My husband, Robb, and I had departed Fortaleza, Brazil, aboard Summer Love, our Montevideo 43, bound for Chaguaramas, Trinidad. We were approaching the Intertropical Convergence Zone — commonly known as “the doldrums” — but I was looking forward to it. I’d had enough of inclement conditions and little sleep. Warm and windless would be good.

The first squall crept up slowly and smacked us around like a handball. I pushed the hatch back, threw everything down below and wedged myself in the cockpit until it passed. I got soaked. Once we were back on course, I dried off and brought all the cushions back up while Robb kept an eye on the radar. Sadly, warm and windless wasn’t what we were in for.

By morning, we’d battled eight squalls. I made my way down to the galley through sleeping bags and pillows, cockpit cushions and wet towels. It was a mess. It looked like what the military calls a “soup sandwich” — someone who is very messy — which got me thinking about a bread recipe of mine with the same name. It’s a no-knead, no-rise, savory loaf. I cleared a work surface and rummaged through the cupboard. It didn’t take long to prepare, and soon we were wolfing down warm slices of cheesy bread with butter dripping down our chins.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” said Robb as I reclined in the cockpit. He pointed toward a black smudge up ahead. “They’ve started again!”

Quick “Soup-Sandwich Bread” Recipe

Ingredients:

• 3 1/4 cups self-rising flour*
• 1 packet onion soup mix (white or French onion)
• 1 1/2 cups cheddar cheese, grated
• 2 eggs
• 2 cups milk
• Cayenne pepper or paprika, to taste

Sift flour into a bowl and add dried soup mix. Stir to combine. Add 1 cup grated cheese. Stir to coat well with flour. Beat eggs and add to milk. Slowly pour liquid into dry ingredients, combining well with a wooden spoon. The “batter” will be soupy! Spoon mixture into a loaf pan, well greased or lined with baking paper. Sprinkle remaining cheese on top; dust lightly with paprika. Bake at 350 degrees F for 50 to 60 minutes, or until a skewer inserted in the center comes out clean. (Note: You can also add chopped ham, olives or sundried tomatoes, or use other kinds of cheese such as crumbled blue, feta or provolone.)

*( If you don’t have self-rising flour, make your own: Sift together 1 cup flour, 1/2 teaspoon salt and 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder. Stir well to blend before using. Double or triple basic recipe as needed.)

CAN BE PREPARED: AT ANCHOR OR UNDER WAY
PREP TIME: 1 HOUR 15 MIN
DEGREE OF DIFFICULTY: EASY

Tip: How to Store Fresh Bread

If you don’t eat your freshly-baked loaf in one sitting, here are some tips for keeping it fresher for longer.

• Use a dedicated plastic container such as this Rubbermaid Bread Keeper
• Store in a plastic food-storage bag (soft bread) or paper bag (crusty loaves).
• Store at room temperature, in a dry place, away from direct sunlight.
• If you have a freezer aboard, freeze bread, pre-sliced, in a freezer bag or wrapped in heavy-duty aluminum foil.

The post Quick “Soup-Sandwich Bread” Recipe appeared first on Cruising World.

Pita Bread for Cooking on a Boat

My husband, Billy, and I were sailing the Exuma Islands chain of the Bahamas aboard Bonnie Christine, our Catalina 380, when I realized we were out of bread. We were far away from provisions. Then I remembered a recipe I’d clipped and saved from Cruising World ages ago, for pitas that could be made in a skillet (“A Peaceful Offering,” CW July 2000). This was years before we set off cruising ourselves. At the time I’d thought, “How exotic! I want to do that!” I’d saved the basic recipe, dreaming of the day when I too could bake bread while sailing far from civilization.

So as we sailed toward Lee Stocking Island, I pulled out the yellowed clipping and began to mix and knead the simple ingredients — but (like most boat cooks) I couldn’t resist adding some personal touches. This is my own version of that recipe. Not only did the pita feed us — that first recipe fed my cruising dreams for years before we actually set sail.

Editor’s Note: Before the recipes from People & Food were available online, this recipe was one of those most often requested. We think readers will appreciate Linda’s twist on this bread. Find this recipe and more old and new favorites online at cruisingworld.com/people/people-and-food.

Savory Skillet Pocket Bread Recipe
Ingredients:
2 cups lukewarm water
1 tablespoon yeast
1 tablespoon salt
2 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons olive oil
5 cups flour (plus 1 cup for kneading)
2 tablespoons dried herbs (sage, thyme, oregano, basil)
1/4 cup sesame seeds
Sea salt, to taste

Steps:
Whisk together water, yeast, salt, sugar and oil. Let sit five minutes. Add 5 cups flour and mix with a wooden spoon until dough is very stiff. Tip dough onto floured work surface, lightly flour hands, and knead for five minutes. Shape into a ball, place in a lightly oiled, clean bowl, roll around to coat, and cover with a dish towel. Let rise until doubled (1 to 2 hours depending on air temperature). Tip dough onto floured surface. Shape into 12 fist-size balls. Place balls on a sheet of baking paper, cover, and let rise again for 20 minutes. Cut more baking paper into 10-inch squares. Roll balls into 1/8-inch-thick circles. Firmly pat on your choice of dried herbs, sesame seeds, and sea salt, and stack, separated by squares of baking paper. Heat a dry nonstick or cast-iron skillet over high heat, then reduce to medium-high. Don’t use oil or butter in pan. Dry-fry each pita until top begins to form air pockets and bottom begins to brown (5 to 30 seconds per side, depending on stove). Makes 12 6- to 8-inch pitas.

CAN BE PREPARED: UNDER WAY OR AT ANCHOR
PREP TIME: 3 TO 4 HOURS (DEPENDING ON RISING TIME)
DEGREE OF DIFFICULTY: MEDIUM

Tip: Pita-Making Tools
by Lynda Morris Childress

Whether you’re safely at anchor in a peaceful cove or under way on a calm day, making this bread will be easier if you have the following items. Do use a wooden spoon. Wood is strong, and won’t bend or break when stirring thick, elastic dough batter. Do use a nonstick spatula — it won’t scratch or damage nonstick cookware.

• One or two large mixing bowls
• A wire whisk
• A wooden spoon
• Baking paper
• 12-inch nonstick or cast-iron skillet
• Heat-resistant plastic spatula

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Even before we were married, my Australian husband, David, and I shared a cruising dream. Just after our wedding, we decided to take an extended honeymoon, and we bought Ensemble, our Fountaine Pajot Salina 48 catamaran, in La Rochelle, France. We crossed the Atlantic with the Atlantic Rally for Cruisers, and we liked it so much we decided to continue, joining the World ARC to head west across the Pacific before arriving home in Sydney.

I’ve always had a passion for good food and cooking, so when sea conditions allow, the galley is where you’ll find me! During our cruise, I enjoyed developing new recipes that fused my native Belgian food customs with local cuisines that we experienced along the way.

During one passage, we caught a 15-pound mahimahi, or dorado. I made this ceviche using the ingredients that I had available on the boat, employing a traditional Pacific Islands technique: To “cook” the fish, they soak the chopped pieces in fresh lemon or lime juice. The fresh vegetables used here are long-lasting, and the capers are perfect in sauces, tartar sauce, salads, and fish recipes. Bon appétit!

Pacific-Island Ceviche Recipe

Makes two servings

• 1/2 pound fresh white fish, filleted*
• 1/2 cup fresh lemon juice
• 1/4 cup red onion, chopped
• Parsley, chopped, to taste
• 1/4 cup red bell pepper, chopped
• 1 teaspoon ginger, peeled and grated
• 1 tablespoon capers
• 1 tablespoon soy sauce
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 1/4 cup alfalfa sprouts (optional)

* See “Ceviche Safety Tips,” below.

Chop the fish carefully into 1/4-inch cubes. (The size is important). Put the fish and lemon juice in a closed container, shake to completely submerge fish, and cool in the fridge for 30 minutes. Drain and rinse with cold fresh water. Dry with paper towel. In a small bowl, gently combine fish with remaining ingredients. Cover and refrigerate for 30 minutes. To serve, invert onto a plate or into a bowl and garnish with whatever is available—lemon slices, say, or parsley. (I used alfalfa sprouts.) Serve as an appetizer with crackers or toasted bread.

Ceviche Safety Tips

While the process of “cooking” fish in citrus juice is a traditional preparation method in many cultures, food experts warn that, unlike conventional cooking, this method of fish preparation doesn’t kill all potential parasites. For this reason, it’s recommended that you only use freshly caught fish from clean waters to make ceviche. The U.S. Food and Drug Administration suggests freezing raw, bought fish before use to eliminate possible parasites. If you’re in doubt and have a freezer aboard, freeze and store fish at minus 4 degrees F (minus 20 degrees C) or below for seven days before using it to make ceviche. If you don’t have a freezer and you’re not sure that the fish is absolutely fresh, don’t take the chance—cook it!
-Lynda Morris Childress

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All I was really after were some limes, but sometimes a simple errand can turn into an extended encounter—and a glimpse into local ways. 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 10 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.

Jamaican Christmas Cocktail

• 1 quart bottled water
• 1 handful Jamaican sorrel (substitute hibiscus or rose hips tea, or two Red Zinger teabags)
• 1 small (teaspoon-size) knob ginger, peeled and diced
• Sugar, to taste
• Rum (or wine) to taste (optional)
• Fresh mint, for garnish (optional)

While boiling the water, wash and drain the sorrel. Remove water from heat and add the sorrel (or substitute) and ginger, letting them brew and cool for four to six hours. Strain the sorrel and ginger from the liquid; it will keep for several days unrefrigerated. Add sugar and rum to taste. Vary the amount of each ingredient to personal taste: Use less ginger for a milder taste (as little as a tiny sliver), more sorrel to intensify the flavor, and as much sugar and rum or wine as you like. Drink over ice. Garnish with fresh mint, if available. For fun, try to develop your own signature blend, bringing a taste of Jamaican festivity to your own galley. Makes about four 8-ounce drinks.

Find more tasty recipes here!

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My husband, Colin, and I were exploring Brittany, in France, on board Taransay Mhor, our 36-foot Westerly Conway ketch. Every year, we take a couple of months to go cruising from our home in Portsmouth, in the United Kingdom, and this year we were sailing the north coast of the infamous Bay of Biscay. Dodging weather fronts and low-pressure systems, we’d enjoyed some exhilarating sailing conditions during the most unsettled summer that many local cruisers could remember.

At the end of another breezy day, as the pale sun broke through an overcast sky, we were motoring along the Odet River looking for an overnight berth. Slowly, a bewitching chateau whose verdant lawn sloped toward the shore appeared to port. The rustic wall dividing the chateau from the river was inset with a wrought-iron gate, like a portal into another world. We picked up a mooring buoy directly opposite.

That morning, between rain showers, we’d visited the market close to Benodet, at the river entrance. In every French market, local growers sell surplus from their gardens; on simple trestle tables, wooden crates are filled with seasonal produce so fresh that earth still clings to the beautiful skins. Colorful awnings flap noisily above a profusion of gleaming fruit and vegetables. The shopping is lively, and vendors work quickly to fulfill each customer’s precise request: “Les mûrs!” orders one, wanting a ripe one. “Le rose!” barks another, pointing out exactly the pink fruit he wants.

Today, when it was my turn to order, I realized I’d need to be quick or lose my place. My French faltered, but pointing worked fine—most of the time. Unfortunately, we were beguiled into buying a costly slice of tangy cheese, the product, we were assured, of alpine sheep that were hand-milked by monks! Fortunately, we also came away with new potatoes and sweet peppers, a frilly lettuce, a handful of emerald zucchini, and some freshly laid eggs.

Now, tucked two miles upstream and snug on our mooring, it was time to think about dinner. I glanced out the companionway hatch to see black clouds racing each other across the sky. Intermittent rain began to drum on the coach roof; then a downpour began. I surveyed our haul from the market. “We need something warming,” I thought aloud. There was pork in the fridge—and all that truly magnificent fresh produce. I began to pull ingredients together, and soon this recipe had emerged. By the time the marinade had worked its magic, the setting sun was peeping under the clouds, and the rain had ceased. Over a delicious meal, we toasted to tomorrow and the possibility of good weather.

One-Pan Asian Pork Recipe

• 3/4 pound pork loin, cubed
• 1 small onion
• 1 small red pepper (or 1/2 large)
• 1 small zucchini (or 1/2 large)
• Fresh coriander, chopped (optional)

Marinade:

• 1 tablespoon tomato puree
• 3 tablespoons oil
• 1 tablespoon soy sauce
• 1-inch piece ginger, chopped finely
• 1/2 of a red chili, sliced
• 1 teaspoon honey
• Salt and pepper, to taste

Slice vegetables thinly. Combine marinade ingredients in a plastic bag or bowl. Add pork and leave for 25 minutes. Pour contents of the bag or bowl of pork and marinade into a shallow sauté pan along with the onion. Cover and simmer, stirring occasionally, until the onion is soft and the pork tender, about 25 minutes. Add the pepper, stir, and cook for 2 minutes. Stir in zucchini, stir; cook for 2 minutes more. Sprinkle with coriander and serve over rice, noodles, or boiled potatoes. Serves two.

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Bananas in Sweet Rum Sauce

Turning 50 is quite a milestone for anyone. My 50th birthday was looming, and to help commemorate it, one of my sisters, Gill, flew in from Paris, halfway around the world, to join us in La Paz, Mexico, aboard Outrider, our Westsail 42. On the day, we sipped delicious French champagne from Gill in the cockpit, watched the sunset, then enjoyed an excellent dinner out with several cruising friends. Live mariachi music capped off a perfect birthday.

After the celebration, however, we were ready for some rest and relaxation, so we left Marina Palmira for the roughly 20-mile sail on the Golfo de California to the islands of Partida and Espiritu Santo. We spent a week in the beautiful, calm anchorages of Caleta Partida, Ensenada Grande, and El Cardonal, not once experiencing the coromuel winds that can sometimes blow through La Paz from the south, usually starting up in the evening. These winds, if strong enough, can wreak havoc on the anchorages on the west side of the islands, making for uncomfortable nights at anchor. But we got lucky that week.

Most days were spent hiking, snorkeling, swimming, and fishing. In the evenings, we enjoyed leisurely dinners in the cockpit: steaks, chicken, or freshly caught fish, cooked to perfection on the barbecue and served with a green salad or a vegetable dish. Of course, good wine was served, either hearty red or crisp, chilled white. Life aboard was sublime—until one evening, when my husband, Jeff, asked, “What’s for dessert?” Oops! I knew that I’d forgotten to provision for desserts, but I’d been hoping that nobody would notice.

As luck would have it, I had a few bananas aboard as well as a bottle of dark rum stashed safely in the galley. Gill came to the rescue by whipping up a quick and tasty treat: bananas in rum sauce. It was a perfect ending to what might otherwise have been a not-so-perfect evening. A few days later, our wonderful island sojourn ended, and we reluctantly returned to the marina. We tied up to the dock and sat in the cockpit to watch the sunset just as the dreaded coromuel kicked in and blasted by on its way out to the islands. The wind gods had smiled on us. It’d been a great week aboard Outrider. The only thing missing was my other sister!

Bananas in Sweet Rum Sauce
4 bananas (firm, but ripe)
4 teaspoons butter
1/4 cup brown sugar, firmly packed
1/4 cup dark rum, or apple or pineapple juice
1 teaspoon lemon juice
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg, grated
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon, ground
Vanilla ice cream or whipped cream (optional)

Peel bananas and halve lengthwise. Melt butter in a large skillet over moderate heat until it bubbles slightly, then sauté bananas for 1 minute. Remove skillet from heat and add brown sugar and rum or juice. Return skillet to heat and continue to sauté until sugar begins to melt, about 30 seconds. Add lemon juice, nutmeg, and cinnamon and cook over moderate heat, stirring and shaking skillet occasionally, until sauce is slightly thickened, 1 to 2 minutes. Place bananas on serving plates, pour sauce over bananas, and serve with optional ice cream or whipped cream. Serves four.

Can Be Prepared: At Anchor, Under Way
Prep Time: 15 Minutes
Degree of Difficulty: Easy

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The fog would burn off soon, we hoped, as we searched for signs of the dock jutting out into the harbor at Port Jefferson, New York. Last night, the dock had been directly off the stern of Wyntje, the Hinckley 64 on which my partner, J. Holt, worked as captain and I worked as crew. Today, in the low visibility, it felt miles away. The captain and I dilly-dallied, slowly securing items down below while enjoying cups of steaming tea. Delaying departure, we reasoned, would mean that we’d spend less time stumbling about in the dense fog choking Long Island Sound. We’d faced fog before off Southern California and while up the coast of Maine, but we hadn’t applied our fog collision-avoidance skills in an area as heavily trafficked as the Sound. Finally, we could stall no longer. It was time to go.

“We’re free!” I called back to the cockpit as the mooring pendant went over the side. A muffled reply bounced through the dampness. We had a long day ahead of us, but we hoped that if we motored until the fog lifted, we might still have a beautiful afternoon of sailing before tying up at Mystic Seaport Museum for the night.

With the automatic foghorn on the fritz, I stood bow watch holding a tiny, orange manual air horn that I blew at two-minute intervals. I stared into fog as thick as the proverbial pea soup, straining to see or hear another vessel. Suddenly, a deep, chugging sound reverberated through the dense air.
“Anything on radar?” I called to J. at the helm.

“No!” he called back. “Where’s it coming from?”

I strained to hear, imagining a tug about to mow us down. Louder it pulsed, with my heartbeat matching its mechanical rhythm. Just as I was about to call a “Full reverse!,” the echoing engine faded away as quickly as it had materialized. I wanted to sigh in relief, but instead I blew the air horn once again.

After a few hours of this chilly, nerve-wracking duty, I began to dream of lunch: something steamy, hot, and savory—but not split pea soup! I slipped below and lit the oven. An hour later, the fog lifted, as if on cue. I was finally able to put down the air horn—and we picked up mugs filled with a delicious hot lunch that matched the color of the horn: bright-orange carrot-ginger soup!

Roasted Carrot-Ginger Soup

• 2 pounds carrots, peeled and cut into 1-inch slices
• 1 large red onion, cut into eighths
• 1/4 cup fresh ginger, peeled and roughly diced
• 3 cloves garlic, peeled and smashed
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• Salt and pepper, to taste
• 4 cups vegetable or chicken broth
• Garnishes (optional): yogurt or sour cream; fresh cilantro or scallions, chopped; paprika

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Toss carrots, onion, ginger, and garlic in olive oil until well coated. Spread vegetables in shallow roasting pan. Season with salt and pepper. Roast until carrots and onions are soft, stirring occasionally, for about 60 minutes. Transfer roasted vegetables to a stockpot and add broth. Simmer for 15 minutes, then let mixture cool, either a bit or completely. Blend until smooth. Season to taste. Gently reheat or chill; this soup can be enjoyed either hot or cold. Optional garnishes include a swirl of yogurt or sour cream, a sprinkle of cilantro or scallions, and a sprinkle of paprika. Serves four.

Can Be Prepared: At Anchor, Under Way
Prep Time: 60 Minutes plus
Degree of Difficulty: Easy

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Serving tasty morsels with an aperitif before an evening meal is an age-old European tradition. The Greeks delight diners with platters of meze, the French roll out trolleys of canapés, and in Spain, one feasts on tapas. On ocean crossings aboard Summer Love, our Monte Video 43, it was the tapas that kept my husband, Robb, and I going.

Some say that the term “happy hour” originated at sea in the 1920s as slang for the early evening time when off-duty sailors would gather to wrestle or box on long sea passages. The term was then borrowed during Prohibition and used as reference to the hour before dinner when alcohol was served illegally at speakeasies. Now, of course, it’s a worldwide custom everywhere from modern city bars to beachfront tiki huts.

On one passage from Brazil to Trinidad, a leg that took 11 long days, we dodged squalls and ducked cloudbursts all night, every night, without any sleep. There was nothing to be happy about. But when 1700 came, we’d boost morale by having an at-sea rendition of that enjoyable interlude: We called it “Appy” Hour, because the focus was more on the “apps” than the alcohol. On that passage, we looked forward all day to our tapas: I’d smear mustard on bread sticks and wrap with ham, or serve wedges of cheese with green fig preserve. If provisions were dwindling, I’d mash chickpeas with olive oil, garlic, and lemon juice to have on toast. One afternoon, I could hardly contain my excitement. Conditions had improved, and Chaguaramas, Trinidad, was just around the corner. The Caribbean beckoned. I’d prepared one of our favorite tapas: shipboard antipasto, and it was ready. The white wine was cold. Everything was perfect. I selected some jazzy music and kept an eye on the time.

“Only five minutes until appy hour!” I shouted up to Robb at the helm.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to wait,” he replied.

“Wait?” I looked up to the sky for a clue. “Why?”

“We’ve just crossed a time zone. I’ve turned the clock back,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.

He won; we waited. It was a long hour, but it was worth it!

Today, with those squalls a distant memory and summer upon us, I’ve synchronized my watch with the ship’s clock. Her lines are tied fast. I’ve made a batch of antipasto and I’m ready for 1700. With a glass of wine and a smorgasbord in a jar, I’ll be happy—for at least an hour.

Shipboard Antipasto

• 1/2 cup olive oil
• 2 cups cauliflower, coarsely chopped
• 1 cup canned whole mushrooms, sliced
• 1 cup green olives with pimento
• 1 cup black olives
• 1 cup sweet mixed pickles
• 1 cup palm or artichoke hearts
• 2 cups ketchup
• 1 can anchovy fillets (2 oz.), drained
• 1 can tuna (6 oz.), drained
• Dash of Tabasco (optional)

Add olive oil to large pot. Coarsely chop cauliflower. Drain and chop next five ingredients. Combine in the large pot and simmer gently for 10 minutes, stirring often. Add ketchup, anchovies, and tuna. Mix gently and simmer for another 5 minutes. Season with Tabasco. Allow to cool, then raise the gin pennant! Serve on bread, crackers, or melba toast. To store, divide into smaller portions, place in jars or Tupperware, and refrigerate. Use within two days, share with your friends (it’s a perfect potluck offering), or freeze for later use. Defrost in the refrigerator, drain off excess liquid, and mix thoroughly. Yields about 10 cups.

Can Be Prepared: At Anchor, Under Way
Prep Time: 45 Minutes
Degree of Difficulty: Easy

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The VHF chatter began early that morning. Anchored in Panama’s San Blas islands aboard Winterlude, our Passport 37, my husband, David, and I were rejoicing with all the other cruisers: The trade winds had subsided enough to allow the veggie boat to venture out. Provisions are very limited in the tiny Kuna villages here, and the lee-shore sail back to Colón makes cruisers reluctant to leave paradise in search of vegetables.

All day, cruisers tracked the veggie boat as it worked its slow and deliberate way from anchorage to anchorage, and they kept each other apprised—no one wanted to risk missing this chance to buy fresh vegetables. We were anchored in one of our favorite spots, but we were far away from most other boats. For the better part of the day, we’d been eagerly anticipating the boat’s arrival, but by the time it finally reached our location, only some miserable-looking cucumbers and a couple of squashed tomatoes remained. We were woebegone!

Cucumbers had never agreed with either of us, but I bought some anyway, craving anything fresh. A friend and fellow cruiser came to the rescue, and he told us that if we cut the seeds out of the cukes, we’d avoid the indigestion they sometimes caused us.

He went on to share a recipe for Japanese cucumber salad. It proved delicious, and it’s become a Winterlude onboard favorite. The pickings may have been slim that day, but this salad made the wait for fresh veggies worth it.

The beauty of this recipe for cruisers is that cucumbers are still edible even after most other fresh produce is gone. Preparation is easy, and if you’re lucky enough to have freshly caught fish from which to make sushi or sashimi, the salad makes a delicious accompaniment. Because it contains no mayonnaise or other ingredients that spoil easily, it makes an ideal potluck dish that’s always popular.

It does require some planning when provisioning, so stock up on sesame oil and sesame seeds before leaving a major port, because these can be hard to find in more secluded locations.

Japanese Cucumber Delight

• 2 cucumbers, peeled & seeded
• 1 tablespoon sesame seeds
• 2 tablespoons white vinegar
• 2 tablespoons sesame oil
• 1/8 teaspoon dry mustard
• 1/4 cup soy sauce
• 1/4 teaspoon Tabasco or other hot sauce

Dice the cucumbers and set aside. In a dry nonstick skillet, toast sesame seeds over medium-high heat until they turn a rich, golden brown. Whisk together next five ingredients. Toss dressing over cucumbers, sprinkle with toasted sesame seeds, and stir. Refrigerate for 3 hours or more. The longer it marinates, the better the flavor! Optional additions/substitution: Add a small, finely diced red onion or two green onions. For regular sesame seeds, substitute black, untoasted sesame seeds. Garnish with green onions and julienned carrot. Serves four.

Can Be Prepared: At Anchor, Under Way
Prep Time: 30 Minutes
Degree of Difficulty: Easy

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My husband, Dave, and I were aboard our Tayana 37, ¿Que Tal?, in the La Mona anchorage located at Bahía de Los Angeles, a town on the Baja shoreline of the northern Golfo de California. Night would bring a full moon, and preparations were under way for an end-of-summer party to celebrate. During a full moon, the tidal range here is about nine feet, and at peak tide, a tiny cove behind a sand spit fills with water. When the tide turns, the pent-up water rushes out through a four-foot cut in the sandbar.

By midafternoon, about 20 cruisers, eager with anticipation and clutching throwable cushions and floats, were lined up to bodysurf the whitewater pouring through the cut. Some friends even persuaded their dog to take a ride while perched on a boogieboard! Our dog refused even to think about it; she spent her afternoon digging for crabs on the beach.

As the rush of water diminished, we turned our attention to playing water volleyball or to simply lounging in the warm water, our cold drinks in hand. A barbecue on the beach followed.

Returning to ¿Que Tal? later that night, Dave and I sat on the foredeck watching a very romantic full moon rise above the dramatic hills surrounding the anchorage. It was the perfect moment to enjoy a special nightcap treat that I’d prepared that morning: no-bake Booze Balls. The air temperature earlier in the day had climbed above 100 F, so I hadn’t wanted to heat up the oven to cook. These no-bake cookies were the ideal solution.
Now we reclined on some throw pillows and nibbled on these delicious morsels and talked about where we wanted to sail next.

There simply were no two ways about it. This day had definitely exceeded the dream.

No-Bake Booze Balls

• 3 cups vanilla wafers (or, say, shortbread cookies), crushed
• 1 cup powdered sugar
• 1 cup walnuts or pecans, chopped finely
• 2 1/3 tablespoons cocoa powder
• 3 tablespoons corn syrup
• 1/2 cup rum, bourbon, Triple Sec, or Grand Marnier
• Additional powdered sugar, for dusting

Crush vanilla wafers finely using a food processor, a blender, or by placing them in a resealable bag and rolling with a rolling pin or wine bottle. Place crushed wafers in a medium bowl and add the powdered sugar, nuts, and cocoa powder. Mix well. In a small cup, mix the corn syrup and the alcohol. (This helps to thin the corn syrup so it’s easier to mix with the wafer mixture.) To make these without alcohol, substitute orange juice. Add the liquid mix to the dry mix and mix thoroughly. It will be very stiff.

Form the mix into 1-inch balls, then roll in powdered sugar. Place on a plate or piece of waxed paper to dry for 1 hour. Store in a tightly lidded container or resealable bag. Makes two dozen.

If you don’t have time to shape the individual balls, make the mixture in an 8- by 8-inch pan. Sprinkle the pan with powdered sugar, press the mixture into an even layer in the pan, then sprinkle the top with powdered sugar and/or more nuts. Cut into 3/4-inch squares.

Can Be Prepared: At Anchor, Under Way
Prep Time: 45 Minutes
Degree of Difficulty: Easy

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