Philosophy of Sailing by Christian Williams

Author:Christian Williams
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: East Wind Press
Published: 2018-08-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 16

THE WHITE GODDESS

Day 13, 1900 hours. Pots.

A spaghetti dinner is well suited for this evening’s stride at five knots across a well behaved sea. We start with half a pot of sea water from the foot pump, and the other half of fresh. No need to add salt. The pot takes a while to boil on the gently swaying stovetop, but the time is put to good use.

A teak tray turned upside-down makes a cutting board, and from the vegetable hammock let’s select two onions and a head of garlic. A few swipes on a whetstone makes the rigging knife sharp again, and then a flurry of slicing and squashing and peeling among aromas that agitate the appetite. Here, more wine. This excellent Chianti was $18 bucks, after my personal discount for not being able to tell the difference from anything better.

In the frying pan, pour approximately three times as much olive oil as recommended by anybody. Add crushed red pepper, onions and garlic and then wash hands, because it is expedient not to wipe the brow with onion juice, garlic and red pepper. A drip of that in the eyes and I’m staggering around the cabin like blind King Lear.

Spaghetti exists to hold sauce, and according to a study by the Los Angeles Times the best brand for that is Garofalo from Costco, with its lightly textured surface. Stick half a pound into the boiling pot. Yes, I know the pot is too small, so press gently so as not to break a single spaghetto.

We have 11 minutes to finish the sauce. Crush the canned tomatoes in the fingers and spread over the garlic oil of the saucepan. Now a small can of mushrooms. While the pan bubbles, set table with napkin, fork and parmesan. At this moment, as the sun balances on the red horizon through the steamy portlight, nobody is more content on the planet. Wine glass empty again? Pour some in the sauce, too.

Service in these benign conditions shall be at table, with a sophisticated plastic wineglass and the harmless drone of a TED talk or the tinkling of cocktail piano. And then clean up, because spaghetti cannot be put off till morning.

I like to trail the pots and pans on a line over the stern after dinner, to clean them. It doesn’t, really, but the ritual’s the thing. A time for contemplation and a pipe. We don’t sit in the cockpit much, which seems a shame. It’s always warmer or cooler below, and as for watching the sun set, well, it’s better grasped by incidental awareness, beauty being shy of study.

That long nap after lunch left me not tired at all. May I take this opportunity to say, despite the unsolicited intimacy, that I am grateful you came along. Well, I am. To be alone, as I keep saying, is just about impossible anyhow. But there are shipmates and shipmates, and it is pleasant to have someone to share the ocean around and in us.

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