The Antarctic Book of Cooking and Cleaning: A Polar Journey

by Wendy Trusler

  Lost in thought and somewhat melancholy today. Lena sweet and comforting, “He wanted a pocket girl and you are not a pocket girl.” And later, in her lovely, direct Lena way, “Whatever he has to say it’s not about us. Don’t read it. Don’t think about him.”

  I remember a talk I had with Bob on Christmas Eve. His words hang out there now, “It sounds like you’ve either found the right person or you haven’t.” Guess not.

  I’m sorry to be wasting my time on this. Good day otherwise. I like this group and the guys were in top form today. Volodya Cook and Vassiliy spotted me on my way to the freezer this morning and ushered me into the mess. They really put it on, tripping over themselves as if they were in a Laurel and Hardy skit: taking my coat, pulling out my chair, helping me with my napkin, serving me lunch, waiting tableside for my critique. Crepes with meat filling, watermelon and cranberry goop (too thick this time) and a spoonful of borscht. All yummy, but I spoiled my appetite for the lunch I was making. Bio Vlad stopped by to lend me his Walkman and Russian lesson cassettes. Swung by Diesel on my way back and discovered my laundry had been folded—later I found out that Volodya Driver had had words with someone about my underwear hanging to dry. Comical.

  Lena Nikolaeva (in blue coat) unloading supplies from the Zodiac arriving at Bellingshausen station, Ardley Bay, 1995

  {Carol Devine}

  Sasha at radio call, 1996

  {Wendy Trusler}

  Zuniga and Felipe for dinner tonight. Love how they get into the spirit of things. Commander orchestrated a light show along the runway during dinner. What a love–hate thing I have with that airstrip—always spoiling my view of Flat Top when the clouds finally lift. Still, we all can’t help but crane our necks when planes land, as if we might know someone getting off. And tonight the dancing lights made Marcia’s 60th birthday! She tittered when they gave her birthday kisses both in Chilean and Bellingshausen time. Men in uniforms.

  JANUARY 29, 1996

  Beautiful sky. Windy and cold. Glum—I really want to talk to P and Radio Sasha couldn’t take his chances pirating a call again. Maybe tomorrow. All was not bad or lost. The volunteers are shipping out tomorrow so they took a break from work. I tagged along to tour the Chilean hospital and school. Given chocolates, offered a sack of flour. Later walked to Great Wall station. Like stepping into China: mahogany veneer drop-leaf tables with ornately carved legs; bottomless pots of green tea. Mr. Wong let me poke around the kitchen while everyone else shopped and got their passports stamped. Giant wok over gas flames, huge rounds of wood for cutting boards; I could have stayed there all day. I’ll get my chance when we swap recipes. Picked up laundry at Diesel. Tied with a ribbon so I know who did it for me. Dinner okay in spite of having no idea how to cook lamb ribs. Cake good. Earthquake during dishes—a few things tumbled off the shelves.

  JANUARY 31, 1996

  Absolutely outstanding day today. Sun and NO wind. Had our first barbeque at lunch on the barbie the guys made for me. Enjoyed this group of volunteers very much—the larger, the better. Made potato chips with all our different types of potatoes again. Kathy, the engineer, travelling with her dad joined me in the kitchen—helped select seasonings to dust each batch: cumin seed, cracked pepper and rosemary, cayenne and coarse sugar. Everyone else judged our experiments. Petrov late. A shame we just get comfortable with a group and they are gone. New group looks good. Note from Kevin that he couldn’t set sail without my bubble bath. But we are happy to have a tape deck now even if we have only five cassettes among us: Tom Waits, Ani DiFranco, Katherine Wheatley, The Waterboys, Everything But the Girl. The piped-in Radio Moscow option was wearing.

  Camp 10 Debris Collection (Jan. 27–31)

  Bellingshausen Areas 5 and 6: 1 barrels mixed

  STONEY BAY CHOWDER

  “Wendya fish!” over the telephone was the standard invitation to go to Diesel for fish. This continued for a long time after the guys learned how much I liked Notothenia. When I wasn’t able to join them, they brought the latest catch to my door. I served Fisherman’s Fish at lunch, or as a starter, and when the catch was particularly bountiful I made chowder. I’ll never know if the reason they stopped deliveries to Canada House was in response to my request for NO MORE FISH or because of the day I brought Stoney Bay Chowder to a potluck. Corn—talk about a cultural faux pas. Europeans don’t know what they are missing.

  pound slab bacon // 2 onions // 1 celery stalk // 6 medium potatoes // 2 tablespoons butter // 3 to 4 ears of corn (about 3 cups corn kernels) // 2 teaspoons dried thyme // 1 tablespoon salt // 1 bay leaf // 2 pounds cod fillets, (or some other white fish) // 6 cups water // 1 cups whipping cream // freshly ground pepper

  Have the onions finely chopped, the celery and potatoes diced and the corn kernels cut from the cob. Trim the rind and cut the bacon into a small dice. Toss it into a heavy-bottomed soup pot over medium heat and cook, stirring often, until lightly browned at the edges, about 2 minutes. Add the onions and celery to the pot and cook over low heat until soft, about 5 minutes.

  Melt the butter and stir in the thyme and salt. When the herbs have warmed thoroughly, mix in the potatoes and cook until they are slightly softened. Stir in the corn and let it cook for a minute or two then bring up the heat, add the bay leaf and pour in the water. Bring to a boil, cover, reduce the heat and simmer for about 10 minutes.

  Have the fish cut into good-sized chunks ready to add to the pot when the potatoes are tender. Gently cook the fish until it pulls apart easily, another 4–5 minutes. Stir in the cream and cook just long enough to bring everything up to heat. Add freshly ground pepper to taste.

  Makes enough for ten to twelve people.

  ALL-IN PIZZA

  Pizza is a personal thing, so it’s often best to let people make their own. When I recognized the ice-breaking potential for this hands-on meal, I started to serve it the first night of each camp. I put out a stack of partially baked pizza crusts with a variety of toppings and let the volunteers and dinner guests do the rest. Make-your-own-pizza night encourages creativity, shapes conversation (even when there is little) and is a fabulous way to turn around leftovers.

  Pizza Bases

  1 batch Honey Oatmeal Bread dough made through the first rising // cornmeal for the pan

  When the dough has doubled in size, turn it out onto a lightly floured surface, punch it down and cut it into four equal pieces. Knead each piece a few turns, roll them into uniform balls and set aside to rest, covered, for about 5 minutes while you grease your baking sheets and preheat your oven to 350°F

  To make pizza crusts that are the same shape and size, roll out a ball of dough into 14 by 14 inch square about -inch thick. Cut four rounds from the dough using a 7-inch pot lid or a bread and butter plate as a template. Continue with the remaining dough. Sprinkle the prepared baking sheets with cornmeal. Transfer the rounds to the baking sheets.

  Bake until the bases begin to brown slightly around the edges, 8–10 minutes. Turn out onto racks immediately to cool and repeat with the rest of the dough as baking sheets become available.

  If you prefer the look of a more free-form pizza, divide your dough into sixteen pieces and shape each of them into a ball. Proceed with a rolling pin or use your hands to press and pull one of the balls of dough into a pleasing shape. Continue until you have formed and baked all your pizza crusts.

  If you are going to use your bases later that day, they can sit out. If not, stack them in an airtight container or wrap them in plastic and freeze until ready to use.

  Makes bases for sixteen pizzas.

  Toppings

  The “All-In” part comes into play with the toppings. In Antarctica I grilled eggplant and zucchini, made tomato sauce with and without sausage, and roasted red peppers specifically for pizza night. This may seem like a lot of work for a meal billed as a make-your-own affair, but not if you have a stash of sauce or grilled vegetables built up in the freezer.

  The prep for other toppings often only involves opening a can, slici
ng a few fresh vegetables or pulling leftovers from the fridge:

  •Canned shrimp, anchovies, asparagus, olives, or pineapple chunks dress up any pizza—perhaps not together.

  •Slice some red onion, chop a green pepper, and grate a selection of cheeses.

  •Pull some pepperoni, bacon, dried sausage, or cooked ham from your refrigerator.

  •Leftover roasted potatoes or chicken of any kind make lovely additions.

  •Tapenade or pesto add some zing and caramelized onions are sublime. In fact you could just stop at caramelized onions.

  Assembly

  Other than a suggestion to make structurally sound pizzas I keep directions to a minimum. Sauce goes on the bottom; cheese is the glue and anything that would be good crispy (bacon, sausage, salami, potatoes) should go on top.

  Preheat the oven to 350°F as the pizzas are being constructed. Bake on baking sheets in the centre of the oven until the crusts brown up and the toppings have melded together, about 10 minutes. Have something for people to nibble while they wait for their creations.

  Makes enough for sixteen people.

  CARAMELIZED ONIONS

  As far as I’m concerned you don’t need anything more than caramelized onions, sharp cheese and black olives on top of pizza crust, but then you have to call your pizza pissaladière (French onion pie). To make pissaladière start with a generous layer of caramelized onions spooned on the crust, top with shaved Parmigiano Reggiano, or Romano cheese and stud with pitted kalamata olives. Bake in the usual way. Cut into diamond-shaped pop-in-the-mouth-sized pieces, it makes an elegant hors d’oeuvre. Or you can eat it all yourself.

  15 onions (about 5 pounds) // 6 tablespoons olive oil // cup butter 6 bay leaves // 2 tablespoons sugar // 1 teaspoon salt // dry white wine

  Slice the onions thinly lengthwise and set aside. Combine the olive oil and butter in a large heavy-bottomed skillet or saucepan set over medium heat. When the butter begins to foam add half the sliced onions and 3 bay leaves, then sprinkle in 1 tablespoon of the sugar and teaspoon of the salt overtop. Lay the remaining onions overtop along with the remaining bay leaves, sugar and salt.

  Cover, reduce the heat to low and cook for 20 minutes. Remove the lid, stir the onions and increase the heat to medium. Cook for another 15 minutes, stirring occasionally. Finally, increase the heat to high and cook, stirring constantly, so that the colour of the caramelizing sugar is evenly distributed and onions do not scorch. This should take another 10 minutes.

  Pour in a splash of wine to deglaze the pan; the deep golden colour will even out among all the onions at this point. Cook for 5–6 minutes then remove from the heat and set aside. If you aren’t satisfied with the colour, return the pan to the stove, pull the onions to one side and sprinkle a little more sugar on the exposed bottom. As it caramelizes bring it together with the onions. Caramelized onions keep for a week to ten days in your refrigerator.

  Makes about 4 cups.

  Rosemary-Crusted Lamb Ribs, Red Cabbage Confit, and Baked Stuffed Onions

  ROSEMARY-CRUSTED LAMB RIBS

  I come from a family of lamb lovers so I ordered plenty from our supplier in Ushuaia. I didn’t expect it to be delivered intact, hoofs to the sky. Thank goodness for Volodya Cook who helped with the quartering and trimming.

  You won’t find lamb ribs in your grocer’s freezer, so ask your local butcher. They may be called lamb ribs or lamb breasts and are well worth the hunt. I braise them a short time, top with a garlicky crust and finish them under the broiler. They are delicious alongside baked stuffed onions, mashed potatoes and red cabbage confit with something green to round out the plate, or try them with ratatouille and grilled polenta.

  3 pounds lamb ribs // 2 bay leaves // 8 cloves of garlic // 1 onion // 3 tablespoons grainy Dijon mustard // 2 tablespoons red wine vinegar // 2 tablespoons each of dried rosemary and dried thyme leaves // ground black pepper and salt to taste

  Trim the ribs of any excess fat, but don’t be too rash—the fat carries a lot of the flavour. Place the ribs in a large pot filled with water, a few bay leaves and a splash of vinegar and bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Simmer for 10 minutes or so to render some of the fat, then remove the ribs from the liquid and cool on a wire rack over a baking sheet.

  Mince the garlic and onion finely and put them into a small bowl. Stir in the mustard and vinegar. Rub the herbs together between your fingers as you add them to the bowl—don’t be afraid to get rough with the rosemary if it is a little twiggy. Add the salt and pepper and mix well to make a coarse paste.

  When the ribs are cool enough to handle cut them into sections of three ribs each. Rub the lamb all over with the herb paste. Place the ribs onto a broiling pan. A cooling rack set over a rimmed baking sheet also works well. Broil at least 4 inches from the heat source, turning once after about 10 minutes. Continue to cook until they are brown and crisp all over, another 10–15 minutes.

  Makes enough for four as a main or eight as starter.

  RED CABBAGE CONFIT

  Given that Antarctica is kitchen pest-free, I didn’t pay much attention to the cracks in our storage shed wall until I noticed that one tiny sliver of sunlight had been shining on a head of cabbage with enough intensity to cause it to sprout. Cabbage appears frequently on provisioning lists, but I imagine ours is the only expedition ever to have it as a table centrepiece. Later I prepared this simple recipe I’d grown up with—red cabbage braised with apples, currants and spices. It is one of those dishes that grounds a meal so beautifully you can hardly believe it came together with so little effort.

  1 medium red cabbage // 7 apples // 4 small onions // cup currants // 4 bay leaves // 1 teaspoon cracked peppercorns // 5 tablespoons sugar // 1 tablespoon salt // 3 cups water // 1 cups white vinegar // 3 tablespoons butter

  Halve, core and chop the red cabbage and put it in a large ovenproof dish or roasting pan with a tight-fitting lid. Peel and chop the apples and slice the onions. Toss them with the cabbage, along with the currants, bay leaves, salt and peppercorns. Pour in the water and vinegar and mix well, then top with pats of butter. Cover and cook in a 400°F oven until tender. Check from time to time to turn the cabbage and monitor the moisture level. You can always add a bit of water or apple juice to bring it around, or leave the cover off for a while if it is too soupy. It should be ready after about 1 hours. Braised red cabbage brings a vibrancy to just about anything. I love it with pork, beef or turkey—or with lamb, especially in the absence of my Mom’s mint conserve.

  Makes enough for six to ten, depending on the number of cabbage-lovers at the table.

  BAKED STUFFED ONIONS

  Cooking onions go the distance, yet so often they are consigned to soups and sauces, minced and chopped beyond recognition. I admit my motivation for weaving them into the menu as a side dish early in the summer was to make the other vegetables in my storage shed last longer so I wouldn’t have onions and only onions to work with in our last few weeks. Stuffed and baked they make a refined addition to any meal even when you aren’t dealing with a surplus of onions . . . or dried apricots.

  6 small onions // 6 dried apricots // 1 apple // teaspoon dried crumbled sage // 1 teaspoon dried rosemary // teaspoon salt // 2 tablespoons butter // 2 tablespoons bread crumbs // ground pepper to taste

  Place the whole unpeeled onions in small saucepan and pour in enough water to cover them. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer until the onions are tender, about 10 minutes. Rinse under cold water until they are cool enough to handle. Trim the ends slightly and cut the onions in half crosswise, then carefully peel off the skin. Starting with the centre, gently pull away the layers one at a time until you are left with a shell about -inch thick.

  Mince the bits you’ve removed and put them in a mixing bowl. Finely chop the apricots and the apple and add them to the bowl with the herbs and breadcrumbs. (I like to keep the apple peel on for colour.) Melt the butter and drizzle it overtop. Mix well. Fill each onion shell, mounding it slightly, a
nd place in a lightly oiled baking dish. Bake in a 375°F oven until golden, about 30 minutes.

  Makes enough for six people.

  CUSTARD WITH FRUIT COMPOTE

  I was always frightened of making custard until our provisioning challenges forced my hand and it was the only thing I could prepare with what was available. Admittedly, my inaugural attempt in Camp 1 was a little eggy, but I eventually achieved a perfect creamy balance of ingredients sometime in January. Inspiration for the compote came from a 20-kilogram bag of dried fruit Sergey gave us and the canned fruit I ordered.

  Custard with Fruit Compote is a stylish pairing, made with such modest ingredients. It may make you rethink how you stock your household—at least in the winter.

  For the custard

  1 cups table cream // 1 cups whipping cream // cup sugar // 6 egg yolks // 1 teaspoons vanilla

  Preheat the oven to 325°F. Have six eight-ounce ramekins or custard cups set in a roasting pan. Combine the creams in a heavy-bottomed saucepan and place the pan over medium heat; cook just until bubbles form around the edges.

  While the cream is coming up to temperature whisk the egg yolks with the sugar in a large bowl until they are well blended. Whisking constantly, gradually pour a thin stream of hot cream into the eggs. Finish with the vanilla.

  Ladle the custard into the ramekins. Skim off any foam. Add enough boiling water to the roasting pan to reach halfway up the sides of the ramekins and carefully set the pan on the middle rack of the oven. Bake until the edges are set but the centres still jiggle, 30–40 minutes. Transfer to a rack to cool. If you are making the custard ahead, cover and refrigerate for up to two days. Bring the custard up to room temperature before serving.