Everyone has his or her own arc. Perhaps we should have sent a thank-you note to that disgruntled pair in January who balked at picking up someone else’s trash and made pejorative remarks about the Russians on their project evaluations. Sean rose to it. He increased interaction with the Russians, organized soccer games with the other bases—even the dinner parties were his idea and he had the personality to pull them off. Long walks with or without a “naturalist,” getting to know the neighbours, and lingering around the dinner table all have value. On the work front, from that time on, he and Lena encouraged volunteers to articulate their expectations, made meeting them with grace and tolerance a daily focus and stuck to task no matter what anyone said.
As for my snarky salad comment I’m pretty sure I simply explained in the nicest possible way why fresh baby greens weren’t feasible and wondered if they would have liked Sea Cabbage Salad.
SPICED TEA (RUSSIAN TEA)
I brewed this tea for hundreds of tree-planters and served it for years without knowing what made it Russian. My starting point was the tea a friend’s mother made by blending powdered tea, juice crystals, spices and sugar. She called it Russian Tea, so I held on to the name when I adapted her recipe to take the sting out of cold mornings in tree-planting camps. After my first taste of the sublime brew Sasha poured for me in Diesel I felt self-conscious calling mine anything more than Spiced Tea.
To make Sasha’s Russian Tea, pour hot water over a handful of loose black tea leaves nestled in a small strainer set over a glass. Squeeze the juice from a large wedge of lemon and add it to the glass with plenty of sugar. Stir. It tastes better if you take time to savour it, especially with company. My Spiced Tea recipe is better for a crowd.
3 cinnamon sticks // 2 tablespoons whole cloves // water // 1 cup sugar // 4 oranges // 4 lemons // 3 tablespoons loose black tea
Break the cinnamon sticks into a mid-sized pot containing 5 cups of water and set over medium-high heat. Zest one of the oranges and add it to the pot along with the cloves. Sprinkle in the sugar, stirring to dissolve as the water is coming up to temperature. Bring it briefly to a boil, then reduce to medium-low and simmer until the aroma of the spices begins to fill the room.
Bring 8 cups water to a gentle boil in a large pot.
While the syrup is simmering, ream the remaining citrus into a small bowl. Remove the syrup from the heat after about 10 minutes and add the juice, pouring it through a fine sieve. Add the tea leaves, then the 8 cups of boiling water and steep for at least 5 minutes. Strain the hot tea into a teapot or thermos, or directly into individual cups or glasses.
Spiced Tea keeps in the refrigerator for up to a week and is refreshing hot or cold. Flavours will intensify as the tea matures—at any point you can adjust the strength by adding more water or arrest the process entirely by straining the remaining brew.
Makes enough for twelve to fourteen people.
CHEESE FONDUE
I laughed when one volunteer with her mouth half-full of bread and cheese suggested, “If Wendy had been along Scott would have made it.” But she might have been onto something, at least with respect to fondue. High in both fat and protein, with the added benefit of creating a sound architecture for camaraderie, the combination of molten Emmentaler and Gruyère could be the perfect expedition repast—that is if you overcome the inconvenience of hauling crates of wine.
pound each of Emmentaler and Gruyère cheese // 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour or 1 tablespoons cornstarch // 2 cloves of garlic // 2 cups dry white wine // juice of a lemon // nutmeg // pepper
Prepare the cheese by dicing or cutting it into strips and dredge it lightly in the flour or cornstarch. Using flour makes a robust, opaque fondue while cornstarch turns out a marginally lighter version that also happens to be gluten-free. They are equally delicious.
Peel the garlic cloves, smash with the flat side of a knife and rub the pieces around the inside of a four-quart pot. Some people like to discard the garlic at this point, but I think adding it to the pot gives the fondue a bit of kick and provides and element of surprise for the lucky diner who finds it at the end of his or her fork.
Pour in the wine and bring it to a gentle simmer over medium heat. When bubbles begin to rise to the surface add the lemon juice and the first handful of cheese, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon. Bit by bit, as each addition of cheese begins to melt, slowly add more, stirring in a figure eight pattern to prevent the fondue from seizing. Once the mixture is smooth, stir in a pinch of nutmeg if desired, and a good amount of freshly ground pepper.
Set over a low flame to keep warm and serve with cubes of French or Italian bread. Round out the meal with cold meats, sausage, pickled onions and gherkins. Wedges of apples or pears and steamed vegetables such as broccoli, green beans or asparagus are worthy alternatives to dipping bread.
Makes enough for a meal for four—more if you are serving it as an hors d’œuvres or starter.
FISHERMAN’S FISH
Fisherman's Fish
I don’t know what the guys from Diesel did during their downtime throughout the rest of the year, but it seemed to me as soon as the temperature pushed above 0°C they started jigging for Notothenia or rock cod in Stoney Bay. It was mostly the guys who were on call for long stretches who liked to fish—the petroleum engineers, the mechanics; the guys who kept the base running. After completing an overnight shift they were the only ones with time off during the day.
Tolya made the best, it was universally understood—that much I picked up the first time I was invited for fish in the systems control room at the power station. Sasha was on duty that early January day. He and Tolya had jerry-rigged a hot plate and plugged it into one of the circuit-breaker panels lining the walls. Tolya cut the fish crosswise into small steaks—almost like chevrons. He dusted each piece with flour, salted and then fried it to crispy perfection. Vasiliy, Sergey and Fernando, the cook from Frei Base, arrived just as the first batch was being served.
No dishes. No forks. You eat Fisherman’s Fish with your hands using your fingers to pull the tender flesh away from the bone. I make it at home using the whitefishes our local fishmonger brings in. Freshly caught bass, trout, pickerel or perch would be even more delectable.
2 whole fish about 1 pound each (whitefish, cleaned, with the skin on) // cup all-purpose flour // coarse salt // vegetable oil
Cut the fish into to -inch steaks and pat dry. Put the flour on a shallow plate and sprinkle with salt—a few pinches should do. Add enough oil to a large skillet to cover the bottom and place it over medium-high heat.
Dredge the fish steaks in flour on all sides and place them in the pan when the oil is hot, but not smoking. Cook until the fish is golden brown underneath, then turn the steaks and fry the other side until crispy. This should take about two minutes per side.
Serve straight from the pan with wedges of lemon, apples and pears. Have plenty of sweet lemony tea made (vodka shots if it is a special occasion) and be prepared for people to drop by once word gets out.
Makes a meal for six; more if you are serving it as a snack or starter.
Note: We strongly encourage using sustainable seafood for this recipe. The Madrid Protocol on Environmental Protection, signed in 1991 and entered into force in 1998, prohibits disrupting wildlife. While the kind of small-scale fishing a few of us did was not yet a breach in 1996, we are aware it was a grey zone and in hindsight are uncomfortable.
ROASTED BEET SALAD (RUSSIAN VINAIGRETTE)
I was so pleased with myself when I made a “Russian Salad” from one of the cookbooks I brought even after Lena enlightened me that she’d never had anything remotely like it in Russia. It turns out the combination of beets, cucumbers and hard-cooked eggs, tossed with sour cream is more Scandinavian in origin. A classic Russian Vinaigrette, which is what Lena called “their” beet salad, starts with beets and varies its extra bits from region to region and household to household.
Frankly, I don’t know why you’d want to add a
nything to it—tossed with a simple French vinaigrette (that is to say, the dressing), the earthy goodness of the beet shines through.
2 pounds small to medium beets // 1 clove of garlic // cup rice vinegar // 2 tablespoons honey // salt and pepper to taste // 2 tablespoons fresh dill fronds (optional)
Preheat the oven to 400°F. Wash and trim the tops from the beets—I like the way the ends taper so I leave them intact. Plus this minimizes “bleeding” while they cook. Wrap the beets in foil in groups of four and place on a baking sheet. Roast until they are tender and a paring knife slips easily into their centres, 20–25 minutes for small beets or 30–40 minutes for larger beets. Unwrap to cool.
While the beets are roasting mince the garlic and put it in a medium bowl with the honey and rice vinegar. Whisk and set aside.
When the beets are cool enough to handle gently rub off the skins. Cut lengthwise into wedges to make the most of their contours and add to the bowl containing the dressing. Mix well and let stand for at least an hour before serving. Season with salt and pepper and dill fronds if using.
Makes enough for six people.
KING GEORGE ISLAND SALAD (VINAIGRETTE)
Branding is everything. I hadn’t planned on using tinned asparagus to make salad when I ordered it, but when I became disheartened by the condition lettuce arrived in after a long sea voyage, I gave up on salad greens entirely and reached for my can opener.
1 jar white asparagus spears (12.5 ounces) // 5 slices of bacon (more if you feel inclined—I was rationing mine) // 1 teaspoon cumin seed // 1 avocado // balsamic vinegar
Gently drain the water from the asparagus and carefully remove the spears so as not to break them. Set aside. Fry the bacon until very crisp and crumble it into small pieces in a paper towel. Put the cumin seeds in a small dry pan over low heat and toast them, shaking the pan gently from time to time. When you begin to smell their aroma and hear them crackle, transfer them to a small bowl. Halve and pit the avocado; slice into thin wedges then use your fingers to pull the rind away from the flesh. To assemble the salad, arrange asparagus spears and avocado slices on each of the plates. Sprinkle with crumbled bacon and cumin seed. Finish with a drizzle of balsamic vinegar or let your guests add their own.
Slices of hard-cooked eggs with chopped scallions or minced red onions make a nice replacement when stores of avocado run low.
Makes enough for three or four side salads.
A BIT ABOUT BEANS
Cannellini, navy beans, pea beans or any white bean will work in these recipes. For my pantry, Antarctic or otherwise, I default to great northern beans mostly because I love their name.
Soaking beans overnight is not strictly necessary, but you’ll find it cuts down their cooking time and if you need them to remain whole for the recipe it helps prevent splitting. It’s worth the fuss even for beans you end up mashing as it cuts back on gastric distress, something to consider whether living in close quarters or not.
Pick through the dried beans and discard any stones, fibres or funny-looking beans. Rinse under cold water, toss them in a bowl and cover with water. While ratios of water to beans are likely indicated on the back of the package, you can’t go wrong with 6–8 cups water to 1 cup dried beans for an 8–12 hour soak. Rinse before cooking.
WHITE BEAN AND ROASTED GARLIC PTÉ
The tree-planting season I wrestled with a surplus of raisins and added them to unsuspecting recipes still haunts me (and probably some tree-planters). Not so the noble white bean. Dried or tinned, in soups or in stews, you can take it on expedition or serve it at a cocktail party. I love this pâté as an appetizer with crostini or to round out a good ploughman’s lunch of cheese, dried sausage, wedges of fruit and warm bread.
1 cup dried great northern or some other white bean // 1 bay leaf // 2 heads of garlic // 6 tablespoons olive oil // 2 teaspoons dried rosemary // 1 teaspoon coarse salt // zest of 1 lemon // cracked black pepper
Have the beans soaked and rinsed. (See here.) Put them in a pot with the bay leaf and cover with cold water. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer, covered, until the beans are soft, about an hour or so—longer if the beans haven’t been pre-soaked. Check on them from time to time to skim off any accumulation of foam. Drain and set aside.
While the beans are cooking, wrap the heads of garlic in foil and roast in a 400°F oven until the sides yield nicely to your touch, 15–20 minutes. Set aside to cool.
Heat the oil in a skillet over low heat and crumple in the rosemary and salt. (When I get the urge I mince a few additional cloves of garlic and add them at this stage.) When you begin to smell the rosemary stir in the beans and cook just until warm, about 3 minutes.
Set aside about a third of the beans. Squeeze the garlic into the pan and mash with the back of a fork to make a thick coarse paste. When the garlic and beans are thoroughly amalgamated and you are satisfied with the texture, stir in the lemon zest, cracked pepper and reserved beans. (You could also mash all the beans if you want a more refined texture.) Warm thoroughly and serve with crostini or warm bread. Garnish with fresh herbs if you have some.
Makes about 2 cups or a good-sized ramekin.
WHITE BEAN AND ROASTED GARLIC SOUP
I thought I’d never see the end of our dried white beans until it occurred to me use them to make more than minestrone soup and pâté. Paired with roasted garlic and puréed to creamy perfection, they make a soup I could never tire of. If you are feeling fancy, grate in a heel of Parmesan or Romano cheese, add chopped dried sausage or crumble in crispy bacon or prosciutto.
3 cups of dried great northern or some other white bean // 4 bay leaves // 2 onions // 3 celery stalks // 2 carrots // 1 large potato // cup olive oil // 1 teaspoon crumpled dried sage // 2 teaspoons dried rosemary // 1 tablespoon salt // 9 cups of water // 5 heads of garlic // whipping cream (optional)
Have the beans soaked and rinsed. (See here.) Put them in a large pot with one of the bay leaves and cover with cold water. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer, covered, until the beans are soft, about an hour or so—longer if the beans haven’t been pre-soaked. Check on them from time to time to skim off any accumulation of foam. Drain and set aside, reserving a cup of the cooking water.
While the beans are cooking, mince the onions and peel and dice the remaining vegetables. Wrap the heads of garlic in foil and roast in a 400°F oven until the sides yield nicely to your touch, 15–20 minutes. Set aside to cool.
Place a large Dutch oven or heavy-bottomed pot over medium-high heat and pour in the olive oil. When the oil is hot toss in the onions, celery, remaining bay leaves, herbs and salt. Reduce the heat to medium-low and cook until soft. Mix in the carrots and potatoes and sauté for about 5 minutes. Stir in the drained beans, the reserved cooking liquid and 9 cups of water. Squeeze in the roasted garlic. Cover and simmer slowly until the vegetables are tender, about another 15 minutes, then remove the bay leaves.
The soup is rustically lovely as is, but the flavours really come together after it is puréed. Sometimes I’m happy with the chunky version. When I want a combination of textures I purée two-thirds of the soup and stir in the reserved bit afterwards. Blending the whole lot produces such a sublimely creamy soup you’ll likely find you won’t need to add the whipping cream. If you do want to add it, now is the time. Stir in a cup or two just before you are about to serve.
Makes enough for ten to twelve people.
Penguin cookie cutter at Chilean Base, 1996
{Wendy Trusler}
Russian team potato peeling, 1996
TRESPASSING
Carol
Back in Toronto I was negotiating where we would dispose of garbage collected at Bellingshausen. Some to Argentina? Some to Russia? Maybe there is no morally superior place for garbage.
I was delighted to hear from happily returned Project Antarctica II volunteers. I also had to respond to the few who gave Wendy and team trouble. Some feedback was reasonable: they didn’t get what they expected; they w
anted to spend more time with the Russian biologists; cleanup equipment was lacking; they needed more rakes, gloves etc. However, the majority of volunteers self-selected well and knew what they were getting into which was that they didn’t know what that was. To be honest I had no idea exactly what we would be doing either but only that we were part of some kind of greater movement. All people who came on our project were willing to work but a few still thought nature was there for them. I had a volunteer from New York in the pilot cleanup at the Polish station the year before who wrote on her feedback form, “Not enough penguins.”
Wendy and I loved reading Bob’s Condé Nast Traveler article “Trespassing on Eternity.” (1996):
It was Christmas Day in Antarctica, and I am passing out gifts I made from items I found during walks amid a landscape that has been described as the earth’s last pristine wilderness. For Wendy, our cook, I have created a mobile consisting of a padlock, a bent fork, a tin can lid, the base of a lightbulb, half a hacksaw blade and the head of a small ax . . . There are other gifts too: a penguin made of corroded welding rod, necklaces strung with an assortment of rusted nuts and washers . . . Odd gifts perhaps. But we are an odd group: seven people who’ve paid a considerable amount of money to spend Christmas in Antarctica taking out somebody else’s trash. It’s not a bad investment, really. It allows us, for five days, to become one of the very few tourists who have ever lived ashore in Antarctica, as opposed to day-tripping from tour ships. More importantly it allows us to convince ourselves that we have an answer to the question visitors to Antarctica find themselves asking: “Do we really belong here?”
The Antarctic Book of Cooking and Cleaning: A Polar Journey Page 9