Getting it just right

I’m feeling a bit like Goldilocks at the moment. Too much, too little, just right. I’m sitting with old voyages in my head, trying to remember how we did things then, while working on the provisioning list for the upcoming journey from Martinique to Grenada.

Back then, provisioning for a longer passage was guided by just a couple of simple questions. How much space was there on the boat, and did any of it include refrigeration? And how often would we be close enough to land to restock? Were there markets along the way, and what could we reasonably expect to find on their shelves?

To be perfectly honest, I never really took people’s nutritional needs or preferences into account. Those were different times. You ate what was put on your plate, and you were expected to be happy about it. That mindset was very much inherited from how many of us were raised. Don’t fuss. Don’t whine. Be grateful you have something to eat.

Thankfully, things have changed. We now live in a world of food allergies, dietary preferences, and far better-stocked grocery stores. There is even an app that will deliver groceries straight to the boat. These days, my two main focus points are how to meet everyone’s preferences and where on earth to store all those provisions. Not knowing how much space we will actually have on the chartered boat makes this whole exercise feel slightly like packing for an unknown climate.

My concerns begin with something as basic as hydration. In the past, no one really hydrated. We drank heroic amounts of coffee or beer during the day, followed by wine at dinner. Fresh water was taken on in marinas along the way, and how much you drank depended largely on how much water was needed for cooking and cleaning. When levels got low, you ended up with thirsty, slightly smelly crew members and a general air of quiet resignation.

Now, I don’t even know if the fresh water on board will be drinkable. There’s a water-maker, but what exactly is that for? Showers only, or can you drink the water it produces? And if we go down the bottled-water route, where do you put eighty-four bottles of water for six people over fourteen days? Where do the empty bottles go, and can they be recycled along the way? This is clearly a conversation I still need to have with the charter company.

Next on the list is the kitchen itself. What equipment and basics can we expect? Some of us will bring a few essentials because leaving everything to chance feels unwise. My must-haves are sharp knives and an immersion blender. Another crew member is bringing his French coffee press and a handheld milk foamer. Priorities are revealing themselves early.

I’ve been mulling all of this over for weeks, trying to find a sensible way into the provisioning list. Starting in Martinique helps. The produce available will probably look much like what you’d find in a French grocery store, which feels reassuring. Rice, pasta, canned goods, condiments, all the basics can be sourced there without too much drama.

In a moment of both practicality and curiosity, I decided to work with ChatGPT to build some structure into the chaos. Together we made lists: foods to avoid, allergies, comfort food preferences, ten possible dinner menus, five salads, and a breakfast buffet. I’ve sent the dinner menus to the crew for feedback, and once that comes back, I can start adjusting and refining.

ChatGPT also offered up a principle that I’m still turning over in my mind: “Everyone can always find something to eat, but not everything is for everyone.” It feels like a surprisingly good guiding thought, not just for provisioning a boat, but for sharing space more generally. At sea, as on land, the goal is not perfection. It’s finding a balance where no one goes hungry, no one feels ignored, and the system holds, even when it’s a little imperfect.

Photo by nrd on Unsplash

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