Bonjour! From the tranquility of the French countryside. I’m lounging on an outdoor couch on the parched grassy courtyard of an old French manor house, shaded by the limbs of an old cedar tree. Looking up, it strikes me how similar the several hundred-year-old bark looks to the skin of a dried apricot or date. Maybe the inside is as sweet and succulent too. Isn’t it so easy to judge something by its thick abrasive outer skin and assume the harsh exterior is a sign of a bitter or parched soul. It’s rarely the case.
I’m here, six days into a family holiday. Alongside my three brothers, a niece and two nephews under 10 years old and my parents is a hatred of suncream, the blazing sun, one pack of colouring pencils, and only one ice cream allowed every day. There have been tears, teasing, and a daily “well life isn’t fair” - and not only from the children. It’s all about as straightforward as a family holiday can ever be. Everyone resorts to type, and it just takes letting go of any expectation otherwise for us all to relax.
Something I’m very grateful to my large - less than relaxing family - is that I’ve build an ability to find space and time for myself amidst chaos. In fact, I find it easier to find inner peace here than I too in the silence of solitude. Like the cedar tree, what something looks like on first glance does not have to govern its reality. I’ve learned from my upbringing, and then only reinforced through sailing, that lots of people does not need to mean internal noise.
To find solitude in a crowd is a skill that I took for granted until I started sailing. I perhaps thought everyone could do it. But, after the first few adventures shacked up with a boatload of big personalities on a boat, all thrashing about unpredictably both physically and emotionally, I realized that this is a bit of a superpower for surviving at sea.
Thankfully for any introverts out there who like crewed sailing and didn’t grow up with a family of six, it can be learned. And, no I’m not so different from you. I cherish a quiet hour at the beginning of the day to drink my coffee. I’m not the best problem solver in company. And as an inherent extrovert, whilst it’s all well and good on a boat to feed off of peoples’ energy when they are all feeling chipper, it’s not such a great thing when the mood is down. To find my optimism and positive leadership in those times, I have dig out a little ‘me’ time.
So when at sea where personal space in its literal sense is not on the menu, how does one find metaphorical solitude?
Well, I have found quiet moments in the past like I am now, by focusing inwards and cancelling out the noise around me through a version of meditation or mind control. I’ve used props – books, a journal, a door (if I’ve been lucky), a pipe (kidding … saving it for when I have white hair and saltier skin) – to indicate that I want to be left alone. I’ve literally asked for time alone, but that’s not always so effective as ‘alone’ isn’t something that has a universal definition.
I’ve had to be extremely specific at times:
“for the next 45 minutes please could no one ask me a question unless it’s life dependent.”
In terms of activities, running to the bow in a big swell tends to be a solo activity! Sitting at the back and staring out the stern is often a sign that you need a social break, although it can perhaps inaccurately indicate you are feeling melancholy. There’s pretending to be asleep (for a skipper that doesn’t always work…). But there is one thing more than any other that I’ve found extremely effective at producing a quiet mental space and that is cooking.
On land, cooking is often a social affair. People jump in to help. They open a glass of wine to chat with you. But at sea, cooking rarely invites social engagement. It’s usually hot and sweaty. There isn’t that much space so any ‘helper’ invariably gets in the way. You usually can’t really even wash up at the same time as someone is cooking. And plus, there is the sailing to do.
To me, that’s great. I love some time at the stove at sea. Especially alone. Without the need of headphones or any confrontation I can sink into a creative pursuit that’s wholly mine from start to finish. It’s where my role on boats began. And even now, on a day where the weather is predictable and I know my attention won’t need to split between the supper and the sailing, I love getting stuck in to a cook hour or two cooking up a storm. Pun very much intended.
Now I know recipes at sea have kind of been ‘done’, but I thought I’d throw my hat in the ring. Why not! From a career sailing with strangers, cooking for sometimes huge groups of over 20 people with the post millennia range of dietary requirements, often in the tropics where heat down below is resented, and sometimes with only a gas hob and no oven – here are my foolproof pretty much ‘go to’ dishes I cook at sea which are satiating, nutritious, don’t require a lot of fridge space and can be done in almost any galley configuration.
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I like mushroom risotto. Use dried porcini mushrooms for umami and canned for texture if you are short of fridge space. Use mushroom bouillon cubes. Keep the parmesan separate for any vegetarians. It’s really worth borrowing a mini bottle of white wine or two from the airplane to give the recipe a little depth! It all cooks in one pan and is delicious for midnight snacks!
Traditionally this is made with yellow split peas and they are preferable for flavor but can take a long time to cook. Soaking them is one option but it’s a lot of admin. Alternatively use red split lentils. You lose a bit of split pea flavor but gain in cooking time. This dish has only eight ingredients regardless of your chosen pulse and they don’t need a fridge. Fry onions and garlic with cumin seeds and a couple cloves. Add peas/lentils, turmeric, cayenne pepper and veg stock and boil until anything solid in the soup mixture starts to break down. Add water where needed.
If you want to keep to using one pan, serve with shop-bought naan bread, pre-cooked packet rice or cook rice in a rice cooker.
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