susys running away to sea

"The rigors (sic) of an expeditionary lifestyle"

Monday, July 03, 2006

Boat Food

At the start of this cruise, J had provisioned the boat with a selection of his favourite tins, er cans, makes unknown to me. Particularly eye catching was a red tin, er can, with a smiley chap in chef's whites decorating the label - my intro to the epicurean world of Chef Boyardee. He creates amazing cuisine - mainly pasta-based, I believe, although I havent's yet managed to consume his entire range. And it's all eminently suited and preserved for the floating fraternity. (Not sorority.) My first taste test of the chef's bonnes bouches was when we overnighted in Port Mouton, Nova Scotia. We weren't completedly out of food, but I was a bit tired of cooking. So, Chef B it had to be. Two tins were opened and dumped into a saucepan. Pale lumps of ravioli in thick orange sauce. A feast for the eyes. And for J, also for the tum. There we were, anchored off in a beautiful bay, opposite a curving white sandy beach and pine trees, eating tinned ravioli. When we could have gone against a little wharf nearby and eaten the famous Port Mouton icecream. I had a silent SOH failure and went to bed early, turning my back on the wondrous bay at sunset.

Since then, Chef B is at the back of the locker - where the tins, er cans, are leaked on and rust gently.

J says when we are in some remote place and out of food, we'll be fighting over the last can. I pinch his plumped-up, muffined-up upper arm - just testing - and assure him: "No contest."


Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home