Spinach Trees and Powdered Milk

The Tuamotus might be the single most challenging place we’ve ever cruised in terms of access to fresh food. Even in the Bahamas, a nation where just about any food item other than seafood or maybe pineapple is brought in from somewhere else, had better options. We’ve only been to 3 atolls, mind you, and maybe other atolls get more frequent food deliveries. I’ll be keeping track.

*There is, always, Skippy peanut butter though.*

When the supply ship comes in only once a month, fresh food sells out fast. The guy stocking the shelves in Hao told us to get there promptly the morning the ship came in; it goes so quickly there’s not much point in unpacking it and putting it on shelves.

(Side note as I write this I’m also keeping an eye on the couple of reef sharks that are hanging around the boat. They’re ubiquitous, and I never thought I’d find it a happy thing to be surrounded by apex predators. But I am. They are a testament to the health of the ecosystem, and the lack of them in Hao was a big red flag to us.)

*You can’t tell this is a shark? I have no idea why not.*

Raroia gets only one ship a month. They’re also the last stop, and any veggies are usually long gone by the time the ship arrives. Plus, rumor has it, if there are any fresh things left, the price is astronomical.

*Calypso at anchor off of Garumoa, the village on Raroia*

A few years ago a local man wanted to mitigate this problem. He planted a few fruit trees, began bringing in bags of soil, and started what feels like a community garden. (We’ve only heard this story second hand, from Crystal, one of the women who works there, so I’m very likely getting some details messed up.)

It’s a thriving garden now, with beds and beds of lettuce and book choy, radishes and daikon radishes, green beans and eggplant. Green pepper plants side by side with shishito peppers. Papaya and breadfruit trees, and even a fig tree (apparently a favorite with the chickens.) Much of the produce is sheltered by the sun under old fishing netting, rescued from the reef and repurposed. There’s a schedule of work, including how often the stuff is watered and how often it’s fed with fish protein. Workbenches dot the edges of the garden beds, tops crowded with seedlings waiting transplant. I saw melon vines, and a sweet potato bed.

*Bed of bok choy in foreground, one of lettuce in the background*

And spinach trees.

It can’t be spinach, or not the kind of spinach I’m familiar with anyway, but the leaves sure look (and taste) like spinach.

We bought an overflowing bag of produce for an astonishingly good price and came home to do it all justice.

Last year in the Bahamas our friends Ann and Greg on Halekai hosted us for dinner, an Indian-inspired feast that we still talk about and endlessly try (with minimal success) to emulate. A centerpiece was saag paneer.

*Halekai crew visited us in Vermont last summer.* Cooking (and eating) ensued.

Spices? Check. Spinach? Check!

Paneer.

“You can use tofu or mozzarella too,” Ann offered helpfully when I texted her.

“And if I could get those . . .” I laughed.

Turns out, paneer (or maybe I should call it paneer-adjacent) is silly easy to make. Good full fat powdered milk and vinegar. A clean dishtowel or cheesecloth. A little bit of time.

And though I hadn’t bought enough of the spinach to really make it qualify as saag, the sauce was a spectacular-tasting cross between butter chicken (with no chicken) and saag paneer, all enhanced by those cubes of homemade paneer.

Fine, you go ahead and order your Indian takeout. I’ll spend the day making paneer and naan, then rooting in my spice lockers for the ingredients to make some interesting flavor mix that goes on chick peas. Use up that spinach-adjacent green yumminess.

Serve with yogurt (also homemade) and chutney (sorry storebought) and a great dose of satisfaction.

Dinner is served.