Honey Nut Chocolate Fudge Bars

Snack’s up! This is what I say every day, twice a day, when I am at sea. My post-caregiving life has me back out to sea cooking for sailors rather than seniors and as a chef who has now cooked for both demographics, I never would’ve thought “snack” would be such a big part of adult life? Seniors are notorious for having a sweet tooth, and well sailors? They are just starving individuals, weathered by the elements and craving an energy boost.

After crew members have been standing watch in the blazing sun for hours on end, it’s no surprise they are obsessed with snack. The thing with snacks though is they’re strategically timed between meals to give the “on” Watch some energy, helping to keep them alert until they turn over their shift. That shakes out to three snacks a day: morning, afternoon, and midnight snack which is affectionately called “mid-rats”. I know that sounds like a LOT of snacks and on occasion it can feel that way from the galley’s perspective but generally speaking, a snack is just a snack. It’s not a meal and not something you would intend to get full on. It’s just a little something to tide a sailor over until the meal bell rings. I like to approach the three snacks as follows:

1. Something fresh

2. Something savory

3. Something sweet

Typically I stick with the fresh item in the mornings which is often sliced fruit or something of the sort. The afternoon snack might be a savory cheese board or chips and salsa, fresh bread rolls, etc. The sweet item is often the midnight snack. Whereas morning and afternoon snack I deliver I deck, midnight snack is organized in containers for each Watch, allowing the crew to fetch theirs when they need it. Watch rotations occur during the night so having something accessible is key. Often times that’s in the form of baked goods like cookies, brownies, muffins, rolls, etc. As the steward/cook, I get to decide what that looks like and have discovered a few favorites along the way. These Honey Nut Chocolate Fudge Bars are always a hit so I thought I would share the recipe with you!

First I should say that these definitely fall into the sweet category but these would be an afternoon snack and not something I prepare for mid-rats. That’s because they are made with coconut oil and are best stored in the fridge to keep from getting melty. This should be no problem for all you home cooks. If your household doesn’t eat them all immediately, just keep them in an air tight container taking one out when you need a chocolate fix. Here’s the recipe:

Ingredients:

• 2 oz chocolate chips
• 1/2 cup cashews or almonds
• 1/3 cup cocoa powder + more for dusting the top
• 1/3 cup honey + 1 tbsp
• 1/4 cup coconut oil
• 1 tsp vanilla
• 1/2 cup rice crispies
• pinch of salt

Directions

1. Line a bread pan with parchment paper and then top it with the chocolate chips.
2. In a food processor combine the cocoa powder and nuts, and pulse to combine until you have a course sand like consistancy.
3. In a medium sized pot, heat the honey and oil until it gently boils.
4. Remove from heat and add the vanilla and mix.
5. Add the nut mixture along with the rice crispies and stir in the pot to combine.
6. Gently pour the mixture into the bread pan over the chocolate chips.
7. Let cool for an hour in the fridge and the remove and dust the top with cocoa powder.
8. Remove the parchment from the pan and cut the block of chocolate into bars.
9. Serve immediately or store in an air tight container in the fridge.

Enjoy mates!

*If you wanted to make these for seniors rather than sailors I would pay attention to the nuts. As I mention in the recipe, you can pulse them until you have a sand like consistency. In the ones I created above, I left the nuts a little chunky. Seniors with sensitive teeth might prefer the nuts ground more so really pulse them in the food processor. You don’t want to pulse the mix into a paste but elderly individuals might prefer a little less nut texture than than the the bars photographed above.

How To Feed A Sailor

So, if you are following along with my story of Life After Caregiving for parents with Alzheimer’s and dementia in the pandemic era (see previous post), then you know that I am currently mid quarantine with some fellow crew members of the SSV Corwith Cramer. We have a few more days until we board the ship and my time has been spent preparing the food order for our month long voyage around the coast of Florida. I get lots of questions about the provisioning process and meal planning, so I thought I’d share a bit of what that’s like.

First I should mention the process of provisioning. Since I am typically providing three meals and three snacks a day for 30+ people, loading the ship with the necessary amount of food for a six week voyage is no short undertaking. Typically we work with a local supplier that delivers the provisions to the dock where the crew and I spend the entire day stowing it throughout the ship. While the crew works mostly on removing the excess packaging and sorting it by categories, I’m typically loading the freezer and reefer ( the boat refrigerator) in some semblance of organization. I say semblance because the volume of food we must carry results in a major packing effort. As much I hope to have specific zones for supplies, it’s often several weeks before the food has thinned out and I can reach for specific items. Until that point, it’s somewhat chaotic. What I mean by that is, meal “planning” consists primarily of items that aren’t easily accessible. The last thing I want is an avalanche of food descending upon me as I try to retrieve ingredients so my game plan tends to be “make whatever I can reach work” because just getting to the reefer/freeze is eventful.

What do I mean by eventful? Well, there is an element of gymnastic/ yoga involved when it comes to managing the galley territory. Items are stored in tight places and hard to reach spots. My day to day work routine is exhausting and beginning around 4:45 AM every morning, I make my way down this galley hatch which is literally a hole in the galley floor (aka sole) that leads to dry stores which houses the reefer and freezer. Now, I realize these aren’t the best of photos but hopefully they provide you with a sense of what’s involved. Every time I need to get something from either the reefer or the freezer I must crawl through this hatch, collect the items and climb back up. Unfortunately, the space below is only about 5 feet high so I also must manage an awkward posture while I’m down there, and remain vigilant not to bump my head. The engineers and I have had many-a-conversations about head banging. It’s a painful yet bonding experience that brings our two departments together forever! #LOVE

This brings me to the reefer and freezer themselves. I mention above that meal “planning” is somewhat out of question because they are both so full when we depart that it’s just unrealistic to assume you will easily find a particular item. Rather, I just grab whatever’s in front because, as you can see in the freezer photo below, there is not much space to maneuver things. (Sorry about the photo quality. I don’t have many shots of this kind of stuff.)

Just based on what I can see in this photo, I’d probably make something like:

• Breakfast: Blueberry danishes made with puff pastry (which is what I think is in that white box) and some orange juice cause there is a carton of it sitting in the door frame.

• Lunch: That bag of veggie burgers with roasted potatoes or something? I’d have to make some burger buns to go with them and any gluten free folks would get that Udi’s bread you can see sticking out up top.

• Dinner: Salmon fillets with whatever veg is accessible in the reefer.

• Snack: English muffin pizzas cause they are right on top and there is a huge bag of cheese right at the door.

This is a typical freezer situation when starting out on a six week voyage.

It’s not the most excited menu but as you can imagine, time erodes the supplies. This makes my life easier as the space opens up allowing me to shuffle items around and enabling more creativity with the things at hand. After about two to three weeks at sea I am able to “dig” for items that I know are I packed in certain areas. The issue at that point is the movement of the boat as items then have a tendency to move around. In addition to banging my head, my hands are vulnerable to being pinched between frozen meats and milk crates. Eek!

I should also mention that this is just the storage of fresh and frozen food items. All the canned goods and sauces and pastas, and cleaning supplies… all that stuff is stored throughout the ship under individual bunks (aka berths or beds on a boat). Again, I don’t have the best photos of this because I’ve been too busy taking sunset pics and not the various holes/cavities of ship storage so bear with me on these images. Below is a shot of my bed. Above is the bed for my cabin roommate. Under my mattress is a piece of wood which can be removed and leads to a space that’s roughly about 3 feet deep by 7 feet long by 3 feet wide and houses all those extra items I mentioned above. These compartments exist under each “lower” bunk throughout the ship and it’s my job to retrieve the necessary items for each meal. I delegate this task as much as possible but it’s safe to say that I am scurrying about the boat constantly throughout the day.

This is where I sleep when I’m on board.

Long story short, food management is a complicated component of sailing. The ordering process is terrifying for anyone that doesn’t love a good spreadsheet. #ME. But then the arrival of the food order several days later is it’s own special nightmare. Getting the food from the dock to their designated spaces requires a “can do” attitude that makes me love the sailing community. There’s a shared misery in getting the boat ready to sail but it’s worth it. There are absolutely trying times. Everything from bad weather, to equipment malfunctioning can ruin your day. The sense of real life urgency is unlike anything I’ve encountered in any other work environments and I find it humbling to be reminded of true priorities. The everyday distractions of life disappear when you are at sea and simple pleasures take over. Grated, my job is physically brutal. The days are long and loaded with challenges that no doubt shape my physical health and emotional character over the course of any voyage. It is however very rewarding to remember what you’re made of which after months of pandemic/caregiving stagnation is an absolute gift. When I head home after a journey I feel I return more confidant. I’m more satisfied with the person I am and grateful for having had the opportunity to explore the world (and myself) in such a unique way. It’s a hearty dose of tough love which can be hard to find in a world without my parents. There are not a lot of people that will deliver the honesty you need to set your life on a course correction but the boat always manages to do that for me. The ship becomes my home and the people aboard become my family. So, I guess the real question isn’t how to feed a senior or a sailor but rather how do you feed a family? It not easy but it’s done with love and I try to bake plenty of that into my meals to nurture everyone aboard until they return to their families and loved-ones.

Come back next Monday for one of my favorite snack recipes to feed hungry sailors!

The SSV Corwith Cramer is operated by the Sea Education Association and sails for science

PS-Sailors LOVE snacks but then again, who doesn’t? Until then, fair winds!

Life After Caregiving During A Pandemic

Hey Folks,

I have an update for ya. After nearly a nine month pause, this gal is headed back out to sea. Yep! This is a true story. Due to all things pandemic, my life after caregiving was postpone. No sooner had I graduated from the six year careship that was my parent’s battle with Alzheimer’s and dementia did a new health care crisis emerge. Covid-19, the ultimate set back. Obviously, all our lives were disrupted thanks to Covid but good gawd… the timing could not have been worse. I know that’s the case for many of us as no one plans for a pandemic but my short reverie as an international jet setter, sailing around the world cooking for the scientists of the future was one hell of a tease. In four short months I sailed the coast of New England and that of New Zealand before becoming sidelined. Again... In the house I just spent six years isolated in as a caregiver.

Early in the pandemic I felt well adjusted to being back home. The old habits and routines came back quickly and as many were struggling with how to deal with their new found time, I was busy cooking and crafting spoons with little difficulty. But as the weeks rolled on, anger brewed. The reality of another indefinite isolation period became a psychological haunt. I felt cheated. Again… of a life I wanted that was perpetually out of reach.. The old sense of defeat was back. Not only was the isolation factor getting to me, I also had the bills of inheriting a home with a huge mortgage, utilities, insurances, and bills of my own. The financial strain along with 6 previous years of unemployment thanks to caregiving was beyond comprehensible. It felt like the universe was pushing me towards a psychotic break. WTF?!!

Fortunately, life has that way of working things out. After months (years?) of wondering what’s next, there is a sliver of light on my horizon. Tomorrow I am setting out once again in an attempt to snatch a piece of that life I want. I’m joining the crew of C-295 for a quarantine period on Big Pine Key before boarding the SSV Corwith Cramer where we’ll undergo a very safe bubble merge with the incoming students before embarking on a month long trip around the Florida coast. (You can read the trip details and see the cruise track here.) It’s perhaps less exotic than past adventure but honestly, this experience couldn’t sound more perfect to me right now. The chance to safely escape everything from post election politics to the endless scrolling on screens for a chance to sail around the coast of my home state is an absolute privilege!

Rosebud, the best little girl there ever was…

I will of course miss my newly beloved Covid-19 foster fail pup Rosebud. She has been the best companion one could have throughout these last few months and it breaks my heart to leave her behind for a bit. Fortunately though, she will be in good hands under the pampered care of my brother whom I’ve drilled repeatedly about ensuring she remains my dog. I must also say how much I shall miss you, as it’s been this community right here that has allowed myself to cope with yet another season of chaos. Your support and encouragement have helped me weather the strangest of storms. I can’t believe how many of you purchased spoons and services over the last several months, helping me truly make ends meet! Your kindness and generosity have sustained me. I can’t believe that I’ve operated this little website as my full-time “employment” for the past eight months and I still own the house and the lights are still on!

In a show of gratitude, I hope to leave you with a few nuggets of fun while I am away. Every Monday I’ll be releasing a new post in this space. Recipes to try, crafty thoughts for your consideration, and of course, Full Moon Baking Club breads to get you through the year. Until then I will leave you with a few photos from my last sailing trip, giving you a little taste of my life at sea. And before you ask, no. I do not cook for a cruise line, nor do I work on a yacht. I cook for the Sea Education Association which operates two brigantine schooners. Trivia nerds should click that brigantine link. Might come in handy. ;)

Fair winds you fine folks! Stay safe this holiday season and I’ll catch-up with you in 2021!

Reflections From Life After Caregiving

After almost four years of trying to figure out life alongside of caregiving, I’m suddenly thrust into life without it. Like a car careening to a screeching halt, the abruptness and impact is still revealing itself. I’m picking up the pieces… again… and no sooner had I started to make sense of the ones I was holding do I find myself holding new ones, wholly foreign and equally frustrating. Just as my caregiver life began to click, things changed and my ever quest for stability has shaped-shifted once again.

Last year, around October, I started to really feel like I was gaining a grasp on things.. The years of trial and error eventually led to some clarity around how to be a full-time caregiver. Actually, for the first time in my caregiving journey I felt like I was more than just a caregiver. I had returned to having my own identity with a vision of myself as a maker. I started to identify as an artist and a baker. A maker of things that reflected my journey with time, because more than anything, I had learned how to stand still. I was embracing what I’ve come to think of as the “slow-life” movement.

The monotony of caregiving and its day-in, day-out inertia was a vacuum. It consumed my time and energy and gave me very little in return. The overwhelming feeling of sacrificing my desires for the care of my parents left me bitter, angry that these were my life’s cards. I spent years with that anger, mostly unresolved, because emotionally I was conflicted by love. Love for my parents, love for my partner, and love for the person I was becoming prior to this whole mess starting. Caregiving pit all these loves against each other, forcing me to prioritize them, as if one might have somehow held more importance over the others. I was paralyzed in making pivotal life choices and in that paralysis my frustration grew into rage. My anger seethed and with no place to channel how I was feeling I recoiled into my mind, mentally scheming a way out of this mess. I became a cruncher, a term I’ve identified for how my mind became calculatory. Crunching was the puzzle work of solving my problems and I crunched constantly. I crunched numbers, schedules, and systems, addicted to finding solutions. I crunched in my sleep merely awaiting daylight, so I could just get back to the drawing board to resolve my mess. And I couldn’t settle for just surviving the time. I wanted to enjoy my time and rid myself of the toxicity that was consuming my emotional and mental health.

Long story short, around October of 2018 I started to formulate a plan. All the crunching had paid-off and for the first time in my caregiving journey I had ideas for how I was going to move forward in my own life with happiness. I was ready for caregiving to be a piece of my life, rather than my whole life and I was ready to do that by injecting my interests into the inertia of the job. 2019 Couldn’t come soon enough! I was so ready for a fresh start, so excited to work on this website because this platform was going to encapsulate my new beginning. If caregiving meant a life of isolation then my website would become my vehicle for connection. I realized that if I couldn’t go out and greet the world in the way I craved, maybe I could convince a piece of the online one to come to me. I was ready to do that through food and craft, creating opportunities for interactions. I would post recipes (which are a dime a dozen) but more so I would create reasons for individuals to “visit” me. I prematurely launched the Full Moon Baking Club and Winter Squash Bingo because I was excited. I anticipated them being the cornerstones of 2019 but thrust them into the world early because I was tired of waiting. I had waited nearly four years at this point to feel a sense of myself in my days and finally a sliver of that girl was showing. I didn’t need a specific date or a launch party to validate my readiness. I was ready to hatch, armed with all things related to food, carving, and caregiving that might convince someone to interact with my world.

But then came the abrupt shift, hardly a month into my new found plan. My dad fell on December 14th. I remember it was a Friday. He was gone five days later… His passing was met by the cusp of winter, the government shutdown, and the end-of-year holidays that consume everything that time of year. It was not the most wonderful time of year. Quite the opposite really. And yet 2019 rolled-in, once highly anticipated and now, suddenly an afterthought. There was no fresh start. Instead, 2019 greeted me with a sour taste in my mouth. The bitterness I chocked down from my years before had been replaced by something acrid. The final decree, hamstringing my heart, again to this role of caregiver and stealing my identity once more…

It’s not fair. That’s really all I have to say for myself. It’s just not fair. And never-the-less, it just is what it is… I know people hate that expression but I’m not sure how else make sense of the enormity of grief that encompasses the last four years other than to surrendering to time. I lost my mom, my dad, and my dog. I lost my job, my apartment, and my community… I don’t think the vacuum of caregiving is well understood, which in and of itself is a tragedy. The loss of lives is compounded by the loss of livelihood. Grief alone is heavy but without a social and economical construct to pad the edges, it can push your life to the fringe. The vacuum swallows everything, eroding just about every facet of connection and commonality into something even more incongruous. I am the last person you want at your dinner party. I’m am every bit the definition of your Debbi Downer… Everyone died, I’m unemployed, and too much alcohol will probably bring me to tears... But where I lack in dinner parties, I thrive in pity parties! Other people’s problems serve as respite from my own and I find myself happy to listen to the struggles of others. Not because misery loves company but because pain deserves a voice and after four years of sitting on the sidelines I have found that emotional trauma is dangerous when left unchecked. Luckily my outlets were baking and carving and they will continue to be healthy escapes from a world riddled with malfeasance.

I keep waiting for my course correction. Caregiving has “ended” and I find myself anxious to move on. But Joseph Campbell’s theme of the hero’s journey whispers softly to me that this is hardly an ending. It’s entry into the “abyss”. According to his narrative, I’m only halfway through my caregiving journey because it took four years to get here and it might take four more to recover. The mere thought of this exhausts me but it also gives me comfort. Time has been my one trusted companion thus far so we kinda know the drill. As I mentioned before, I have learned the lessons of staying still. As the clock ticks on with a strange new nothingness, I have mastered the art of waiting cause my life feels perpetually on hold. Something will come… Some job will rescue me from my newly inherited mortgage and other financial burdens but it appears that white knights liberate without time restraints so all I can do is wait. And carve… and bake… and be. Cause life after caregiving isn’t an ending. It’s a blind spot and my only choice is to turn to the sun.