Even glaciers need haircuts sometimes
and other notes from the Alaska dinner
If there is one major takeaway from the second 50 States dinner, it’s this: Alaska is both so vast and so remote that even the most mundane activities operate differently than in the continental US.
High school basketball teams take planes to the next town over for games—because “the next town over” is so far and/or the road is so treacherous that flying makes more sense. Grocery trips can be difficult, so your meals may involve more self-reliance (fishing, foraging, canning) than the average American family. And not that climate change isn’t affecting us all, but weather is more omnipresent for Alaskans. For many of them, the terrain is inextricably linked to their industry, so the climate doubles as another boss you’d report to.
In fact, our menu was based on a typical fish camp meal, so we didn’t just discuss Alaska, we got to feel a bit immersed in it too.
The menu
Given that we held the Alaska dinner on a weeknight, I chose to keep the meal a bit simpler—tilapia bisque with sourdough bread to start, then the fish camp menu of salmon fillet, stuffed baked potato, and blueberry crisp for dessert. I threw in a side of green beans with the entree, since I grew up in a “every dinner has a vegetable” house.
But that wasn’t the only deviation from the recipes provided in the America cookbook. Specifically, it called for a halibut bisque—though when you’re not catching it yourself, $20/lb for the fancier white fish is a bit steep, especially mixed into soup. Similarly, the blueberry crisp was supposed to be huckleberry cobbler, but ordering the huckleberries would’ve cost me $200 plus shipping.
Don’t worry, I Googled, and my respective substitutions of tilapia and blueberries are both authentic to the area. Of course, looking into whether tilapia is found in Alaskan waters sent me down a rabbit hole of the state’s (over)fishing laws. And that rabbit hole only deepened as I worked on the drink menu.
Alaskans almost exclusively drink beer, since it’s the type of beverage you can nurse for hours while staying warm and entertained in your local bar. In fact, the only spirit-based drink I could find is a layered shot of Kahlúa, Bailey’s, and Crown Royal, called the Duck Fart.
Then, in a moment of inspiration, I remembered we had a mini stockpile of moonshine. My internet searching taught me that not only does Alaska have a long history of distilling moonshine, but the word “hooch” is actually based on the name for an indigenous Alaskan liquor called “hoochenoo.” Thus, moonshine made it onto the menu, along with blueberry lemonade that guests could choose to spike or not (spoiler: most of them did).
Around the table
After kicking us off with the history of hooch that I’d learned as part of dinner prep, the conversation quickly turned to a delightful show-and-tell iPad slideshow of Emily and Cara’s recent trip to Alaska. They’d returned just a few weeks prior, so the stories and facts were fresh in their minds: the prominence of puddle jumper planes, the unmatched awe at the fjords and glaciers, and the lesser-known geography of the Aleutian Islands that form Alaska’s funny little tail.
And as they shared their firsthand insight into the state, the conversation digressed into others’ related topics as well. Glacier conservation led us to Jess talking about how higher temperatures are melting Alaska’s permafrost layers, which releasing new and different bacteria that were previously stored in the ice into the water, changing the ecosystem beyond just raising the sea level.
Harsh jumped in too as Emily described life on the Aleutian Islands. He spent a few years growing up on an island army base, so he shared about the logistical difficulties (and also the unique enjoyment) of living in a similarly remote place.
My favorite detail of the slideshow, though? On Emily and Cara’s fjord tour, they were served glacier ice in a glass of Coke, which seems counterintuitive to conservation but is apparently like giving the glacier a little haircut so it can grow back stronger and healthier. The more you know!
As we served the entrees, Nik suggested they share next: a podcast segment about the guest’s unique experience in Alaska (listen from 27:05 to 30:39). I won’t ruin it for you, but I will say that my jaw DROPPED open at the story’s twist ending. And I’ll also say that it was a special moment to sit together quietly as we ate and listen to what is essentially an oral history. Just as people have been doing in Alaska for centuries. Immersion, like I said before.
Awe and sadness
Through our long and winding conversation, we kept returning to how Alaska is a complicated place. Its topography is stunning and surreal, creating a sense of distance between humans and nature. Yet there is a closeness formed too when marveling at something unfathomable. The sense of awe feels adjacent to happiness, but the flipside is knowing how much of the landscape is in peril causes a sobering sadness that persists. It’s a magnificent place to visit, but you can’t avoid the expense and difficulty of normalcy in a place so remote.
There’s something about the Alaska dinner happening on a Tuesday after work that somehow mirrors that feeling. What a special thing to do on a random weeknight—yet absolutely more complicated to facilitate the timing and the details to make it come together outside of the comparative vastness of a weekend. I like to think that the day of the week amplified the unique blend of optimism and cynicism, appreciation and trepidation, and awe and sadness that we all left the table feeling. I’m not sure we would’ve felt it as strongly on a different day, or if the topic were another state.
But please remind me not to host on a Tuesday again, will you? And PLEASE remind me never to drive in Alaska. Thank you.
New here? Learn more about the 50 States project.
Want the recipes? See the full menu.