Shopping 'til I Drop

I spent the weekend in Houston with my sister and my wonderful, smart sister-in-law who would sweep the gold if shopping was an Olympic event. Unfortunately, or fortunately if you're the cap'n, I couldn't buy anything because we're heading back to boatland tomorrow and I have no way to tote it and I have no place left to store it (except for that secret drawer I mentioned in "Personal Orifices"). So I thought I would shop vicariously through you my loyal readers. Don't panic! I'm not turning this into a commercial site, it's just that once I started I couldn't quit. There's so much useful stuff out there and some really cute stuff too. Wouldn't you rather wear rainboots with bumblebees on them instead of those ugly foul weather boots. Oh shush you old salts, a girl knows that looking good is more important than not sliding off the boat. The two cookbooks are the only ones I have on the boat since I tend to save space by cruising the internet for recipes but the one by Kay Pastorius is the one that has my sourdough starter recipe in it and a lot of great recipes. The Cruising Chef has lot of great stories and info about using local ingredients.

The one item I definitely, recommend is the hook and go. We have had one or two of these aboard the boat since we've been aboard. It will hold as many bags as you can hook on it and it has a really wide wheel base so it has never tipped over. Plus it folds up to nothing. Boaters and non-boaters that have seen us using this strange contraption have asked us where we got it. Now you know.

And of course, there's my beloved Kindle but you've heard enough about that.

So thank you for indulging me in my round of guilt free shopping and tell your cap'n your just looking, not buying. Then show him the Nigel Calder book.

First Mate Mary's Peanut Brittle

I took this peanut brittle over to Concerto that night at Grand Cay. I also made it for the Hope Town Christmas Caroling. It is simply the best peanut brittle I've eaten and I'm not just sayin' that because it's mine. I'm sure I stole the recipe from someone but I don't remember who. So whoever it was, Thank You!

FIRST MATE MARY'S
PEANUT BRITTLE


3 c sugar
1 c corn syrup
½ c water
4 Tbsp butter
4c peanuts (I use cocktail or Spanish peanuts)
1tsp salt
2tsp vanilla
2tsp baking soda


Combine sugar, syrup and water and bring to a boil over med-high heat, stirring constantly. Reduce heat to medium and heat to 230 F. Add peanuts and heat to 300 F, stirring constantly. Stir in butter, salt, and vanilla. Remove from heat and stir in baking soda until mixture is foamy. Pour onto buttered cookie sheet. Allow to harden. Crack by banging cookie sheet against a hard surface (like the capn's head).

O' HOLY NIGHT IN THE ABACOS

We are off the boat and back on the Mother Land for a bit of work this Christmas. We will be spending our Christmas in a motel in Bay City, Texas. As we pulled into this hard-scrabble dusty south Texas town, I thought to myself, “This is where I’m going to be spending Christmas?” At that moment I was thrown back to Christmas Eve 2003 on Grand Cay, Abaco, Bahamas. My first day in the Bahamas, and I bawled my eyes out.

We had been working toward this moment ever since we bought the boat. We had been restricted to the East Coast for our previous sailing years because of family and custody requirements but since my youngest had graduated we were free to reach further. We had spent the summer and early fall readying the boat for passages south and attending two of our sons’ weddings and one grandchild’s birth. Shortly after Thanksgiving we made our way south toward West Palm Beach. We did our time in Purgatory at Lake Worth waiting for that elusive weather window. We became the pilot boat for the whole anchorage. Every morning the other boats would watch us pull up anchor and head out the inlet. They would then wait with bated breath, and coffees or Bloody’s until they saw us come back and do the anchoring dance again. Maybe tomorrow…

Then came the big day. December 23rd, 2003. We went out early a.m. as usual aaannnd came back, as usual. Put the anchor down and settled in until the next morning but waddayuno right in the middle of our brunch of stale bread and green tinged bologna we noticed a mass exodus of boats out of the anchorage. The cap’n , grateful for any excuse to throw his sandwich overboard, jumped up and hollered, “Haul Anchor”. And away we went.

I don’t remember if we motored or sailed but at about 11:00 pm that night we were on the banks and we were exhausted and decided to put down the anchor. The fact that the passage was not memorable is a good thing. We could see three other mast lights out there in the vast nothingness. We had left with 30+ other boats. Against the cap’ns wishes I lit the Christmas lights and blasted Bing Crosby across the ocean.

At about 4:00 a.m. the wind was piping and we pulled anchor and headed towards Walker’s Cay. It was Christmas Eve. We arrived at our anchoring place at about 10:00 a.m. I won’t call it an anchorage because we were way out in no man’s land because of our 6.6 foot draft, but that’s okay because there were three other boats stuck out in the aqueous boondocks with us. The first boat came back with great news. “Easy clear in. No problem”. We made ready for a landing. Unfortunately, we ended up being the last of the fleet. Unfortunately, it was the first year that the Bahamas had increased the cruising permit fee. Unfortunately, we were preceded in the clearing in process by a disgruntled Norwegian?, Finnish? Danish? One of those Viking type sailors who decided to wage his battle against the Bahamian government on the only customs agent on the island. Unfortunately, the agent took afront at this and walked out. She did return….an hour later. Unfortunately, we bore the brunt of her anger when she charged us $150 for a fishing permit that was supposed to be included in our cruising permit and that we only needed for two days, but as usual that’s another story. Thank you Ma’am. Have a Merry Christmas.
So four hours later we head back to the boat. Unfortunately, we are in an unprotected non-anchorage. Unfortunately, there is a storm brewing. So we haul anchor….again and head for Grand Cay

Grand Cay. Hmmm. Grand Cay. What can I say about Grand Cay? We were anchored about 2 zillion miles out. At least that’s the way it seemed to me. Keep in mind, I was sleep deprived, I might as well have been 2 zillion miles away from my friends, my kids and my Dad. I saw our future in the Bahamas as a boat on the horizon staring hungrily at the lights of an unreachable civilization. I could hear the hounds of trash island calling to me. (Anybody that’s been to Grand Cay knows what I’m talking about). I may have been PMSing also, maybe that’s why the hounds were howling. Let’s just say I made the cap’ns life a veritable hell that night which is my sole purpose in this world. Happy, Happy Christmas, Baby.

Christmas Day! We’re up early and head to town. Either my chakras are more balanced or my eyes are too swollen to take in the whole picture, but Grand Cay is looking better this am. Not good, but better. It’s Christmas Day though, so will we find anything open?
Good news! Grand Cay is not only open but it’s right out there on the street. Every inhabitant is either parked in a chair along the main street, (men on one side, women on the other) or, if they are of the younger variety, whizzing down the road on shiny new bikes or skateboards. The only population that is inside are the ones shooting pool at Rosie’s. I always thought Rosie was a petite older black woman….not! On all accounts…not!

We walk by the house/store fronts and ask the women sitting out front if they are open for business.

“Sure, Sweetie, What you want?”

We fall in love with the two cuties with matching hair ribbons and dresses, all dressed up and holding hands as they skip down the road.

We cheer wildly for the young daredevils racing their new bikes down the main drag.

We wince at the plethora of Styrofoam containers in use and disuse at the same time we sniff appreciatively and wonder where they got the contents..

Later that night we are aboard the S/V Concerto with our first new friends in the Bahamas, June and Geoff. This friendship continues today, even if they haven’t reciprocated in years, we still love them. We were joined by that disgruntled Dane, Hans and his Yankee wife, Joy. Hmmm…Joy?….Christmas?…..She was joyful and so was he away from the customs office.


My message? Don’t judge a book by it’s cover or an island by it’s refuse. Instead judge it by its’ people. You won’t be disappointed and you might just fall in love. Islands are like a box of chocolates and as Forrest Gump says “You never know what you’re gonna get.”
They all taste different, but they’re all good.


Merry Christmas from mine to yours!

P.S. My thanks to AwayTeamAbaco for the beautiful picture of the Hope Town Lighthouse (actually the Elbow Reef lighthouse)all decked out in holiday splendour. Our thanks also to the Hope Town Harbour Rats that worked so hard stringing the lights.

Chicken Souse

Last night we went caroling in Hope Town. This is a yearly tradition here. The locals, visitors, and boaters meet up at the Post Office dock and we wound our way through the streets singing the traditional songs. Several people carry handheld VHF radios so the caroling can be broadcast over the VHF radio. It was a lovely night, it had finally warmed up and we were able to wear shorts. Afterwards we were rewarded with bowls of hot chicken souse. Souse is the Bahamian remedy for the dreaded hangover, and in my opinion a lot better than Menudo. While chewing on piece of tripe from a bowl of Menudo in Miami, I turned to the cap’n and said, “If I were eating steak, this would be the part I would spit out.” Of course, hair of the dog ain’t bad either. The first recipe is a little more authentically Bahamian, the second one is for us that are neophytes to Bahamian cooking.

Chicken Souse Recipe 1

Ingredients
5 lbs portion chicken wings
1 onion
8 lemon/Lime "big sour" (your desired amount)
1/4 lemon Juice
pepper (your desired amt)
all-spice (your desired amt)
1/2 tspn salt (your desired amt)
1 carrot
1 stick of celery
2 Irish potatoes (if desired)

Directions
Clean portion wings in vinegar and warm water.
Place wings into pot containing and 8-10 cups of water. (this will ensure that all remaining oils and other particles are removed) let wings boil for about 5-8 minutes.
Remove from pot and place into a bowl containing cool water, rinse well with water and lemon juice. Place wings into pot with about 8-10 cups of water or until wings are completely covered.
Slice onions, pepper, celery, carrots, and potatoes. Add salt, onions, celery, lime , pepper, lemon juice and all-spice seeds. (Boil for about 45 minutes). Add potatoes and Carrots.
Boil for another 15-20 minutes. Serve with home made bread or Jonny Cake if desired.

Cooking time: 1 hr 30 min
Serves: 8

Chicken Souse Recipe 2

2 lbs of chicken (preferably wings or drumsticks)
4 chopped potatoes
2 sticks chopped celery
1 or 2 diced onions
1\2 cups allspice
1 or 2 bird peppers
salt to taste
2 limes cut in half

Cooking instructions:
In a large pot bring chicken to boil for approx 10 minuets, then strain. Return chicken to pot, fill pot half full with water and return to boil. Add potatoes, celery, onions, bird peppers, allspice, salt, lime. Boil until potatoes are done, stirring occasionally.
Final cooking time 30-35 minuets.
Prior to serving add more if desired. Serves 4
Try a Tropical drink with your meal

PLACES I'VE BEEN AND SHOES I'VE LOST

I was sitting here contemplating my gnarly old arch deprived feet the other day and I thought about the people that would be envious of me and my barefoot lifestyle. You know, the “No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problem” kind of life. The truth of the matter is….I don’t have any friggin’shoes left.

I don’t remember the first time I lost a pair of shoes. It was probably somewhere up north. Maybe in Block Island at the tiki bar at Champlin’s Marina. Probably the same night I learned to do the hand jive from some little girls that were sitting outside the bar’s entrance, the same night we couldn’t find the boat for a couple of hours. Hey come on, there were 1200 boats in the harbor.

There are a few times I do remember, though. Like my favorite pair of “Candies” sandals. (I admit, I never was a Manolo Blahnick kind of girl and anybody that knows me knows that.) They now rest in a watery grave at the Las Olas Marina in Fort Liquordale. We’d started our happy hour at Blondies on the corner of Las Olas Blvd. and A1A. Of course, Blondies’ happy hour starts at 10:00 a.m. and goes until. This is one of the cap’n’s favorite bars. He says it’s because of the scenery. Blondies is smack dab across the street from the beach which sports many signs that say nude sunbathing is not allowed under which numerous young nubile bodies are blatantly disobeying these public sanctions and the authorities are turning a blind eye but risking the other just for a peek. The cap’n went inside for some freshers and conversed with one of the patrons leaning tiredly against the bar.

“I’m so drunk. I really need to go home but I just can’t tear myself away from the view,” says the patron as he eyes one of the sun worshipers who I hope only had to pay for the half of the bathing suit she is wearing.

“Come on, man,” says my noble cap’n, “They’re obviously fake.”

“My complimentsh to the shurgeon,” drooled the bar patron.

Later on that night after bar bouncing down A1A with the cap’n and four other guys, (Mary’s a lucky girl!! One of them even looked exactly like Steven Segal, but his shirt was wrinkled and he lived in a cinder block house so I don’t think it was him.) we ended up back at the boat for a nightcap (like we needed one!). The tide was out, waaay out, and I was faced with a little 6 ft. hop down to the deck of the boat. I decided to do my best Baryshnikov impression and leapt…and missed…again. Instead of partaking of the assistance offered by my four handy male companions, I decided I’d retain what was left of my dignity while floating around with the skirts of my very short dress swirling about me and climb aboard myself. No, not by using the ladder. The cap’n never puts it down. I guess he doesn’t want it to get wet. Instead I’ll use the barnacle encrusted piling to which the boat is tied up. I’ll just use the barnacles as foot and handholds. Just like one of those climbing wall on those fancy cruise ships. Not a good idea, as my oozing scraped up arms and thighs would attest to in the weeks following. I did eventually make it back onboard but alas my poor “Candies” didn’t.

Marsh Harbour Marina and Jib Room Restaurant, Abacos, Bahamas. It was a dark and stormy night. I don’t remember what kind of shoes they were but I’d lived aboard long enough that I’m certain they were of the moldy variety. I can’t even blame it on too many Bilge Burners or any of the other lethal adult beverages that Steven, the bartender at the Jib Room, serves up. We hadn’t even gone into the Jib Room, instead we’d had a nice quiet dinner with some friends who lived across the road. Just a couple of glasses of wine. When the evening wound down, we made our way down the death defying steps of the Marsh Harbour Marina without mishap and proceeded to the dinghy dock to continue our passage home. Did I mention it was raining? For some imperceptible, idiotic reason I chose this night to abandon my usual “old lady, ass slide” into the dinghy and leapt feet first. And I made it! At least my feet did! The dinghy lurched one way, of course I lurched the other and with arms windmilling I ended up in the drink….again. By the time I sputtered to the surface, whatever shoes I had on were permanently embedded in the muck of the bottom. Another innocent pair of shoes left behind along with a pretty good chunk of my scalp on the dock. Thanks, Cleatus. Whooee! Those scalp wounds sure do bleed! Fins to the left, fins to the right. And I'm the only bait in town!

So this year before we got on the boat the cap’n refused to invest anymore capital into my shoe inventory. “Nothing but thongs,” he pronounces. I presume he meant the shoe kind. Have you ever tried to find flip-flops in Colorado in the winter? So here I am shoeless. But you know what? If shoes are required, I don’t think I want to go.