Dining in the Deep: How Food in Submarines is key to onboard morale

Submarine Galleys are cramped and restricted

Beneath the surface of the world’s oceans, there are no weekends, no fresh air, and no sunlight - only steel corridors, recycled air, and routine. Yet somewhere under the Atlantic, or the Barents Sea, or the South China Sea, a small galley glows under its strip lights. A chef slides trays of roast chicken and potatoes from an oven the size of a large suitcase. The smell cuts through the air. It’s time to eat, and for 130 men and women sealed beneath the sea, that means everything.

Across navies and nations, from Britain’s Vanguard-class deterrent submarines to US colossal Ohios and Russia’s Borei class, food is the one constant of life underwater. Submarine cuisine might not make Michelin grade, but it is a logistical and psychological triumph - proof that good meals can hold a crew together even when the world above has disappeared

One recent UK Continuous At-Sea Deterrent (CASD) patrol remained submerged for more than 200 days - a period without a single day off, and with just a few off-watch hours each day beyond sleep. In such isolation, food becomes more than sustenance; it provides structure, routine, and a rare source of pleasure in a confined and repetitive environment. Mealtimes break up the monotony, reinforce camaraderie, and offer a small but essential sense of normality in a world sealed off from the surface.

The Art of Feeding the Invisible Feeding a submarine is a riddle of physics and psychology. There are no resupply stops on a 120-day deterrent patrol. Every gram of food must be packed before departure and must last until the hatches open again months later. Space is so tight that tins are stacked in torpedo compartments and boxes of flour wedged under bunks.

On departure day, the crew threads through a maze of supplies: more than 18 tonnes on a British boat, nearly twice that on a US one. Fresh fruit, milk and vegetables vanish first. After two or three weeks, the diet becomes a careful rotation of frozen, dehydrated and tinned staples. By the final month, meals depend entirely on what remains in the deepest freezer.

Electrical power isn’t limitless either. A nuclear reactor produces heat, not direct electricity, and what current can be drawn from the turbines is rationed. Systems for propulsion, sonar, life-support and navigation come first; freezers and ovens must share what’s left. As stocks run down, unused units are shut off to conserve energy and silence. When the chefs start clearing freezers, everyone knows the patrol is nearing its end.

Britain: Tea, Puddings and Endurance In the Royal Navy, food carries the weight of ritual. A Vanguard-class submarine, Britain’s continuous at-sea deterrent holds around 135 sailors, working six-hour watches through six months or more beneath the waves. Mealtimes mark the passing of time in a world without day or night.

Breakfast remains defiantly British - bacon, sausages, beans, eggs, toast and tea; Lunch might be shepherd’s pie or curry; Fridays are for fish and chips; Sunday brings roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, even 300 feet below the surface. Dessert is sacred: sticky toffee pudding, apple crumble, spotted dick with custard - puddings that remind you of home.

Chefs, known simply as “cooks,” command deep respect. A good one keeps tempers level; a bad one can sour morale. Every loaf is baked on board, and the galley never stops: four cooks turning out 400 meals a day in a space no larger than a family bathroom.

America: Comfort at Scale Across the Atlantic, the U.S. Navy treats food as strategy. “You feed morale, you feed readiness,” one American submariner told Navy Times. On a ballistic missile sub the size of a small cruise ship, the galley runs like a diner that never closes.

There are prime rib nights and “mid-rats” midnight rations of chili dogs or burritos for those coming off watch. Ice cream is a right; every American boat carries an ice-cream machine, kept running even during silent running. In a 2019 Navy Times interview, a retired Chief Culinary Specialist said: “The ice-cream machine never stops. If it breaks, we fix it before the sonar.”

The result, sailors insist, is that submarine food in the U.S. Navy often beats what’s served on surface ships. It’s a deliberate investment: long patrols, far from home, demand comfort food that feels abundant, even when the world outside is hostile.

Russia: Cabbage, Black Bread and Camaraderie Life in the Russian and former Soviet fleets has always been more austere. During the cold war and in the cramped, cold hulls of Delta or Typhoon-class submarines, meals historically centred on dense, durable staples: cabbage, potatoes, tinned meats, black bread, and pickled vegetables.

Fresh produce rarely lasted beyond the first week, so cooks relied on ingenuity — stretching stews with barley or buckwheat and serving endless variations of borscht. Tea was constant, drunk strong and sweet, often with condensed milk. On birthdays or completion of difficult manoeuvres, tradition allowed a discreet toast of vodka or brandy — officially discouraged, unofficially accepted.

Modern Borei-class boats are better equipped, with improved refrigeration and packaged ready meals, but the ethos endures: simple food, shared together, a small rebellion against monotony.

France, India and the Rest of the Silent WorldFrench crews on Triomphant-class deterrent subs begin patrols with baguettes, cheese and pâté carefully rationed by day; when the bread runs out, morale dips. Their chefs train in classical cuisine and guard olive oil and wine vinegar as sacred stores.

On India’s Arihant-class ballistic subs, menus balance dietary law and faith: vegetarian, halal and Jain options coexist, and spice mixes are adjusted to keep flavour alive through the recycled air.

China’s new Jin-class boats follow the same logic, beginning patrols with rice, vegetables and pork, then switching to vacuum-sealed stews and instant noodles as supplies thin.

No matter the flag, the human equation is identical: calories sustain, but culture comforts.

Rituals and Time

In a place without dawn or dusk, food becomes the calendar. “Curry night” or “burger night” signals Friday even if it’s Wednesday outside. Birthdays are marked with improvised cakes, often baked with powdered eggs and tinned fruit. Christmas dinners are served, no matter where the submarine lies.

The galley becomes a stage for humour and comfort. In both British and American fleets, the last surviving fresh apple is sometimes sliced into pieces and shared ceremonially: a symbol that the end is in sight.

These moments matter. Studies in military psychology show that shared meals reduce conflict and maintain performance in extreme environments. For submariners, they’re lifelines, a reminder of humanity when the world has shrunk to a steel hull.

The Science of Submarine Cooking Cooking underwater is chemistry as much as craft. The air is dry, the pressure constant, and the oxygen recycled. These factors dull flavour and smell. Chefs compensate by increasing seasoning and moisture; even small changes in water salinity or carbon-dioxide levels alter how food tastes.

Ovens must vent carefully to avoid heat spikes. Frying produces odours that linger for days in the closed atmosphere, so ventilation runs continuously. Fresh water is distilled from seawater, which slightly affects the taste of tea and coffee — something Royal Navy sailors still debate with passion.

Everything is planned to the gram: caloric intake, vitamin balance, even menu repetition intervals to prevent “menu fatigue.”

The Last Supper When a deterrent submarine surfaces after its patrol, its crew are pale, its freezers empty, and its cooks exhausted. Before docking, the galley is scrubbed, the remaining stores logged, and any uneaten food disposed of. It’s a ritual as precise as a missile drill.

For the crew, the first breath of fresh air and the first real beer on shore are moments remembered for life. But ask almost any submariner, and they’ll talk about the food - about the smell of baking bread in a windowless corridor, about the puddings, about the chef who turned tinned peaches into a proper dessert.

Beneath the waves, nations may differ in their politics and technology, but every crew shares one truth: the most powerful machine on Earth still depends on the taste of warm bread, the comfort of a cup of tea, or a spoonful of ice cream in the dark.

Because even under a thousand tonnes of pressure, humans remain human - and the evening meal is still the best part of the day.