Saltwater-bread

While on sea passages, Stuart, the second eldest, took charge of bread making and made beautiful, large, round saltwater bread loaves.

Firstly, he would untie the half hitch from the rail which held the bucket safely on deck. Then, holding the rope, collect some fresh seawater as it speeds past the hull. This is fraught with danger as if done incorrectly, the bucket can drag one overboard or be let go, never to be seen again! To achieve this safely, Stu would stand on the leeward side of the yacht - the side closest to the water, and, holding the rope tied to the bucket handle, throw the bucket upstream but facing downstream. The bucket must land with its lip in the water first. The bucket fills, and you lift it when it is straight below you. Done this way, it is no more arduous than just collecting water from a stationary vessel. However, if the timing is out, one is left trying to hold a full bucket, being dragged in the water. Even at a slow speed, it is almost impossible to hold onto.

Ensuring there were no eggs or flotsam in the seawater, Stu would heat ½ a cup till it was just above lukewarm, add 2 tablespoons of sugar and 1.5 tablespoons of dried yeast. Mixing till combined, then leaving it on the gimbaled stove so as not to spill with the motion of the yacht. The yeast mixture would begin its ferment. Franda II's gimbaled stove had only gimbals for the thwartships movement, not the fore and aft movements of the yacht. So, as the yacht rocked, the stove would be relatively level but not for the pitch of the yacht, but with Franda's stove well aft, the pitch was negligible.

While the yeast mixture fermented, Stu would sift 4 cups of flour into a generous bowl. Breadmaking was only for those occasional, calm days with little wind and a flat sea. On an ocean passage, the sea is rarely, if ever, perfectly still. The surface can appear still, but there is often a swell, waves that were created possibly thousands of miles away and are just rolling onward until they run out of stored-up energy or a landmass stops them. These swells can be hundreds of metres apart and hardly noticeable until trying to balance a hot pot on a stationary primus!

When the surface of the yeast mixture was all frothy, Stu would tip it onto the sifted flour and leave it for a few minutes until the flour popped up through the moisture. It was then mixed with a butter knife, preferably an old one that had lost its serrations.

Next, a little kneading. Then, it was left in the bowl smeared in oil, in a warm spot out of the wind, and covered with a tea towel. Finding a warm, sunny spot was not always easy. The wind had a habit of eddying around corners, and often, the bread dough would be moved to a warmer spot a few times during its rising period.

In the meantime, the big aluminium saucepan would be prepared, the sides greased with butter and a round of greaseproof paper "glued" with butter to the bottom.

Next, a 15-minute hand knead, often done in the bowl while sitting in the cockpit, was much easier than down in the galley, propped with braced legs and hip pressing against the bench to stop being thrown around when the yacht lurched or moved in an unexpected direction. It is an acquired/learned position and automatically taken up by an experienced crew in the galley whenever they are at sea. It just becomes a habit because regardless of the flatness of the ocean, yachts tend towards unexpected motion.

When the dough retracts after being stretched, it is ready for its final rising. It is then placed into the prepared pot and again left in a warm place to rise. When the dough reaches the top of the pot, it is deemed ready for cooking.

While the dough was rising in the pot, the Kerosene primus was securely tied out of any draft in the cockpit and in such a way that it would not topple if the boat were to roll. This was an art in itself. If there was wind, then the yacht was heeling.

The primus would need to be tied level, so some material of the correct thickness was inserted under the leeward legs to level the top. This was vital so the pot would stay on the flame, not slide off and fall onto the deck.

The lighting of the primus was convoluted and took a while. First, the handle was pumped to pressurise the kerosene "tank"; the little dish below the element was filled with mentholated spirits and lit. When most of the meths had burnt away, preheating the element, and Kerosene was already in the delivery tube, the tap was opened, allowing warm Kerosene to enter the preheated element; it would catch alight from the remaining flame burning the meths. When burning correctly, with the smallest flame possible, the bread pot was put on to cook.

After ½ to ¾ hours of cooking, when the crust had formed all the way to the top, it was then tipped out and replaced upside down to brown the "top". Stuart had this down to a fine art. Run a fish slide down the sides of the pot to loosen the loaf, then put a tin plate on the top of the pot and turn the pot upside down. The bread would slide out, the crust becoming more and more golden the closer it got to the bottom of the pot. Gently holding both sides of the bread, he would pick it up and slide it back into the pot. The golden bottom is now on the top. The aroma had us all salivating as we waited another quarter to half-hour.

The bread was most welcome. Fresh, it was heavenly with butter. Day-old bread does not disappear as quickly as warm, fresh, yeasty-smelling bread! This was important as six hungry mouths would devour a fresh loaf of bread. Therefore, sadly, it was often cooked either the day before it was required or after lunch to mitigate its being devoured.

Sometimes, we would delay tacking just to have a steady heel on the boat and sail a longer leg to keep the primus level. Otherwise, we would need to hold the pot while tacking and then level the primus up on the other legs now that we had the wind on the other side of the sails. It just seemed easier to retain the tack longer. This aluminium pot had a homemade wooden handle, and later, a bolt stopped a leak just above the curve of the base. It was still in use at my parents' home 40 years later.

The bread is called saltwater bread as it was made with seawater!

Ingredients

• ½ cup fresh seawater
• 2 tablespoons sugar
• 1½ tablespoons yeast
• 4 cups flour

Method

1. Heat salt water until just lukewarm and add sugar and yeast.
2. Leave for the required time or until frothy.
3. Pour on top of sifted flour.
4. Wait for a few minutes or until flour bubbles through.
5. Stir with a bread knife. Knead a bit. Rub oil on top and leave in a bowl until doubled in size.
6. Knock down with a fist and knead until elastic 10-15 minutes.
7. Grease sides & bottom of a heavy pot with butter or oil. Line the bottom with a buttered circle of greaseproof paper.
8. Put the dough in the pot with a lid on and let double in size again.
9. Cook over low heat with the lid on for ½ to ¾ hours and ¼ to ½ after turning over.