Aug 12, 20234 min read

Foodies, listen up!

I've been contemplating writing a dedicated blog about food onboard Misty for some time now. After all, it's a topic that everyone can relate to, right? Cooking and eating on a sailing boat have their own unique and interesting aspects that I believe you'll find both entertaining and intriguing.

Video: cooking pasta pesto in fairly calm seas

First and foremost, the practices I'll be discussing regarding food onboard can vary between different boats. In this blog, I'll be focusing on how we did things on Misty.

The food you eat onboard depends on several factors, such as the number of cooks you have and their preferred cuisine and taste. Additionally, the size of the boat plays a role in terms of food and kitchen equipment storage. The type of boat, whether it's a monohull or catamaran, also affects the stability and, consequently, the cooking experience. Furthermore, the dietary requirements of the crew, the available equipment onboard (ranging from a bread maker to a food processor), the location on Earth, and the availability of provisions all contribute to the variety of meals. Let's not forget the sea state, as trying to eat a soup in four-meter waves can be quite the challenge.

Video: Anthony doing a great job to visualise how tricky is (sometimes) to eat soup on a monohull. Forget putting down your bowl!

Before I delve into my favourite foods while sailing, let's break down the previous points. The first point, the number of cooks onboard, can be both a blessing and a curse, depending on their flexibility. Personally, I struggled with heavily spiced and curry-based meals, preferring a milder approach with paprika, pepper, and salt (the Hungarian way) when I was the one cooking. To be honest, it was more me being picky than anything else. It’s always a good thing if there are more than one cook!

On Misty, we had the most basic kitchen essentials, such as pots, pans, a swinging cooker, oven, microwave, electric kettle, and a toaster.

Video: the swinging cooker

However, we mainly used electricity when in port and connected to shore power, so toasting bread was a ‘luxury’ reserved for those times. The galley - kitchen in boating jargon, - had limited storage space. Without going into too much detail, let's just say that the salad bowl had a secondary function that you can probably guess.

We were fortunate to have a crew of dedicated and capable cooks on Misty, ensuring that we had at least one fresh meal per day. However, there were days when cooking was simply impossible and even dangerous due to rough seas. During those times, I couldn't help but envy those on catamarans, as their stability allowed for a more comfortable dining experience with flat plates and glasses, while on a monohull, we often resorted to using bowls and spoons for everything.

Throughout our journey, we only had two vegetarians onboard, with the second one being quite flexible (for which we were grateful). And then there was me. My tolerance for food that didn't align with my preferences vanished. I became so picky that it was almost impossible to enjoy anything that wasn't prepared by me. I was aware of how difficult this made things for everyone, so in the last few weeks, we resorted to making two separate meals—one for everyone else and one exclusively for me. It was far from an ideal practice, resulting in extra energy consumption, cooking time, and tired crew members. SORRY AND THANK YOU!

We had a bread maker onboard, which was supposed to be an easy-to-use machine. However, more often than not, our bread turned out stiff and concentrated, resembling bricks. We would often end up tossing it overboard for the fish to enjoy. On a few occasions, though, the end product turned out fantastic, but we could never pinpoint why. As a substitute for bread, we relied on wraps, as they could be stored for weeks under the saloon seats.

Picture: banana bread from the bread maker

When you're sailing across oceans or even just island hopping in places like French Polynesia, food, particularly dinner, becomes a significant part of the daily routine. It's a time to gather around the table, share experiences from the past, and discuss plans for the future. As a cook, you want to ensure that there's something delightful on the table. However, provisioning becomes quite tricky after leaving Panama, as supplies become limited for the next three to four months In French Polynesia.

Pictures (left the right): provisioning in Portugal, top up in Panama with beer and weird vegetables and fruits in French Polynesia gradually accessing to only cucumber by the end.

Now, let's address the question of fishing. While many boats engage in fishing, we weren't particularly enthusiastic about it. Perhaps it was due to my initial reaction when we caught our first fish—a magnificent Mahi Mahi. I had never seen such a beautiful and massive fish before, and I couldn't bear the thought of killing and eating it. However, our perspective changed when we had a crew member onboard who loved fishing during our time in Tahiti. Within half an hour of casting the bait, we caught an even bigger Mahi Mahi. Laura did an amazing job reeling it in, and Nevil quickly prepared it for cooking.