“Question for you, Asad.” I am texting our agent/personal grocery shopper extraordinaire trying to solve a major malfunction in our grocery situation: no greens. It has been more than a month at this point since we have had any leafy vegetable. No lettuce, no spinach, not even a cabbage. Usually you can reliably find at least cabbage out here! “What kind of greens do Maldivians eat? You must have local island greens, yeah?”

“Oh, of course! We have copy leaves, drumstick leaves, curry leaves,” Asad sends me photographs of the variety of the edible green plants on offer.

“Perfect!” I say, feeling overjoyed by this breakthrough. “Do you think you guys have enough available the sailors can buy”

“Yes! We have lots. These even grow wild on the islands. You could go harvest some right now from Innofinholu."

This revelation blows my mind. You mean I could have been eating local Maldivian shrubbery all this time?! I I schedule a hunt for later that day and put in an order for greenery enough for several boats. I know everyone will want some, even if they say they don't now. That’s just how this whole thing works.

A few days later, the Coast Guard comes through with a giant delivery of groceries, enough to keep us for at least another two weeks. Asad joins them on the delivery run and brings a huge box filled with local greens.

He laughs: “Are you sure you know what to do with these?”

“I am sure I don't know what to do with these!" I tell him, “but, I’ll experiment.”

“What if we do a beach BBQ and we will teach you how to make a salad with these?” He holds up the wild greens bundled together and tied tight with a long strip of grass.

“Yes. Heck yeah! Do you think you could get permission?”

Recently, the total lock down had been lifted in Uligan and the rest of this most Northern Atoll allowing fishermen and other local boats free. While we had been all alone in our anchorage for weeks, suddenly we could watch colorful little local boats zipping here and there, heading out to catch their day’s fish. We still couldn't go on an inhabited island, but like today's grocery run, Asad thought he could get permission from the authorities to let us BBQ on the beach with he and a couple of his friends.

JOY!

The whole anchorage was a twitter the morning of the BBQ. We each planned our own cultural dish to add to the picnic, Andrew and I made Betty Crocker’s Banana Bread spiked with my own special spice mix: 1 Tbsp cinnamon, 1 teaspoon each of cardamom, cloves, nutmeg and a dash of our Tahitian vanilla extract, this recpie is a reliable standby - especially in the tropics when we have an abundance of bananas.

Around 4:00, a fleet of dinghies putter toward the beach and we all get ready to meet our Maldivian friends for a feast.

Asad and his brothers pull several boxes from their speed boat and begin setting up two tiny, lightweight picnic tables. Two other friends zip off in the boat to go catch our fish.

“Even though Ramazan is over, we still have the choice to fast for a few more days. So, we must wait until the sunset, is that okay?”

We agree that's fine, and take the chance to chat while we wait.

“This is Mohommed. He is a real chef to teach you how to make Maldivian food!” Asad introduces us to one of his friends who nods and smiles.

This is an unexpected Covid benefit...

Furloughed from his job at a resort that is currently closed due to the halt in tourism, Mohommed is a full time pastery chef who obviously has a lot of talent. With knief skills as smooth and speedy as any I’ve seen, he shaves the bundle of greens into tiny diced shreds. With the sharp edges like dandilion leaves or arugula, but the thicker texture of something like a succulent, “these leaves can be a bit bitter,” he explains as he tosses the whole pile into a bowl and fills it with fresh water. “We will let these soak for a while to leach out any saltiness they gather from growing close to the sea and bitterness from being hot in the sun.”

Next, Mohommed finely slices red onion, chiffons a pile of curry leaves, dices fresh habanero, crushes a handful of dry roasted red chili, and slices dry, smoked tuna. He hands slices of this tuna to all of us gathered around, watching. Dried as it is, it is hard and chewy with the sharp bite of tuna flavor and the sweet round taste of smoke. Very good!

He pushes these ingredients aside, then strips a coconut on a spike in just a few seconds flat. He scrapes the white flesh of the coconut into a bowl, and it’s ready now, too. One of our resident anchorage mates is also an expert coconut man, and so he helps with the scraping.

“Now, we will put it all together." He drains the greens of the water they were soaking in. He places all the ingredients - except the wild greens - into a bowl. He pours just a bit of hot water and and squeezes juice from 2-3 limes on top, then wearing a glove to protect his hands from that habenero, he mixes the onion, curry leaves, tuna, coconut, and chilis by squishing them all in his hand. It’s a bit like muddling fresh herbs for a cocktail, he’s squeezing the flavor to meld everything together. Slowly, the hot water mingles with the fresh shredded coconut to make a bit of a thick cream. Finally, he folds in the wild greens and takes a taste to test whether more salt is needed.

“Be careful! You have to taste it first because the wild greens may still retain a bit of saltiness of their own.” He looks skyward as he samples, receiving guidance from the wisest culinary anceastors regarding the need for additional salt. He throws in one small pinch and says its perfect.

Soon, dinner is ready and all the sailors food is laid out on one side of the table, and the Maldivian food the other side. The wild green salad is served with chewy, thin and perfectly round home made roti bread. We also are offered a freshly fire roasted fish that had been previously marinated with a paste of crushed cayenne powder, cumin, garlic, lemon juice and olive oil rubbed all over the fish’s skin and into tens of slices through the flesh to let the flavor reach the meat. You eat this fish atop “fish rice” - rice boiled in fish broth, then tossed with garlic and diced chili.

We pile our plates high and sit on logs with our bare feet in the sand.

The wild greens salad is my new favorite food. Bitterness of the greens, smoky flavors from the tuna, spicy from the chili, sweet bite from the red onion and creamy decadance from the coconut milk, this salad is divine pinched by a bit of torn off roti.

“Oh boy! That is so good!” A chorus of yachties sings in rounds as we all take a taste of our dinners. We all go in for seconds! But even this is a mistake because we still have dessert to go.

Mohommed takes out a pitcher of a thick orange liquid, almost a pudding like texture. "What is it?" I ask him.

“You guess.” He tells me. He pours it into a small paper cup and hands it to me with a challenge in his eye. I scoop some up and smack my lips over the spoon.

“Hmmm....” it’s sweet, but it has a bit of floral flavor to it - much like some of my favorite lebanese food with orange blossom water or rose water added. “Cinnamon....cardamom....ginger," I say as I pluck flavors from my pallate. “Something flowery...”

“Yes!" He says, “it's jasmine water!”

“Ah-HAH! Jasmine water!” I repeat. I've never had Jasmine water in anything anywhere else besides when I tried to make jasmine water into a cocktail from the flower vine in my back yard in Vegas. I knew jasmine could be tasty!

“But what is the base?” He prods me further.

“Hm....it's orange, but it's not orange juice or carrot or anything like that....is it pumpkin?”

Mohommed claps his hands, “Yes! Well, butternut squash. Boiled butternut squash with sugar, coconut milk, cinnamon, cardamom, ginger, and a dash of jasmine flower water and vanilla extract to taste. You can serve it hot or cold, your choice."

I have two cups of this delightful concoction as well.

By the time the evening ends, the gents all load up the speed boat and zip off back to home. They leave us with two additional fish to be barbequed the next night, and extra ingredients to remake the wild greens salad. Asad puts me in charge: “Make sure you send me pictures!" He says.

What a night.

What a perfect, bittersweet night. After two and an half months here in the Maldives, this is the type of thing we've been missing. To see just this small bit of Maldivian culture - the big smiles of our hosts laying out a feast on a beach with powdered sugar sand and a drift wood bonfire for cooking. This is what cruising is all about, and it's what Covid is taking from us. Will we be able to get it back? Or is this a change in human interaction that will last for years?