Cooking. Amperage. Encourages a more thoughtful life….

I love to cook. For people I like, love, or hope to love. Cooking is a way to spend time together. Sharing ideas, thoughts and feelings. Long meals where absorbing conversations make the meal- almost unimportant. Two bottles of wine-plonk or good-last the whole evening. With eight adults at the table. And who needs to diet when talking is more important than eating? Intelligent thought, dialog, interaction  and connection -replace consumption.

Based on observation, and the excessive number of take out cartons in the trash each morning, it looks like most other “live-a-boards” eat out.  One reason: prep  space on a boat is tiny. Almost microscopic. Refrigeration dicey. Our stoves ancient. And who ever likes washing dishes? So… the locals  tend to frequent harbor eateries: The Yacht Club; Sushi Go-Go; On the Alley; Brophy’s ; Endless Summer, and Waterfront Grill. Food is good, but that kind of eating style has no appeal for me. Because of the missing people piece.

I wanted to cook on my boat. But… and this is a big fat but, each boat only gets 30 amp service. By comparison,  most homes these days have 200 amp. Do you get the drift of this concept? The deep canyon between 30 and 200 amps? I will try to explain those missing 170 amps. 30 amps is my childhood. And I am 74. Think dark ages. The time before TV, computers, iPads, iPhones or other kinds of androids, microwaves, warming ovens, ice makers, wine coolers, cell phones, air fryers, and high powered convection ovens. Gizmos that consume electricity the way a Golden Retriever devours treats.

So I have to learn how to cook on 30 amps. Only It’s more than cook. It is cook plus manage your life- on those 30 itty bitty little amps. I had some early training in the small amp camp. The best three years of my childhood were spent living in 136 year old farmhouse in southern Chester County Pennsylvania. No plumbing, heating and just a tiny bit of Thomas Edison style electric in an ugly addition slapped on in the 1920’s. I think we were lucky to have 50 amp service for the whole house (13 rooms, four fireplaces, three stories), so in some way I was prepared for 30 amp boat life. But not totally…. Pretty quickly I realized the wiring system on my boat was persnickety.  Sort of like a teenager, an unhappy teenager where anything can set him or her off. Like one cannot make a cup of tea and have the tiny West Marine sleeping kitty sized heater running at the same time. No, no. Darkness is not your friend when trying to find the flashlight you put down. Somewhere. And to actually get everything clicking along nicely again  involves a trip to the dock box, pulling the big fat yellow plug, flipping the reset switch, then replugging the yellow bugger, running back to the boat, leaping over the side and hoping that last reset move worked. And that nothing had been left plugged in to blow the whole system again. This is my life now. And I have to say the minute number of amps allocated to me-and every other plugged in boat owner in the harbor-has become my friend. Life is slower, I have to be conscious of what I do, plan ahead, think about what I want or need, and in what order should tasks be done.  The limit I am given encourages thoughtful choices. This kind of life is making me slow down,  be more awake, aware, and grateful.