Sailor Mouth Saturday: Corsair

We have made it to the middle of December, Brethren, and that means that for those of us in the Northern Hemisphere our time in darkness is soon to be redeemed by light. The Solstice is only six days away. It also means that chez Pauline is celebrating the 232nd birthday of my favorite uncle: Renato Beluche, corsair-extraordinaire. So, as a bit of a birthday present, I'm changing things up for this SMS and offering the definitions and etymologies of the key words used to mean a raider on the high seas. Not all mean "pirate" and some distinctions are subtle. Points we can be a little prickly about in my family.

Buccaneer: The general understanding is that the word is an anglicized version of the French boucanier, one who cooks things on the type of barbeque known in old San Domingue as a boucan. Admiral Smyth, in The Sailor's Word Book has this to say under his buccaneer entry:

A name given to certain piratical rovers, of various European nations, who formerly infested the coasts of Spanish America. They were originally inoffensive settlers in Hispaniola, but were inhumanly driven from their habitations by the jealous policy of the Spaniards; whence originated their implacable hatred to that nation.

Corsair: Also of French origin; corsaire means privateer in French. We know from their letters that many of the Laffite brothers' men referred to themselves as "corsairs." Renato Beluche certainly did. In a letter to a Venezuelan newspaper in 1822 he wrote: "General Padilla remembers that I was a corsair. And what is the matter with that?" Where the General had implied piracy on Beluche's part, the accused took onus and reminded the readers that he sailed under Bolivar's flag as a privateer. The term was also applied to pirates from Barbary shores.

Filibuster: This too began as a French word: filibustier meaning freebooter. In this sense, which originally meant a soldier of fortune, it was applied by the Spanish to the original buccaneers. By the early 19th century it had taken on a new meaning in North and South America. Filibusters were the secret groups of speculators formed, particularly along the Gulf Coast and most notably in New Orleans, to supply arms to South American rebellions for cash. Again the Laffites, Dominique Youx and Beluche were involved in a post-War of 1812 group of filibusters supplying small arms and cannon to Mexico.

Pirate: The Latin word pirata may have meant sea captain but the English word pirate is essentially the seagoing version of the land-based word highwayman. A pirate is a sea robber with no connection to cause or country - other than themselves and their ships.

Privateer: Admiral Smyth says it best:

Men-of-war equipped by individuals for cruising against the enemy; their commission is given by the admiralty, and revocable by the same authority. They have no property in any prize until it is legally condemned by a competent court.

The issue of proper libel by a court is the real sticking point in the difference between pirate and privateer. Letters of marque, like any other document, can be easily forged. But courts for condemning legal prizes are not so easily come by.

Sea-dog/Sea-wolf: These terms sprang up in England during the reign of Elizabeth I who used them to describe her sea captains - her favorite being Sir Francis Drake - who raided the Spanish Main. In that sense, another euphemism for privateer.

I believe that list covers the highlights fairly well. Happy Saturday, Brethren; may your commission stay valid, and the courts of libel smile upon every prize you bring in.

And Happy Birthday, Uncle Renato, you old corsaire you.

Header: Engraving from a painting of Renato Beluche by Francisco Capuleta now in the Museo Naval de Venezuela

History: The Turtle in Question

Over at Homo Gastronomicus the knowledgeable India took on the subject of how turtle, and sea turtle in particular, went from the food of scurvy dogs to a delicacy in 18th century Great Britain. The piece is profoundly interesting, even if it does only skirt the issue of boucanier barbeques. I won't paraphrase the post as you really should read it yourself, but here are a few points I'd like to bring up.

The hero of the day as far as introducing sea turtle to the glitterati of England was George Anson, 1st Baron Anson. Pictured above, the Royal Navy man became famous and wealthy after raiding Spanish territories and ships in South and Central America. These endeavors were followed by a circumnavigation of the globe that earned Anson a comparison to Francis Drake.

Anson, who wrote a best seller about his adventures entitled A Voyage Round the World, hit some questionable bumps in the road on his much acclaimed journey. He wrecked ships; the loss of HMS Wager and subsequent stranding of several of his men created much speculation. More importantly, he lost men. His squadron of six men-of-war left Portsmouth with a complement of over 1,000 sailors in 1740; only 188 men returned to Spithead in 1744.

Despite these unfortunate circumstances, Anson managed to return to England a wealthy man after capturing a number of Spanish ships in the West Indies and negotiating lucrative trade deals in China. He seems to have talked a good game, too. Rather than reprimand or courts martial for his losses, Anson was made 1st Baron Anson in 1747 and elevated to the station of First Lord of the Admiralty.

He also brought back tales of the excellent taste and restorative effects of the meat and fat of sea turtles. Having experienced these things first hand, and then written about them in his book, he became more than just a gastronome suggesting a new delicacy. Anson, to one degree or another, became the "turtle king". He gifted huge turtles imported at his own expense to such high society organizations as White's Chocolate House and the Thursday's Club. Soon enough, sea turtle became all the rage and Anson was given credit for introducing Brits to a taste sensation that was once thought to be only fit for common seamen and down right pirates.

As an aside, or perhaps an addendum, you can find an excellent discussion of buccaneers and sea turtles here. Scroll down to the comments and find Benerson Little's thoughts on the points made. If anyone knows whereof they speak on the subject, it is certainly he.

Header: George Anson, 1st Baron Anson, contemporary portrait by an unknown artist via Wikipedia

Booty: Grilling Safety Navy Style

When it comes to cooking on the grill, seamen – particularly those of the New World variety – have always had a leg up (Captain Morgan rum pun possibly intended). There’s a reason why the buccaneers of the Spanish Main were named after a barbeque: le boucan. So, going into Memorial Day weekend here in the U.S., it should come as no surprise that Navy Live is offering some timely tips for your grilling pleasure, and safety.


David Nelson of the Naval Safety Center reminds one and all that 49 grill related burn injuries have been reported by commands around the world in the last five years, and that’s 49 too many. His tips for keeping grilling not only safe but fun and tasty are an important refresher as we in the Northern Hemisphere head into summer. There are also links to general fire safety reminders and safe cooking temperatures for meats of all kinds.

My favorite admonition, and one that cannot be repeated enough, has to be:

And never use gasoline to get the fire going. There’s a reason why [gasoline is referred to] as the Idiot’s Friend.

And I’ll say Huzzah! to that. Click over for more tips from the men in blue. I personally want all the Brethren to have a safe – and very delicious – weekend.

Header: U.S. sailors enjoying a field mess in Cuba c 1900 via The Pirate’s Lair

Booty: Tureen Of Turtle

On Wednesday we talked about moon jellies and the fact that they are a favorite food of sea turtles. Sea turtles, in turn, were a delicacy to pirates and privateers. But how, exactly, did our seafaring ancestors enjoy the meat of these massive and now thankfully protected critters?

The answer is really as many ways as you can imagine. As noted in Wednesday’s post, sea turtles often ended up on the boucans of early Tortuga buccaneers. Though the black pig that ran wild on Hispaniola was the usual BBQ, turtle meat was prized as not only healthier than pork but protective as well. The boucaniers believed that ingesting turtle would keep them from getting the pox. When men like Michele de Grammont and Laurens de Graff were out buccaneering, roasting a turtle whole in its shell was an easy and tasty way to enjoy fresh fare. Turtle meat was also enjoyed fried as a kind of fritter mixed with turtle eggs.

Later, in Henry Morgan’s era, sea turtles were cooked according to where on the animal the meat was originally found. Meat from the lower shell was cooked much like a roast with herbs and sauces. The meat from the upper shell, which was thought to be tougher, was slow cooked in a broth to which the turtle’s eggs were sometimes added.

This broth of turtle, which was also cooked in St. Domingue before and after it became Haiti, came to Louisiana shores and morphed into the Creole delicacy known today as turtle soup. Though sea turtle meat is no longer available, some land turtles are still raised for eating and this is what goes into turtle soup today. Like squid and octopus, turtle meat remains enervated even after being chopped up so it can be a little intimidating to deal with. According to Leon E. Soniat, Jr., the Creole tradition is that the meat will stop moving once the sun goes down. You better start working on his recipe for turtle soup before then, though, or it surely will not be ready by supper time. Here it is in all its glory from his definitive book on Creole cooking, La Bouche Creole:

¾ cups butter
8 tbsps flour
½ lb lean ham chopped into small pieces
1 cup chopped onion
3 medium tomatoes, coarsely chopped
¼ cup chopped celery tops
1 bell pepper, finely chopped
4 cloves garlic, finely chopped
2 lbs turtle meat, cut into small pieces
2 tsps salt
2/3 tsp black pepper
2 pinches cayenne pepper
4 bay leaves
½ tsp powdered thyme
¼ tsp cloves
¼ tsp allspice
¼ tsp grated nutmeg
4 cups beef stock
1 ½ cups water
1 tsp Worcestershire
2 thin slices lemon
4 tbsps good sherry
1/8 cup finely chopped parsley
2 hard cooked eggs, sliced

Melt butter in a heavy soup pot/Dutch oven. Gradually add the flour, stirring constantly to make a roux. When the roux is medium-brown, add the ham, onion, tomatoes, celery tops, bell pepper and garlic. Mix thoroughly and cook over low heat until the vegetables are browned, about half an hour. Next add the turtle meat, salt, pepper, cayenne, bay leaves, thyme, cloves, allspice, and nutmeg and stir to combine. Add the beef stock and water, stirring again to combine. Bring mixture to a boil and then lower heat, cover, and simmer for about two and a half hours.

Come back to your soup and stir in the Worcestershire, lemon and sherry. Let cook uncovered for ten minutes and then add the parsley. If your soup is too thick, you can add water at this point. Let the soup simmer a few minutes more and then remove it from the heat, cover and let it rest for fifteen minutes. Now stir it up from the bottom, plate it in soup bowls, garnish with the hard cooked eggs and serve with French bread. This recipe serves four to eight, depending on serving size. Bon appetite!

Header: 18th century engraving of a freebooter catching a sea turtle

Sea Monsters: A Sea Of Moons

Last week my younger daughter’s birthday coincided with spring break so we all took a little time off and spent it having fun. One of our outings was to the Anchorage Museum to see the new Mammoths and Mastodons exhibit (find information here). While we were at the museum we had to pop in at the Imaginarium and that meant I could visit one of my favorite exhibits: the tank full of moon jellies. There in that dark water, lit from above, the translucent, floating orbs appear to glow from within. They undulate slowly and move even more so, bringing to mind a ghostly apparition. They are spellbinding.

In fact moon jellyfish are a pretty simple organism whose scientific name is Aurelia aurita. Most average about six inches across, although they can be as large as ten. They, like all other forms of medusae including the Portuguese man-of-war which we have discussed before, are not technically one living organism but a set of groups of cells that manage to work together. They have no respiratory, excretory or circulatory systems, although they are equipped with a neural net and gonads. There are, surprisingly, male and female moon jellies but only they know how to tell each other apart. It’s sort of mind boggling if you think about it too long.

These interesting critters are mostly found in tropical and subtropical waters with the Aurelia aurita being common to the Atlantic, Caribbean and Gulf of Mexico. There are other species of Aurelia – which are impossible to tell visually from the aurita type – that inhabit the Pacific and Indian Oceans. They consume a surprisingly varied diet of mollusks and other crustaceans, larvae, protozoa, fish eggs and even smaller medusae. The food is basically wrapped up in mucus and then directed via a tentacle to the gastro-cavity where it is dissolved by enzymes amoeba-style. Moon jellies can live over a year in good conditions. They live only about five to six months in the wild where, if they are not consumed by the many predators that find them tasty, they generally die from the effort of daily reproduction. That’s right; these guys reproduce themselves on a daily basis so after a few months they are so worn out that they are completely susceptible to infections and cellular degradation.

The thing that makes me particularly fond of moon jellies – aside from how darn cool they look – is their historical ties to seafaring in general and the old school buccaneers in particular. Moon jellies aren’t really capable of swimming per ce and have to rely on the tide to keep them moving. Because of this, and doubtless as a form of protection, they congregate together in groups that reflect moon and starlight at night. Frequent notations in logs and journals about great shoals of jellyfish glowing offshore are probably references to moon jellies. And they would have been a happy sight, not only as an extra source of light on a very dark sea but as an indication of something even more valuable: fresh food.

One of the moon jelly’s most common predators is the sea turtle, particularly the leatherback sea turtle that was a favorite delicacy of boucaniers and buccaneers. Considered healthier than pork, the turtles were savored boiled in stews, fried, roasted and smoked over a boucan to make a form of jerky. They were an all purpose food, and since they were large a few turtles could feed a whole ship’s crew. In the Great Age of Sail, turtles were caught whenever possible by both freebooters and navy ships as a welcome fresh meal. It may be as much an influence of seafarers as location that New Orleans in particular is fond of turtle soup to this day. More on ways to prepare turtle will be forthcoming on Friday.

Moon jellyfish are, thankfully, still relatively numerous all over the world. I’ve yet to see a large group at sea at night, but I hope to. Just another thing on the bucket list, but I’d count such an experience as a little gift from the gods of the sea. Until then, there’s always the museum.

Header: Moon jellies at the Anchorage Museum, Anchorage, Alaska

Tools Of The Trade: Mythological Meals

There is a strong and persistent belief among moderns that freebooters didn’t eat very well. When, in the late 17th century, seaman James Yonge wrote in his journal about meals of “… water, gruel, rusty pork and sad beef, filthy peas and Cascan bread made of roots of trees” most people tend to imagine he was the voice of reason on the subject. The situation in which Yonge and his mates found themselves – crossing the Atlantic from the Caribbean in a small ship which was sadly under-provisioned – necessitated the kind of meals he groused about. But in the big scheme of things, food aboard a buccaneer or privateer was surprisingly luxurious and fit for any modern table.

The original boucaniers who became the buccaneers ate more than their share of smoked boucan. Originally made from the black pig native to what is now Haiti, boucan evolved into a versatile way of preserving meat. Fowl and fish could also be smoked and a favorite boucan meat among sea raiders of the Caribbean and Gulf of Mexico was turtle. Large sea turtles were easy to catch on land and their meat was considered healthier than pork. Not for any reasoning about cholesterol or high blood pressure though – boucan in all its forms was heavily salted – but because pork was thought to make a man more prone to the pox. Though it would mean an overnight by land to achieve a good supply of boucan, the meat, which was similar to Native American pemmican or modern jerky, would keep a long time and was easy to store and carry.

Along with their pork and turtle, the buccaneers on anything but the most meager rations tended to eat a balanced diet. Many of them were from Mediterranean backgrounds and they brought the pallet for olive oil and wine to sea. Olives, olive oil, vinegar, onions, shallots and garlic all figured strongly in the dishes of Spanish, French, Italian and Portuguese freebooters. A lot of fresh fish was on the menu of all pirate ships, for obvious reasons, and no one will deny their healthful qualities. Cheese was also a frequent addition to meals, and since hens were often kept aboard most ships but the smallest pirogues, fresh eggs were a staple.

Pirating sallies were short – four months was considered a long haul – and involved putting in frequently to freshen water or deal with prizes, so fresh vegetables were not as unusual as they would be aboard a Royal Navy man-of-war. Along with garlic and onions, potatoes, tomatoes, carrots, radishes and squash would have been readily available depending on where your ship sailed. Fresh fruits were plentiful all over North and South America. In the north berries, especially blueberries, raspberries and cranberries, were relatively easy to come by. Cranberries in particular were a high source of vitamin C, keeping scurvy at bay in colder climates. In the tropics, all manner of citrus fruits along with bananas, avocados and melons could be easily had.

Dutch, British and Northern French corsairs tended to appreciate a slightly different diet if available. The boucan, fish, fruits and vegetables would all be consumed but cooking fats like butter and lard (even ship’s tallow in a pinch) were preferred. Beef figured more prominently in these diets as did hard tack or ship’s biscuit, frequently made from corn rather than wheat flour. Many buccaneers also ate the “cascan bread” that Yonge mentioned. Made from the cassava, which is similar in texture to the jicama or turnip, the “bread” was more like a tortilla then a loaf of wheat bread.

Of course a pirate needed something to wash his meal down with and, as with food, the choices tended to reflect European or Creole origins. The British came to the West Indies with their love of “beere” in tact. Ales, ciders and beers were all popular in more Northern European colonies and aboard their ships. As they colonized places like Jamaica, however, the settlers developed a strong hankering for rum. Rum punch, bomboo, flip and black strap were just a few of the variations that could be found by land and at sea. Henry Morgan toasted the decision to take Porto Bello with rum punch.

Because rum kept so well in casks, it was a staple of marine life by the mid 18th century, but Creoles of Mediterranean descent still preferred their wines. Sangria was popular and had the added advantage of upping one’s intake of fresh fruit. Champagne, often served with a chunk of sugar loaf, was not unheard of but wines like Madeira, Canary, port, Sillory and claret along with sherry (generally thought of as a “lady’s cordial” by the 19th century) were most common. Renato Beluche reportedly would not leave port without a good supply of Sillory or Madeira. His dear friend Dominique Youx preferred to provision with whisky, which was on the rise as a piratical beverage by 1800.

Want did occur and Yonge’s documentation of meager rations was certainly an ever present possibility. In truly bad times, crews would eat the ship’s animals – including rats – tanned leather and tallow. Sometimes lack of water was more terrible than lack of food. The worst instance of buccaneer hardship was probably the one documented by Alexander Exquemelin during Henry Morgan’s march across the Isthmus of Panama to take Panama City. The buccaneers, barefoot, miserable from heat and insects and out of supplies, began gnawing on whatever leather they had. Exquemelin gives this recipe for making an ammunition satchel relatively edible:

Slice the leather into pieces, then soak and beat and rub between stones to tenderize. Scrape off the hair and roast or grill. Cut into smaller pieces and serve with plenty of water.

Since it is Thanksgiving Day here in the U.S., I plan to be particularly thankful for a meal that does not require tenderizing and the scraping off of hair. I hope that, where ever you are, you can say the same.

Header: Madness at the Dinner Table by Rowlandson c 1816

Booty: Fire Up The Boucan

Our habit of barbecuing has become synonymous with summer and now even spring. I'm brought to mind (as I look out my window at the two feet of snow in the yard) of the recent "winter's over" commercials where the mountain man-esque guy in parka and flannel PJs stumbles into his neighbor's yard looking confused. "Get this guy a burger!" someone among the manly men out by the grill yells. Of course that outdoor, smokey flavor will rouse the big bear from the throes of hibernation. I get it. Though winter may not be over where I live, it never really showed up in some places. One of those spots is the birthplace of the whole idea of barbecue as we know it.

The word barbecue comes to us from old Hispaniola where the word barbacoa was born. Whether or not this can be called a Haitian word proper (as Webster's indicates) is debatable but it is certainly Spanish. The idea comes from the boucan which was a tall framework of sticks over which meat was smoked by the native Arawak of the island. The predominantly French indentured servants who escaped to Hispaniola adopted the local custom and soon they were called - say it with me - boucaniers.

But what were they smoking on that boucan? Most often it was pig. By the early 1600s there were two types of swine on the island.

The native piggy was called sanglier by the Frenchmen and was a type of smallish, black wild boar. The things were ferocious and frequently slathered with blood from recent kills, thus the name (sang meaning blood; sanglant meaning bloody). As an aside, these boars are virtually extinct in Haiti now. They were wiped out by Catholic officials in order to end their use as an offering to the lady warrior Erzulie Danto and thus curb the practice of voudon.

The second type of bacon on the hoof was a domesticated pig brought by Spanish settlers in the 16th century that went feral when the Spaniards retreated from the island. These guys were known as cochon marron: runaway pig.

OK. So you've got your sanglier and your cochon marron all dressed out. Good. Now what? Here's your recipe for relatively authentic cochon boucan:

Slather your pork (any raw cut will do) with a marinade of lime juice, salt, pepper and all spice. This last is probably the French piment of the original recipes which was doubtless just a combination of whatever herbs were available on the island at the time, so feel free to deviate widely here. If you've got a little Madeira or port, which our intrepid boucaniers would have taken from Spanish ships, throw that in too.

The marinaded pork should sit for an hour or overnight in the fridge. Now drape the pork over a hot grill and turn regularly until cooked through (no medium rare pork, Brethren). Traditional fresh boucan was eaten as a feast while the uneaten portions were left to smoke into a kind of jerky. It was mandatory to drink to excess at these soirees but rum would not have been available. More Madeira would do nicely. Alternatively, an agave tequila comes pretty close to the boucanier "home brew". Have your Advil handy.

Enjoy grilling season, Brethren. Whether it's burgers, chicken or runaway pig, take a moment to remember the original boucaniers and their generous mentors in grilling, the Arawak people.