Friendship, Maine, is one of the most important lobstering harbors on the East coast. It is also home of the Friendship Sloop and the Friendship Cat one-design, not to mention being the hub of one of the yachting world’s most prominent regattas: the annual Chowder Cup Race, established in the 1930's and now held annually on the second Saturday in August. It was initially sponsored by the nonexistent “Royal Friendship Yacht Club,” and the trophy, now retired, was a battered aluminum coffee pot (no top, no handle). The winners’ names from 1935-1966 were “engraved” upon it with a nail. My husband, Jim, and I won it in 1967, but by that time there was no more room for our names, so our historical victory has been forgotten by all save ourselves. For a number of years the Chowder Cup race languished, but then was revived 25 years ago, largely due to the tireless efforts of Bob and Judy Zeitlin.

Maine humorist John Gould, who manned the starting cannon for years and years, once wrote of the Chowder Cup Race (so named because the last boat to finish received a can of fish chowder) that it was “an im-probable gathering of anything that can run up a sail,
and to date no important publication has sent a man
[or a woman!] to find out what yachting news really is.”
I felt that it was high time to remedy that situation, and since the year 2000 have reported on the regatta to Points East, a Portland, Maine, based publication distributed at boating centers all along the New England coast.

In the 1930s the race was pretty much limited to the Friendship Cats, but today there are three classes of monohull entrants: Class A: 28' and over; Class B: 18' to 27'; Class C: under 18' (no windsurfers). Classes A and B have a longer course than C (8.5 miles vs. 2.8 miles), and start earlier. The race generally attracts between 25-35 boats, which is a good turnout for a local race. After the race is over there is a communal potluck dinner at the Martin Point Community House, at which skippers, crews, and their families gather to share food and postmortems (always a favorite indoor sport with boat people) and to honor the winners with handsome ceramic mugs. Class C has two trophies: a silver tray for the overall winner, and a mug for the first catboat over the finish line.

As Friendship is also a haven for artists, the Chowder Cup organizing committee has had no trouble recruiting generous local talent to design some very beautiful T-shirts, which are sold at the potluck dinner, and usually go like hotcakes. All of them display the title of the race, the date, and the unchanging logo: “Pure Sailing. No Protests. No Excuses.” They are fast becoming collectors’ items, and for good reason. In 2003 artist Sam Cady designed a particularly apt shirt by superimposing on each other the outlines of the three types of boats that participate in this race: the Friendship Cat, the Friendship Sloop, and a Marconi-rigged Sloop.

There are many kinds of boats which compete in the race and sailors of all ages, which is what makes it fun. This year, for example, sixteen-year old Lindsay Nyce won Class C in her Laser, and Jeremy Barnard, a professional photographer who has summered in Friendship all his life, has beaten out the same competition twice in his 13' Phantom, named Moiphy (for Moiphy’s Law), which he sailed from New Orleans to Friendship in 1979 – and not through the Intracoastal Waterway. Classes A and B feature several gaff-rigged boats, including Friendship sloops, a 1930s ketch, and the new 38' schooner Winfield Lash, named for the extraordinary boat-designer and builder whose family has built boats in Friendship for generations. Two years ago Winnie’s son Irv won Class B, and when he got up to accept his award, he told the audience this: “My father is 85 now. He was on the Blue Heron with me today when we won. He built the Friendship sloop Rights of Man (which had won Class A), and the hull of the schooner which is named for him.” The audience rose as one to honor Winnie, Irv and their families.

The gaff-rigged ketch Pippa belongs to Tim Pickering, a man who embodies the dedication to this race. A retired Episcopal minister, he for years sailed the slowest boat in the fleet and routinely received the “dead last” award at the dinner. Then he got the handsome Pippa, who is just about as slow as her predecessor, but he loves her just the same. Tim is over seventy, tall and stately, with a shock of snow-white hair; his boats are equally tall, stately and white. A few years ago, on the night before the Chowder Race, Tim had noticed a light on in his boat’s cabin as he checked his craft before retiring for the night. He rowed out in his dinghy to turn the light off, but as he pulled alongside his boat and stepped aboard, he lost his footing and fell into the water. The dinghy floated away and Tim was unable to climb aboard, so he hung there for an hour and a half until his family came out to check on him. At that point hypothermia had settled in, and he was rushed to a nearby hospital. As they wheeled him into the emergency room, he was heard to say, “Now you see that you get me out of here in time for the Chowder Race tomorrow!” That year he received a special award for good sportsmanship, and the crowd at the Meeting House rose to give Tim a standing ovation. He has stoutly resisted abandoning the award for the “Last Boat In.” This year, alas, he did not sail in the race, which is why my husband Jim and I collected the LBI trophy. It was just not our beloved Triton Caledonian’s day. So there on our kitchen shelf sits the still unopened can of Snow’s Fish Chowder with a special label which says—

You don’t get a cup, but you do get the chowder!

The Friendship Chowder Cup race is just like hundreds of locally-organized regattas put together to bring folks together wherever they sail. It may not be the America’s Cup, but it’s a lot of fun, and the stories themselves are worth the price of admission. Not that there is any.

Maine Fish Chowder

Serves 6-8
Nina M. Scott

This is best made the day before you plan to serve it.

2 lbs. haddock or cod (preferably with bones)
About a 3" sq. of salt pork – some people use bacon – cut into very small cubes
3 chopped onions
6 firm boiling potatoes, peeled and cut into half inch cubes
2 cups whole milk (some cooks substitute evaporated milk), or part cream
Salt and pepper to taste (do not add until the end, as the salt pork may have enough salt)
Butter

Try out (fry) salt pork over low heat until it releases its fat and the cubes are golden. Remove cubes and reserve. Gently fry onions in fat.

Poach fish gently in water to cover. Drain in a colander, and when fish is cool, remove bones but leave fish in fairly large pieces. Reserve fish broth. Add potatoes to onions, covering potatoes with the reserved fish broth (add water if it isn’t enough), and cook slowly until potatoes are tender.

Scald the milk (do NOT boil), and add to the onion and potato mixture. This is very important, as the chowder can curdle if you add cold milk. Add the fish and the salt pork cubes and taste for seasoning.

When reheating, always do it slowly. Serve in heated bowls with oyster crackers or Pilot Crackers, and a bit of butter if your cholesterol can take it.
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Clam Chowder is made the same way, only with chopped clams (canned is fine). Heat gently in their liquor before adding to the chowder.
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Lobster Stew

Another very popular Maine soup is Lobster Stew, which is very easy,
if you have the lobsters:

For four servings take the meat from two boiled and cooled lobsters (about 1 ½ lbs. each), and sauté very slowly in 1/4 cup butter. Meanwhile gently heat 3 cups whole milk, and then add the lobster mixture. Season to taste with salt and pepper and simmer over low heat for 10-15 minutes. Serve in heated bowls, again with oyster or Pilot Crackers.

Here’s a grand story about lobster stew: Monhegan Island is about 12 miles south of Friendship. The recipe book Monhegan Island Cooks (2002) reproduces a 1911 letter from a local lobsterman, which puts the goodness of lobster stew into perspective:

“I arose early in the morning, got on my oil clothes and went out to haul my lobster traps. I had 105 in all. It was rough and snowy, and a stiff sea breeze was blowing off the ocean. I kept going farther away from the Island, till at last I was out of sight from everything. I looked at my watch; it was 6 o’clock p.m. I had even lost sound of the whistling buoy. I then started for the harbor, rowing my 20-foot dory as fast as I could. It was hard work pulling against such a sea. I made the southern end of the island, and followed the shore up and went alongside the lobster smack Lucretia and sold my haul of 106 lobsters at thirty cents apiece. Hunger had not entered my mind, but now I found I was nearly famished. I rowed ashore on the beach, went up home and sat down to a hot supper of lobster stew, bread, cake, applesauce and tea. I can tell you it tasted good after pulling hard all day, and I will long remember how it tasted. This was January, 1898.”

Cass Brackett
Monhegan Island, Me.

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