Best "Local" Meal Yet!

So, we went down to a restaurant in our downtown area (only about 2 miles away) called Orso. They had this special tonight (ok, "tonight" was around 2/5/10):

Fresh Fare Travels to Spain and Portugal

Fresh Fare continues its travels this winter by visiting the wild, diverse and beautiful countries of Spain and Portugal. The location lends itself to a rich history with a natural bounty. The diverse regions produce phenomenal wines which complement the wide array of flavorful profiles. It’s a resilient and sophisticated cuisine, yet simple in execution as nothing but the best will do.
Prix Fix Menu 65.00 with wine

Shrimp and Reindeer sausage skewer
Dusted with star anise and grilled. Served over a shaved fennel, orange and olive salad. 9.95

Albariño, Legado del Conde ‘08, Rías Baixas 8.95

Alaskan Pork Belly
Apple braised, complimented with an Alaskan razor clam topped with shaved apples and fennel. 9.95

Grenache Syrah, Almira “Old Vines” ‘08, Campo de Borja 8.95

Umpquah Valley Lamb Chop and house made Linguica
Simply seasoned and grilled. Served with a stew of pearl onions, chic peas, figs, kale and linguica. Finished with a Pedro Ximenez-fig glaze. 31.95

Rioja, Martin Códax ‘06 6.95

Bizcocho Borracho (Olive Oil Lemon Cake)
A light moist cake made with olive oil, lemons and yoghurt. Soaked with our ORSO ‘09 Roof Honey, cinnamon, and brandy. 5.95

Cream Sherry, Solera 1847 6.95

So, since we've been to Spain, and we've recently vowed to do our very best to eat local, this was VERY exciting for us. Even better, the meal was fabulous.

The lamb was exceptionally tender, and this was my first time tasting figs with meat, but it was very nice. I particularly enjoyed the stew with chick peas and kale--very much my style.

The Alaskan sausages and shrimp skewers were juicy and a wonderfully tasty combo. My favorite wine was the Grenache Syrah--incredible wine! Great depth of flavor, very smooth (which is my favorite when I find it in wine, I don't know how else to explain it, it's just not too bitter or alchol-ly).

The olive oil cake is simply the best cake we've ever had. Incredibly moist, but not rich, it was simply a delight to eat. Matt likened it to a tres leches cake, without the leches. 

The low-point of the meal was the cream sherry, but that might just be because Matt and I are not sherry drinkers. After sampling all the fabulous wines with the meal it was a big, sweet let down.

 We split the meal, so it was a little more affordable, and the wine parings were excellent. I left the prices just so you can get a feel for what prices are like in Anchorage, this is NOT the most expensive restaurant. But, YUM! (or, to use Jen's new word: YUMB!) 

Orso is an modern Italian restaurant that tries really hard to use local ingredients (this is more of a challenge then you might realize in AK!) The cozy, rustic/contemporary interior is always a pleasant complement to the food. They consistently have excellent wines, and we've found some incredible (and not so incredible) meals there. The local fare are the wine keep me coming back.

Writing in Alaska

So, we just got to see a world-famous and personal hero of a writer up here for free (Nikki Giovanni), and now I'm finding out that Alaska is quite the hot-bed for writing! I've been aspiring to be a writer for some time, and the more I dedicate myself to that end t the more I am finding things in synchronicity of that goal. Anyway, here are some of the things I'm finding out! I know most people won't be that interested, so I'll try to keep it brief.

Great blog for/by Alaskans writers: 49 Writers, which is actually where I've found most of this information! I'm going to join their online discussion of Rock, Water, Wild: An Alaskan Life by Alaskan author Nancy Lord.

There are quite a few writing workshops up here. The two I'm most excited about are the Kachemak Bay Writer's Confrence, this year featuring none other than my writer super-hero Michael Cunningham, and the Wrangell Mountains Writing Workshop. Both occur annually and are in AMAZINGLY spectacular settings. Kachemak Bay is my favorite place in Alaska so far--Homer is there with this awesome little spit and great little shops and restaurants, and you look out over this pristine bay to towering mountains and volcanoes. The Wrangell mountains, on the other hand, are part of one of the largest national parks (I hope I'm getting that right, writing from memory and my relatively new acquisition of the gigantic Alaskan geography) that is supposed to be pristine and lovely. The town it's in, McCarthy, is a top pick in my AK Lonely Planet, and supposed to be this quirky off-the-beaten-path little place.

Then, I found out UAA has this low-residency MFA in "Creative Writing and Literary Arts". Never heard of low-residency programs, but the gist is you only have to be on campus for a very few weeks each year, allowing for some serious flexibility in location for the rest of the year. How cool. Plus, they emphasize the connection of landscape to art and writing, which is a personal passion of mine.

Just thought I'd share, I don't really know any other writers (OK, I know one other writer, and I already barraged her with some of this information), but I just thought this was all so neat. Who knows what I'll be able to take advantage of--from my vantage point even applying for an MFA program is just not even on the map--but I found it all exciting just the same. I AM off to a local writing conference tomorrow on voice, which I am very much looking forward to.

Here's hoping you are all nurturing the creative spirit with-in you, and finding some synchronicity of your own!

Nikki G rocks this house!

I am wired and fired up. Matt and I just saw Nikki Giovanni speak at UAA. How could anyone sleep with the heart of that poet beating so close? ahhhh. . . really good stuff. I feel like writing and singing and teaching and dancing and living, with some screaming and shouting and kicking thrown in. Here are some highlights. . .

She talked about the need to live WITH the things we feared, and that really was a theme the whole evening, but she started this topic with a rant against Palin and the aerial wolf shooting that Palin supported and allowed up here. That flowed into racial and cultural differences, which really was at the heart of what she spoke of tonight, as she was a guest speaker for Civil Rights Month.

She spoke of the importance of finding love and joy, and surrounding yourself with people you love and lift you. She spoke of the power of education and narrative to heal and change. You shouldn't seek an education for money, she said, but to change as a person. She spoke of the courage of MLK and Rosa Parks, and detailed Park's life and ultimate courageous act on that bus, and I learned more about the civil rights movement in an hour than I have in my whole educated life. She spoke of the heinous death of Emmett Till, which I knew nothing of before tonight, but basically was the spark (oh, there was plenty of tinder, but this was really the flash of light that started the burn) for the movement. I am changed for the knowledge I gained tonight.

I left thinking, "I have so much to show my students, they need to know these things!" I am inspired and thankful to have had the opportunity to bask in the heat of this incredible woman. As a bonus, I got my Nikki Giovanni poetry book Matt had given me for Christmas many years ago signed by her, and he got her to sign her poem "We Will Prevail"; which she wrote on the eve of the Virgina Tech massacre. Every time I hear or read this masterpiece I tear up and stand in awe of the power of words. . . to heal things we should never have to experience . . . to move us to fully embody our best . . to help us see the light. Thank you Nikki, for bringing a spark to this cold, Alaskan night.

Happy New Year! FAQ from "up there"

It's a little after 11 am, and the sun has just peaked over the Chugach Mountains and is dappling our winter wonderland with it's lovely light. I felt the sudden need to write and update you all, even thought it's been ages (and is might also have something to do with the fact that I'm supposed to be cleaning now . . .) I think it's no coincidence that I haven't written since I began teaching in August. But I remain determined that I can keep writing AND teaching, and I've resolved to be better about keeping my blog updated this year.

Let's start with an FAQ. Every time we run into old friends and family from the lower 48, here's what they ask, so I'm thinking it's safe to bet you'll wonder too . . .

Is it cold up there?
Yes. and not really, all at the same time. As soon as autumn hit it started getting into the 20's at night, and the mountains would get snow at the top (know as "termination dust" up here) but not down here in the Anchorage bowl. I'm told it's been unseasonably warm up here this year, but we finally got snow in November up here, well after Colorado's first big snow storm! Lately it's been pretty warm: 20's at night and up to 30-35 in the day. Once you adjust and expect it's going to always be cold outside it's just not that big of a deal. Anything above 30 makes you feel like you don't need your hat, so it "feels" warm. It's been down to 8 for a couple of days, but we've been told February is typically the coldest month, so we'll see!!

A couple strange things I've noticed since I've never had a winter that stayed basically always below freezing the whole time:

• you should really take the time to clean your car off each time it snows. If you don't it's just going to keep building up! I actually couldn't open the back of our Subaru for a few days because I'd be negligent about removing the ice buildup from the bumper, it was iced in!!
• yes, it can get cold enough to ice up the inside of the windshield too.
  
• the road plowing crews up here are a sight to see! The plows are HUGE (I think the tires are literally taller than me) and they work in groups. They know exactly what they're doing, so the roads are almost always plowed and graveled in all the right places.
• I'm told the last snow day we had here in Anchorage was a long, long, time about (I think I recall) 15 years or so ago. It actually snowed about three feel in 24 hours. THAT is how much snow it takes to slow this city down.

We do live basically on the ocean. Really it's an inlet, but the maritime weather keeps up much warmer than the interior of Alaska. The weather's basically comparable to the interior north of the US (think upstate New York, Minnesota, Michigan . . .)

Is it dark up there right now?
yes. Sun's up (over the mountains) around 11, setting about 3:30. We've passed the equinox, so we're slowing getting more light now. But you really can't even tell when the sun sets or rises each day, becuase it's ALWAYS cloudy. A nice sunny day like today has been incredibly rare. I feel like we live in a giant white cloudy dome. Even at night it doesn't feel that dark because there are so many city lights and they just reflect of the clouds or fog of whatever the overcast of the day is. I've seen perhaps 4 or 5 sunsets since September. Also, it's not as big a deal (the dark) as you'd think. Life goes on. It's pitch black when you drive to work, big whoop, you know? The one weird thing is I wake up and sometimes panic because I think I've overslept and it might be 9 or 10 am, or maybe just 3 am, and I have to go find a clock. I will say when we went to visit Matt's family for Christmas we both sat in their sun room for hours at a stretch just doing nothing other than soaking up the sun. I almost got offended every time they would come and close the blinds because it was getting hot.

Do you like it?
I'd tell you, "yes." and Matt would say, "it's alright." We don't like Anchorage. It's not the best city ever. The pollution is really bothering my lungs, and neither of us like the traffic or crazy drivers (it's truly an entirely different breed of crazy driver up here, I promise. I've not ever seen anything like it). There are great trails in the city, for walking or skiing, and they keep them groomed and lit during the winter. So that's a neat thing about our city. But we haven't really explored them like we should. The rest of the city leaves a lot to be desired. But Alaska, well it's a truly neat place and incredibly beautiful (just not the city). It's also it's own little place with some crazy quirks. It's the state with the highest rate of rape. yuck. Alcoholism is a huge problem, as is vagrancy in the city. Corruption is nearly an expected part of the government, and it feel a little like corporations are always trying to take advantage of the fact that this place is unbelievably rich in resources, and yet there's comparatively a tiny population to fight any sort of environmental damage that would come from maximizing profits of those resources. The government approved mine tailing dumping in a pond knowing it would kill all pond-life in it for the next 100 years. "It will create jobs," they said. On the other hand the native tribes are much stronger than anything I've ever experienced. Many have created corporations and in some cases really fight to make sure businesses don't just strip the land. So it's a mixed bag up here. But we are enjoying the adventure while we have the chance to.

That's it for now, more later I promise!

Tonight's Sunmelt--Darkness Approaches

I know I should be updating you with all of the adventure's we've had recently, but they're just not ready yet. I'm still drafting away, and for some reason they're just not flowing very well for me. Here's something that did, and I thought I'd share. I promise more updates soon!
~*~*~*~

The sleeping lady emerged tonight from her thick veil of clouds just in time for sunset. Tonight was less of a sunset, and more of a sunmelt. The clouds in the heavy, overcast sky made just a little room for the sun's setting rays to leak through from behind. The landscape brightened in that steely light, and then the light began to simply melt away. The glassy smooth inlet refelected the icy still colors: sleepy grey, slow but bold blue, pristine white, solid iron--and the faintest hint of rosy gold tint to everything. A warm cold if you can imagine; the fire waiting for you back home out of the cold. Winter's approach infuses the air. I'm not saying it's cold, but there's a definite chill behind it all. Everything is ready--the fireweed, the leaves, even the mountains. The sky started to trickle rain as the sun left our corner of the earth, and the landscape greyed gently into night--an artists loosely sketching charcoal over it all.

The dark is coming--I can feel it in my bones. Part of me digs my heels in and throws a fit--wants those long lazy warm days of gentle and endless light to last on and on. But I know it's because we don't want to face the dark that causes most of our pain. The dark and cold will come whether we want it to or not. It is as much a part of this life as the sun and warmth. The other part of me is going to embrace the dark--be present in every moment. It's going to live fully right on through it. It won't let that frigid blackness stop me from going outside, from moving and living, from staying in shape, or from gleaning insight from it all. All the more to live, to find and keep my own light and warmth burning bright, right? and just when the deepest, darkest black descends, well it's then I'll know that we'll be headed back into the light.

4th of July in Seldovia (a belated report)

Pictured above: Kachemak Bay from the air, Jen and sea otter in Seldovia Bay, Halibut coming in!, Jen with Seldovia Harbor behind her, Matt (far left) rocking the survival suit relay.

. . . and so every week we would say to each other, “We should update the blog today”, and “Yes, we really should”. All the while we were thinking to ourselves the matter was concluded, the task delegated, end scene. Many apologies to our loyal followers for the month hiatus. We’ve had quite a busy month indeed, which may explain the lack of time to post updates. We’ll break up the posts to keep you all on baited breath, and so we don’t have to type so much. Also, names have been changed to protect the innocent. So, here is the first installment of what we’ve been up to…

When last we left our intrepid duo they were gearing up for a Forth of July holiday weekend in Seldovia. One of my coworkers grew up there and we were invited along with some others to delight in new experiences in a place only reachable by boat or plane. We were to meet everyone in Homer for a lovely boat ride across Katchemak Bay. The weather for the crossing was lovely, but haze likely stole some magnificent views. Captain Jane (my coworker, whose first name is not Jane or Captain) docked her father’s boat in the Seldovia Harbor 45 minutes after leaving Homer and we hoofed it the two blocks to her parents’ delightful guesthouse. We were sharing the space with another coworker and his girlfriend. The Seldovia festivities had begun earlier that day (July 3rd) and we went down to hear some local musicians and get a tour of the ‘burg. Jen and I were instantly in love with this town of about 300 people and knew we were going to have to visit many more times. Our final stop on the tour was at the Inside Beach, where several bald eagles were enjoying the surf and sun. Back at la casa Jane’s parents shared some of their astonishingly good salmon that I’m sure they caught right outside their door.

We had a blast on the Forth, even without fireworks (yes, it stays light out far too late for fireworks). We all had the pancake breakfast at the fire department, watched quintessential small town parade (complete with a float for the Town Crab (old stodgier grump of the Year winner) and oh so much more. After lunch we watched the canoe jousting tournament before cheering one of our traveling companions into the semi-finals of the log rolling competition. And the fun was just beginning. Tug of war and the egg toss were just warm-ups to the survival suit race and the fish toss (yes, this really was gross). No rest for us after dinner though, as Jane’s dad took us out in his boat out for some halibut fishing. We set the hooks and then called it a day…a really fun day.

Sunday, the last day of our stay, arrived none too welcome as Jen and I were really enjoying this trip. Back out with Jane’s dad to check the line for halibut. It looked like all we would pull up were some monstrous skate until finally Jane’s dad hauls in a beautiful 25-pound halibut (Jen was instrumental in bringing in this fish as well because of her awesome halibut dance when we set the line). What a wonderful experience, and we continue to be thankful for their hospitality and generosity. Our final activity before leaving was my favorite, a sea-kayaking trip up Seldovia Bay to take in more of the majestic country. The waters of the bay met pebble beach and then spruce forest that rolled up into the mountains. On our way back in we paddled right up to a sea otter. The trip couldn’t have ended any better. We took the plane back to Homer, so it only took 15 minutes. And just like that, our weekend in Seldovia was a memory. You better believe we’re going back soon.

Ok, ok, I know this was just a list of facts, a simple retelling of our trip. No poetry, no metaphors, no exquisite language to paint the scene. Well, you’ve simply come to the wrong blog writer for that (although I am married to one). What I can tell you is that Jen and I saw something in Seldovia that we wished we could have seen more of in all of our travels. We saw people simply enjoying life, letting outsiders view that life without feeling the need to be something different. We took joy in seeing our friend Jane so completely in her element and taking absolute and deserved pride in sharing it with us. We felt lucky to have glimpsed this corner of the world.

More adventures of Jen . . . and some noticings.

I wanted to check in again because I've gotten so much encouragement about my posts. Many of you have told me you've enjoyed and looked forward to posts here--so I don't want to let you down! I now have what every writer needs--a willing and ready audience. Thank you so much for the encouragement. It truly means a lot to me.

So I've been sick most of my first three weeks as an Alaskan, and for about my last two months as a Coloradoan as well. The flu bug bit me good, and then I traveled all over the place, moved, ended a school year, lived 3,000 miles away from my beloved husband, quit my job, left my home of 31 years for the last frontier . . . it's sure been a trip! I've learned so much each step of the way, but my body kept trying to tell me to take it easy for a bit. Well, now I certainly have the time to do just that. I keep thinking I'm getting better. Part of it is just sheer logic: no one could possibly be sick for this long. Part of it is simply being sick of being sick. And part of it is I secretly think people who are sick all the time having something more than being sick wrong with them, if you know what I mean, and now I was in desperate danger of becoming a hypocrite. So, last week I finally had a breakthrough and I was definitely feeling better. Monday brought me some energy that I hadn't had is quite awhile, along with less coughing up of my lungs. "Perfect," I was thinking. "I can see good health just around the corner!" The next day I felt even better. Fabulous in fact. I found a job I wanted to apply for that required an Alaska drivers license, and because the job posting closed the next day I decided to take advantage of my new surge in energy and motivation and go get my new license. I settled on a nice bike ride to Matt's office (only about 1.5 miles away) where he could then drive me the rest of the way to the DMV in town after work. The bike to his office is an easy coast downhill and across a bridge. I thought this was the perfect foray to start easing back into my exercise regimen. It was a lovely day, the sun sparkled, the sky was that lovely infinite shade of blue, and because I'm way up here in Alaska, it was a divine 72 degrees F. Just perfect. I began my long coast downhill on my ancient clinker one-speed (literally-it clinks every time I go over a bump, but I love the darn thing. I bought it for only $40 from this old guy when I was in college--it's a for-real classic!) and reveled in feel of the soft breeze in my hair. The hill we live on is pretty steep, so I employed way more break then pedal action on the coast down. No problem. I crossed the road an began the easy, and very flat ride across the bridge. There's this nice little fenced side-walk/ride thing for pedestrians and bikes, so despite all the semis coming up from the port I felt perfectly safe, and enjoyed the view of ship creek and the salmon fishermen & women and I rode over them. I reached the light at the end of the bridge, and peddled the last four or so blocks to Matt's work feeling just great. I was out and alive in the world, and it was so nice. Then I stopped. And couldn't breathe. But I sure could cough! So I hacked a lung for the next hour as I tried to sip little breaths in between losing what I was sure was most of my left lung. All I could think about was how truly great my lungs have been to me all my life. I've run, hiked, snowshoed, and couch-potatoed my fair share, and my lungs have never ever let me down. This down right sucked. So it was off to the doctor for me! I lucked into this fabulous doctor, who gave me this amazing steroid inhalant, and now I truly am feeling better. She made me promise not to run or bike for another 3-4 weeks (ouch!), but she also made me promise to walk everyday (no problem--Jack makes sure of that!). Even better, I'm down to coughing only a few times a day, and I can even laugh again without fear of giving up a lung. Ahhh, sweet, sweet breath. How I truly need and love thee.

On my recent walks around our neighborhood I've met the cutest little kiddos. There are three, a beautiful girl of about seven with ebony hair down to her waist, a chubby, shy little boy of about five who always seems on the go, and a tiny girl of about three who is just learning to talk, so her speech comes out in starts and halts. Every time Jack and I walk by they ask, "Can I pet your dog?" in their sweet little voices, and who could say no? Plus, Jack (did I mention he's the best dog ever) just loves kids and is so quiet and patient with them, gently wagging his tail while they pat his head and ask his name, that I have to say yes for his sake too. Today the all dandelions in Alaska must have been in cahoots, because they've all released their seeds at the same time. In places their feathery poofs of seeds were so numerous it almost looked like a light snow (just a prelude of what I'm in for, I'm sure). On Matt and my evening round we ran into the older girl and the boy, who were riding their toy cars down the hill by their house. The girl saw us coming and ran to us with the hems of her long jeans flapping under her bare feet with her usual question, "can I pet your dog?" But tonight her hair was sprinkled with dandelion seeds and the long strands seems to be reaching for the wind, and although the sun still shone is was far down in the sky and her bronze skin just glowed in that light. Her jade eyes sparkled with her question, and of course, I said, "yes." She and her brother patted Jack's head, and then flew down the hill on their cars. The boy rode hunched over the top of a tiny pink car that was clearly too small for him, his floppy spider man sneakers grazing the asphalt and acting as brakes. His laughter bubbled and skitted out of him to dance with the breezy leaves. It's amazing how such simple things become luminescent.

Today I had my very first visitor to Alaska! My told friend Dave from high school is visiting his father who just happens to live in Anchorage. Dave and I lost touch shortly after high school, and we've only recently re-connected, so I had the pleasure of being able to meet his wife, Carol, and their daughter, Maya for the first time. It's weird knowing someone in that awkward difficult time, before you really know who you are or want to be, and then seeing them all grown up and being and doing in this world. Definitely gives you pause for thought. Dave's daughter is the most beautiful two-year old--she's quiet, but you can tell has a very busy mind. She's got these expressive, dark eyes, and the daintiest lips that are quick to smile. She's an animal lover, patting and hugging Jack and the kitties every chance she got. She wore this little white jacket with kitty ears on the hood, and insisted on wearing the hood up. Adorable. We went to the park across the street--which I've visited at least once and most days more like two or three times each and every day I've been here--and Maya showed me a whole new park. She explored the towering bushes, and I actually looked over them to see a barge ship so big there were actual bridges (yes, plural) with semis (again, plural) driving right up into it. She bent down to examine the beauty of a bright yellow dandelion, blazed her own path that crunched in the mulch and stomped over a cement platform, and she delighted in the sheer and simple pleasure of a slide, wanting again and again to experience the exhilaration of flying down. But more than anything I saw Dave and Carol just riveted on this lovely little girl. Every expression of hers was registered, every mood and discovery catalogued. The slide in my park was the biggest Maya had ever been on, and today she went from sliding down with help, to doing it all by herself. What a treat to have been there.

Matt and I have been invited down to Soldovia for the 4th by his co-worker --so I'm looking forward to having some sights from outside Anchorage to report my next time around. How many times can I tell you about my walks around my neighborhood before it gets old! Again, thanks for reading and for all your support.