The Dinner Files

I spent a few days in Cordova, Alaska learning about Copper River salmon. I thought I knew a fair amount about salmon before I went. I could name the five types of Pacific salmon we get on the West Coast, I knew the general life cycle of salmon, and I certainly knew a myriad of ways to prepare and eat salmon. Hell, I’ve smoked it on my stove top, I’ve grilled it in corn leaves, I’ve made more gravlax than you could shake a stick at, I’ve even witnessed my New York City born-and-bred mother-in-law boss the fish cutter at Zabar’s around and make him get out a new piece of Nova. I now know a lot more about salmon. A lot. Really almost a frightening amount.

The other thing I learned about, however, is Cordova. I sort of fell in love with the place. You know how some places are great to visit but the thought of moving there doesn’t even cross your mind whereas others tempt you with visions of a different life? For some reason I’m always tempted by places that get quite cold and dark in the winter. Perhaps it’s the Norwegian in me, or a childhood largely spent in Minnesota so that dark cold somehow feels homey and inviting (or I just appreciate how glorious summer feels after that freezing blanket of winter). Cape Breton, Nova Scotia and Bergen, Norway, for example, loom large in my fantasy path-not-taken life. I’ll now add Cordova to the list.

The trip had several highlights, but I’ll just talk about the final one here. On Sunday night I had the pleasure of eating dinner around the kitchen island at Mikal Berry’s amazingly cozy and serene craftsman bungalow while the incessant “liquid sunshine” as the locals call it leaked from the sky.

This corn, chile, and salmon chowder would have been fabulous enough, but both it and the homecured gravlax she served beforehand were made with salmon she caught herself. On her commercial salmon fishing boat. There aren’t many women commercial fishermen in Cordova (or other places, I imagine, I just happen to know only 6 to 8 of the over 500 permit holders in Cordova are women – I met three of them – more on that tomorrow).

The chowder was followed by a homemade panna cotta garnished with rhubarb compote she harvested and made herself and blueberries and salmonberries (those things that look like giant raspberries) she picked from her garden between courses.

With the panna cotta Mikal served her homemade cranberry cordial. I make a cranberry liqueur of which I was once very proud. Those days are over. I need to relearn how to make it. Mikal’s blew mine away. Of course she starts by gathering wild cranberries in the fall….

It was a calm, easy, homey meal that especially hit the spot. As much as the weather was less than sunny, so too was my constitution that day, what with the previous night having been spent out drinking with a lethal combination of fishermen and chefs. Honestly, I don’t know who is more trouble. Or more fun. I am most seriously out of partying practice. Plus, from what I gathered, bars in Alaska close when everyone leaves, so there is nothing to send you home except your own good sense which, of course, by that time you’ve completely lost. I didn’t even follow my own hard and fast rules to avoid hangover disaster: Don’t change drinks, Don’t change venues. No good comes from either one. That moment when someone says “Let’s go to The Alaskan!” when you’re already in a perfectly fine bar or other drinking venue? That’s the time to go home. You know what I did instead of going home? I recruited people to join us. Mistakes were made. Fun was had. Lessons were learned, again.