The Menu No One Asked For
Imagine waking up after a grueling 12-hour shift, your body aching, your stomach growling—only to be greeted by a steaming plate of chicken feet, their scaly skin glistening under the fluorescent lights of the ship’s mess. Or perhaps it’s a bowl of pig trotters, the gelatinous texture of the skin sticking to your fork as you poke at it half-heartedly. For many seafarers aboard Pacific Gas and Dorian vessels, this isn’t a nightmare. It’s just Tuesday.
The complaints about the food on these ships aren’t just about taste—they’re about survival. When your job demands physical endurance, mental sharpness, and the ability to function in high-stress environments, the last thing you need is a meal that feels like a cruel joke. Yet, time and time again, sailors describe opening their lunchboxes to find dishes that seem more like leftovers from a butcher’s scrap bin than actual sustenance.
The “Delicacies” That Haunt the Mess Hall
The menu on these ships often reads like a checklist of the most polarizing ingredients in global cuisine. While some of these dishes hold cultural significance in China, India, or other parts of Asia, they’re met with outright revulsion by crews from Eastern Europe, the Philippines, or Western nations. Here’s what sailors are forced to endure:
- Chicken Feet – A staple in Chinese cuisine, often braised or deep-fried. The problem? Most sailors don’t want to gnaw on bones. “You spend 10 minutes picking at it, and all you get is a mouthful of skin and cartilage,” says Andrei, a Ukrainian motorman who worked on a Pacific Gas LPG carrier. “I’d rather eat a can of tuna.”
- Pig Trotters – Slow-cooked until the meat falls off the bone, but the slimy, fatty texture is a dealbreaker for many. “It’s like eating jelly with hair on it,” groans Marek, a Polish chief officer. “I’ve seen guys take one bite and just… walk away.”
- Fish Heads – A prized part of the fish in many Asian cuisines, but for sailors used to fillets, it’s a psychological hurdle. “You’re staring into the fish’s dead eyes while you eat,” says Ivan, a Russian AB. “It’s like the ship is gaslighting you.”
- Duck Blood Soup – A delicacy in some regions, but for others, it’s a hard no. “I don’t care if it’s ‘nutritious’—it looks like something you’d drain out of a clogged sink,” admits Dmitry, a Ukrainian cadet.
- Intestines & Offal – Whether it’s stir-fried pig intestines or beef tripe, these dishes are a frequent source of complaints. “You can smell it before you see it,” says Sergei, a Moldovan oiler. “And the smell doesn’t go away. It lingers in the mess hall for hours.”
The irony? Many of these ingredients are cheap, high in protein, and shelf-stable—perfect for long voyages where fresh produce is a luxury. But when the same dishes appear day after day, week after week, even the most open-minded sailors reach their breaking point.
“We’re Not Animals—We Need Real Food”
The frustration isn’t just about the food itself—it’s about the lack of choice. On most ships, the cook (often Chinese or Indian) prepares meals based on their own cultural preferences, with little regard for the diverse crew. “The cook would make biryani every single day,” recalls Alex, a Romanian engineer who worked on a Dorian bulker. “No vegetables, no salad, just rice and spicy meat. After two weeks, I was dreaming of a plain boiled potato.”
For Western and Eastern European sailors, this cultural disconnect is exhausting. Many grew up on simple, hearty meals—mashed potatoes, schnitzel, borscht, or grilled meat with fresh bread. When they’re served chicken feet instead of chicken breast, it feels like a personal insult.
“I don’t mind trying new things,” says Viktor, a Ukrainian chief mate. “But when 90% of the menu is stuff I wouldn’t feed to a dog, it’s not ‘cultural exchange’—it’s torture.”
The psychological toll is real. Food is one of the few comforts on a ship, a daily ritual that breaks up the monotony of life at sea. When that ritual becomes a source of stress, disgust, or even hunger (because some sailors would rather skip meals than eat what’s served), morale plummets.
“You start to dread meal times,” admits Pavel, a Russian electrician. “Instead of looking forward to a hot meal, you’re bracing yourself. It’s like punishment. And the worst part? You know the cook thinks he’s doing a good job.”
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The Cook’s Perspective: “This Is Normal Food!”
Of course, the cooks—most of whom are Chinese or Indian—don’t see it that way. For them, these dishes are everyday meals, not “exotic” or “gross.” Many have worked on ships for years, preparing the same food they grew up eating, and they’re baffled by the backlash.
“I don’t understand why they complain,” says Li Wei, a Chinese cook who worked on a Pacific Gas tanker. “Chicken feet are very nutritious. They have collagen, they’re good for your skin! And pig trotters—so much flavor!”
The disconnect is cultural, but it’s also about power dynamics. The cook answers to the office, not the crew. If the company’s food budget is tight (and it almost always is), the cook will buy cheap, filling ingredients—even if the crew hates them. “The office says ‘save money,’ so I buy what’s cheap,” Li admits. “If they want steak, they should pay for steak.”
But for the sailors, it’s not just about the money—it’s about respect. When the same unpopular dishes keep appearing, it sends a message: the company doesn’t care if you’re hungry, as long as you’re fed.
The Hunger Games: When the Crew Fights Back
Some sailors refuse to suffer in silence. On ships where the food is particularly bad, crews have resorted to creative (and sometimes desperate) solutions:
- Stockpiling snacks – Many bring their own stashes of instant noodles, canned meat, or protein bars to supplement (or replace) the ship’s meals.
- Bribing the cook – A carton of cigarettes or a bottle of whiskey can sometimes convince the cook to prepare a separate dish for the crew.
- Going on “hunger strike” – Some crews have collectively refused to eat until the food improves, forcing the captain to intervene.
- Learning to cook – A few enterprising sailors have taken matters into their own hands, using the ship’s galley to make their own meals after hours.
“I learned to make pasta with canned tuna,” says Mikhail, a Ukrainian cadet. “It wasn’t great, but it was better than pig intestines.”
But these workarounds only highlight the bigger problem: the system is broken. When sailors have to smuggle food onto a ship just to eat properly, something is very wrong.
The Unseen Cost of Bad Food
It’s easy to dismiss food complaints as petty whining. “You’re at sea, not a five-star restaurant!” some might say. But the reality is that nutrition directly impacts performance. A crew that’s constantly hungry, disgusted, or malnourished is a crew that’s more likely to make mistakes.
“You can’t concentrate when you’re starving,” says Oleg, a Russian third officer. “Your body is running on instant noodles and resentment. How are you supposed to focus on navigation when all you can think about is how much you hate the cook?”
There’s also the mental health aspect. Being stuck on a ship for months with no escape from bad food is a form of slow torture. “It wears you down,” admits Daniil, a Ukrainian AB. “You start to feel like the company doesn’t give a damn about you. And if they don’t care about your food, what else don’t they care about?”
The worst part? It doesn’t have to be this way. A few simple changes—a more diverse menu, better ingredients, or even just asking the crew what they want—could make a world of difference. But as long as the office sees food as just another line item to cut costs on, sailors will keep opening their lunchboxes with dread.
Because at the end of the day, food isn’t just fuel. It’s morale. It’s dignity. And when a company serves its crew chicken feet and pig trotters like it’s doing them a favor, it’s not just a meal—it’s a message.
And the message is clear: You’re not worth better.