downs through newly drilled holes in the top lip of the cooler. I looped the Spectra through two side holes directly below the Yeti in the starboard subfloor.

RELATED: Brewing Beer on a Boat

The last thing I had to do was make a new, larger lid for the Yeti’s access hole. I used a piece of 3/8-inch plywood (varnished on all four edges and the bottom), and with more Thixo epoxy, glued a veneer of ¼-inch teak to the top. The teak was then oiled to seal it from spills and the hard environment of the galley.

To sum it all up, it works like a champ, and the ice lasts for days with no worries about keeping the house batteries topped off—just the occasional trip to get a bag of ice and another 12 pack of beer. The two items seem to last about the same time!

Award-winning marine ­photographer Onne van der Wal is a frequent contributor to CW. His most recent Rizzoli coffee-­table book is Sailing America. For more on his work, visit his website.

The post Installing a Cooler in the Galley appeared first on Cruising World.

What’s a sunset without a sundowner? Quitting time after a messy day in the engine room without an after-work beer? No matter how much storage a boat has, at some point, the liquid provisioning trickles out. Homebrewing—or rather boat-brewing—is the beverage solution for cruisers who enjoy hanging out in remote areas without beach bars or supermarkets.

When we set out toward the Pacific seven years ago, we knew that booze would be costly in many areas (if available at all). Therefore, we filled up our boat with boxed wine, cases of beer and some rum in Panama. When we met a singlehander from New Zealand in one of our first anchorages in French Polynesia who invited us to try his homemade beer, our reaction was more amused than interested: What a weirdo, we thought nonchalantly.

A year later, we were still in French Polynesia and had run out of Panamanian booze. Motivated by high prices for alcohol, we tried our luck with Polynesian recipes for komo—sugar water fermented with baker’s yeast that yields strong results. The locals brew komo in 200-liter (52-gallon) barrels, so we did the math, and filled regular 1-liter bottles with a similar ratio. After cleaning up the sticky mess from an exploded container, we had a go at DIY airlocks, which prevented further accidents but did nothing to conceal the socklike smell and taste of the baker’s yeast.

We searched online and ordered from homebrew shops. Starting from scratch and boiling hops seemed overly ­ambitious, so we went for ready-made beer kits. A 4-pound can yields 23 liters (48 US pints) and contains all that’s needed. Just pour the thick syrup into a large container, add water, sugar and the included packet of yeast, and wait for a week. Then comes the tricky part, because you need a whole load of empty, sterilized pressure bottles (old soda bottles work) for the golden liquid. A pinch of sugar in each bottle sets off a second fermentation to make the beer fizzy. There is a whole range of different beer types available as beer kits, but inventive boat-brewers take it a step further and add aroma hops, young pine tips, or even coffee beans for experimental flavors. After another two weeks of patiently waiting, the beer’s ready to be tasted!

As the sunset is painting the sky over the lagoon in shades of pink and orange, we clink our glasses. Yes, homebrewing equipment takes up some space and the procedure is rather time-consuming, but the luxury of sipping self-made ­Pitufa-brew all on our own in paradise is well worth the ­effort. Cheers!

How To Get Started

To start brewing beer aboard, you’ll need:

• 1 beer kit (e.g., Muntons Export Pilsner)
• 1 big container (23 liters/ 6 US gallons)
• 23 one-liter bottles or 46 half-liter bottles (regular plastic soda bottles can take the pressure)
• 1 air lock (to put on the big container)
• Disinfectant to prepare the gear (baby-bottle disinfectant from the pharmacy or special disinfectant from the homebrew shop)
• Enough patience to make it through 3 weeks of ­waiting time

The post Brewing Beer on a Boat appeared first on Cruising World.

Sailing between islands with charter guests in Greece during the sunny summer months can work up an appetite—but when the weather’s hot, not for heavy food. Aboard Stressbuster, our Atlantic 70 cutter, we often drop anchor at midday for a swim. After cooling off in the clear sea, there’s nothing better than to indulge in a favorite Greek afternoon pastime—a light lunch of mezedes (small plates of varied food) with whatever cool beverage you fancy. One of our favorite additions to this summer repast is cool, delicious Greek tzatziki. Made with thick and creamy Greek yogurt, grated cucumber, and a bit of garlic, lemon and fresh dill, it’s a perfect addition to the light meal. Served along with a bit of grilled fish, grilled meat, some sliced summer tomatoes, cucumbers, bread, Kalamata olives and a glass of wine, it’s a perfect, cooling addition. The Greeks consider this mezede a salad, and actually will eat it as is; most Americans prefer to serve and eat it as either a side (like a relish), or as a dip with either bread, pita or sliced raw veggies. There’s nothing better to serve with anything grilled; just dip sizzling pieces in tzatziki before popping in your mouth. It’s versatile: You can add ingredients to taste, or even substitute fresh mint for dill for a different flavor entirely. This is so good, it can even stand alone as a cocktail-hour snack. Kali orexi—good appetite!

Cook’s Notes: Full-fat yogurt is a must for good tzatziki; if you can find full-fat double-strained, that’s even better. ­­Low- or reduced-fat yogurt tends to gets runny. In U.S. supermarkets, it’s often hard to find even full-fat yogurt. If you can’t find it, try using half 2 percent yogurt and half sour cream—the goal is a thick and creamy consistency.

Easy Greek Tzatziki recipe

• 1 cup full-fat Greek yogurt
• 1/4 cup seedless cucumber, heaping (or to taste)
• 1–4 cloves garlic, minced (to taste)
• 1 Tbsp. fresh dill, chopped (or to taste)
• Dash of fresh lemon juice
• Splash of good olive oil
• Salt, to taste

Serves 4-6 as a relish or dip

Put yogurt in a small mixing bowl. Peel cucumber and grate finely. Place in a colander, and press out all the juices you can. Leave to sit and drain more while you mince the garlic and chop the dill. Add drained grated cucumber, garlic, dill and lemon juice to yogurt in bowl. Stir to combine, and salt to taste. Add a splash of olive oil, stir again, and refrigerate briefly until ready to serve. Serve as a side with grilled meats, or as a dip. This is best made fresh. It doesn’t keep well overnight in the fridge; the yogurt absorbs too much cucumber and garlic flavor, so it’s best to make fresh, small amounts at a time.

Preparation: At anchor and underway
Time: 15 minutes
Difficulty: Easy

The post People and Food: Greek Tzatziki appeared first on Cruising World.

Thirty-eight years ago, a Frenchman named Henri Wauquiez built our 43-foot Amphitrite ketch Ganesh with an emphasis on the culinary arts. This is one of the reasons my wife, Carolyn, and I purchased her. We’re unabashed epicureans.

What other production cruising sailboat has a dedicated baguette drawer, two sinks with three faucets or three built-in wine racks — one of which is illuminated by a 12-volt light wired to a hidden door switch? Ganesh even boasts three extensive dining areas: the main dinette that spans the entire width of the cabin; a commodious folding cockpit table that can accommodate four to six; and a pullout aft cabin table that’s stored athwartships under the double bunk and is perfect for holding the grapes we eagerly peel for each other.

Sailing is a sensuous pursuit. We’re sensuous ­people. Why shouldn’t our Ganesh reflect our joy at being alive, in love and hungry for the taste of tomorrow? Food is vitally important to us, not only for nutrition, but also as holy sacrament. Carolyn’s ancestry is Sicilian. She is driven to feed people.

While our relative poverty doesn’t allow us to match many of our wealthy cruising friends in picking up the yacht club bar tab, we make up for it by throwing dinner parties aboard nearly every week. If we love you, we want to break bread with you. Family, friends and food are forever interwoven in our hearts.

The cruising lifestyle involves both the yin and the yang.

Alas, our French galley builders went a tad too far during Ganesh‘s construction. In a desire to replicate a typical country kitchen, they used small tiles as a counter surface. Tile and boats don’t mix. Fresh water soon worked its way under them and rotted the plywood underneath. We knew the entire galley was waterlogged in 2012 when we purchased the boat but could not afford to do anything about it while repowering, rerigging and circumnavigating.

So what if the entire galley counter was spongy, the rig was stout.

Carolyn is a strong gal who makes fresh bread every other day while offshore, even in huge seas, and eventually she began to knead the entire galley counter into the bilge. She repeatedly requested a new work area, but it was wasn’t until our port sink started to heel at an odd angle in relationship to our starboard sink that I realized I had no choice but to grant her wish.

However, our cruising kitty happened to be low, so the first thing I did was to start a “Jah list,” the kind of thing a young child might write to Santa. Why? On the simple premise that the gods can’t give you stuff if they don’t know you need it.

Ask and receive. Visualize!

Is life that simple? No. But desire has to precede accomplishment or no effort is expended. We knew that we’d never have enough money to commission a new galley to be constructed by local shipwrights. We’d have to build it ourselves from scrounged and discarded boat bits. We simply won’t allow the silly little fact that we lack sufficient funds to stop us from accomplishing our dreams, whether galley or transoceanic.

Step one was making a list of things we’d need. Step two was deciding to do the work in New Zealand during our fourth circumnavigation. New Zealand is very can-do; the blokes here don’t buy stuff, they build it. Call it fate, but right across from the boat in Whangarei are a number of custom cabinetry shops with locked dumpsters. I’d often stroll by and peer in longingly at the discarded lumber. One day, a carpenter on cigarette break explained to me that the trash bin was locked to prevent people from putting stuff in, not taking it out. He said I could have any of the discarded wood I wanted.

I wanted!

We became friends. He appreciated that I made no mess during my dumpster dives. I explained about our endless voyage toward Nirvana. He mentioned his father-in-law was building a Wharram catamaran. Soon he was taking me into his shop to see if there were any shorts in the lumber pile that I might be able to use.

More than half the wood I used in the galley project was free.

Of course, marine plywood doesn’t grow on trees, so some parts of the new galley had to be paid for. But the good folks at Scooters Plywood & Joinery supplies sold half-sheets, one of which had some water damage on a corner. I purchased it for a quarter of what I was expecting.

Instead of buying new sinks, we patched and polished the old ones. Both had holes but judiciously placed bolts solved that.

Carolyn wanted Corian for the countertops but I vetoed the material because of its weight. We went with Formica, which itself cost more than I would have liked. Worse, the roll of pricey countertop unexpectedly cracked diagonally as we were removing it from its cardboard tube, so I thought we’d blow the budget by having to replace it. But the gods were merely toying with us. We were able to get the countertop out of one randomly cracked half and the backsplash out of the other.

RELATED: Upgrade Your Sailboat’s Galley

Carolyn wanted all new hoses, fittings and fixtures, but we mostly polished the old ones or discovered better ones at Stanley’s Marine, our local used-boat-gear store.

I’m on my 59th year of living aboard, and one of my core concepts of ship husbandry is to do a major vessel improvement every year. That’s exactly what we were attempting here. Unfortunately, the ever-playful gods weren’t done messing with us. Just as we were taking an ax to the galley, our 12-volt refrigeration system quit. Damn! That’s the whole story of my cruising life: one step forward and another back.

We had no choice but to soldier on as frugally as possible. I’m goal-oriented. I know that you can’t lose if you don’t quit. And I was encouraged when the biggest lumber yard in town allowed me to dig around in its pile of discarded wood so old it wasn’t even in the computer inventory — and thus fair game for penniless do-it-yourselfers with a handful of gimme and a mouthful of thank-you-much.

I used to do stuff like this all the time when I was a 15-year-old Tom Sawyer-type and rebuilding my first vessel, Corina. But I never thought at age 66 I’d still be skipping through foreign lumberyards while whistling at planks and saying loudly, “My, ain’t that a purdy, purdy piece of timber?”

Is this scrounging of goods too much? Should I have stayed in America and frowned at my bank account instead of heading offshore? Maybe. Life is a judgment call. But I think of myself as more creative than frugal. It’s all about value. I earn money, but I’m just more careful about how I spend it than those who fail to leave the harbor.

But even I can dream — and honestly, material objects aren’t bad, per se, which brings us to the stove.

The stove on Corina in 1968 was a camping two-burner. Our next boat, Carlotta, had a salvaged ungimbaled Crawford house stove that worked OK during the 1970s and ’80s. Our previous sailboat, Wild Card, had a succession of steel RV stoves during the 1990s. And Ganesh‘s corroded stove was always a “will it work or won’t it” proposition. Carolyn had never had a new or fully functioning gimbaled marine stove in her 49 years of living aboard. And, like any infatuated, love-struck husband, I wanted to give my bride the tools (and galley jewelry) she desired. After all, a stove is her primary instrument as a gourmet sea chef. And every sailor knows the heart of a happy vessel is its galley.

Ditto, with refrigeration. The 52-foot schooner Elizabeth that I grew up on lacked refrigeration, as did Corina, Carlotta and Wild Card, the various sailboats aboard which Carolyn and I have plied the seas. A major reason we purchased Ganesh, in fact, was to have a cold glass of water on a hot day while transiting the sweltering equator.

Thus the extreme frugality of our 2019 galley rebuild wasn’t merely because I squeeze a penny so hard that Abe Lincoln cries. No, it was also because I desired to help my sailing partner to accomplish her culinary dreams just as she has assisted me with accomplishing so many of my cruising dreams.

Does luck play a part in these wacky, seat-of-our-pants DIY boat projects? Of course. And not all luck is bad. Just as I was routing the edges of the Formica flush with the marine ply, our long delayed royalty check from a piece of writing arrived. I glanced at the amount and did a double take.

“I was skeptical as well,” Carolyn admits. “So I checked. It was correct.”

We were able to immediately replace our Isotherm Compact Classic refrigeration compressor unit as well as purchase a brand-new, ultrashiny Force 10 gimbaled stove with three self-igniting stovetop burners, a broiler and a large temperature-regulated oven with a glass thermal door that locks. Carolyn has an entirely new work area to juggle her spices in. The only problem now is that she keeps singing out, “Sugar daddy, sugar daddy!” as she prepares our gourmet meals while sipping a wine cooler.

After taking a break in New Zealand, Fatty and Carolyn were bound for French New Caledonia, where they planned to gorge on escargot.

The post On Watch: Counter Measures appeared first on Cruising World.

The battery bank of Christina was topped off, thanks to a buzzing wind generator working overtime from the Christmas winds in the harbor of Charlotte Amalie in St. Thomas, U.S.V.I.

Good thing, because Ed Buffkin was baking.

“This fries my inverter,” he said, as he leaned over his electric dough mixer. He scooped ingredients into the attached metal bowl in what was clearly the exact right amount.

“It’s an eyeball thing, a feeling,” he shrugged, brushing off a mastery that came from decades of experience baking in top Parisian schools, exclusive resorts, and restaurants throughout the United States and the Caribbean.

Now a spry 70 years old, Buffkin is technically retired but fetches up to $40 a loaf, baking artisan wonders for fellow cruising friends aboard his 30-foot Alpa sailboat. “After I retired, I got bored and decided to bake sourdough bread,” Buffkin said. “Everyone liked it, and I’ve always loved a challenge, so I kept at it. It’s also a way to feed the cruising kitty.”

Half of his V-berth is converted into a proofing station for bread to rise. The gimballed oven has been overhauled with ceramic tiles and a digital thermometer for constant temperature monitoring, just in case the wind funneled in from the hatches blows out the pilot light. Jars of sourdough starters line his galley, and the starboard storage space is almost completely filled with bags of flour.

He bakes only special orders cultivated solely by his ­friends-turned-fans. Bring up his name most anywhere in the Virgin Islands and much of the Caribbean, and mouths start watering.

“Really good bakers are doing what I’m doing, creating small batches of artisan breads made with passion,” he said. “People should tell you it’s really, really good. That’s the mark of a good baker.”

Buffkin’s chewy, golden loaves — with crusts split perfectly as to catch the edges of sandwich fillings — run around $20, and cruisers clamor to pay. His specialty breads, like an apple cinnamon loaf that wafted a heavenly aroma throughout the mooring field, cost more.

Pumpernickel or rye, whole wheat or simply sourdough, his bread is good. Really, really good.

The fact that he bakes on a 1992 Italian-built sailboat with a propane tank that requires a constant eye and no watermaker only adds to the mystique of the final product.

“Twenty dollars really isn’t a lot when you think about what I have to do to make bread on the boat,” Buffkin said.

To pick up an extra bag of specialty flour, he has to take his constantly deflating dinghy to the dock near a health food store within walking distance. Jugs of fresh water line his cockpit, as water by far is the limiting factor in his production. When a nearby vessel pushes a wake his way, he has to be extra careful not to burn himself or break his prized ceramic baking vessel.

Still, the value in his bread, what makes his friends pay top dollar for specially ordered loaves especially during holidays and before making passages, isn’t in the floating bakery. Buffkin is a master baker.

“I learned from every chef I worked with, and I’ve worked with a lot of them,” he said without a hint of inflated pride, his shy eyes peeking out from round tortoise-shell glasses. “I know the smell, the look, the shape. It’s taken a lot of trial and error to get to where I am.”

RELATED: People and Food: Offshore Banana Pancakes

Always a creative person, Buffkin studied baking in Paris before working a summer job at a lodge in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. As the night baker, he was responsible for churning out 20 dozen muffins and French breads for the morning rush. Then he worked in a German restaurant in Charleston, South Carolina, where he apprenticed under a Prussian baker who taught him the art of making stollen, a sweet and spicy rum-infused butter bread filled with nuts and fruit that’s popular during holidays. Having mastered sweets, he worked as pastry chef at the Ritz-Carlton in Atlanta before being recruited to join the exclusive Caneel Bay Resort in St. John, where he bought Christina. After working in another posh resort in St. Lucia, he sailed back to St. Thomas, where he ran his own bakery in Frenchtown, supplying fresh breads and pastries to resorts and grocers throughout the islands.

Ask him about his favorite desserts he’s created and he’ll paint a chocoholic dream of carved perfection, waxing nostalgic about dripped ­ooey-gooey goodness that will cause tummies to rumble.

Due to the high demand and cramped quarters, Buffkin has baking on board down to a science. “I want to make it convenient for me, on this little boat, with just me. I don’t want to have flour everywhere,” he said.

On the day I watched, it all began with his starter, a mixture of yeast, water and flour, which he has kept in an airtight container on his galley counter for the last six years. It is a tangy and complex sour base that to which he added, along with water, a little honey, a little more yeast and flour, into a metal bowl that fits perfectly in his electric dough mixer that he balanced on the companionway stairs.

As the mixer swirled, he added salt dissolved in a little water and kept the sides of the bowl clear with a rubber spatula.

“I have to make sure there are no lumps,” he said, using a free hand to poke the dough as it churned.

He converted his recipe to cups and spoons after realizing his old method of measuring by weight wouldn’t work. Scales and boats don’t mix; he eventually threw his electronic scale away.

Once the dough consistency was just right, he switched off the machine and rolled the dough into a log, poked it gently with all ten fingers, then folded it back into a log before making it a nice ball.

Knead too much — a classic rookie mistake — and the dough starts to tear like a muscle. If you don’t add enough salt — another lesson he learned over the years — the flavor of the sourdough won’t pop on the tongue.

Next, he sprayed a plastic Tupperware bowl with butter spray and added the dough, covering it with plastic. The bowl went straight to a shelf he built specifically for proofing in the V-berth.

“It’s kind of cool in the V-berth, but when the sun hits directly, the proofing doesn’t take long at all,” he said, putting away ingredients as he worked.

Checking his watch, he estimated it would take about an hour for it to rise above the lip of the bowl. Some days, he waits it out by reading or checking Facebook. But he had a rye bread order to prepare, and he had to get right to it.

In between the dance of baking the next loaf, he checked the sourdough dough. When it was time to “knock it down,” again he was gentle. He used the palms of his hands to spin the dough enough to remove it from the plastic bowl and put it into a specialized ribbed basket he dusted with cornmeal. Once more, he covered it with plastic and returned it to the V-berth.

He lit his pilot light — after closing a hatch — and checked the digital thermostat. Inside his little oven, he heated a ceramic dish, which he ordered online after measuring his stove to make sure it would fit, to prepare for baking. Once heated to 375 degrees, he carefully removed the clay vessel — this too sat on the companionway steps — and popped the risen dough in. With a razor blade, he slashed the top artfully and returned it to the oven.

“It’s nice when you have a breeze, but not when it blows out your pilot light,” he said, constantly checking the thermostat for the 20 minutes while the bread baked.

Once emerged, the loaf boasted a perfect, golden crust containing a chewy center awaiting a dip into garlicky olive oil. But Buffkin wasn’t impressed. He felt he rushed the proofing phase.

“It’s still going to taste good,” he shrugged, turning to the next task of rye bread. This loaf, he knew, would be even better.

“You can do anything if you put your mind to it,” he said.

• Suzanne Wentley is currently land cruising in Australia.*

Ed’s Basic Bread

Want a simple recipe to start baking bread? Start with Ed’s quick and easy beginner recipe:

Ingredients:

• 1 teaspoon yeast
• 1 cup water
• 3 cups flour (more as needed)
• 1 teaspoon honey
• 1 tablespoon salt, dissolved in 1⁄2 cup water

Directions:

Add all ingredients except salt to a gallon plastic bag, seal and work until mixed. Add more flour slowly until it becomes dough and stops clinging to the sides. Add the salt, dump on the counter and knead gently. Let dough rise until doubled, then knock down and rise again for another 20 minutes. Bake in preheated oven at 375 degrees for about 20 minutes.

The post Baker Aboard appeared first on Cruising World.

The galley we inherited when we bought our Down East 45 schooner, Britannia, was both old (circa 1977) and old-fashioned. The stove was rusty, and the refrigerator had seen better days. It was impossible to keep the stainless-steel sink “stainless”: It was pitted with more rust marks whenever we came to the boat. It was time for a refit. I started a list with prices of the items to replace, but it grew longer and longer and soon started to look like a major investment. The refrigerator probably heard my wife, Kati, complaining about it, because it suddenly died, so that went to the top of the list.

We were not living on the boat, so I decided to remodel the whole galley in one continuous operation. Then it wouldn’t matter so much if any particular appliance was out of commission for a while, and I would not have to put my tools away and clean up after every day’s work. I could just leave it and continue the next day.

For both the cook and the crew, there are not many more important areas in a boat. Of course, galleys vary enormously in shape and size from one vessel to the next, therefore our remodel reflected our personal ideas and needs. But most of the individual things I altered could be applied to any galley restoration.

We decided to visit the West Marine superstore in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, which had a large selection of lovely modern appliances we could actually inspect, rather than buy online without seeing them. The Sailorman consignment warehouse was also only a few blocks away and full of similar goodies, and not just used equipment either.

Financially speaking, letting my wife loose in these places to shop for kitchen appliances was perhaps not a good idea. From there, things started to slip slightly out of control.

I had made a detailed drawing of the existing layout, with dimensions of the different places where things would be fitted. I could then take measurements of actual equipment and make sure they would fit. It’s a good thing I did because the dimensions listed on some leaflets and websites were not accurate; when you are planning to fit a new appliance into a fixed-size space, that’s important information to have.

Comparing equipment and prices took absolutely ages, and I wasn’t even allowed to look at radars, chart plotters or stereos (you know, gear that’s really important). In any case, we trundled back to our home in Orlando with a vanload of equipment, which I couldn’t possibly install all at once.

From West Marine, we bought a Seaward Princess stainless-steel three-burner stove, an Isotherm Cruise CR130 front-opening stainless refrigerator and a Panasonic stainless convection microwave (plus an assortment of pots and pans I didn’t even know were needed). At ­Sailorman, we found a used but clean-looking Splendide 2100 washer/dryer at a knockdown price. I had absolutely no idea where I was going to put it, or if it even worked, because it wasn’t even on the list. All this ­equipment was stacked in my garage until I was ready to install individual items.

The easiest appliance to install was the three-burner stove, which fit nicely into the same space as the old stove. I just had to change the position of the gimbal plates and locking latch, then connect it to the existing propane gas line, and that was that (except for painting the aperture white beforehand). The old stove went into our marina dumpster.

I managed to test the ­washer/dryer by connecting it to my home’s hot and cold ­water system using hoses and an extension cable, and it worked fine. However, the only space large enough to install it was where the old fridge had been. At 148 pounds, this machine is very heavy and also bulky, measuring roughly 2 feet square and 3 feet high. It was a major effort for three men to haul it on board, and it only slid through the companionway with a fraction of an inch to spare. We managed to lever it into this space very neatly, as though it was always meant to be there.

Connecting the washer’s hot and cold water pipes into the boat’s pressure system, then installing a discharge pipe and dryer vent, was another ­struggle. I didn’t want to ­damage the Formica countertop, so it took a lot of awkward drilling and jigsawing to get the pipes through bulkheads and floors of plywood and fiberglass of multiple thicknesses. I fitted shut-off valves on the hot and cold supply as a safety measure, in case the washer’s internal shut-off valves failed. I plumbed the water discharge through a new, above-the-waterline seacock with an anti-siphon loop. The dryer exhaust pipe was 4 inches in diameter, which I angled downward through the floor and into the engine room, near the aft blower outlet. When the dryer is in use, we also switch the engine-room blower on, which sucks out all the hot air. The washer also needed a heavy-duty electrical cable connected to a spare breaker on the 120-volt AC board. Installing this single item took three days.

Fitting the washer where the old fridge had been left our new one without a home. However, behind the aft cabin door was a large hanging locker just right for it. The only problem here was that the fridge would then be in the aft cabin with a door in the way, and who wants a refrigerator in an aft cabin anyway, unless it’s full of beer?

It is a well-known truth: On boats, one simple-sounding project usually leads to another, and another. …

I carefully removed the complete aft cabin door frame and bulkhead, which was a project in its own right because it was bonded to the side of the hull. I repositioned the door farther aft, thereby incorporating the locker as a continuation of the galley. However, this was complicated by the fact that the floor in the aft cabin was 8 inches lower than the galley, so I had to make an 8-inch infill for the bottom of the door. It was then only necessary to remove the locker door, build a platform for the fridge and cut a hole in the shelf above it for a vent. I wired the refrigerator through two breakers on the circuit board, one for 120 volts AC and the other 12 volts DC. There was no loss of space in this alteration either because it was all in the passageway to the aft cabin, and there were still plenty of hanging lockers and drawers in that cabin.

The convection microwave fit neatly into a space on the counter and just needed wiring into the 120-volt AC system.

My wife found a very nice twin-basin stainless-steel sink online, complete with a cutting board. But it was not the same shape as the old sink and also an under-mount installation, like modern sinks, so it would not fit in the existing opening. To fit this sink really meant a new countertop, and naturally, Kati didn’t want one section looking different from the other two.

As mentioned, one thing leads to another. …

I had to agree that the countertops, with their faded scratched-teak laminate, were past their prime. So off we went shopping for new ones.

Kati had a notion she would like granite, but the thinnest we could find were 1¼ inches thick, and very heavy. We settled for much lighter Corian material and found a local kitchen-remodeling company that could accurately cut the three separate sections out of ½-inch-thick material. To make it look thicker, they suggested making it double the thickness on the exposed edges, and shaping them with a nice rounded molding.

Before they could do anything, however, I had to make three precise cardboard templates. The sink section was the most critical, because it had to have cutouts for the sink, the top of the freezer and a hole for the faucet. I removed the ornamental teak column at the edge of the sink because I had other plans for that end of the galley. I took great care to make these templates, and along with assurances of accurate cutting by the supplier, it paid off. All the countertops fit perfectly over the top of the old laminate and instantly transformed the galley. I finished by adding varnished teak fiddles on all exposed edges and also installed a couple of extra power outlets.

The new stainless-steel ­double sink needed to be installed before the new countertop. I enlarged the cutout in the laminate and caulked it in place, then slid the new counter over the top and caulked round the edges. We had also purchased a new single-swivel sink faucet with a pull-out spout that I plumbed into the existing hot and cold pipes. Of course, a new sink also meant new drains underneath, which is always a tight scramble, even in a house. The lid for the freezer fit exactly in the right place.

The four drawers at the side of the range were repositioned flush with the stove, along with the locker below, making them all level. All the teak was stripped of old varnish, and two coats of high gloss were applied. There was no trash bin, so I built one from ½-inch plywood with a louvered front. It pivots outward from the end of the galley and holds a waste bag on simple file clips for easy removal.

It took two months to complete the remodeling, but we now have a fabulous new modern galley, as shipshape and efficient as any small apartment.

Maniacal do-it-yourselfer Roger Hughes is a frequent contributor to Cruising World.

The post Upgrade Your Sailboat’s Galley appeared first on Cruising World.

Want to hear some cruising advice and tips straight from the expert’s mouth? Check out the new podcast from The Boat Galley. Three experienced cruising women share their best stories in weekly episodes, each with their own individual flair. If you’ve ever had questions about this whole cruising lifestyle, this is the podcast for you! Episodes cover a wide range of topics from boat selection to gear organization and cruising with a pet.

Lin Pardey, along with her husband, Larry, has sailed over 200,000 nautical miles with 3 circumnavigations under her belt. Most of those miles were done on boats under 30 feet, that she and Larry built together. Her stories are glimpses into the timeless nature of cruising, and her practical advice is well-honed for life aboard.

Carolyn Shearlock, best known for her must-have-aboard book The Boat Galley Cookbook (and its attendant website), has lived aboard and cruised for 10+ years. She is the go-to expert for cooking on board; her website attracts over 160,000 unique visitors each month. Her tips and anecdotes will speed your climb up the learning curve as you bypass the mistakes she and her husband, Dave, made as they learned the hard way.

Nica Waters, one of the admin team for Women Who Sail, has (with her husband, Jeremy) owned her 28’ Bristol Channel Cutter since 1992. She’s cruised extensively in the Bahamas and the Chesapeake both before children and with them, and is in active preparation for the next, more open-ended adventure. Her YouTube show, Tasty Thursday, has been running weekly since October of 2012. Her entire philosophy is “Yes, you can!” and the stories and advice she shares will convince you it’s true.

To listen, just search for “The Boat Galley” in your podcast app. Episodes are short, ranging from 5 to 15 minutes and cover every aspect of cruising and preparing for life aboard.

The post New Podcast on the Cruising Life appeared first on Cruising World.