The Antarctic Book of Cooking and Cleaning: A Polar Journey

by Wendy Trusler

  To finish the cazuela

  Skim any fat from the top of the pot containing the beef and lift the beef to a platter. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate until needed. Strain and discard the vegetables from the broth, then return the broth to the pot and set over medium-high heat.

  While the broth is coming up to temperature prepare the vegetables for the cazuela: peel and halve the potatoes; halve and seed the squash, then cut each half into six wedges and remove the skin from each piece; peel and cut the carrots into oblique chunks; husk and cut the corn cobs into thirds; snap the tops from beans, but leave on the tails if they aren’t too woody.

  Add the potatoes to the pot, reduce the heat and gently simmer. After about 10 minutes add the carrots and continue cooking for another 5 minutes.

  While the vegetables are simmering, carve the meat into 1 to 1-inch thick slices—enough for one good-sized piece per serving. Return the meat to the pot, add the squash and simmer, covered, just until the beef is heated through and the vegetables are tender, about another 10 minutes. Time the addition of the beans and corn according to your preferences. I like mine crunchy so I add them 5 minutes before serving.

  Serve cazuela in warmed shallow bowls. Arrange a slice of beef, a potato, a wedge of squash and a piece of corn in each bowl and tuck in the carrots and beans wherever you can. If your bowls are on the small side it will be a tight fit, but that’s part of the charm. Ladle broth overtop and serve. When I have them on hand I like to tear fresh cilantro pieces or parsley into mine as I sit down at the table. My husband, who loves Asian cuisine, likes to stir in hot sauce—I imagine lime leaves would complete his culinary journey.

  Makes enough for twelve people.

  ALMOND BISCOTTI WITH ANISE SEED

  The biscotti craze had just taken hold in Toronto when we left for Antarctica. Kevin, the chef aboard the Akademik Petrov, indulged me one January day with a cookie tin full of his biscotti, and later shared the recipe. It calls for Pernod, an extravagance in any kitchen, so I often substitute almond extract. His original recipe made enough to serve an icebreaker’s manifest.

  cup raw almonds // 1 teaspoons anise seed // cup sugar // cup butter at room temperature // 2 tablespoons vegetable oil // 2 eggs // teaspoon vanilla // 2 teaspoons Pernod (or 1 teaspoons vanilla and teaspoon almond extract) // teaspoon salt // 2 cups all-purpose flour // 2 teaspoons baking powder

  Roast the raw almonds in a 350°F oven until you begin to smell their aroma, 8–10 minutes. While the almonds are roasting, crush the anise seed using a mortar and pestle or chop on a board with a knife. Allow the almonds to cool slightly. Chop them coarsely and set aside along with the anise seed.

  Put the butter, sugar and oil in a medium bowl and beat together until light and fluffy. Beat in the eggs one at a time, followed by the salt, vanilla and Pernod (or vanilla and almond extract). Whisk together the flour and baking powder in a separate bowl, then stir them into the butter mixture to make a soft, sticky dough.

  Preheat the oven to 325°F.

  Turn out the dough onto a surface lightly dusted with flour. Coat your hands with flour and knead in the anise seed and chopped nuts. When the nuts are evenly distributed form the dough into a ball and cut it into four equal pieces. Roll each piece into a log about 12 inches long and place them about 3 inches part on lightly greased baking sheets. Gently press and pat along the length of each log to round the top, taper the sides and flatten the base.

  Bake in the middle of the oven until pale gold and not quite firm to touch, 20–25 minutes. Remove from the oven and let cool on the baking sheet on a cooling rack for about 3 minutes before attempting to move. Use a long spatula to transfer the logs to a cutting board and slice diagonally into to 1-inch thick slices using a sharp chef’s knife. Arrange the slices upright on the baking sheet about 1 inch apart. Return the pan to the oven and bake for another 20–25 minutes until they are golden, firm and dry.

  Makes about 2 dozen cookies.

  Iceberg illuminated by flash bulb. Two expedition members stand on skis at the iceberg’s base. Ross Dependency, Herbert Ponting. June 4, 1911

  {Flashlight Photograph of The Castle Berg. June 4, 1911 P2005/5/433}

  “Shackleton privately forced upon me his one breakfast biscuit, and would have given me another tonight had I allowed him. I do not suppose that anyone else in the world can thoroughly realize how much generosity and sympathy was shown by this . . . Thousands of pounds would not have bought that biscuit.”

  —Frank Wild. Wild was ill on the Nimrod’s 1908 southern Journey. Shackleton had put the four-man team on reduced rations.

  POLARITY IS GOOD: DREAMING ANTARCTICA

  Carol

  Many people ask Wendy and me “How was it up there?” We have to reply, “Down there it was . . .” but it inspires us that people care about the Poles: the harbingers.

  The Antarctica we experienced wasn’t quite paradise. Nor was it only snowy and barren, as imagined. It was surprisingly green in places, multinational, busy and complex. It was ancient and a frontier simultaneously.

  A vanguard Antarctic observer today, Elena Glasberg, says it is one of the most mediated locations anywhere.

  That day on the Antarctic beach talking with people from five nations I knew what I wanted to do next: examine the interconnections between health, rights, environment and the law. Work outside more.

  I’ve been concerned about Antarctica and the planet’s health for years but recently my fear became visceral. I waited and waited for the snow to come for my urban cross-country skiing in Toronto. It barely came. According to NASA, “2012 was the ninth warmest of any year since 1880, continuing a long-term trend of rising global temperatures.” Then in the winter 2014 we faced the inverse: a polar vortex freezing North America’s Northeast. Extreme climate events are here.

  We read daily about the sensitive polar regions of the Arctic and Antarctic warming rapidly and the devastating impact of ocean acidification. The human footprint in Antarctica is layered: local activity such as the introduction of invasive species and global activity of carbon dioxide emissions. There is still much to learn from the continent. What we do know is civilization faces water, food, land and human security crises. But we have survived past crises; we are the cultural remnants. There has been no war in Antarctica. This continent, for now, is reserved for dreaming and discovery.

  Can eating together be good for the planet? We saw it in action. People told us stories.

  There once was a base commander for the Argentineans in Antarctica. Their country had just lost the Falklands War. When British soldiers appeared at their station, the first thing the Argentinean commander did was tell the cook to turn on the stove.

  WINTER IS COMING

  MARCH 1–8, 1996

  {Carol Devine}

  “Who could believe that those twenty barrels are filled

  with little scraps of garbage—metal and glass and rusty bits,

  and that a person picked them up bit by bit?”

  MARCH 1, 1996

  WT5:00 a.m. arrival of new group—wish I hadn’t stayed up so late baking. Too bushed to hike with everyone. Shame we are on our way home so soon.

  MARCH 2, 1996

  Lena at about 11:30 a.m, “It’s a good day for burning.” Sun today, pretty well straight through, same as yesterday. Last sauna.

  Farewell cocktail party at Canada House with the Uruguayans, Chinese, Chileans and a handful of Russians earlier tonight. The Chileans brought their kids—wonderful to see children here and the way everyone was drawn to them, especially Walter the Uruguayan base commander singing the A-B-C song with them. Who knew it was the same tune in Spanish? Exchange parting gifts. Great warmth. I was touched when Su Chong gave me a dumpling rolling pin after everyone else had been given pins, badges or teacups from their gift shop. “I know this is what you’d really like.” Hope I can learn to make dumplings properly. Chileans playing part of family men, quite distant now, Uruguayans flirty in the nicest way and pre
dictably last to leave. Happy to give everyone a braid of bread to take home. Last dinner in Canada House and then on to a party at Sad Vlad and Ilya’s. Just back from there now.

  Guitar, chocolate and cognac the guys have brought in especially for me again. I know it’s the closest thing to wine they can find so I haven’t got the heart to tell them I don’t really like it, and since they are so insistent that we eat when we drink, and drink when we eat, that’s what we do. Practised duet with Sad Vlad and then fell asleep at the top of the loft stairs. Escorted home by Hilltop Sasha and Ilya. No Sean; he left in a sort of a huff earlier. Met up with Tolya in his crazy raincoat. Not sure where he’s off to. Must be the full moon.

  MARCH 3, 1996

  9:30 a.m. Last breakfast in Canada House. Rain in from the Drake today. Lots of wind; I love it when it’s like this. Sitting on my spare bed, feeling the gusts through the wall.

  Midnight. Blowy still. Can hardly keep my eyes open. Very busy day. Began tear-down and gruesome task of packing. Hope we can get everything loaded on the Vavilov without incident. Prepared food for tomorrow. Salads and sweets and lots of them as I want to spoil the guys. Lunch and dinner downstairs. Volodya made pancakes for lunch AND my favourite dinner too—all-in fried rice. Moving around kitchen with comfort. Feel part of these guys. A time of receiving gifts, tender glances. Volodya Driver telling me he loves me and will remember me. Up late packing and cleaning. Sorry to turn Sean away.

  Roasted Pepper Goulash with Smoked Paprika

  Caraway Noodles

  Braised Cabbage

  Red Cabbage Confit

  Apple Crisp with Chantilly Cream

  MARCH 4, 1996

  2:00 a.m. Sad, lying in bed. The Drake is roaring, Dima says it’s even darker during the day in winter than it is right now.

  Rain in from the Drake today. Lots of wind. We’ve got some really early risers in this group—surprised to find people waiting for breakfast when I arrived, but managed to shoot from the hip and get everything done. Volodya Cook stood back and let me run. Sharing of kitchen fine today, as if we’ve been cooking together for years. Made bread for the last time—a huge batch. Kneaded dough into an elephant seal shape. Volodya and I made it yawn the way they do and then heave across the counter. Later I cut out bread men and bread women, one for each of us. Pork and borscht lesson with Volodya. Love the way he takes such care to sear each beet slice on the hot plate. Up the hill to Canada House for packing blitz.

  Sean’s got his hands full finishing the cleanup in the last three areas around camp so Sergey mobilized the masses to help me. The Russian guys are so bloody sound. Makes me angry to think of the people who complained the project wasn’t much of a joint effort. We all have our roles. Joined by Lena, Dima, and Sad Vlad in the morning and afternoon. And like clockwork the truck arrives to take away the tables, fridge and stove. It will be hard to adjust to the outside world and all its static. Glad to have known this.

  Visited Artigas this afternoon with the volunteers to say goodbye to our friends. How lucky we are to have been well received by all the bases. Sean pulled it together beautifully. And for the three of us to be accepted more like residents than tourists—brilliant!

  Hat from Quique and the most beautiful letter I’ve ever received, especially with the mistranslation.

  March 1996

  Dear Wendy,

  You are a very nice person, without wickedness and you have good heart. When I am with you, I feel excellent. Because I enjoy when we are together, talking, dancing, etc. Each time I intercourse [sic] you more I know.

  People in general have the habit to put label to other people. Men aren’t an exception, when they talk about women generally like sexual objects only. They compete to obtain this object. You aren’t an exception for them. I disagree with them, and I feel sad because for me you are a lady and my friend. It’s a mistake to include you. They murmur if you talk, you smile or dance with someone. You are a very especial person. They confuse how you are, because they aren’t smart. They don’t know you. You talk and you smile in the same shape with everybody. They don’t know this.

  I would like to see you but I know is almost impossible because you get back to your country and I get back to my country. If you travel to Uruguay, visit me please. If I visit your country, if you wish, I will visit you.

  I think to be your pen pal.

  Three kisses

  Your friend, Quique

  P.S. is very difficult for me to write in English and more difficult than this to express my feelings.

  Home late, just before 7:00 p.m. Scurry into the kitchen to find that the guys have already set the tables nicely for dinner. Quickly prep salads, bread, hors d’oeuvres.

  Dinner a feast:

  •Roast Leg of Pork

  •Yummy Potatoes à la Volodya—Sean’s favourite.

  •Scads of salads: All-in Pasta Salad; Swiss Green Bean Salad; Russian Vinaigrette

  •Honey Oatmeal Braids

  •Kiwi fruit

  •Frozen Chocolate Cream with Chocolate Sauce

  •Biscotti

  •Chocolate chip cookies

  Many toasts. Sean’s warm and sincere. Doc’s genuine too. Sang “Milen’kij ty moj” with Sad Vlad and gave my toast. I love how bewildered they were when I spoke in full sentences, looking around the table, asking each other who’d been teaching me. I don’t think anyone heard when I said, “You all have.”—not that it matters. Merriment and laughing, especially at the sarong I made from the tattered Russian flag Radio Sasha gave me. Volodya Cook parading me all around the mess on his shoulders, I almost touched the sky. Guys helping me rescue the bread men and women from Bio Vlad. Man, he’s moody. Not sure what he was on about collecting them from the tables, saying, “No one should eat bread in the human form.” Guys distracted him while Sean, Lena and I had fun stashing the bread men in the library, the projection room, radio hut, Diesel and in the glove compartment of the PTS too. Who knows when they’ll be found? Over to radio hut for cognac, tea and talk. To bed about 2:00 a.m. Really pushing it these last few days. First seizure I’ve had in a while.

  Milen’kij ty moj

  MARCH 5, 1996

  Heavy heart. As we were finishing breakfast Radio and Hilltop Sashas, Dima, and Ilya told me how mariners believe if you whistle it will bring “nepogoda” (bad weather). I took it as a cue to push away from the table and head to the back stoop. They followed; we looked at each other and started whistling together. Sergey and Vadim joined in as they passed by—not that it worked. Calm water. Vavilov arrived early and departure went without a hitch, even with the dragging out of packing and goodbyes.

  Dima, Sad Vlad and Hilltop Sasha to Canada House to help clean and pack. I don’t think I thanked them—must do that as soon as I can by fax or telex. Gave my skis to Sad Vlad and treats to the others: rug, apron, magazines, vodka and candles. Knife to Volodya Cook and he gave me a chef’s tunic, apron and hat. Found time to sneak away and go for a walk far up the beach to give my rocks and penguin parts back to Antarctica. If anyone saw me, I hope they understand.

  Photographed the guys loading the PTS and watched it pull away from beach and fade into the mist. Lena saying, “It’s so great; it’s a great moment,” as only she can. Later she told me one of the guys’ reactions, “Who could believe that those twenty barrels are filled with little scraps of garbage—metal and glass and rusty bits, and that a person picked them up bit by bit?” If only all the volunteers could have seen this.

  Goodbye hugs and kisses from all the guys gathered on the beach. Lovely of Roberto and Quique to come from Uruguay for the send-off. Passionate embrace from Volodya Driver, as if he meant it when he said he would take me with him, like in the song. And then onto the PTS. Lena, Sean and I straddling the packing crates. Volodya Cook running to the back stoop of the mess, saluting as we pass by. Guys on the beach, standing by the truck, waving. Not wanting to lose sight of them. Five flares shot into the air and Uruguayan helicopter flyby as we pulled
out to sea.

  Arrival at Vavilov. Glad to see familiar faces. Lena seasick. Toast to the guys at eleven as we promised we would.

  Camp 17 Debris Collection (Feb. 29–Mar. 5)

  Stoney Bay: barrel mixed waste & piping

  Bellingshausen Areas 12, 15 & 5: 4 barrels mixed

  The people at Bellingshausen and the station itself should not be forgotten. Ours was a superficial start to tackling the basic problems of pollution and the tough work of containment of pollution and establishing better environmental conditions at Bellingshausen. I hope the work will continue. Only then will we have made a difference.

  —Volunteer Herb, Ontario

  MARCH 6, 1996

  Feeling emotionally fragile, clingy with Lena and Sean. What a trio we’ve become.

  MARCH 7, 1996

  Second full day at sea. Will switch back past the Cape and into port tomorrow. Feeling displaced. I still have one foot in Antarctica, as do Lena and Sean. Can’t imagine what we’d feel like if the Drake gave us a rough go. We keep hearing stories from the volunteers about the Petrov’s crossing to the continent. They got that storm that prevented camp 16 from landing. Force 11, force 12 being a hurricane. I remember what it was like that night trying to fight my way down to the mess for dinner, the guys running to meet me to help me with my stuff and then being blown up the hill. Such a fine memory, I think I’ll keep it with me.

  Talked to Radio Sasha tonight, just after the Vavilov operator received a telegram with Women’s Day wishes from the Diesel guys.

  MARCH 8, 1996

  Lovely day with Sean yesterday sunning on the deck, then dinner and report-writing. Amazing comfort I feel with this guy. Don’t know when it started, but it’s there now. He sees what I see, hears what I hear. Wished me Happy Women’s Day at midnight, kneeling on the berth, porthole open, gazing out at the Beagle Channel, starlight and moonlight—Chile in silhouette. I guess it was Chile; we weren’t sure.