Yum Yum Eat ‘Em Up

There’s a narrow variety of diets one can opt for on the high seas. We’re fortunate. We have refrigeration. That means we can toss a freshly caught fish into the freezer. Otherwise, it’s a race between you and the flies. And the latter are professionals. Canned goods also figure prominently, regardless of what else you’ve got. We have six grocery cartloads stuffed in every nook and cranny. My fervent hope is we never have to use them. 
So far, the sea has remained bountiful. Grouper, snapper, dolphin and enough conch to stun an ox peacefully reside in our freezer. 
A few days ago I met a young New Zealander in the grocery store. He was provisioning for the next leg of his journey, England. His list ran to two full pages, single spaced. 100% canned goods.
“No refrigeration mate” he told me.
He claims he’s an expert at making the matter inside the lids palatable, sort of a “Chef Boy-R-Dee gourmand”. We were in the canned meat section where both of us agreed that it all tastes like cat food, no matter what the label claims. His Brazilian girlfriend was with him. I couldn't help wondering where they had met, Easter Island? She was barely eighty pounds and claimed to be a vegetarian. My mouth fell open at that one. There’s only so much rice and beans a body can manage before it rebels and shuts down. If she makes it alive to Britain, her reward will be English cuisine.
Back onboard in the mess, the Captain continues to polish his amazing conch salad recipe while I’m tackling the Bahamian staple, pigeon peas and rice. It’s an outwardly simple dish with as many variations as there are islands here. The trick is to add subtle flavoring. Then gently coax it to the surface. One day, I decided to add some canned chicken. The label displayed a colorful photo of a mouth-watering chunk of chicken breast stuck on the end of a fork. 
“!00% white meat” it said. “In it’s own broth.”
I gingerly stirred in the 3 ounce can. Then cautiously tasted it. Only Mr. Whiskers would’ve appreciated the 100% cat food taste. It completely overpowered my big pot of flavored rice; rescue was impossible. Bambi had met Godzilla and won.
I relayed the tale to the New Zealander when I saw him yesterday. He offered to take the rest of the canned meat off of my hands, but I declined. There’s a lot of water between here and the Virgin Islands. If things get desperate, I’m not above sporting a few whiskers.