The fact that kitchens function at all is a miracle

Hopefully after being here over a month, I can wrap my head around what a day in the kitchen looks like. For those of you who have been in food service, I'm sure this won't be too out of the ordinary for you. Even at the edge of the world, people need to eat and the ways to get food out to them are still pretty standard. There's a lot more to the logistics of it and I hope to get a chance to talk in depth with Executive Chef Rob Greene about that for a later article. But from fridge to plate, it's easy enough to understand.

As a caveat before we begin: during the main body season, the kitchen technically runs 24/7, with a new shift called Mid-rats (which someone once explained what meant, but my quail brain has since forgotten). This overnight shift currently isn't active, so I can't tell you too much about it, but just know that when everyone is here, there's always an opportunity for food.

Anyway, things start off with breakfast and the kitchen opens at 4 a.m. Breakfast is a pretty simple affair, usually consisting of scrambled eggs, home fries, some kind of protein like bacon or sausage, and some sort of additional breakfast entrée like a breakfast casserole or French toast. We also have one of our Action Stations open, the egg line. If the buffet options aren't cutting it, you can come in and order some fresh made eggs or an omelet. Unsurprisingly, the egg line is probably the most popular spot in the morning, but breakfast as a whole is currently pretty sparsely attended. The early morning is mostly handled by one guy, Marty, and when I was working the a.m. shift, he was typically done with the line by the time I arrived. (I feel as though Marty has been unfairly banished to the mornings because people got tired of his dad jokes. Stay strong Marty. Every workplace needs a Marty.)

The next shift to start is the a.m. shift. This typically begins at 5 a.m., though on Sunday it starts at 5:30 as that is Brunch day and breakfast is basically cancelled. A.m. is mainly focused on lunch. The goal is typically to have everything prepared (or mise'd from the term mise en place) by 7:30 as that is when the first a.m. break is. Then from roughly 8:15 on it's time to get lunch together. We're on a five-week menu rotation, so even for how long I've been here, I don't think I've seen everything that we put out. All that to say that there's really no one consistent thing about a menu I can share as an example, but methodology is typically the same. We use four big ovens, three tilt skillets, a four-well fryer, two steam "ovens," some giant steam jacket vats, and the most jank stove top on earth that we try to never use. There's a lot of ways to get food hot is what I'm saying.

At 11 a.m. is when the p.m. shift begins. Similar to the a.m. shift, the goal is to get everything mise'd out before the 1 p.m. lunch break and to come back from that ready to put together dinner. Having worked both shifts now, they're pretty similar in how things are managed and how dishes get put together. As long as it tastes good and gets out there on time, we call that a win.

There are also two additional elements in the kitchen. First is the bakery. Bakery keeps us stocked with cookies in the to-go box and all kinds of interesting desserts for meals. As someone with a fiendish sweet tooth, I have nothing but respect for the bakers, long may they reign. The other is the "garde manger" if you're being proper, or salads if you're being at all practical or useful. As expected, they take care of the cool ingredients and yes the salad, but as lettuce is a rarity down here, "salad" tends to be a broad term, often including pasta salads and the like. I fully admit I haven't spent a lot of time paying attention to this area. Once you start setting up a chocolate chip cookie salad, hit me up and I'll be there post-haste.

As mentioned before, we also have Action Stations. These are for made to order or made live items. Again, egg line is at breakfast. The famous McMurdo Garnish is our pizzas, which is currently only done three times a week, but is going to be daily, 24/7 when main body hits. Having worked the pizza stations a few times, it's a surprisingly fun time. We'll also do different one offs like burgers, burritos, and steak carving. None of those are on a set schedule, but come up as the wind takes us. There's been talk about doing Action Stations every day once main body arrives, and that's apparently a new thing, so we'll see how that goes.

There's a lot of moving parts in a kitchen and many different ways to approach the tasks and check lists, but at the end of the day, the goal is always the same: make a meal people can enjoy. I'm fine with doing a lot of the grunt work and letting the more knowledgeable leaders keep things on track. If you need someone to dice fifty pounds of onions or peel seven bags of potatoes, I'm your guy. It's a lot of expertise and experiences that make it all function and I'm frankly amazed that any amount of people actually end up fed, let alone every meal every day.

Now, back to that chocolate chip cookie salad....

A Mandatory Health and Safety Brief

This is not, in fact, about kitchen safety. If you've worked in one kitchen, it's all basically the same: wear nonslip shoes, change gloves often, don't stick a finger in the meat slicer—the usual. No, safety on the Ice is a lifestyle. How else are you going to avoid slips, trips, and falls injuries?

Antarctica is one of, if not the, harshest climate on earth. So to say that the National Science Foundation and the partnering companies take safety very seriously is an understatement. If the discussion on conditions last week didn't give the whole picture, everything is tied to the weather here and how to mitigate the damage that it can do to property and person. If you want a tangible perspective of how important they take safety: all the new people were allowed to leave work for a few hours to attend a safety lecture. If a company wants you to not work to hear this, it's got to be important. Maybe more important than avoiding slips, trips, and falls injuries.

For example purposes, we're going to talk about the Arctic Field Safety (AFS) training—the one I got out of work for. The purpose of this training was essentially risk management by way of survival training. There's an ever-present opportunity to be out and about in severe weather, either by choice or by necessity, and while life around the station can be fairly safe, that's less true as you go out on excursions, hikes, or leisure activities. To give you a lifeline should anything go wrong and you are trapped outside for an extended period, we were shown what the Survival Bag is and how to use the items included, including how to treat slips, trips, and falls.

The best way to start off a any lesson is with fire, so we learned how to use small gas stoves that you pressurize yourself.

The whole fire set is included in the Survival Bag, along with a basic first aid kit, a saw to cut the snow and ice, stable meals, sleeping bags, a grab bag of additional cold weather gear, and a tent, along with some other odds and ends. One bag can support two people for three days.

Setting up the tent was more complicated than we initially thought. I think all of us were glad to not have to figure that out when actual survival was at stake. And it's hard to slip, trip, or fall in such a low tent.

We also learned a fair bit about frostbite and ways you can get it, even when you're being careful. Our instructor shared one story of a mountain climber who on the final journey to the top of a mountain put on an extra pair of socks as it was colder that day. When he got down, from his toes to the balls of his feet were blistered and frostbitten. It happened not because it was so cold, but because the circulation had been diminished. This is also the first place I've heard the term "frostnip," which is apparently an early sign of frostbite and tends to happen on exposed areas like ears and the nose. The pictures were bad enough—not something I want to experience in real life. Like slips, trips, and falls injuries.

All of this orbited a discussion of risk; how the odds of something happening and the severity of the outcome had to be weighed in all circumstances. Weighing risk and making choices is about judging the likely hood and the consequence, identifying ways to mitigate one or the other, and ultimately acting on it. That's the thing about being in Antarctica. If you want to go for a hike, not only do you need to be aware of what could go wrong and what to do about it, but you're required to make decisions about whether it is even wise to do something in the first place. Luckily we have lots of trained professionals to help make those decisions, so even if I did want to go hiking with a herbie on the way (herbie is what they call a storm with high wind and snow—I only learned this in the last week), communications and recreation staff wouldn't allow me to. They know how easy it is to slip, trip, and fall in weather like that.

This was one of several safety trainings I had to attend. We also have a weekly safety meeting for the entire Galley staff. For both recreation and kitchen work, I think the trainings boil down to knowing how and then making wise choices. I admit that I'm not a particularly outdoorsy type, so the long hikes and ski paths are probably not in my future, but the little things of knowing how to stay safe and avoid a real emergency is going to be good to know regardless. So while it was mandatory training, I don't mind the interruption.

Also, did you know that slips, trips, and falls are the most common form of injury in Antarctica? Because I sure freakin' do now!

So. How 'bout that weather?

I promise I'm not just making vapid small talk because I think our date is going poorly.

The climate and weather is probably what Antarctica is most known for in the public consciousness. We see videos of penguins huddled together is a snowstorm, no sky to be seen, and can only imagine what they're feeling. Well I have been that penguin, so let me tell you.

Yes, Antarctica is cold. (I've already done the joke ending an article after the obvious answer, so we're moving along.) When I arrived here, that first day was negative fifty degrees. That's basically been the baseline for the first few weeks. And this wasn't even a particularly unique temperature. That level of cold is pretty common for this time of year, and just a fact of life. Even now, where we've entered above zero degrees by a few points, it feels like the temperature could plummet at any moment.

Part of what causes that feeling is the wind. Unsurprisingly, Antarctica is below the southern treeline. No trees grow here, so your most common windbreak is nonexistent. Outside of a few mountains off in the distance and the local buildings, there's nothing to stop the wind from hitting you like a runaway train. Even with the clothes we talked about last week, the wind slices through you and erases even the memory of being warm. While it might be four degrees right now, the wind-chill can make it feel like that first day off the plane.

But cold and wind are the easy ones. What you might not know is just how dry the air is here. This was not something I expected when I came to the Ice. It's actually astonishing. My roommate was telling me when I first arrived that he couldn't sleep because he kept waking up feeling like his lungs were drying out (we found a humidifier, so we're all doing better). I brought some hand cream along on a lark and now I'm really glad I did because of the way my skin is desiccating at work.

But the real thing that drives it home is the static. We've all sparked friends before, but not like this. With my room key in hand I become Thor, son of Odin, master of lightning. The static here is unlike anything I've experienced. This is not the "Tee hee, I shuffled on the carpet in my socks and shocked my mom" kind of static. I can see it arc from my key to the lock half an inch away. If I'm not wearing my rubber work shoes, every time I touch a door handle or metal table, it zaps me.

One last thing I want to touch on is the station Conditions. I only learned about this recently because it's apparently rarer then I would have thought. All inhabited stations are subject to three Conditions that reflect what's going on outside and in turn what can be done at the base. The Condition we are in is effected by things like temperature, wind, precipitation, and visibility. 

As is the governments way, the Conditions defy all logic and count down from three. Condition 3 is "Situation normal." We have decent visibility, wind isn't too strong, and the temperature is above negative 75 (perfectly warm). This is the condition we usually stay in, and it allows for all activity. Those with outdoor jobs are able to make their shifts, the ski and hiking trails are open, and daily life operates as usual.

Now Condition 2 is when things start to get a little hairy. We have visibility under a quarter of a mile, strong winds, or the temperature is lower than negative 75. While travel around the station is still allowed, all the activities outside the base boundaries are closed; no hiking or skiing, and any vehicle's need to be in constant communication with the Central Communications department. Often Condition 2 is a transition to Condition 1, though we have stayed in Condition 2 for a few days before.

Condition 1 is the big one. This is apparently such a rarity that the few Condition 1 events that the winter crew had were mostly in the wee hours of the morning and only lasted for maybe a half hour. So the fact that we've had two since I got here, during normal operating hours, seems to suggest I have some amazing luck (good or bad is yet to be determined). As you might expect, Condition 1 has some major extremes: visibility is less than 100 feet, high winds, and temperatures below negative 100. Not only are all outdoor recreations canceled, but all personnel are confined to the building they are in--no one is allowed outside. So if you were in the aerobics gym when Condition 1 hit, I hope you like sleeping on a treadmill (also the bathroom is out of order, so good luck). This Condition hits hard, because that outdoor ban also means that anyone who works outside just can't. One of my roommates is a plumber and when Condition 1 hit, it was basically a free paid day off for him. Alas, the kitchen isn't so lucky.

Weather is really the name of the game here. Everything that goes on in Antarctica orbits the weather condition, and if things go bad, the whole place shuts down. It's fascinating to watch, and despite being used to Midwest winters, the visibility and the howling wind are such new phenomenon for me, that I understand why H.P. Lovecraft wrote At The Mountains of Madness. It can really feel like everything you know about the world no longer applies.

(Condition 1. There's supposed to be more buildings in this picture.)

ECW in Christchurch

Last week we only touched on my time at Christchurch, so this time I figured I'd give you a bit of a run-down on what happened on the thirteen or so days that we were delayed in New Zealand. And to start with, let's talk about the International Antarctic Centre.

Right next door to the airport we arrived at and the Sudima hotel most of us were staying at is the hub for Antarctic deployment and research. It's hard to miss with the giant penguins on the sign and tracked vehicles sitting out front. We were sent over after our first night for a morning briefing and to get fitted for our ECW gear.

Before any of you wrestling fans get excited, ECW in this context has nothing to do with barbed wire and flaming tables. I know, I was disappointed too. It stands for Extreme Cold Weather clothing. These clothes are the standard for Antarctic travel, and the big red jacket--while also exceedingly comfortable--is a sort of uniform for all involved.

This might come as a surprise to some of you, but Antarctica is rather chilly; more so than the average Midwest winter (polar vortex notwithstanding). So dedicated layers and equipment are a Godsend. We were given a pack of everything we'd need. The first are the boots. Affectionately known as Bunny Boots, these moon boots will make the entire 80s feel inadequate. They're made of some kind of rubber and plastic, and feel massive no matter what size your feet. For some reason, they have a pressure valve built into them that needs to be open when flying or else your feet explode (I guess‽) and otherwise stays closed to keep heat in. Next is pants and along with the snow pants you, a pair of sweatpants in the most obnoxious blue color is also included for underneath. Working our way up is a black zip sweatshirt, a neck gaiter, a balaclava (an item colloquially known as a ski mask, but that's not nearly official enough for government work), and what are essentially ski goggles. The goggles were great as the balaclava covers my mouth and that usually fogs my glasses, but the goggles keep them clean. For my hands, they gave a set of heavy yellow gloves and an inner glove liner. All of that gets wrapped in the aforementioned giant red jacket with fuzzy hood.

While it was a bit too warm in Christchurch, when I stepped off the plane in Antarctica I was glad to have every single piece. It might not be the most fashionable look, but function triumphs over form here, and I can live with that.

Also we got tested for covid after the gear issue, but that's way less interesting.

To keep this from being just a diatribe about my ECW fashion disaster, I want to cover just a bit more about Christchurch from being a tourist. Sadly, after my arrival I came down with a cold and was mostly holed up in my dorm for the next week. I didn't get to explore nearly as much as I would have liked. But I did get to try a number of the restaurants in Spitfire Square right next to the hotel. Shoutout to BurgerFuel for being a solid 3 out of 5 and further proof that the US does burgers better.

Christchurch is such a pretty city. Once I had recovered, I made a point to go out more often. On one of my walks into the city, I walked along Memorial Avenue and it seems like everyone had decided to plant flowers along their sidewalk walls. The whole way down there were hanging plants and blooms growing out of bushes. The walk alone was worth it to see all the flora. Included with the domestic plant life, Christchurch seems to have a lot of public parks. While there was one giant park where I assume lots of community life happens, there were a number of others that I passed through that couldn't be more than a few hundred feet long, but made such a nice impact on the area.

I had a few times to walk that street and enjoy the outdoors, as on Sunday I made it to a local church for their service. I slipped into the ARISE service being held at a high school, and keeping with my luck of never doing the conventional thing, I apparently was there for their big announcement service where they talked about what all the satellite campuses were doing and the new endeavors the church would be undertaking. I wish them the best of luck.

Lastly, it turns out Christchurch has a fantastic bus system. It was a little nerve-wracking to finally figure out the schedule and get on the thing, but for a four dollar (NZ) ticket, you can get all the way into downtown and have your fill of exploring the city. In my test run (and unfortunately my only bus trip) I made my way down to The Wizards Retreat to pick up some cards and dice. Nice folks there, highly reccomend. But it let me see just how easy it would be to explore the city. I already walk a lot, so having the bus depot serve as a central hub would have been a great way to explore the museums and shops. If I've got some time when I finally return home and can spend a few extra days in Christchurch, I'll make an effort to do so.

But all good things must come to an end, and while I enjoyed the extra days in Christchurch, I did have to leave and start actually working down here in Antarctica. Next week we'll actually get to talk about what life on the Ice has been like.

Until then, stay cool.