We arrived in Cape Town on the evening of December 22 with little time to spare for our holiday preparations. I felt in a bit of a rush if I had any hope at all of meeting the cooking schedule I’d set for myself to make merry-enough for Christmas Eve-Eve, Christmas Eve, Christmas Morning, and Christmas Dinner. But, these days our mornings begin with a non-negotiable “Coffee with Kitty” time. We sun ourselves in the morning light, sip our coffee, and snuggle with the Katherine Hepburn, until she finally settles herself on her own beanbag and curls up for a nap.

This is how we started our first morning in Cape Town. We watched fur seals conduct calisthenics sessions in the calm water just behind Sonrisa. “Look at how he reaches back to stretch his tail fin with his arm!  He’s so funny!” Andrew says, leaning over the stern rail. The fur seal twirled in a circle, released his tail, then switched sides. Fur Seal Pilates! He released his flipper to dive below the surface and zip around beneath Sonrisa, herding a school of sardines into a tighter and tighter ball. Kitty looks overboard, hoping to share a sardine might hop skyward to escape his inevitable fate. A larger group of fur seals lounged on purpose-built docks at the aquarium behind us. They grunt and snort, bark and burp. They sound like old men going through their morning ablutions in the bathroom. This was to be the soundtrack of our neighborhood.

Andrew, thinking it might be nice to stretch his legs, stepped off Sonrisa’s side deck onto the dock. “Kitty,” he calls.  “Kitty, look at this! We have land!” The bell on Kitty’s collar jingled with enthusiasm as she hopped from Sonrisa’s side deck to the wooden planks of the dock. She flopped down and rolled with joy. Just then, an enormous “BOOOOOOOOM” engulfed the marina and echoed from the apartment complex walls. The water rippled as it was disturbed.  Kitty’s eyes grew wide as leapt across the gap between Sonrisa and the dock. She looked over her shoulder for predators, then scampered down below.

With my own heart jumping and caught in my throat, I croaked “What was that?”

“Sounded like a bomb!” Andrew said. We both stopped and waited, listening for another….but nothing came. Eventually, we shrugged and left it at that.

I looked down at my phone, “Holy cow! It’s noon!” And, I realized I’d better get going on our Christmas cooking.

The best thing about V&A Waterfront Marina in Cape Town is that it is within walking distance of at least two grocery stores, a fancy mall, and (at least when we were there) the giant Ferris wheel. (Rumor has it they are dismantling the Ferriswheel now and moving it somewhere else.) It’s a vibrant area with people milling about, restaurants, interesting bars, and anything you might need to cook up your Christmas feast. So, I made my way through the throng of last-minute Christmas shoppers to gather up my ingredient list and haul it back to Sonrisa.

Our social schedule was packed!

Christmas Eve-Eve, we were slated for movie night aboard Perry. I’d somehow manipulated Matt into making homemade eggnog after he’d complained he couldn’t find any in the store, and I asserted one could simply make it oneself. Originally, I intended to make a batch for Mr. Matthew Perry (as we like to call him since his name is Matt and he sails a boat named Perry), but I never got around to it and by December 23 he’d had enough of my procrastination. Generous as the Perrys are, they invited us over to enjoy the eggnog I was supposed to make.

Pete and Jen received an invite, too. Jen, however, was feeling under the weather and so Pete was designated bachelor for the night. This is usually safe enough, but there is some risk in releasing Pete into the wild without supervision.

As the sun fell and the lighting became just right for cockpit movie-night, we all gathered aboard Perry. We began the evening with a wholesome viewing of Christmas cartoons like the old version of The Grinch Who Stole Christmas and The Snowman. The eggnog was just the thing to get us all in the Christmas spirit.

“Time for one more?” Matt queried as The Snowman came to a close.

We all agree.

Someone, who shall remain nameless but who was left unsupervised by his wife due to an unfortunately timed Cape Town Stomach Bug, thought he might bring some Australian Christmas flair to our wholesome movie night. He typed “All I Want For Christmas…” into the YouTube search bar and waited. “Here it is!”

HORRIFYING CONTENT WARNING!!!!

DO NOT CLICK THE YOUTUBE LINK BELOW IF YOU WISH TO MAINTAIN YOUR INNOCENCE OR THE INNOCENCE OF THOSE WITHIN HEARING/VIEWING PROXIMITY

This nameless person, forgetting the totality of this particular cartoon’s content, launched a viewing of a little ditty which includes lyrics such as: “All I Want For Christmas is Me Fu©!<{n’ Bike!” We all laughed in good natured horror until the last minute or so when things slid further downhill and the innocence of the younger Perry-Contingent was dashed forever. Stunned into silence, movie night broke apart, probably leaving the Perrys to dose their children with a medicinal level of Disney movies in the hope of some kind of recovery. I usually apply a viewing of Rattatouie for such occasions, myself.

Christmas Eve dockside appetizers hosted by S/V Daphne turned into Christmas Eve Dinner aboard Sonrisa and a visit from Santa who filled our foul whether boots and left a tuna treat for Kitty.

 We hosted a Christmas Morning dock side brunch with anyone who wanted to join...

...and then we were scheduled for Christmas dinner aboard Steel Sapphire at which I was slated to prepare dessert. 

Of course, we had several culinary successes during all of these parties - Pete's nice mint and pea soup on Christmas Eve, Matt's famous cinnamon rolls for Christmas Morning, Jeanine's delicious egg quiche, Andrew's layered crepes, and I made a spiced coffee cake, but… Isn’t it just that an epic failure shall be remembered far longer than any grand success?

And so it was.

And so it shall be remembered for all time.

Behold!

My Christmas Dessert:

I blame Pete and Jen for this monstrosity. For my birthday in Dar Es Salaam, they gave me a fantastic cookbook with beautiful photos and even more intriguing recipes. The author was born in Kenya to a family with Indian heritage and eventually moved to London where she decided to create her own unique fare - a fusion of cultures. When Pete and Jen saw the book, they knew I was just the person to have it. “You are always combining weird things with other weird things for dinner.” Pete had said. From this cookbook, we achieved a great turkey and stuffing success for Thanksgiving, but Pete and Jen missed out on that. Pete wanted to make the bird for Christmas, so I offered to make them a nice Christmas dessert from the book.

Meringue Roulade with poached Stonefruit

and Orange Blossom Cream

“Pete loves Pavlova (egg white meringue with fruit),” I reasoned, “This will be just the thing." Andrew had raised his eyebrow knowing this dessert would require some expert meringue skill to create a roll that would stick together but not crack. Far be it from him to mention I am not that expert! Plied with liquid courage from my Christmas Morning Irish Coffee and Mimosas, I set upon the dessert with an abiding confidence in both my own meringue skill and the reliable temperature control of my galley oven…

After much cussing and swearing, the likes of which probably echoed through Sonrisa’s hatchways to further debauch the innocence of the Perry-Boys, I got the thing “together.” Sweaty and already late for dinner, I growl at Andrew to “come on, let’s go. I’ll just put it in Steel Sapphire’s fridge to ‘set’.”

Andrew remained mum and trailed behind to avoid meeting my eye.

Dinner was lovely and perfect in every way. Pete is a master of crisping root vegetables and his turkey + stuffing was divine. Eventually, everyone leaned back and rubbed their full bellies, stretched as they were from three days of eating. We played a round or two of Kalookie, waiting for dinner to settle. I’d almost forgotten about The Thing when Pete said, “Time for dessert?”

“Oh, yes, right.” I say and slide from behind Steel Sapphire’s dinner table to fetch it. I hoist the fridge lid and peer in.

“Oh, heaven help me." I whisper. “Oh Gawd.”

The Thing has not “set”, but settled into a soupy, pinkish sludge, rolled about in green pistachio dust.

From down the small hallway to the Steel Sapphire salon, I hear Pete call out: “I can't wait, this is going to be good!" I think* in all sincerity, too. I had sent him the recipe in advance, along with the photo of what it is supposed to be, you know...to entice the senses. I grumble from Steel Sapphire's hallway where the larger galley fridge is tucked away. For a moment, I contemplate stealthfully sneaking out the stern hatches to run out for a package of emergency Christmas Mince Pies or something. Anything….

“The Mint Leaves!" I think to myself. I rummage through the fridge. "Where did I put those mint leaves?” Ahh-hah. I tear a few off and arrange them down the center of what looks like....well. It would be impolite to mention it. I tilt my head to the side. That might be better. I tilt my head to the other side. No, it's not really better, but it’s a bit more hidden.

It at least shows I tried.

“What's taking so long!?” Pete whinged.

“I'm on my way, hold your horses."

I take a deep breath, then carry the cold, heavy dish to place center stage on the table. “Taaa-dahhhh! Nailed it!” I say.

Pete, Jen, and Andrew lean forward to take a look. 

“Oh my," Pete says. And everyone bursts out laughing.

“What are the mint leaves for?” Jen hoots through tears of laughter.

Oh, The Horror.

Pete declares we must post this on "Rate My Plate" one of his very favorite Facebook pages designed to “take the piss” out of people in dire circumstances just such as this. Pete’s cell phone hovers over the monstrosity from every conceivable angle. Then, before it gets any worse, I scoop servings into little bowls. Pete's thumbs fly over his Rate My Plate post.

We dig in.

“It tastes so much better than it looks!"

“Yeah, it actually tastes great.”

Everyone seems to concur, and at least there is that.

Eventually, we retire to our respective ships to sleep off our merrymaking, Pete laying his head on his pillow with anticipation of what might come next...

Boxing Day dawned with a celebratory text from Pete: “Comments are flying in!" He sends a list of highlights, “there are too many to screenshot!” I feel very smug indeed. My dessert was clearly this year’s centerpiece of holiday-cheer, tears of laughter rolling down our cheeks as they were for weeks to come.