There were five of us aboard Freya, a Sun Odyssey 51, prepping for a transatlantic crossing, and the captain and paying crew, myself included, were discussing provisioning. We were about to set out on a cruise-and-learn voyage from Malaga, Spain, to Lanzarote, Canary Islands. I was a novice sailor then, only casual coastal sailing with family and friends. With my first nonstop offshore passage looming, my feelings were a mix of excitement and anxiety.
Food and diet were the last things on my mind, which was why I was surprised at the reaction of the others when I casually mentioned that I was vegan. The dismay on their faces was palpable.
“What do you mean, vegan? We get that you don’t eat red meat. But chicken and fish, dairy and eggs—those are OK, right?”
I can still remember their crestfallen faces at my answer: none of the above.
Now, years and many sea miles later, I know that provisioning for a long passage and preparing meals for the whole crew are not as straightforward as a novice might think, especially when sailing offshore.
I’d landed aboard Freya at a crossroads in my life. After years working in New York City, I’d returned to Italy, my home country. New York’s crazy rhythms had worn me out. The career satisfaction was no longer gratifying enough to justify the rat-race pace. I was looking for something different, but I wasn’t sure what. I decided to do something that took me way out of my comfort zone: I booked a passage aboard Freya, hoping to free my mind and learn a few things.
I wasn’t a sailor in any sense, but during previous coastal sailing trips, I’d glimpsed the possibility of a different life, one in total contact with nature, one that stressed the importance of the fundamentals rather than amassing wealth, material goods and stature. That approach to life seemed simple, though hardly ordinary. I reasoned that time at sea would give me time to think about my priorities, and knew I’d come back stronger. In that sense, I was absolutely right: The experience changed my life.
Our passage through the Strait of Gibraltar was what I’d anticipated most: the mythological Pillars of Hercules, the idea of having thousands of miles of open sea in front of me. I was ready for a ritual, a rite of passage I’d remember for a lifetime.
In all honesty, the passage itself was as boring as sailing gets. We motored through Gibraltar at dusk, avoiding large container ships and not speaking to one another as the captain gave endless instructions to all the still-learning crew on board. The strongest and fondest memory I have is from our third night at sea. A northerly wind kicked in along the coast of Morocco, and the boat, which was motoring on calm waters, began to dance with the wind and waves. The captain instructed us to hoist the main and pole out the genny to make the most of the breeze. Freya came alive. It felt like we were flying. A full moon hung in the night sky, the air was warm and smelled vaguely of sand, and our boat’s wake shone like a beacon in the dark night. I was hooked.
When we got to Lanzarote, I decided to join the boat’s next leg, from Tenerife, Canary Islands, to Martinique—transatlantic. I was ready. Since that time, I’ve never returned to land life or the 9-to-5 grind. Ten years on, I’m living and working aboard on coastal and offshore charters and deliveries, or in remote locales, whenever I get a chance.
During those two early, life-changing trips, my vegan diet wasn’t a problem. We all shared the cooking duties. At shared meals, I ate what I could (there was always something), but my mainstay was this cabbage salad.
I’ve since discovered that this versatile veggie is a sailor’s ally, vegan or not. Raw, boiled, roasted, stuffed, baked or in simple salads, the possibilities are endless. As a bonus, cabbage is packed with vitamins and minerals, particularly Vitamin C. In sailing eras past, it saved many sailors from disease—scurvy, in particular. It keeps for weeks, even unrefrigerated, and it’s the last veggie that’s not canned or frozen you’ll likely have on board at the end of a long passage.
Most sailors crave the “crunch” of a fresh salad as the days at sea go by, and this cabbage salad delivers that and more. The ingredients are all dry stores with extended shelf lives, making it a perfect offshore salad. Even if you’re not sailing across oceans, this long-lasting and versatile veggie always fills the bill.
Offshore Cabbage Salad
- 4 cups cabbage, sliced thinly
- ¼ cup sliced black olives (optional)
- 4 sun-dried tomatoes, chopped (or 2 Tbsp. raisins)
- 2 Tbsp. capers
- 2 Tbsp. slivered almonds or other nuts
- salt and pepper to taste
Optional adds:
- ¾ cup red cabbage, sliced thinly
- ¼ cup carrot, grated
Mustard Vinaigrette:
- 3 Tbsp. olive oil
- 1 Tbsp. lemon juice or red wine vinegar
- 1-2 Tbsp. Dijon mustard
- salt and pepper to taste
Note: If you prefer more dressing, double this. Refrigerate any that’s left over.
Cut the cabbage in half. Cut each half into two wedges. Remove core. Slice wedges lengthwise into thin strips. (If strips are too long to eat comfortably, cut them in half.) Place in a large bowl. Add remaining ingredients, toss, and set aside while you make the dressing. Note: Store any unused cabbage in the fridge.
For the dressing: Combine all ingredients, and whisk vigorously until dressing is emulsified. (If you don’t like or don’t have mustard, this simple dressing is fine without it.) Add dressing to assembled salad and toss.
Before serving, let sit at room temperature for 10-30 minutes, allowing the cabbage to moisten, tenderize, and absorb the flavors of the dressing.
Serves: 4
Prep time: 20 minutes
Difficulty: easy
Can be made: at anchor or underway
Cook’s Note: You can add or subtract any of the extras in this salad based on what you like or have on hand. For nonvegans, chopped anchovies and crumbled feta are also nice options.
Editor’s note: Got a favorite boat meal you’d like to share? Email us at editor@cruisingworld.com.
