Stores
The housewives pushing their carts about the Safeway look on in great wonderment as they land their cart to the register to find the far isle filled with six carts, and some young bearded man approaching with yet another stacked with four 24 count packages of toilet paper. And another cart in tow with eight 18 packs of water and six Bounty 12 count paper towels.
Going to the store is the one of the big events on the ship. Days in advance a yellow legal pad is left by the cook on the galley table with the words WISH List at the top. Some come by and mark the one comfort food they require the most, diet coke, some kind of chocolate bar, etc. The captain has his own obsessions. He requires, Chobani Yogurt, Beef Jerky, EGGS (2 cases), Cholula Hot Sauce. He could live off of this. An engineer once wrote on one list, Toothpicks THE ROUND ONES, NOT THE SQUARE ONES. Or the Chief Mate here who will throw overboard anything of generic brand. And there is always the one, who just before the cook sets out on his 3 hour shopping trip, sits down and fills a full page; Salmon smear cream cheese x 3 (Philadelphia Brand), 1 jar stackers pickles bread and butter (Classic), HOT Dijon Mustard, mild Dijon mustard, camembert, prosciutto, Cottage Cheese 2% x 3, extra crunchy Peter Pan peanut butter, Lactaid milk, Extra crispy English muffins, and so on and on. But of all things to be purchased and stowed there are two things that if run out of would illicit great disdain and threaten bodily harm upon the cook. Coffee and toilet paper.
As a quick introduction to the importance of stores, and the oddities of crews about them, the coffee mess in general is an interesting study of society. There is the old man that drinks three pots a day, and in his mind everyone is exactly like him, and in his mind everyone drinks Folgers, the grinds filled up to the top of the filter, and when sailing with him the crew hides the Starbucks away. Mostly the guys drink French Roast for its dark and bitter quality. Some prefer this because of the amount of Italian SUGAR FREE sweet cream (Carnation Brand) that they water it down with, so the harder blend brings the flavor through a bit. One captain has his Safeway select (the good stuff) brand of French Roast blended with his Folgers Black Silk, half and half to conserve on cost of buying the more expensive brand. But brand alone does not suffice appropriate coffee making. For the latter of captains the last drop ought be brewed at exactly 0650 and 1850, so it would be fresh for when he came down to read his magazine prior to taking the watch. Another captain felt that coffee was an earned right and that he ought to never have to brew a pot, but that the Cook or AB should brew a fresh pot every 30 minutes, and he would sit and watch them keeping good account of their diligence of duty. Others don’t want their coffee made for them at all, they have their ways and would rather make their own. One shipmate brought his own French press and supply of grounds saying that he abstained from participating in the coffee wars. On this particular trip the southern cook has introduced Chicory coffee, for he enjoys it from time to time, usually with some piping hot biscuits and gravy. This has become a divisive issue and seeing as how we have two coffee pots one is designated for the Coon Ass coffee, of which the captain has become obsessed with. And so in general it is assumed that the crew will go through one 1 quart sized bag of Starbucks a day for six guys.
Nor do eccentricities end there. Each crew has its preferred paper cup to shuttle the beverage to mouth. Some prefer the more expensive Chinette brand, this crew likes the cheap white industrial economy kind sold in bulk. Most young sailors bring their own mugs on board, but the older more wasteful salts use disposables, and dispose of them straight over the side when done. Nor do they prefer to eat off of proper plates, but instead use paper disposable plates. The ship generally goes through about 5 rolls of paper towels per day, and running out of these is on the echelon of offenses only below running out of toilet paper. In fact running out of any paper product is deemed unacceptable, because ‘paper doesn’t go bad’.
And so armed with the knowledge of what will keep the cook in good graces with Captain and crew, and with a shopping list scrolled out as long as the books of Moses, and the standing order that you better not come back without fresh donuts (although they are all on low card diets and so won’t eat the scones freshly baked from scratch that morning by their own hard working personal baker). Atop of that the captain wants two buckets of fried chicken and 1 pound of fried livers and gizzards each. So the cook sets out in a dented and out of gas pick-up truck, coughing its way first up to the pump, then next door to the Dutch Harbor Safeway. This Safeway is different from your usual grocer. The lay out is more like a Sam’s Club warehouse, and all things are sold in bulk and family sized. One check out isle in particular is set aside for boat orders, and a cache of banana boxes are there to load the provisions.
He begins picking his way through the produce, which greatly varies dependent on when the supply ship for the island came in last. Once, the ship was held up for five days due to weather, and the pickings that were slim before were meager by the time the ship got docked and unloaded. Usually the produce will fill two carts. Romaine lettuce keeps longer than the packaged spring mix, and the crew wants their salad bar laid out before each meal. Assortments of greens, 4 pounds of potatoes, russet and red, and sweet potatoes enough for two meals. Heeps of fresh berries and fruits, and avocados for taco Tuesdays, and when fortunate enough to find it, which is never the case in Dutch Harbor, then fresh herbs such as basil, sage, and thyme.
Then it is on to the meat department, which will solidly fill one cart. Fresh seafood is surprisingly hard to find here in Dutch, for it is all shipped out, or purchased directly from the canneries. The Dutch Harbor Butcher is now familiar with the Malolo cook and greets him amicably,
‘What for you today?’
‘They would like rib-eyes, 6 of them, a five pound cut of chateaubriand, and a five pound top sirloin.’
‘Certainly, sir, how would you like the rib-eyes, 1½ inch thick cut?’
‘Why not.’
And while he is cutting the choicest meats then the cook peruses over pork loins and pic-nic shoulders, ham hocks for stews, and various sausages and bacons.
From there it is a stroll down the aisles filling up on the odds and ends, condiments, canned goods, cereals, chips, and candies, before heading over to the deli. Here the little Pilipino girl greets him with obvious annoyance as she produces a pad of paper and pen. 3 pounds Virginia sliced ham, 3 pounds Taglio pastrami, 3 pounds peppered turkey breast, 3 pounds roast beef. 2 pounds each of horseradish cheddar, swiss, provolone, and sharp cheddar. Then the fried chicken, livers, gizzards, and the boys would like for you to make fresh donuts, just for them, please. It soon takes four of the deli girls twenty minutes to fill the Malolo’s deli needs. Meanwhile he shops the dairy isle.
2 cases of milk (12 cartons), 2 cases of eggs totaling 10 dozen all together, shredded cheeses and cream cheeses, and cottage cheeses, and packaged backups of more sliced cheese for when the deli goods go bad. Then the bread isle, and back to the deli. Now we are up to our 6 carts and, as the native girl fills the ticker tape receipt the store manager and two others load the banana boxes, and lastly the cook heads down the frozen food isles stocking up on ice cream and frozen pizzas.
The total; usually around 4,000$. This will suffice for two weeks. It has been tallied out that the company is spending about 43$ a day feeding these guys. That is close to 300 dollars a week per person. Dutch Harbor, of course, being an island, and an Alaskan Island, the cost of food is considerably higher.
Here they are accustomed to boats and the needs of them to load up for two weeks, however, in places like Hawaii, when going to the store in Honolulu it is not uncommon for the manager to personally greet the cook and shake his hand and say, ‘Thank you sir for your business’, and then give him a complimentary Kuna coffee and big island macadamia home baked cookies. Here the ticket ranges between $1,500 to $3,000 all dependent on the demands of the crew.
As with any company, there is cost cutting. The office lady, who is always referred to with great scorn for her crimes against the worker bees, once scanned the receipts with a keen eye, then called the cooks to her office when they happened by and had them explain themselves. It was ok for a cook to buy 50 dollars worth of soda, but to buy a bottled water or coffee to drink while shopping had to be accounted for. The company will take on 50,000 gallons of fuel, but the cook had better not buy some fresh supplies of magazines for the crew to read, or even a newspaper. Though there is no formal policy, and there has never been any training, or budget, this cook buys what he wants, and is armed with the quip when the office calls, ‘You try satisfying these guys wants.’ For that is what it comes down to. The office will cuss you out (quite literally) when you over spend, but the boys will cuss you worse (even more literally) and damn your soul for the voyage should you run out of mayonnaise. Yet, it must be said, the galley is stocked well, everything from garlic chili sauce to anchovy paste, every kind of pickle imaginable (save okra), flour, yeast, baker’s chocolate, and food coloring. Seldom is there a time when any recipe found cannot be made to work. And so the joy is in the freedom of being able to explore the culinary world of breakfast pastries and dinner roasts.
The cook is obligated to prepare lunch and dinner for the crew. He stands the four to eight watch with the Chief Mate with eight hours of down time in between, and so his day starts at 3:30 am. Since he is not expected to cook on his off watch he usually makes the lunch during the morning, and puts it in the crockpot to cook. Thus lunch is usually a soup or stew. However, the crew will tire of soup and so a good cook will prep a dish like meatballs for sandwiches, chicken wings, or enchiladas and wake up and put them in the oven when lunch comes at the changing of the watch between 11 and 12:00. He can also earn some extra appreciation from the crew by frying bacon, cutting up some cantaloupe, making biscuits, or other breakfast pastries. Eventually if he does this, then the crew comes to expect it. During the morning watch he may also prep dinner, which is at 5:00.
Dinner is the big production of the day, and usually he comes on watch a half hour to an hour early to get everything prepped and ready for the oven or frying pan. Some cooks refuse to lift a finger on the off watch, and so the galley takes on the atmosphere of a short order grill. Generally the boys like their Mexican taco Tuesdays, B For D (breakfast for dinner) once a week, and always conscious of their weight they require a salad bar, the contents of which they garnish with croutons and cheese and douse with Thousand Island dressing.
The palates vary, and should the cook try to get to fancy then some will turn up their noses. Meat and potatoes are the safest bet for fare. The same captain as believed in the sanctity of Folgers looked suspiciously upon lasagna. 70 years old, sailing on boats since he was 15, he had never had lasagna. Coerced into broadening his spectrum, he tried it, and ordained that it become the weekly Friday night meal.
The boys do get spoiled. ‘Hard to believe a week has gone by, we haven’t had our prime rib yet,’ said one, then berated the cook for going a week not only without prime rib, but also without baby back ribs. Once there was even a complaint that the cook had bought a five pound bone in rib roast instead of going back into the butcher shop and asking for an eight pounder so that they could have prime rib sandwiches, then have the register ring it up twice so that the office wouldn’t complain about the wasteful spending on an 8 pound prime rib (so the next time he did buy the 8 pound and it coast 92 dollars, and he saved the leftovers for sandwiches and it all went bad in the refrigerator). The cook throws his hands up and says, ‘Do your wives cook like this for you at home.’ The half that have wives say no, they cook at home, generally steaks. The other half are divorced. One can only imagine the causation for the separation.
Most cooks will work out a ten day menu, and then rotate through those ten meals, using mostly processed ingredients. It is good food, their crews say, nothing great, but sustaining. Early in the days of working this gig, the southern cook made a dish of Shrimp and Grits. Not his best, but good. The Engineer came up from his work and looked on the day’s menu, which is expected to be written on a white board in the galley. ‘Grits,’ he says, suspiciously. ‘You trying to turn us into a bunch of coon asses.’ He did obligingly take a spoon into the pot and draw out enough for a taste, stuck it into his mouth and immediately spit it out and looking the cook in the face said, ‘that tastes like shit.’
\Same as last week with Enchiladas. He had made a homemade sauce instead of using canned, and diced up chipotles in the meat filling. The second mate said they were the best of the trip, the Mexican AB even went back for seconds, thanking the efforts and complimenting the homemade sauce. The Chief Mate liked the taste, but said it was too hot, but the old man (who hates chicken, and they all hate chicken unless it is dark meat and covered in something) stood over the dish contemplating for some time whether or not he would try it, and finally decided to follow the crowd and conform to the general mood of the group he took half of one. He sat down across from the Mate, doused the dish in Cholula, took one bite, and said, ‘This tastes weird. I mean… it tastes like shit,’ then got up and with an exaggerated sweep of his arm threw the plate in the slop bucket. Then rummaged through the refrigerator looking to make a sandwich so to get the taste of ‘Ass’ out of his mouth.
The cook sat there not knowing which emotion to embrace, laughter or anger, for it was a comic affair and the crew got a kick out of it, but he instead decided to get a little even. And so when the old man left he emptied the Cholula and refilled it with his homemade enchilada sauce. Color and consistency were passable. Then filled in the boys in on the prank, and waited. That night dinner was clam spaghetti, and all sat down to eat, and when the old man came down, still complaining that he could taste the enchiladas the Mexican said that the spaghetti would help get the taste out and when the old man sat down the Mexican put the Cholula on his dish and passed the bottle over and said, ‘Try it, papa. It’s good. When have I ever steered you wrong?’ The old man took the bottle, ‘I love Cholula,’ he said, ‘They call me old man Cholula at home.’ And he applied a liberal helping to his plate. It was the sweetest of revenge, for he took one bite and said, ‘You’re right amigo, it’s pretty damn good on spaghetti.’