Vassiliy, Ilya, and Anatoliy, Bellingshausen, 1996
{Wendy Trusler}
Beach in front of China’s Great Wall base (King George island) 2.5 km from Bellingshausen, 1996
FEBRUARY 12, 1996
Our luck that the Multanovskiy went aground and had to be dry-docked in Ushuaia. Schedule thrown off. No volunteers from the night of Feb. 3 to Feb. 7. Bubble bath arrived on the Petrov after a six-week wait. Nice break. Wondered if this is indicative of February weather. Lots of sun. Warmth. Everything drying up.
Rain and cloud returned today. It will be hard to get used to this weather after our women’s summer—I suppose we’d call it Indian summer. Lena explained that after the harvest, after all the work is done, women could relax in the calm fall days. Love Sergey’s version: “Women’s summer named for the hearty warmth of women.” He says all the right things.
Trip to Artigas in the Niva. It makes me laugh how well Sergey gets around in this car when I hear stories about men at better-funded stations getting their swanky four-wheel-drives stuck, making distress calls to our guys to pull them out.
Chef Henry was a little flummoxed when we arrived, as if I’d asked him a trick question when I requested a Uruguayan recipe. The recipe the officers have all been talking about is for an asado. Seems just like a barbeque to me. Second in command, Quique, showed me their setup and explained that traditional Uruguayan asados are done in the countryside with an animal carcass splayed on a cross, but no one had a recipe. They looked defeated, as if they’d let down their country. I am more intrigued with Henry’s stuffed chicken (pollo relleno) anyway. Will try it tomorrow. Doc Roberto was sweet to ask Lena and me when we want to fly again. Don’t know why Quique calls me Brujita (little witch)—must be a term of endearment?
Lunch:
•Minestrone Soup
•Open-face chicken & cheese sandwiches on caraway onion rye
•Dinner
•Roast Beef Tenderloin au Poivre
•Pasta Alfredo with Peas
•King George Island Vinaigrette with Eggs
•Raspberry Fool with Digestives
FEBRUARY 13, 1996
Fog and mist, though I was unaffected as I got outside only to go to my food cache. Frustrated today and wondering if I’ll get all done that I need to do. Perhaps I’ll feel better after I get these letters and postcards in the mail. Really must write Gzowski, do some drawings, at least get the colours down. Should go for a walk along the ridge, around the lake. Get grounded. Do something.
FEBRUARY 14, 1996
Grey. Light snow. Flurries. No wind. Smell wafting in from the Drake heavy over camp, like some ecological disaster, but it’s only the elephant seal wallows. Busy changeover day. Clean up Canada House and ourselves. This Valentine’s Day received gifts from the volunteers, now no fear of running out of shampoo and conditioner or hand cream—a veritable spa. Two lovely retired teachers from Toronto; they aren’t very nimble so the work is pretty hard for them, but they are troupers. It helps that Sean tailors the tasks to each group and Lena is attentive, making sure everyone is warm, dry and taking regular breaks. Am tired tonight, but happy that my postcards are on their way home. Lack of communication was getting me down. Invitation aboard Livonia to give a talk about the project lines up nicely with the two-month anniversary of our arrival. Ship seems civilized. Sean spoke well and I was treated to a tour of the kitchen. The crew said they would all love to be doing what we are doing.
Back at camp new group seems good: seven this time; young and environmentally aware with energy to match. Warned by the crew about Arnold the Wanderer and how he disappeared on an excursion and they looked for him for over an hour. The last thing we need is someone deciding to play with an elephant seal bull or head off to the glacier. We’ll sic Sergey on him if we need to. Dinner yummy: Uruguayan Pollo Relleno and Chilean Cazuela, Barley Bread, Chocolate Fondue. Heard that my bread has created a buzz on the ships. Nice to know you don’t have to plant trees all day to like my cooking.
Camp 13 Debris Collection (Feb. 10–14)
Stoney Bay Area 12: barrel mixed
Bellingshausen Area 8a: 2 barrels mixed
Sally’s Galley is the affectionate nickname given to the old canteen at the Pole . . . I stepped up to the counter, picked up a plate, and ran my eyes over the mountains of eggs and bacon and sausages, pancakes with syrup, and the makings of those oversize burritos . . . Most of the people around me who were tucking into those huge platefuls of breakfast were about to start nine-hour shifts on the construction site, hanging iron, welding, and hammering in that bitter cold air outside, or tougher still, carving out tunnels under the ice . . . using those big loggers’ chain saws. It was reckoned that each worker down here would put away about 5,000 calories’ worth of groceries a day—and even so, most of them would lose 15 pounds or so over the course of the summer.
—Roff Smith, On the Ice: An Intimate Portrait of Life at McMurdo Station, 2005
FEBRUARY 15, 1996
Bergs last a week in Maxwell.
Moss turns colour overnight.
And we develop new ways of measuring time and days. Great walk to the Drake this a.m. Picked up penguin parts; hope I get time to make something with them. This is an energetic group. Feeling that I can’t really keep up with them, this constant extending of oneself without time to refuel. People friendly, wanting to help . . . and I want to withdraw. I don’t want to interact with anyone, not even the Russians.
This arm’s-length thing is being tested even more now. But I had to laugh when Lena told me the guys in radio hut have started to assign case numbers to those exhibiting bush fever symptoms. She confessed this latest “case” hits on her too, but it doesn’t make it any easier to navigate. He says he just wants to have tea with me, but oh the way he hovers. And why did I have to be twisting strands of dough into braids when he stopped by yesterday?
“You have very skilled hands Vendi.”
“Yeah, I really like making bread. Thanks for the visit. Gotta get to my soup now.” Poor guy; at least he apologized this time. “I’m very sorry. I just very much like see you smile.”
Incommunicado—It’s so easy today to take for granted our capacity for instant communications. On King George Island, our most viable option was to forward letters on supply ships, cross our fingers and hope they reached home before we did. The Chilean base commander floated the offer of a personal fax machine, but it seemed fraught with complications. I steered clear. A moot point all the same as I rarely managed to draft anything more than a scribbled postcard or skeleton of a letter. Still, the impulse to write served to anchor me in place and simultaneously connect me to home.
As it stood, the time saved by faxing correspondence was negligible. Incoming faxes were ferried from Ushuaia by the next outgoing ship, arriving on King George after whatever circuitous tour of the Antarctic Peninsula the new batch of volunteers had taken. Though marked PERSONAL AND CONFIDENTIAL, they were neither. Carol divulged years later she’d heard my two ‘Dear John’ faxes from P were read by each subsequent handler long before I received them.
Of course there was an expensive and notoriously unreliable payphone at the Chilean base. I opted instead for Radio Sasha’s secret wizardry with the phone at Bellingshausen. It was a radio phone, so you had to signal you were finished speaking like the walkie-talkie speak we used when communicating with the ships and one another: “Sean, Wendy. Sean? Do you read? Over. When are you breaking for lunch? Over” Naïve as I may have been, I sensed this option involved some sneakiness, so when the international radio operator requested our location during a New Year’s call, I fudged the coordinates and replied that we were on a ship in the North Sea. Sasha’s relief was palpable. I baked him a chocolate cake.
In the week bookended by P’s faxes, Sasha twice tried to place calls before announcing, “No more are possible.” Safeguarding himself from the operator’s wrath or protecting me? My gut says it was the latter. It was the most loving t
hing someone could conspire to not do for me.
CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES
Soft brown sugar and chocolate chips are not easy to come by in Antarctica. I generally stick to the maxim “if we don’t have it, we don’t need it,” but when it came to baking I couldn’t compromise. I radioed one of the ships to see if they could part with sacks of the sweet stuff—it’s funny what you can’t live without. These may be the best chocolate chip cookies baked south of 60°.
1 pound butter at room temperature // 1 cup white sugar // 3 cups packed brown sugar // 1 teaspoons each of vanilla, baking soda and salt // 3 eggs // 4 cups chocolate chips // about 6 cups all-purpose flour
Put the butter into a large bowl and break it up with a wooden spoon or spatula before adding the two sugars. Cream until fluffy, then add the vanilla, baking soda and salt. Add the eggs one at a time, mixing vigorously after each addition. Stir in the chocolate chips followed by about half of the flour. Continue to add flour gradually until you can no longer stir it by hand. Dust your hands with flour and use them to lightly work in what remains—depending on the season and humidity you may not need it all. When I can hear and see a few chocolate chips liberating themselves from the dough I know I’ve added enough flour.
Preheat the oven to 350°F.
To make large cookies, break off as much dough as you would use to make a snowball and form it into a sphere. Gently press it into a flat disc the diameter of a hockey puck, about -inch thick throughout. A good trick to keep from overworking the dough and creating tough cookies is to imagine the dough is hot to touch.
For smaller cookies, divide each large sphere into four equal-sized pieces before you form the discs. If you are careful while shaping you should be able to make them beautifully symmetrical. Place the dough onto a greased baking sheet about 2 inches apart.
Bake in the middle of your oven until the edges are golden brown and the centres slightly under-baked. The large cookies will take 15–20 minutes; the smaller cookies 10–12 minutes. Allow them to set on the baking sheets for about 5 minutes, then transfer to racks to cool.
Makes 2 dozen large cookies or 8 dozen small cookies.
Prolong the lifespan of your cookies by freezing a quantity after they have been baked. If you don’t feel like baking the entire yield, shape the cookies and layer the discs between waxed paper in an airtight container and freeze. To bake, place the frozen dough on a prepared pan and follow the usual cooking method.
ASPARAGUS PTÉ
White asparagus may seem pretty fancy for an expedition, but artichoke hearts were even more expensive, and I wasn’t about to head south without a perennial crowd-pleaser like the creamy garlicky goodness that is Artichoke Pâté. I ordered a case of tinned asparagus in its stead. Asparagus pâté is every bit as decadent. No apologies.
6 cloves of garlic // 1 brick of cream cheese (8 ounce) // 1 cup mayonnaise // 1 cup grated Parmesan cheese // juice of half a lemon // 1 jar white asparagus spears (12.5 ounces)
Preheat the oven to 400°F
Peel and mince 5 of the garlic cloves and put them into a food processor fitted with a chopping blade. Add the cream cheese and pulse until smooth. This will be faster if the cheese is at room temperature. Add the mayonnaise and pulse until it has blended with the cheese. Add the lemon juice and all but 2 or 3 tablespoons of the Parmesan cheese. Pulse until the texture is consistent throughout, and then transfer it to a medium size bowl.
Drain the asparagus and chop it into small pieces. Add it to the cheese mixture and mix until evenly distributed. Scrape the mixture into an ovenproof dish. Top the pâté with the reserved Parmesan. For a crowd I often bake the entire yield in one dish. I also like to divide it among three or four small ramekins so that I can freeze some.
Peel and slice the remaining garlic clove into thin wedges and press the slices into the top of the pâté. Place in the centre of the oven with a pan underneath to catch any drips. Bake until golden brown and puffy on top, 10–15 minutes for small ramekins and 20–25 minutes for a larger quantity. Don’t be discouraged if the top starts to look like an environmental disaster—this recipe can be a little finicky. You can salvage the pâté just before serving by using a piece of bread to gently blot up any oil from the top.
Serve hot with flatbread, crackers or warm Honey Oatmeal Bread.
Makes enough for twenty.
MINESTRONE SOUP
Minestrone Soup
Only one person has ever called my minestrone “lasagna soup” to my face—no one has ever complained. I always make more dinner than needed in case someone shows up unexpectedly, but also to ensure that I’m left with the seeds of another meal. This soup has its beginnings in leftover lasagna. Mine is made with a robust meat sauce and plenty of cheese, but any lasagna recipe will do. Leftover spaghetti translates into hearty minestrone as well, but it’s a little more difficult to disguise.
1 cup of dried great northern or some other white bean // 1 bay leaf // olive oil // 6 cloves of garlic // 2 medium red onions // 2 celery stalks // 4 small carrots // 2 potatoes // 1 tablespoon each of dried oregano and dried basil // 2 large scoops of leftover lasagna // 1 can plum tomatoes (28 ounces) // 2 small zucchini // small cabbage (about 3 cups shredded) // 7 cups of water // salt and pepper to taste
Have the beans soaked and rinsed. (See page.) Put them in a mid-sized 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, reserving a cup of the cooking liquid.
While the beans are cooking, prepare all the other ingredients for the soup: mince the garlic and the onions; chop the celery; peel and chop the potatoes and carrots (for variation try an oblique cut on the carrots); quarter and chop the zucchini into good-sized chunks; and shred the cabbage.
Separating the layers of the lasagna is a little messy but necessary: Scrape the filling layers into a small bowl and cut the pasta into strips or squares. Finally, break the plum tomatoes into small pieces.
When everything is ready to go, place a large Dutch oven or heavy-bottomed pot over medium-high heat and pour in enough olive oil to generously coat the bottom. Add the garlic, onion and celery and cook gently until soft. Stir in the carrots, potatoes and herbs and cook partially covered over low heat until tender, 10–15 minutes.
Push the vegetables to one side of the pot to make some room. Stir in the filling salvaged from your lasagna, and bring the heat back up to medium-high, adding a drizzle of olive oil as needed to keep it from sticking to the bottom of the pot. As the filling begins to sizzle draw all the components in the pot together, then pour in the reserved liquid from the beans.
Add the cabbage and zucchini, cover the pot and cook gently for 2–3 minutes. Stir in the tomatoes, beans and pasta, and top up the soup with 7 cups of water. As you are not using stock, you’ll likely want to add a good amount of salt and pepper at this point. (How the lasagna is seasoned will also have some bearing.)
Bring just to a boil, reduce the heat and cook gently so that all the flavours come together nicely, about another 15 minutes. Make adjustments to the thickness of the soup by adding water as you see fit. Serve with Parmesan and tear in some fresh parsley, oregano or basil if you have it.
Makes enough for ten to twelve people.
POLLO RELLENO
Pollo Relleno
A pan full of a half-dozen roasted chickens being flattened under a stack of thick cutting boards and heavy pots was so arresting that I eventually forgot I’d come to ask the Artigas cook for an asado recipe. Henry claimed Pollo Relleno is not particularly unique to Uruguay. I think the stuffing made of cheese, ham, red peppers, raisins, carrots and hard-cooked eggs makes it distinctly South American. That day he served it to Uruguayan dignitaries. It’s a special meal.
A good-sized whole boned chicken (3 to 4 pounds) // 3 eggs // 2 carrots // 1 sweet r
ed pepper // 1 pound smoked cooked ham // 1 pound mozzarella // cup raisins // 3 cloves of garlic // 2 tablespoons grainy Dijon mustard // 1 teaspoon dried oregano // olive oil // dried sage and thyme // salt and ground pepper // darning needle and thread
Wash the chicken and pat dry. Henry’s chickens were completely boned, but I like to keep the drumsticks and wings intact. Have the eggs hard-cooked, cooled and peeled. Peel the carrots and core the pepper, then cut them into long thin strips. Dice the ham and mozzarella and toss them together with the raisins in a bowl.
Open the chicken and lay it flat, flesh side up, on your work surface. Mince the garlic and combine it in a small bowl with the mustard and oregano. Use your hands to rub the paste all over the inside to make a nice foundation for the filling. Scatter a layer of the ham, cheese and raisin mixture overtop followed by a spray of peppers and carrots arranged so that the tops and tails are at either end of the cavity. Next line the hard-cooked eggs down the centre and alternate layers of the remaining ingredients.
When you have used up all the components, gently pull the sides of the chicken together, coaxing and jostling all the filling into the cavity. Sew a seam down the length and both ends of the chicken. Drizzle a little olive oil into a roasting pan and put in the chicken, seam side up. Rub some of the olive oil into the skin and season liberally. Roast in a 350°F oven until crisp and golden and the chicken’s juices run clear, 1–2 hours.
Transfer the chicken to a rimmed baking sheet or platter. When the chicken has cooled slightly, place a large cutting board onto the chicken and weight the board with bricks, a heavy pot or books. Let cool to room temperature, and then remove the weights, cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate. Carve into slightly slanting crosswise slices. Henry serves it chilled: I prefer it at room temperature. Pollo Relleno is lovely con ensaladas.
The Antarctic Book of Cooking and Cleaning: A Polar Journey Page 13