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Rugelach with Cranberries and Pecans

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I’ve always enjoyed rugelach. After discovering that the primary ingredients in the dough are butter and cream cheese, it is obvious why these cookies are so good. I found several recipes that had the same premise for the dough and a variety of different fillings. Armed with different recipes and ingredients that were in my pantry, I created a version of rugelach with ingredients we’d brought with us to the bush.  It came out delicious! The filling is a fruity complement to the soft and flaky crust.

Arctic Rugelach

Ingredients:

Dough

  • 1 cup unsalted butter, softened
  • 1 (8 ounce) package cream cheese, softened
  • 1/4 cup white sugar
  • 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
  • 2 cups all-purpose flour
  • 1/4 teaspoon salt
Filling:
  • 1/2 cup fruit preserves (I used apricot, peach, and mango preserves)
  • 1/4 cup packed light brown sugar
  • 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
  • 3/4 cup chopped dried Craisins
  • 1 cup finely chopped pecans
  • 6 tablespoons white sugar
Coating (applied just prior to baking):
  • whites from two eggs
  • 2 tablespoons white sugar
  • 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
 Directions
  1. In a medium bowl, cream together the butter and cream cheese. Beat in 1/4 cup of sugar and the vanilla extract. Combine the flour and salt; stir until well blended. Turn out dough onto a piece of plastic wrap and press together to form a ball. Divide the ball into 4 portions. Shape each portion into a flat rectangle, so it is ready to roll after being chilled. Wrap each rectangle in plastic and refrigerate for at least 2 hours or overnight.
  2. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). In a small bowl, toss together the brown sugar, 6 tablespoons white sugar, craisins and finely chopped pecans. Set aside.
  3. Take the 2 tablespoons white sugar and mix with the one teaspoon cinnamon in a small bowl. Set aside. This will be used to sprinkle over the top of the cookies before baking.
  4. Roll out each portion of dough into a rectangle about 1/8 inch thick. Spread about 2 tablespoons of the fruit preserves over each rectangle, then sprinkle each one with some of the Craisins & nut mixture. Roll up the rectangle, jellyroll-style, so you have a long log shape. Brush log with egg whites and generously sprinkle with the sugar & cinnamon mixture. Using a knife, cut each log into 12 pieces and set on parchment-lined or greased baking sheet.
  5. Bake for 16 to 18 minutes at 350 degrees F in the preheated oven, until golden. Rotate the cookie sheet halfway through to ensure even baking.
  6. Remove cookies from baking sheet to cool on wire racks.
  7. As tempting as they will be hot out of the oven, let the cookies cool before you enjoy them. They’re better cool.

Yields: 48 cookies

Adult Beverages in a Dry Town

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We always have enjoyed wine or good beer with our meals. One of my fondest Thanksgiving memories began with Jack handing me the best Bloody Mary I’ve ever had. Sake plus sushi equals a wonderful evening. You get the picture…

Living in a dry community is sometimes hard. A fillet of Chinook salmon cooked to perfection on a cedar plank would be that much better served with a bottle of Pinot Noir or a Chardonnay. The other night we had a wonderful meal of sashimi–the sweet shrimp, scallops and salmon were excellent. Alas, no Pinot Gris or sake. And after a good workout in the weight room, it sure would be nice to come home and have a beer. We can’t even have cooking sherry!

And so, we improvise to the extent we can. We bought a Sodastream carbonated beverage maker and absolutely love it. (In fact, now several people in our village have ordered them!) A glass of “fizzy water” and a bit of flavored syrup keeps things “dry” but agreeably festive.

But believe me, when we hit Anchorage in the spring, it’s not safe to get between us and that first bottle of beer!

Bush Alaska: Arctic Snow Fence

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The first snow fell a few days ago. Brilliant sunshine melted it. Snow fell again yesterday. So far the sun is winning the battle. As the days are getting shorter, it is certain that the snow will win.

Our lagoon has iced over in large patches. There are short tracks on the ice where people have briefly ventured out but returned.

The snow fence stands ready for the winter. It looks strong and resilient having beaten back the drifts year after year.

The fence in Point Hope looks much sturdier compared to the fence in Shishmaref  (http://wp.me/p1305P-1T). This can only mean that we are ready for gale force winds.

Whalebone Graveyard Fence

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Point Hope is a whaling community. The villagers primarily hunt bowhead whales. The jawbones of the bowheads are used to mark feasting areas and (above) the graveyard. The graveyard is completely surrounded by the jawbones, which average about seven feet tall. Some looked to be well over ten feet! It’s impressive to note that every two bones used in this unusual fence represents one whale.

Rock Patterns

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Ice scraped past in the form of a glacier, high above the ground and left this beautiful rock pattern.

Shot taken at the top of Exit Glacier on the edge of the Harding Ice Field.

Where There’s Only Sky and Water

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A solitary surf fisherman in late August hoping to intercept the last of the pink salmon or a roving school of Dolly Varden on the point at Point Hope, Alaska.

Surf fishing is addicting. Part of the magic lies in not knowing when or even if the fish will show up. So you fall into a rhythm, walking up or down the beach casting, waiting for the lure to land, and beginning your retrieve. As you fall into this rhythm, invariably your mind wanders… back to fish you’ve caught and fish you’ve lost on this beach or on other beaches, back to something your dad, or a coach, or a friend said to you a long time ago, back to places you’ve been and to people who have slipped into and out of your life. At other times, you find yourself looking into the future, forward to the day when your mortgage is paid off, or to a day when you are at last able to travel to some dream destination. Your feet are planted more or less firmly on sand or pebbles. Behind you are cities and towns, offices, classrooms, dinner parties, appointments, work, triumphs and regrets, small talk, clocks, calendars… Before you, stretching out as far as you can see, there is only sky and water and the possibility that on the next cast you’ll be woken from your reverie, everything suddenly solid, your rod bent into a graceful, lively arc.

The Bones of a Village

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New enough to reveal steel and aluminum nails, old enough to be well-weathered by the Arctic climate, the bones of this seal-skin whaling boat were left behind when Point Hope (Tikigaq) relocated two-and-a-half miles inland in the 1970s. Point Hope is one of the longest continuously inhabited places in North America.

The Inupiaq name for Point Hope Village, Tikigaq (tick-ee-yahk) means index finger and described the way the gravel point once hooked into the Chukchi Sea. Time and tide long ago washed away the crook of the finger, leaving behind a triangular point near enough to deep water that the whales that first drew the Inupiat people here thousands of years ago still swim close to shore. The 2.3 mile hike from the current town out to the point gets a little tough once the road ends and the pea-to-chunk-size gravel begins, but it is well worth the effort. In addition to bowhead and other whales, which are frequently sighted, the collision of currents at the point holds large schools of finger-sized baitfish, which in turn draw flocks of Arctic terns, gulls, murres, puffins, jaegers, guillemots and ducks while various sandpipers patrol the shore. At times, the sea and sky are filled with hundreds–if not thousands–of birds. The small fish also attract roving schools of pink, silver and Chinook salmon and sea-run Dolly Varden which in turn are followed by spotted, common and bearded seals. Walruses show up from time to time as well.

The walk to the point passes through the Old Village, a ghost town of semi-subetranean homes made from sod, whale bone and driftwood as well as more modern, wood and metal houses. It’s fascinating to walk through the Old Village and contemplate what life would have been like up here before electricity, running water, guns and gasoline engines–when the only “grocery stores” were the great herds of caribou 25 or more miles to the east, bowhead whales swimming in the freezing Arctic Ocean, and the various fish, seals, berries and plants gathered in their seasons.

Alaskan Clam Chowder

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New England Style Clam Chowder garnished with a slice of lemon and salmon berry blossoms. All fruit blossoms are edible, and in addition to being beautiful, some are downright tasty.

These days, there seems to be a trend toward making New England Style Clam Chowders thicker and thicker. Unfortunately, to our taste, the thickness is achieved by adding lots of flour, resulting in a somewhat pasty if not downright bland bowl of soup. Our favorite chowders put clams and potatoes up front and emphasize flavor over thickness. We make both New England Style and Manhattan Style Clam Chowders in large pots, freezing the finished product in smaller containers and pulling them out on cold nights throughout the winter. While this is a great way to put to use all the razor clams we used to dig in Oregon and now dig in Alaska, it works well with other kinds of clams, too, as well as with canned clams such as the big, 51 ounce (3 pounds, 3 ounces) cans of SeaWatch chopped clams sold at Costco and other stores. The recipe is never the same twice. The one below is a recent version. One of the keys is to use not more than twice the potatoes, by weight, as clams.

Up here in bush Alaska, many of the communities are “dry” and I can’t use one of my favorite ingredients–sherry. If I could, I would add about a 1/4 cup of a quality dry sherry such as Dry Sack.

Ingredients: (We cook with dairy products from grass-fed cows, which research increasingly is showing is a significantly more healthful choice than dairy from cows fed on grain and processed feed.)

  • 3 pounds razor clams, chopped coarse (This is the weight of clams after they have been drained. But save and set aside their juice.)
  • clam juice you’ve set aside. The more, the better.
  • 4 1/2 pounds Yukon Gold or yellow potatoes. (These cook up creamier than Russets)
  • 2 sweet onions, chopped coarse
  • 1/2 pound bacon, cut into small pieces
  • water (as needed to cover potatoes while cooking)
  • 4 cups milk
  • 2 cups heavy cream
  • 6 cloves of garlic, chopped fine
  • 1/2 cup flour
  • 4 tablespoons olive oil
  • 4 tablespoons butter
  • 2 tablespoons sea salt
  • 1/2 tablespoon Italian seasoning (The Spice Hunter’s Italian blend is excellent)
  • 1 teaspoon freshly ground pepper (either black or rainbow)
  • 1 teaspoon dry tarragon, crushed (optional)
  • 1/2 teaspoon nutmeg (optional)
  • 5 – 7 very thin slices of lemon

1. Wash potatoes and remove any eyes, but do not remove the skins. Cut into ½ inch cubes and place in a large bowl. Set aside.

2. Fry the bacon pieces till tender. Do not crisp. Drain the grease and set aside.

3. In a large pot, add the olive oil and heat over medium-high. Add onions, stirring frequently for about five minutes until they begin to turn translucent. Add garlic and stir again.

4. Add flour and stir in thoroughly. Add two tablespoons of butter (or more olive oil) if necessary to completely mix in the flour.

5. Immediately add clam juice and milk. Stir.

6. Add potatoes, seasonings and salt and enough water to cover all. Slowly bring to a simmer and cook until potatoes become tender, stirring occasionally. About 45 – 60 minutes.

7. Add cream and lemon slices and return to just under a simmer or barely simmering.

8. Add the clams and the remaining butter and turn heat to low. On a propane stove, you may need a flame tamer. Continue cooking for 10 minutes.

Serve with a big hunk of toasted sourdough bread and a Chardonnay, a Pinot Gris, or a good ale.

Cloudberries and Freezer Jam

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Ball Jars filled with freshly-picked cloudberries (often locally called salmon berries). We’ll add a little lemon juice, pectin, and sugar to the crushed berries, mix and simmer this in our bread maker for an hour-and-twenty minutes, pour the mixture back into the jars and put them in the freezer to set. This will provide us with some of the most tantalizing jam imaginable. Cloudberry jam… 

The morning was cool and cloudy, with mist and banks of fog rolling across Point Hope. We’d been told that we’d find berries about three miles east of town along Seven-Mile Road, and so seven of us had gathered to make the hike out. Two of the men carried 12 gauge shotguns and a third carried a side arm. Bears are always a possibility.

The wildflowers which all but carpeted the tundra when we arrived here nearly a month ago are mostly gone now, though here and there a few tiny yellow Alaska poppies and beautiful blue but deadly monkshood and other flowers are still blooming. And then, right about at three miles just as we’d been told, there they were… cloudberries, growing together in small patches where mounds of earth were just high enough above the boggy tundra to allow roots to drain. The unripe cloudberries (Rubus chamaemorus) were deep red and beautiful. The ripe ones are the amber-orange color of Chinook salmon flesh, giving their close relatives, salmon berries (Rubus spectabilis), their names.

Wherever cloudberries grow across the upper latitudes of North America and Europe, they are a prized delicacy, agreeably tart when barely ripe, becoming creamy rich and sweet as they continue to ripen. They contain twice as much vitamin C as oranges. Growing very close to the ground, the berries were surprisingly inconspicuous at first. But once our eyes adjusted to what we were looking for, the tundra seemed to sparkle with their red, orange and amber glow.

We picked for about two hours, happy to have worn Muck Boots as we slogged through the soft, wet ground. By the time hunger caught up with us and it was time to head back, Barbra and I had about three pounds of berries between us–enough for a few jars of the freezer jam which would make the hike well worth the effort.

On the walk back, the sun began to push its way through the thinning clouds, lighting the land around us. It was then that Barbra and one of our friends spotted a large white bird perched motionless on a hump out on the tundra. “It’s got to be an owl,” I said. “Let’s see.” We made our way toward the white shape until there was no doubt we were looking at a large snowy owl. These owls are huge, the heaviest in North America. When it finally spread its magnificent wings and lifted off, it revealed an underside of almost pure white–a male in its prime, grown fat on ground squirrels.

Muktuk

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One of the privileges of living in Shishmaref this past year has been the opportunity to sample various Eskimo foods. Last night a friend came by and asked if we would like to try muktuk. Shishmaref is not a whaling community; her family had come into the whale skin and blubber delicacy by trading caribou meat with another village. We eagerly accepted her offer, which she advised us to slice thin and eat with seasoned salt.

Jack sliced the raw muktuk sashimi-style and served it with soy sauce and wasabi. The contrast of the almost translucent, light pink fat with the dark, marbled skin was beautiful.  With his razor sharp sashimi knife,  Jack first removed the outer layer of skin and then cut out the tough, dark strip next to the blubber. Dipped in the soy sauce and wasabi combination, the blubber melted away as we chewed it. Jack relishes anything that is fresh from the sea and loved it. My favorite part was the skin. Like the blubber, it was  slightly sweet, delicately flavored and pleasantly chewy.

Incidentally, raw muktuk is high in vitamin C, which, along with other raw meat and fish that traditionally make up the Inupiat diet, explains how people in this extreme environment historically were able to avoid scurvy.