Feeding Chickens Yogurt Until Something Bad Happens - Save the Squirrels Initiative
As spring arrives and the snow melts away, you'll find that juniper berries are there to be picked and consumed. (Actually, they were there all winter — you just had to look under the snow). Juniper is a coniferous shrub that produces berries. In Old Crow, Yukon it is sometimes known as 'sharp tree' thanks to its very prickly needles which are very familiar to all who pick juniper berries.
Juniper berries should be picked with great respect as it takes 3 full years for a berry to ripen! When ripe they turn from green to a dark blue. The ripe berries can be picked any time of the year, but you may have to dig to find them under the snow in the winter, as juniper is a low lying shrub. Eaten raw, juniper berries have a distinct aromatic spicy flavour reminiscent of gin.
Juniper berries make an excellent spice — especially once ground into a powder. A coffee grinder works very well for this. A small amount of ground juniper berry goes a long way. It can be used in marinades or dusted on wild game including moose, caribou and grouse. It can even be lightly dusted on salmon. A small amount can also be added to soups or stews. According to Boreal Herbal, in Sweden a conserve is made out of juniper berries and used as a condiment for meats.
Juniper berries have a few extra qualities as well. They help digest gas-producing foods such as cabbage. Also, because juniper berries have a light coating of yeast on their skin, a few berries are often added to ferments to help out the lacto-fermenting process. So adding a few juniper berries when making sauerkraut has a triple effect: flavour, aiding the fermentation, and less gas when you eat the kraut!
The yeast coating on the berries also makes them a useful ingredient in creating sourdough starter (which is another form of fermentation). Mix some flour and water and add a few juniper berries. Once it becomes bubbly and smells yeasty, you can remove the berries and the sourdough starter will be well on its way!
In Old Crow, juniper berries are also boiled as a tea, which the Vuntut Gwitchin say also helps ease colds and cough symptoms. Juniper berries should be used in moderation and avoided in people with kidney disease and in pregnant women. Research for this post is from Boreal Herbal by Beverley Gray and Gwich'in Ethnobotany by Alestine Andrew and Alan Fehr.
The Tr'ondëk Hwëch'in Teaching and Working Farm in Dawson City were big winners at this year's Arctic Inspiration Prize (AIP) ceremony, receiving a combined $1 million for their proposed project to build an extended-season cold-climate greenhouse. The $500K AIP award was matched on the spot by the federal government, with Yukon MP Larry Bagnell making the surprise announcement at the ceremony in Whitehorse on February 12th.
Currently, the northern growing season is constrained to a five-month period from May to September. The funding will enable TH Farm, who partnered with Yukon College for the project, to construct an innovative greenhouse, the first of its kind in the Yukon. that will allow the farm to produce food and to teach growers for up to 10 months of the year, including during some of the coldest periods of winter. The final greenhouse design and the lessons learned from the project could also be of use to other Yukon First Nations and northern communities seeking to solve their own food security challenges.
TH Farm is currently engaged in an ongoing project to help with the revival of northern farming, improve food security in the North, and develop a viable and productive First Nations working farm north of the 60th parallel in Canada. According to TH Farm manager Derrick Hastings, the new greenhouse will allow the farm to grow select vegetables well into the fall and winter months. This produce, including pak choi, bok choi, spinaches, microgreens, sunflower sprouts, pea shoots, Chinese cabbage, green onions and various herbs, can grow densely, and does not require warm temperatures but, Hastings adds, the farm team will also be experimenting to see what else can be easily grown in the facility.
Indigenous households across Canada experience food insecurity at a rate nearly twice that of non-Indigenous households. Tr'ondëk Hwëch'in Chief Roberta Joseph says the entire TH Farm project is vital to the First Nation's future.
"There's been a great decline in Chinook salmon, one of our main food sources, the Porcupine caribou (herd) has a different migration … We have a lot of traditional foods that are no longer fully accessible, the way we used to be able to harvest without limitations," she said in a recent interview. "Not only will [the greenhouse] provide food security, it's also an opportunity for our citizens and others to learn how to develop and manage a greenhouse."
by Miche Genest
In this small territory, it's sometimes surprising how much we don't know about what's going on. A case in point: farmers and food businesses. There are 145 farms in the Yukon, but many of the territory's chefs, caterers, retailers and distributors aren't tuned in to who the farmers are or what they're growing. The same is true of the farmers — they know those chefs, caterers and retailers are out there, but they don't know who's interested in local food or what products they're after. A
ll this not-knowing leads to lost opportunity — the opportunity to feature Yukon foods on local menus, in retail outlets and farmers' markets, and on our tables, and to build lasting relationships that benefit everyone in the local food chain, including we who want to eat more of that food. Over the past several years Yukon farmers and food businesses have started to find each other, with great results, but there's more work to be done.
The good news is the Yukon Agricultural Association (YAA) and the Tourism Industry Association of the Yukon (TIAY) are on it. For the second year running, the two organizations co-hosted the Meet Your Maker event, held this year on Monday January 14 at the Gold Rush Inn in Whitehorse, bringing farmers and food businesses together. Imagine the scene: Yukon farmers, producers, chefs, caterers, restaurateurs, distributors and a Who's Who of agriculture and food sector representatives, including Minister of Tourism Jeanie Dendys and Minister of Energy, Mines and Resources Ranj Pillai, all in one big room, cooking, eating, talking, making new friends and business connections, sharing recipes, tips, and growing techniques.
"Farmers and producers were thrilled with Monday's Meet Your Maker event," said Jennifer Hall, executive director at YAA. Hall noted there were 100 attendees, evenly split between farmer/producers and buyers, including two large food distributors and a representative from a company that supplies groceries for mining camps in the Yukon. There were product samples and tasters at each of the 20 booths in the room, as well as two cooking demonstration stations where local chefs transformed home-grown products into dishes such as hollandaise sauce, ceviche, gravlax, cranberry fudge and mini, coffee-spiced burgers.
Chef Robert Brouillette of the Gold Panner restaurant and his team produced a selection of appetizers made with products from eight local suppliers, proving that not only is local food abundant, it is delicious.
This year's event was fifty percent bigger than last year's, and the number of buyers more than tripled. Next year, look out, said Jennifer Hall: "Several farmers/producers said that they wanted a booth next year so we will have to get a bigger room!"
To learn more about Meet Your Maker, or for ideas on how to participate in agri-culinary events such as the Yukon Culinary Festival, contact the Yukon Agricultural Association or the Tourism Industry Association of the Yukon.
Katie English recently posted on the Dawson Community Garden Facebook page reminding us that it's time for planning the coming season's planting. As January is upon us, so too is the gardening season. The New Year marks the time for getting your plans and dreams in order. Seeds are selected and ordered, gardens get planned and it is even the month for some of our earliest starters.
If you are anything like Katie, then seed variety and quality is of utmost importance. For a seed is where it all begins …. Seeds can be the carrier of many of the diseases we find later on our grown plants or starters, furthermore poor quality seeds can mean poor quality germination, so quality is important. Katie is big on heritage and heirloom seeds. She looks for high quality organic seeds so she can later save the seeds she obtains from her own growing for the future.
> Visit our Seeds page to see recommended varieties from local Dawson growers that have been successfully cultivated in the Northern climate
Katie likes to know the long history of the seed and how it was saved over generations, and looks for interesting varieties that you can't find in the grocery store. She also supports the small companies that are working hard to save our heirloom varieties and to produce organic seeds.
She points out that 60 per cent of the world's seeds are owned by big chemical companies and avoids those seeds makes sure she does not support those corporations. Monsanto, and a handful of other corporate biotech giants, such as Pioneer and Syngenta, have been using their profits to buy up small seed companies, acquiring more than 200 over the past 15 years or so. 
They are doing so to dominate the seed market, not just by owning the source, but also to acquire the DNA of heirloom and open-pollinated seed varieties for use in their future GMO products. Most of the advantageous plant traits that megacorporations like Monsanto boast about bioengineering, such as drought tolerance, higher yields, or resistance to insects, are in fact the result of traditional breeding over many generations to produce superior seeds.
Once the acquisitions are finalized, however, these biotech corporations can splice in their own modified proprietary genes, and patent the resulting seeds. For those looking for organic or non-GMO seeds, here is a list of seed companies who have taken the safe seed pledge as presented by the Council for Responsible Genetics. Scroll down to see the list of Canadian companies.
> See the Safe Seed Resource list
by Miche Genest
There is nothing that provokes more sadness or anxiety in the kitchen than wasting good food. Even putting that wilted lettuce or mouldy tomato into the compost doesn't make up for the feeling of loss — the loss of the farmer's hard work, the loss of the energy it took to grow the food, the loss of the energy it took, if it comes from the store, to drive that tomato up the highway or fly it up at great cost.
Nobody likes wasting food. And yet it happens. A lot. The amount of food that goes to waste in Canada and the world is staggering — worldwide, about one-third of the food that's produced for human consumption, according to the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations. And the National Zero Waste Council of Canada estimates that 47% of the value of food waste in Canada can be attributed to households, at a cost of more than $1,100 per year per household. That's each of us, in our little homes, forgetting what's in that container in the back of the fridge, or digging into the new bundle of kale before we've finished the old.
Happily, there are many, many resources available to help us reduce food waste at home. See Love Food Hate Waste for ideas that range from fridge and freezer storage management to menu planning to smart shopping. And, after every major holiday, Canadian magazines like Chatelaine or Canadian Living, among others, provide tips on what to do with the leftovers.
Our fellow householders often have great ideas as well. A chef friend of mine keeps a bag for vegetable scraps in the freezer — onion ends, wilted lettuce, carrot tops, the green parts of leeks — and when it's full she makes vegetable stock. There are more drastic measures. When my husband was growing up in Scotland after the Second World War, there was often a "mandatory plate" on the table: last night's leftovers. Soups are a really good way to turn leftovers into something new and delicious. (But that old Yukon cabin recipe of adding new ingredients to the bubbling pot on the wood stove every day is probably not the most food-safe approach. At a certain point those original ingredients just plain go bad.)
> Click here for one idea for using up mashed potatoes and tired vegetables
Further info: To read the National Zero Waste Council of Canada's strategy to reduce food loss and food waste, click here.
The most notable thing about this photo is not that the pepper plant is dying – this is not an uncommon occurrence with houseplants under my care. And it is December, the month of low light in the North.
The most notable thing about this photo is that there is a pepper! In December, in the Yukon!
And this pepper was grown from a local seed!
As I ate local farmer, Grant Dowdell's, delicious red peppers way back in the summer of 2017, I saved some of the seeds and stored them in an envelope over the winter. I didn't get around to planting them until midsummer 2018, so the pepper plant was just starting to flower in the Fall when it was time to shut down the greenhouse. Rather than give up, I moved the pepper plant indoors. And, low and behold, a pepper grew!
I was inspired by Dawsonite, Meg Walker, who last winter managed to get a pepper plant to flower and produce little peppers in her windowsill – quite a feat this far North.
I am very proud of this little red pepper. It reminds me of both the resilience and the importance of a simple seed – the starting point in the food chain.
There are many aspects to becoming more food self-sufficient in our own communities. The cornerstone is our ability to save and re-grow our own seeds.
In an era where technology is considering the production of 'sterile seeds,' my red pepper reminds me how devastating that concept would be. If we can't save our own seed, what hope is there for global food security?
by Miche Genest
On a recent trip to Portugal my companions and I discovered vegetable jams; they played a role on every breakfast buffet table at our hotels and B&Bs, and sometimes at dinner too. The morning offerings almost always included tomato jam, or carrot jam, or interesting (and delicious) combinations like zucchini and walnut jam.
At our first dinner at a tiny restaurant in Porto we enjoyed an appetizer of a deep-fried cheese croquette drizzled with warm pumpkin jam. It was divine. In winter, when fresh tomatoes in season are no longer available, canned, whole plum tomatoes are the best possible substitute. Fine Cooking explains why. For a person like our friend Suzanne Crocker, who canned a whole lotta tomatoes last year and is now looking at a pantry of several dozen one-litre jars and wondering just how much spaghetti sauce the family will stand, tomato jam suddenly looks very appealing.
We have always heard that tomatoes are not really vegetables, but fruits. Well it turns out that tomatoes are actually berries, as are peppers, kiwis, eggplants, bananas and watermelons. So, if your cranberry yield was small in this poor berry year, consider the tomato as a substitute in your favourite berry-based jam.
For future reference and in anticipation of a great tomato harvest next year, the recipe for tomato jam includes amounts for both fresh and canned tomatoes. I like this recipe, adapted from portugueserecipes.ca, because it's so simple and most closely replicates the jam we enjoyed in Portugal. But if you're interested in something more complex, there are many recipes to explore among the usual channels that use cumin, hot peppers, lemon juice and other ingredients.
Serve tomato jam on toast or a locally-made bagel with cream cheese or butter, with scrambled eggs, on charcuterie plates, on moose burgers or to accompany roasted meats. The jam is so versatile it flits back and forth between sweet and savoury with ease.
> View the recipe for Simple Tomato Jam
With global populations and the effects of climate change on the rise, many people are sounding the alarm about potential threats to the world's food supply. At the same time, the production of food has become a multinational corporate endeavour, often criticized for its negative impacts on people's health, the environment, and the well-being of family farmers. One solution being proposed is agroecology, a movement whose key aspect is nurturing the land where food is grown, striving for a healthy and balanced ecosystem. And it is a movement that is gaining momentum globally.
Agroecology is being touted as both a mitigation and adaptation strategy for climate change, and meets the concerns of consumers who are increasingly demanding healthier food and a closer connection to food producers. Agroecology also dovetails with social movements around the globe – many with significant leadership by women's and indigenous organizations – that are demanding a healthy food system built on both environmental and human rights.
The agroecology approach centers around small farmers with an ethical approach to their growing, rooted in an understanding that this strategy protects their livelihood. While this has echoes of a throwback to historical growing practices, it is in fact a future-looking strategy that includes applied research and policies centered around small farmers. According to the Agroecology Fund, a non-profit dedicated to fostering the movement, across the planet scientists, grassroots organizations, NGOs, consumers, universities, and public agencies are working with farmers to construct sustainable and nutritious food systems based in agroecology.
Agroecology seems well-suited to the North. Although the short growing season and harsh climate can be challenges for farmers, there are also the perils of a food system where 97 per cent of consumables are trucked in over long distances along a handful of vulnerable highways. Northerners are also, of necessity, resourceful, cooperative, and independent-thinking, and as a result very willing to support local enterprises. Suzanne would not have been able to successfully complete her year of eating locally without the help and guidance of local growers.
While these individuals avoid labels, it is safe to say their philosophical approach is an agroecological one — and perhaps serve as a model for the rest of the world.
One of Suzanne's greatest challenges early in her year of eating locally was the problem of grain and flour. Farmers Otto Muelbach and Connie Handwerk of Kokopellie Farm had earmarked rye and barley for Suzanne's use. But the moose got to the barley first, and weather, busted machinery and road closures almost did in the rye. Happily, the rye was saved and Otto surprised Suzanne with a secret planting of Red Fife wheat. Baked goods were once again a possibility and so were healthy, whole grains for breakfast and dinner.
But the barley was just a fond memory. This year Suzanne planted several rows of hull-less barley from seeds ordered from Salt Spring Seeds, and farmer Grant Dowdell planted some too. Suzanne's personal stock is about three bushels of seed heads, according to Gerrard; they don't yet know how much grain that will translate into until they get around to threshing. But once the threshing is done, a delicious world of barley-based recipes awaits, like this blissful wild mushroom risotto. Mmm, barley! > See the recipe for Wild Mushroom and Barley Risotto
by Miche Genest
Oh, the joy of making sourdough bread at home—building a starter, making a sponge, kneading the dough, shaping a loaf, waiting for it rise, baking it, letting it cool and finally, biting into a slice of freshly made bread slathered with good butter—ooh la la.
But one of the special joys is the intimate and complicated relationship sourdough bakers develop with their starters. It's like having a pet, bakers say, and indeed, they invent names for their starters, they check their starters into sourdough hotels when they travel, or leave strict instructions for house sitters NOT TO THROW IT OUT. They fret when the starter seems sluggish, they call their fellow bakers for sympathy and advice, they wake up in the middle of the night thinking oh no, I forgot to save a half-cup from the starter before I mixed the sponge! And they engage in endless debate about the strange and magical organisms living in a jar in their fridge.
That wild yeast—is it present in the air, free floating or hanging out on the skin of fruits and vegetables, biding its time until the medium of flour and water comes out of the fridge and then diving in to start feeding? Or is that all a myth, and the yeasts are simply present in the flour? And what of the friendly bacteria, the strains of lactobacillus that enter into a symbiotic relationship with the yeast in the medium of flour and water, creating an acid environment inhospitable to bad bacteria that might spoil it—where does it come from?
Well, it turns out that one of the places both yeast and bacteria come from is the baker's hands. Ecologist Rob Dunn, author of several books (including Never Out of Season, How Having the Food We Want When We Want It Threatens Our Food Supply and The Future) conducted a controlled sourdough bake-off experiment with 15 bakers from around the world at the Puratos Centre for Bread Flavour in Belgium. Dunn and his fellow ecologist Anne Madden wanted to see if the microbes present on the baker's hands influenced the bread. And it did.
"There was an essence of the baker in the starter the baker made, and that was conveyed in the bread." The other thing Dunn's team discovered was that the baker's hands looked very much like sourdough starter, that is, up to sixty percent of the microbes on the hands of the bakers were the same bacteria and yeasts found in sourdough starter, compared to three percent on the average human hand. As Dunn said, "…the bakers did influence their starters, but the other way around was true too. The life of baking seems to influence the bakers."
How cool is that? And if the baker's hands look like sourdough, what do the cheesemaker's hands look like? The farmer's? The beekeeper's? The full account of the experiment can be found in Dunn's latest book, Never Home Alone, From Microbes to Millipedes, Camel Crickets and Honeybees, the Natural History of Where We Live.
Across the planet — from Australia to the Faroe Islands — the culinary world is rediscovering a very old idea, foraging for food. In a heavily mechanized global food system with a very large carbon footprint, where households regularly consume food from continents away, the idea of eating locally and in a wholesome, sustainable fashion, is starting to catch on, especially at the highest levels of haute cuisine. And wild foods are front and centre in this trend.
Foraged foods are not altogether a new idea for restaurants. Truffles, for example, can only be found in the wild, usually with the help of specially-trained animals who sniff them out. High-end chefs have long been in love with the truffle's unique flavour, and have been known to pay $1,200 a pound for the specialty item. Fiddlehead ferns and wild mushrooms also make the culinary most-wanted list.
Not surprisingly, indigenous peoples are at the heart of the modern foraged food movement. A new generation of chefs from indigenous backgrounds are bringing their age-old culture to modern restaurants. Chef Rayleen Brown of Kungkas Can Cook in Australia is of aboriginal descent, and many of her flavors come from her nomadic upbringing. For her business, she sources 100 percent of her bush foods from local women foragers. Brown's menus vary based on the foraged products that come in, "riding rhythms of the land and seasons." Similar stories emerge from places as diverse as Brazil, the American Southwest, and throughout Canada (read our piece on Canada's indigenous cuisine).
As foraging emerges from the fringes, the mainstream is taking note. We wrote previously about renowned chef Dan Barber, author of The Third Plate: Field Notes on the Future of Food. In addition to growing his own ingredients at the Blue Hill at Stone Barns farm, Barber and his chefs also forage the nearby woods for nuts and herbs. In Japan, chef Hisoto Nakahigashi of the Michelin-starred Miyamasou restaurant combs the nearby forest and river for fresh ingredients, which he uses to create the evening "kaiseki" meal, comprising many small courses. At Attica Restaurant in Ripponlea, Australia, a suburb of Melbourne, every member of the staff forages for food each day, sometimes bringing back finds just 15 minutes before service begins, and thereby assuring maximum freshness.
Foraging can be a bit of an art, so it's not surprising that many busy chefs employ experienced foragers to bring them their ingredients. For example. Chef Eddy Leroux of New York's Restaurant Daniel, collaborates with expert forager Tama Matsuoka Wong, and the two have even co-authored a book, Foraged Flavor.
Slovenian chef Ana Roš of Hiša Franko (who was named World's Best Female Chef in 2017 by The World's 50 Best Restaurants awards), believes in a "zero kilometre" approach. She has a team of 10 foragers who harvest nearby mushrooms, berries, wild herbs and plants, many not traditionally used in cooking. Chef Virgilio Martínez Véliz of Central restaurant in Peru sends a team of seven people out four times per month, foraging from the sea to the Amazon and the Andes for indigenous ingredients. Véliz also runs a research centre called Mater Iniciativa, where researchers record the flavor profiles and properties of wild ingredients before they enter the kitchen. In the Faroe Islands, a popular scuba diving destination, chef Poul Andrias Ziska of Koks restaurant encourages divers to collect mahogany clams, sea urchins, and horse mussels and submerge them in a fjord near the restaurant until it is time to cook.
Nature's gifts are seasonal, so not surprisingly the use of foraged and wild ingredients often vary depending on the time of year. Rene Redzepi of the Noma 2.0 Restaurant in Denmark varies their menu seasonally, focusing on seafood in winter, fresh vegetables in summer, and wild game and forest finds in fall. Poland's Atelier Amaro restaurant goes one better. Chef Wojciech Modest Amaro divides his menu into 52 calendar weeks so that he can incorporate the freshest foraged ingredients from the countryside and his garden.
As Suzanne learned during her year of eating only food local to Dawson City, Yukon, edible wild plants abound, even in urban areas, where they are often considered to be weeds, especially if they are prolific growers. Dandelions, wild sage (a.k.a. stinkweed), stinging nettle, and chickweed are just some of the plants that frustrate Canadian lawn owners, but are in fact delicious ingredients, especially when picked while they are young. Some urban restaurants, such as in Iceland, Camissa Brasserie, in Capetown, South Africa, and Masque, in Mumbai, India, may pick up ingredients from among their city's sidewalks and empty lots.
by Miche Genest
Rhubarb flourishes in the alleys of downtown Whitehorse; big, healthy plants with spreading leaves and thick green and red stalks. It springs up along fences and behind garages and belongs to no one and everyone. All summer long I roam the laneways of my neighbourhood, knife in hand, returning to gather again and again. At home I wash the foraged harvest extra well (dogs, dust), dry the stalks thoroughly, chop them into half-inch pieces, and freeze them in 1-L portions.
Sometimes I go overboard, and then there's way more rhubarb than anything else in the freezer. The bags slither and slip and obscure what's underneath them, they fall out on the floor when I open the freezer door. This becomes annoying, and so I make rhubarb syrup.
I love rhubarb syrup; it's tart and sour and refreshing, great in cocktails and mocktails or simply stirred into a glass of sparkling water. In our house we pretty much always have a jar at the ready in the fridge door. Each batch of syrup uses up one litre of fruit, so it's an ideal solution for the rhubarb-overwhelmed.
If I get a bit rhubarb crazy, I've got nothing on Suzanne. During her year of eating locally, raw rhubarb juice stood in for the vinegars and lemons that were no longer allowed in her kitchen; she used rhubarb juice in salad dressings, in hollandaise and bearnaise sauces, in pie crusts and even in sweet pickles.
Her harvest in the summer of 2017 was driven by fear, the fear of running out. She gathered rhubarb so ferociously that she ended up with 200 pounds. When the year ended and she inventoried her remaining stock, there were still had 95 pounds of frozen, chopped rhubarb distributed amongst her several freezers. That's a lot of rhubarb. Clearly, she needs to make some rhubarb syrup.
> View the recipe for Rhubarb Syrup
> View the recipe for Rhubarb Sparkle
Rhubarb pulp left over from making syrup is a fabulous addition to granola and yogurt for breakfast.
> View the recipe for Breakfast of Champions
A major fire this week that completely destroyed one of Iqaluit 's two grocery stores has reignited concerns about food insecurity in the North. Our thoughts go out to the entire population of Iqaluit at this difficult time. The blaze at the Northmart store not only destroyed the food on the shelves, but also an adjoining warehouse where a large cache of dry goods was being stored.
Most of these goods, including stocks for Christmas and Easter, were brought in by barge while sea lanes were open during the summer, and now concerns have been raised about possible food shortages and escalating prices. Food costs are already an issue throughout Nunavut, where 55 per cent of the population is living with food insecurity, according to Statistics Canada, and the issue has been getting worse since monitoring began in 2005. (StatsCan defines food insecurity as occurring when one or more household members do not have access to an acceptable amount of quality healthy food, usually because of financial constraints).
The entire issue of food security also falls across racial lines. A recent report found the average cost of groceries for a family of four in Nunavut is $19,760 per year while almost half of Inuit adults earn less than $20,000 annually. This is in contrast to annual salaries for the non-indigenous population averaging over $72,000 in Iqaluit. It's worth thinking of the food security in your own community.
No matter where you live, grocery stores only carry 3-4 days worth of perishable food. This is not such a big deal if one store shuts down in, say, Toronto, but in our current system your access to food is more fragile than you might imagine. If there is a disruption of the distribution chain (due to an internet black-out, for example, or natural disaster) food shortages could occur in a matter of days. Supporting and enhancing local food systems in our own communities remains a critical piece in food security.
by Miche Genest
A tomato still warm from the sun and just plucked from the vine, eaten in the hand without salt or basil or any other addition, is one of the gardener's greatest seasonal pleasures. At the first bite you understand that yes, this is more fruit than vegetable; a ripe tomato is as sweet and juicy as any peach or plum.
Now, in early November, it's hard to find such a tomato in these latitudes. But until very recently the next best thing, a local, greenhouse-grown tomato from Yukon Gardens, was available at Wyke's Independent Grocer in Whitehorse, around the corner from where I live. In the second week of October I had just arrived back from Portugal with tomatoes on my mind.
In Portugal in September the tomatoes were ripe and plentiful, so plentiful they cooked them down for hours into a sweet, spicy jam we ate at breakfast with fresh bread and creamy butter. We ate fresh tomatoes in our picnic lunches with hard cheeses and dry salamis, and at dinner we had cooked tomatoes in fish stew and in one of the many variations of Carne de Porco a Alentejana (Traditional Pork and Clams from Alentejo) we relished in taverns along the Fisherman's Way.
On our first shopping trip back in Whitehorse there were the Yukon Garden tomatoes, so ripe they were almost bursting their skins. We came home with a few kilos because I really wanted to try that jam, and I really wanted a bread and tomato salad, whose origins are not Portuguese but Tuscan. I had a large bag of sourdough croutons in the freezer leftover from a catering job, and I had visions of chunks of toasted bread soaked in tomato juice and the rich, green olive oil given to us in Portugal by Maria, a family friend.
Maria's oil is pressed from her own olives, and over the years she has brought members of my family many bottles, and we love it. She decanted ours into an empty cognac bottle and we carried it home wrapped in a beach towel and stuffed into one of our knapsacks. It survived the journey. We ate bread and tomato salad the first night at home. It was everything I had anticipated-the bread both soft and crunchy in its bath of oil and and tomato juices, the tomatoes bright and sweet, the onion sharp, and the cilantro fresh and cool.
The reason I'm allowed to share the recipe here, with First We Eaters, is because every salad ingredient, if not local in October (except the tomatoes), was available in August at the Fireweed Market—tomatoes, cilantro, purple onion. The bread we make at home from a starter brought to Alaska by a German family 100 years ago. Now that Suzanne's year of eating only locally has ended, and a few items from abroad are creeping into her diet, we agreed that the olive oil got special dispensation. It was local to us when we were staying in Maria's house and besides, I've known Maria since I was 12 and she was 21, and so what's local to her is local to me, by association. That's sound logic, right?
> View the recipe for Bread and Tomato Salad
Suzanne will be speaking at the Food Secure Canada National Assembly, which runs from Nov. 1 to 4 in Montreal. Called, Resetting the Table, the gathering is billed as Canada's largest and most vibrant food gathering. At the event, hundreds of Canada's brightest food thinkers and most innovative organizations will discuss how to get to better food policies.
Practical solutions to pressing food system failures — such as skyrocketing levels of diet-related disease, climate breakdown, and food poverty — will be shared and developed. The Assembly brings together farmers and foodies, chefs and Indigenous leaders, activists and businesses, seeding a wealth of new ideas and connections. More than 100 expert and activist speakers will be engaging with attendees.
Resetting the Table includes both a Northern and an Indigenous stream. The Northern stream is based on the theme of Rebuilding Northern Food Systems with speakers from across Northern Canada, including Suzanne. She will be speaking about her experience spending a year of eating 100% local to Dawson City and profiling where her food came from — both the people and the land.
Special thanks to the Yukon Agriculture Association, the Yukon Agriculture Branch, and the Canadian Agricultural Partnership (CAP) for supporting Suzanne's attendance to speak at the conference.
- See the full program of speakers and events
Video by John Sweeney sweentown.com
I have just spent a week at Devour! The Food Film Fest in Wolfville, Nova Scotia, where All The Time In The World was screening. Devour combines two of my favourite things: films and food. And not just any food. Devour celebrates local, sustainable, gourmet food – bringing amazing chefs, both from Nova Scotia and from all over North America, to cook for its patrons. Even Sam Kass, the chef for the Obamas during their terms in the White House, was in attendance.
No living off bags of popcorn at this film festival! Films, gourmet dinners, foraging tours, culinary workshops and wine tasting are all part of Devour. I had the pleasure of spending a windy afternoon on the shores of the Minas Basin foraging for periwinkles during low tide with local chef Sean Laughey who was accompanied by From the Wild filmmaker Kevin Kossowan and Chef Blair Lebsack of RGE RD restaurant in Edmonton. Chef Blair sources all his meat from local farmers and incorporates locally foraged foods into his dishes.
I learned how to cook an amazing spiralized celeriac pasta with a goat's cheese, onion and wild mushroom sauce from Chef Chris Pyne of Founders House in Nova Scotia, . And from Chef Louis Bouchard Trudeau of The Charcuterie of Québec, named one of the Top 10 new restaurants in Canada by EnRoute Magazine in 2016, I learned the wide range of possibilities for blood terrine.
Locally sourced food was a very common theme amongst the gourmet chefs at Devour. Being in Nova Scotia's wine country, I have become familiar with the term "terroir" — a recognition that the characteristics of a wine are not simply influenced by a particular type of grape but by the natural environment in which the grape is produced. Everything from the soil to the topography, from the climate to the culture of a particular area influences the grape, and therefore the wine. Clearly 'terroir' extends beyond grapes.
The concept applies equally well to local food. Certainly my taste palate has come to appreciate the terroir of Dawson City. The terroir of local food is something every community should be proud of. If you want to take part in a fantastic gourmet film festival during a glorious East Coast Fall, you should keep Devour! on your radar for next year.
In Canada's North, where food is regularly trucked in thousands of kilometres to remote communities, and where you can still find unspoiled wilderness, wild food has always been a viable option for many households. But beyond the economic and health aspects of harvesting wild foods, more and more people are finding the idea of eating locally and in a wholesome, sustainable fashion, appealing in other ways as well.
For Miche Genest, author of the cookbooks The Boreal Gourmet and The Boreal Feast, and who regularly pens a The Boreal Chef magazine column, what collecting wild foods has done is give her a feeling of connection to the land, and to the people who live there.
"When I first moved to the Yukon I got to know my new and somewhat intimidating landscape by going into the forest with friends looking for berries," Genest recalls. "I feel really lucky to live here, where Indigenous people have lived and gathered knowledge for thousands of years."
"The food I gather in the forest has special meaning," says Genest. Not to mention special flavour — the berries and mushrooms you find in the Boreal forest are like nothing I've ever tasted before, anywhere. Shaggy mane mushrooms are as deep and pungent as truffles, to my mind they are the northern truffle, and I used them, dried, in everything from risotto to braises to omelettes. High bush cranberries are a flavour that can't be described, only experienced."
One of the downsides of relying on foraged foods is that harvests can sometimes be uncertain, especially in an age of climate change. "I get panicky when the stock of wild berries in the freezer starts to go down," admits Genest. "But the great thing is, we all trade and barter. I missed the cranberry season this year, and it wasn't a very good one, by all accounts, but happily I met a woman … who had lots of cranberries from the year before. So she offered me all the cranberries she picked this year—five pounds—in exchange for black currants, of which I had lots. That's one of the great things that can happen when you live in a place where foraging is second nature."
But, as humanity has hopefully learned by now, Nature's bounty is not endless and must be carefully managed. Foraging of wild foods is no exception, and there are many cautionary tales, even in the sparsely-populated North, where foragers have done damage to a wild crop by over-harvesting.
> Read Miche's previous post: Food for Thought: Careful Foraging
You will recall that I went on my first ever moose hunt in early October. It turned out to be a beautiful clear-skied, seven-day river trip – without the moose – and so I prefer to think of it as a moose conservation trip.
One day, while drifting down the river, we could see smoke emanating from above the river bank in the distance. It looked like a campfire – but there was no boat. It was an ominous sign that was, in fact, an ominous situation. A small forest fire had developed on the bank of the Stewart River, just downstream from Scroggie Creek. It was clear that it had started from a campfire.
The bank was high, about ten feet up from the river. A beautiful vantage point to call for moose and boil up some tea. But not such a great spot for a campfire. The ground was covered in a thick layer of old spruce needles and moss and the spruce trees were densely packed. It looked like the campfire had been buried, rather than doused. Which might be understandable considering you would have had to haul water up that steep ten foot high bank. But making it, fundamentally, not a great spot for an open fire.
The campfire, which had not been properly extinguished, had spread. When we arrived, a ground cover of about 20 x 30 feet was burning – many areas hot and smoking, some areas open flame. Tree roots and the bases of tree trunks were charred. It took us two to three hours of hard work to contain that fire. We made a fire break around the edge, digging with our boots down through the moss to dirt level, pushing the combustibles towards the centre of the burn and away from tree trunks and roots.
Gerard chain-sawed and removed a dozen trees, many standing dead, from the burning area so that they wouldn't burn through and fall, adding fuel to the fire. The crashing of trees seemed to have caught the attention of a bull moose on the other side of the river who started banging on trees himself. Unfortunately, it never lured him out of the cover of the forest. He must have thought we were quite the mighty bull and chose to stay away.
We emptied a plastic tub that held our food and hauled tub after tub of water up the 10 foot bank to douse the perimeter , the base of the trees and the areas still smoking. That night we camped upstream and the next morning we checked on it again. A few warm areas continued to smolder, so we hauled up more tubs of water until the ground was no longer hot to the touch. It seems we succeeded.
It was a good reminder of the camping axiom from my youth: the campfire's not out till it's cold and out. We may not have bagged a moose, but we did help prevent a forest fire. In the words of the forest fire prevention folk, the best way to make sure your campfire doesn't spread, even if you think it has died down completely: Soak It. Stir It. Soak It Again.
- Let the fire burn down before you plan on putting it out. Spread the embers within the fire pit, then add water or loose dirt, and stir.
- Expose any material still burning. Add more water and stir again until you can no longer see smoke or steam. Do not bury your fire as the embers may continue to smoulder and can re-emerge as a wildfire.
- Repeat until your campfire is cool to the touch.
- If your fire is out, you should not be able to feel any heat from the ashes.
Throughout Canada, indigenous cuisine is having a renaissance. Part reconciliation, part ethnic food experience, one of the ways the reemerging native voice is expressing itself is in a return to the foods traditionally consumed by Canada's First Nations.
While multicultural Canada boasts thousands of restaurants serving food styles from virtually every country of the planet, indigenous cuisine is a relative newcomer with only a handful of venues across the nation — which seems odd, given that indigenous peoples were here long before the arrival of Europeans, and almost 5 per cent of Canada's population identify themselves as indigenous.
"People understand what Thai food is, what Italian food is, what Chinese food is, what Ethiopian food is," Shawn Adler, the chef behind Toronto's Pow Wow Cafe, said in a recent interview. "But people don't really understand what indigenous cuisine is."
Part of the explanation lies in the shameful chapter of Canadian history where assimilation of the First Nations was the official government practice, and all indigenous culture, including language as well as traditional foods, was forbidden. In fact, from the outset of colonial expansion, food and food sovereignty were used as a weapon against indigenous peoples.
The current generation, many of whose parents were victims of Canada's Residential School system, are the first to be able to openly embrace their heritage and culture. And it is this generation that is spearheading the emerging indigenous food scene. In the process, the definition of the term "indigenous food" is itself evolving, not surprising given Canada's wide expanse and the number of individual first nations – 634, speaking more than 50 distinct languages, according to Statistics Canada.
The predominant foods consumed vary significantly with geography, from salmon on the coasts, bison on the plains, and moose and deer throughout. However, the wild game that makes up the traditional native diet poses a challenge for restaurants, as most provinces have regulations meat that has been hunted cannot be served to patrons in restaurants. Even where meat from a wild harvest can be served, obstacles exist, especially the sensibilities of non-native urbanites.
Last year animal activists launched a petition demanding that Toronto's Kūkŭm Kitchen and Chef Joseph Shawana remove seal meat from its menu. Fortunately, a groundswell of opposing support sprang up, accusing activists of seeking to impose their values on indigenous practices, especially given the sustainable and humane nature of the seal meat harvest.
Not only has Kūkŭm weathered the protest, it has emerged even stronger, and business is booming. In addition to Kūkŭm and Pow Wow Cafe, another notable Toronto indigenous restaurants is NishDish, started by Johl Whiteduck Ringuette, which celebrates Anishinaabe and other indigenous cultures. In addiiton to the restaurant and a related catering operation, Ringuette sees his space as "a food-oriented educational hub," starting with a course he helped develop and is teaching for Native Child and Family Services of Toronto on indigenous cuisine.
In downtown Vancouver, Salmon n' Bannock Bistro has become known for its authentic Indigenous experience. In addition to Indigenous cuisine using fresh and certified organic ingredients, offering a modern vision of traditional fare, the bistro provides art and music. It is staffed by members of the Nupalk, Haida Gwaii, Blackfoot and Wet'suwet'en nations.
Elsewhere around British Columbia, Lelem' Arts and Cultural Cafe is located in Fort Langley, as well as a satellite location, Lelem' at the Fort, at the Fort Langley National Historic Site. Kekuli Café has locations in the towns of Merritt (on Nlaka'pa'mux First Nation territory) and Westbank, in the Okanagan Valley. There is also Indigenous World Winery's Red Fox Club, which is part of the Westbank First Nation, while Victoria's Kitchens of Distinction offers an indigenous culinary tours of Vancouver Island, including a traditional Coast Salish feast, culminating with a dance ceremony, and a forest hike with an ethnologist who explains about edible and medicinal plants used by Indigenous communities.
I have just returned from my first ever moose hunt. Never before have I been even remotely inclined to take part in the annual moose hunt that has provided meat for our family year after year. But something has changed in me. I have transformed from the woman who didn't like handling meat and couldn't even manage to successfully roast a chicken.
Spending the past year connecting with my food has been revolutionary for me. I have spent time with the chickens and pigs during their life on the farm. And I have been there during their quick and stress-free harvest. I have been there as salmon are pulled from the river, as rabbits are snared, and caribou are harvested. I have witnessed the care and respect the farmers show their livestock both during their life and at the time of their dispatch. I have participated in the transformation from animal to the cuts of meat that are neatly packaged for us, disconnecting us from their original form. And after a year of wasting no morsel of precious food, I have learned that there are many more parts of the animal that are edible beyond the steaks and roasts.
Animal-based protein is essential to food security in the North. The alternatives just don't grow here. This year, as moose hunting season approached, I had a great desire to make a similar connection with the moose that year after year provides the staple meat for our family. So I volunteered to accompany Gerard on his week-long, river based moose hunt. I now have a new respect for the moose hunt.
It's not as simple as I thought it was — Gerard going for a week long camping trip with the guys and coming home with a year's worth of meat. In fact it's amazing to me that anyone ever gets a moose at all! First of all you have to actually see a moose. There are more moose than people in the Yukon, but with a territory larger than California and only 35,000 people, there is a lot of wilderness for those 65,000 moose to wander through. It's not like 65,000 moose are standing on the river bank just waiting to feed your family.
The moose along the river were not coming to the call, so luring them out of the wilderness was not an option. If you are lucky enough to see a moose, then you have to be close enough to determine whether it is a cow moose or a bull moose. Only bull moose can be hunted in the Yukon. And it is amazing how a 1000-pound animal can simply vanish into the willows completely silently. Whereas I, a 130 pound woman, can't seem to step into the forest without snapping branches under my feet.
If you are lucky enough to see a bull moose that waits by the river bank long enough for you to be in range to take a shot, you've got just a couple of seconds to shoot before he bolts. Add one more challenge: you are shooting from a moving boat in a river with a 6-knot current.
Seven days we searched and called – the majority of which we saw zero moose and zero fresh tracks. In the end I find it best to consider our week on the river a moose conservation trip. All points for the moose. Zero points for us. Plus one forest fire staunched (more on this in the next post).
We stayed on the river until the boat's steering cable froze up from the cold weather and then reluctantly came home. For the first time ever, there will be no moose in our freezer. But we do have lots of local pork, chicken, turkey, and chum salmon, so we will be okay. And Gerard now has his sights on February's buffalo season. All I can say is, thank goodness it's not last year! And well done moose!
Geographically, historically, and culturally, Iceland is unique. Nevertheless, this island country located just below the Arctic Circle has many lessons to offer in Northern food security, striving for balance between self-sufficiency and sustainability. Not surprisingly, in the government's own words, "the fishing industry is one of the main pillars of the Icelandic economy." A responsible, sustainable fishery is official policy, and includes a structured fisheries management system, including catch limits and ongoing stock assessments.
Arable land is limited in Iceland (less than 1 per cent). The island's volcanic soils are thin and much of the interior is covered by lava fields, mountains, and glaciers. But while only a tiny fraction of the land is therefore under cultivation, a preference for and tradition of locally-obtained food means the produce from farms (which are generally small and family-run) finds a ready market. Not only are there hearty vegetables like potatoes, turnips, carrots, kale, cabbage, and rhubarb, but thanks to an abundance of geothermal energy, a cornucopia of greenhouse crops, including tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers – and even bananas.
Although less than 10 percent of Icelandic farms are certified organic, most conventional farms do not use pesticides either, since there are few crop-devouring insects to contend with on the island. Iceland's main agricultural activity is sheep ranching, with island sheep far outnumbering human inhabitants. Government regulations mandate that the sheep spend their summers outdoors, requiring them to be freely grazing for a minimum of two months.
Dairy farming also flourishes, thanks in part to strict breeding regulations that serve to keep the 1,000-year-old Icelandic cow breed free of disease. More importantly, a farmer-owned co-operative – MS Dairies – collects 98 per cent of the milk produced in the country, and helps to ensure sustainable prices for the dairy farmers. The co-op is also fostering an export industry for Skyr, Iceland's unique yogurt-like dairy product.
A relative newcomer to the food scene is foraging, brought about in part by Iceland's recent financial crisis, but also spurred by a growing interest in natural foods. There are two types of foraging activities in Iceland – land and seaside. Surrounded by pristine waters, the island's beaches are a bounty of edible offerings, including mussels, clams, seagull eggs (which many consider superior to chicken eggs), and also kelp and seaweed.
Moving inland, the best time for foraging plants in Iceland is during the short summer, basically late May to late July, when berries (blueberries and crowberries are common) and wild herbs abound. But the most popular foraged food is mushrooms. It is estimated Iceland has over 100 varieties of edible fungi.
In fact, foraging in Iceland has not only become common, but trendy too, popularized in part by a new generation of local chefs who feature wild, local ingredients. Iceland's foremost restaurant, Dill, (its first and only Michelin-starred eatery), highlights foraged offerings, several of them actually obtained within the city limits of the capital Reykjavik itself. Looking to the future, the government is moving to set aside wilderness areas specifically for foraging.
Admittedly, Iceland's current focus on sustainability was borne from hard lessons. At the time of the Viking settlement (1150 years ago), around a third of the island was covered with trees. Human expansion resulted in rampant deforestation, and sheep grazing inhibited regeneration. Over 95 per cent of the original forest cover is gone, so, not surprisingly, today Icelanders are careful to maintain an ecological balance, with tight government regulations and policies on land use and agricultural practices, as well as sustainable fishing.
No visit to Yellowknife, the capital of the Northwest Territories, would be complete without a side trip to the renowned Bullocks Bistro restaurant. Located in a historic building, site of the original Weaver and Devore Trading Post built in 1936, Bullocks is famous — some would say legendary — for its fish and chips. But if you're expecting seafood imported from some distant ocean, you're in for a pleasant surprise.
Given that Yellowknife sits on the shore of Great Slave Lake, all the fish served at Bullocks are local fare. And since Great Slave is the deepest lake in North America at 614 metres, and the tenth-largest lake in the world, that means variety as well as quality.
"They're all coldwater fish, and some of the best fish in the world," explains Jo-Ann Martin, the bistro's co-owner. "It's real cool to serve a local product. We do trout, whitefish, inconnu, pickerel, and burbot … which the local fishers call 'mariah'. And there's a Catch of the Day, so the menu is always changing." Those who don't like fish can always enjoy a bison rib eye steak. All ingredients are prepared from scratch, and the bread is also baked fresh daily on the premises. 
While a traditional fish-and-chip recipe means battering and deep frying, Bullocks delivers its own stamp there as well. "Our fish is pan fried, grilled, and broiled too."
Jo-Ann and her husband Mark Elson bought the eatery 2½ years ago from the original founders, Sam and Renata Bullock, who started the operation back in the 1980s. The new owners were fortunate to have a transition period. Not only did they acquire Renata's home recipes for staples like the teriyaki sauce, tartar sauce, feta dressing, and herb and garlic dressing, but they were taughtSam's unique bone-out filleting technique — developed to process fish that would be suitable to be served in a restaurant — which is important, given the 150 to 250 lbs of fish the restaurant can go through daily.
One of the biggest challenges of running Bullocks is ensuring a continuing supply of fish for the patrons during the spring and fall, when commercial fishers are not able to get onto the Lake. This resulted in the technique of freezing fresh fish whole — between 4,000 and 6,000 pounds — to get Bullocks through the shoulder seasons. And how is Jo-Ann enjoying the experience now that they have a few years under their belts? "I like it even more now. It's part of living off the land and water."
When you imagine fruit North of 60 you probably think of berries and rosehips. And you wouldn't be wrong. But it's now time to expand the realm of possibilities. Apples, pears and grapes can also be grown in the Yukon Territory. At least if you are a master of northern fruit bearing trees, like John Lenart and Kim Melton are. Klondike Valley Nursery, located in Dawson City, Yukon is the most northerly nursery in Canada. And look what they can grow!
John and Kim are dedicated to exploring the boundaries of what can be grown in cold climates at high latitudes. This year, they managed to grow pears and grapes in their greenhouses, as well as apples from their 65 cultivars of apple trees. So if your timing is right on a Fall Saturday at the Dawson City Farmer's Market, you may be treated to a local Klondike pear, apple or grape!
This is an Autumn Delight apple tree growing in Inuvik, Northwest Territories, Canada at 68 degrees North, well north of the Arctic Circle. To our knowledge (please correct us if we're wrong) this is the most northern apple tree in Canada! This particular apple tree survived an Inuvik winter in the unheated Inuvik Community Greenhouse, blossomed this spring and is now producing fruit!
Autumn Delight was developed at the University of Saskatchewan and was supplied by John Lenart and Kim Melton of the Klondike Valley Nursery in Dawson City, Yukon. John and Kim also sent a Trailman and a Rescue apple tree to Inuvik whose blossoms would have pollinated the Autumn Delight. John Lenart has spent the past thirty years studying and grafting apple trees in order to cultivate varieties that can withstand the climate of the north.
Their nursery now has around 65 cultivars. Check out the Klondike Valley Nursery the most northerly nursery in Canada. The Inuvik Community Greenhouse was refurbished into a growing mecca from an old hockey arena. It bills itself as the most northerly greenhouse in North America!
Imagine it's your turn to cook supper. And this is what the larder holds: pigs lungs, heart, liver, cheeks, feet, a tail, two ears, jowls, lacey caul fat that was once connected to the intestine, pork belly, beef tongue and several litres of pigs blood. All from Yukon raised pork and beef. Odd bits or special bits? This was the challenge that four adventuresome Whitehorse chefs faced. Each had drawn three random 'odd bits' to turn into delicious appetizers for sixty paying customers. They did not disappoint!
Photos by Walter Streit and Suzanne Crocker
I have just returned from three fantastic days at Food Talks in Whitehorse, Yukon celebrating local food and hosted by the Growers of Organic Food Yukon (or GoOFY, as they are affectionately known.) The theme of Food Talks was "All the Bits" – reminding us to value every morsel of our food and to waste less. Especially when it comes to meat.
Using all parts of the animals we harvest, from head to tail to hoof, is a concept that is not unfamiliar in many cultures past and present. Beyond making nutritional and economic sense, it also offers both gratitude and respect for the animal's sacrifice to nourish us.
Special guest, renowned chef and cookbook author, Jennifer McLagan, travelled from Toronto to attend Food Talks and address the guests. Jennifer reminds us that what we now call the 'odd bits', and often toss in the scrap pile, were once the prized bits – parts of the animal that are packed with both nutrition and taste. Why are we more squeamish about eating heart than we are about eating rump roast – both being working muscles? Bone marrow is packed with iron. Blood can be substituted for egg. Jennifer says the combination of blood and milk is the perfect food – containing all the amino acids, vitamins, and minerals that we require.
I had a taste of the 'perfect food' at the Odd Bits Tasting Event when chef Jason McRobb created a delicious chocolate blood pudding desert topped with whipped cream, candied blood orange peel and a strip of cinnamon-sugar-roasted pig skin. It was an inspiration to me to start experimenting with the many ways to cook with blood beyond blood sausage. Even if you are feeling squeamish at the thought of eating the unfamiliar, you would have found yourself drooling at the Odd Bits Tasting Event. The flavour combinations were out of this world!
Four amazing chefs, Eglé Zalodkas- Barnes, Karina LaPointe, Jason McRobb and Micheal Roberts served up tastes such as lung dumplings, breaded sweet breads with aioli sauce, pigs' feet sweet and sour soup, pork belly on a rhubarb compote, honey glazed pig skin, beef tongue tacos… just to name a few. I tried everything and if I was blessed with more than one stomach I would have returned for seconds of it all! I have eaten many 'odd bits' during the past year of eating local to Dawson.
Stuffed moose heart is one of my family's favourite meals. But I am now inspired to expand even further. The pig harvest and the moose hunt are coming soon and I will be ready to gather and make use of even more parts of the animal than before. (Hard to believe I was once vegetarian.)
If you need some tips or inspiration, check out Jennifer McLagan's books: Odd Bits, Bones and Fat and be prepared to be inspired!
Suzanne and her year-long First We Eat experience are in the current issue of Up Here Magazine, available at news stands now.
In the piece, written by Miche Genest, and featured on the magazine's cover, Suzanne chronicles the ups and downs, and the lessons learned from her year of feeding her family only food 100% local to Dawson City.
This coming weekend (Sep. 13-15) in Whitehorse, Growers of Organic Food Yukon will host the second in their series of Food Talks, titled All the Bits. As part of the activities, Suzanne will be on hand Saturday afternoon at the Kwanlin Dün Cultural Centre (KDCC) from 1 to 5 p.m. at a special Open House to talk about the First We Eat project and her experiences from her family's year of eating locally. Suzanne will be joined in the Open House by Canadian author and chef Jennifer McLagan. 
All the Bits kicks off on Thursday night with film screening of Modified, a first-person feature documentary that questions why genetically modified organisms (GMOs) are not labeled on food products in the United States and Canada, despite being labeled in 64 countries around the world.
Friday morning will see an inspected slaughter at Naturally Northern Meats, , while on Friday night four local chefs will join at Takhini Hot Springs to put on an Odd Bits Taste Fest. All the Bits concludes on Saturday night with a pig roast at the KDCC. Growers of Organic Food Yukon (GoOFY) is a Yukon association that promotes organic practices and provides support, education, and advocacy about organic growing and processing.
Fall in the Yukon is just one of the million reasons I love living here. The spectacular undulating carpet of yellows and reds and greens takes my breath away every year. And it's cranberry season!
High bush cranberries for juicing and low bush cranberries, also known as lingonberries, for almost anything else – pies, muffins, scones, pancakes, jam, jelly, chutney, and delicious cranberry sauce. I became addicted to the low bush cranberry when I lived in Newfoundland where they are known as partridge berries. They are excellent keepers for the winter as they sweeten, not soften, with freezing.
Last year was a very poor wild berry season. Thanks to the generosity of many Dawson berry pickers and some careful rationing I had just enough cranberries to get us through. This year is better and I am rejoicing in the ability to pick buckets full of cranberries once again.
Check out the Boreal Gourmet, Miche Genest's, recipe for Low Bush Cranberry Toffee touted as "The Best Toffee in the History of the World!" Or Cranberry Birch Syrup Sauce to serve on Token Gesture Custard or ice cream.
Eating local is often associated with a desire for produce that is organic, meaning it is grown on a sustainable scale without the use of non-chemical fertilizers. In many ways this is a direct reaction to the perceived negative effects of the large-scale, industrialized agriculture that has become the norm for North America's food industry. Consumers have learned to look for products that are certified organic, but for farmers looking to join this rapidly-growing market, there have been many obstacles to successfully achieving certification.
The Canadian Organic Growers recently conducted a two-year study called "Transitioning to Organic: A Risk-Based Analysis." Their study showed that Canadians want organic products and that concern about agriculture's impact on the land and environment is driving this demand. Yet the increasing demand is not being matched by domestic supply, and Canadian farmers are struggling to benefit from the market opportunities of transitioning to organic production.
So what's holding them back? According to the study, there are several factors, including the bureaucratic need for new record keeping, lack of experience with organic techniques for weed management and increasing yields, and an inability to tap into the supply chain for the new markets. Of particular interest for Canada's North, the report recommends that small-scale farmers join together to tackle processing infrastructure and joint marketing efforts.
Such market development efforts could exploit greater local organic production in areas with lower population density. Supply-chain development could also be advanced by developing infrastructure needed for processing of organic food, including small abattoirs, feed mills, or organic fruit processing facilities.
> Read the full COG report here
I am struggling with grocery store food. My tentative and gradual re-introduction to store-bought food switched to full-on immersion two weeks ago when we left the Yukon and headed to a cottage in southern Canada. The transition was not easy. First, there is the psychological component. For one year I quite successfully convinced my brain that food from afar is off limits. This remains my knee-jerk reaction and it has been difficult to give myself permission to try it.
I expected the re-introduction to a wide variety of new foods would be a taste explosion. But it hasn't been. Things taste exactly how I remember them, and it's not all that satisfying. Maybe it's a sign that my local food is pretty darn flavourful in its own right! Smells are tantalizing, but the tastes often don't live up to the smell. Sugar has been the craziest phenomenon. Things I used to love, now taste sickly sweet. I get the same 'I don't feel so good' feeling after one bite of a chocolate chip peanut butter cookie that I used to get overindulging on six of them. It astounds me that, once upon a time, my body felt that six cookies worth of sugar consumption was totally reasonable.
Salt creeps up on me in surprising places. Store bought bread is too salty, as is butter and cheese. But a nacho chip tastes like it should. Despite the saltiness, bread products taste incredibly bland. It hasn't all been disappointing. I reclaimed a love for the avocado. I was able to indulge in sushi again, which is as delicious as it used to be. Fresh local southern fruit such as peaches and concord grapes were definitely a treat and fresh-from-the-field Ontario corn is as sweet as candy.
However, on the 'grocery store food diet,' I was often hungry and never quite satisfied. I found myself longing for some of my old staples. I started poaching myself eggs for breakfast so I didn't have to suffer through a bowl of cereal or another baked good. One sip of wine literally went straight to my head. Water and milk were really the only drinks I could tolerate. The once-loved Sanpellegrino tasted way too sweet. Dilution became my friend. A couple of tablespoons of the Sanpellegrino added to a tall glass of sparkling water felt like a reasonable treat.
Gradually my tolerance for sugar and carbs started to increase. Popsicles didn't seem to bother me and two pieces of chocolate no longer made me feel sickly. I couldn't handle a butter tart but a Tim Horton's old fashioned plain donut was going down quite easily and left me craving another.
Before my body adjusts back to old habits, I want to put on the brakes. I've just returned home and am looking forward to eating local foods again. I believe my body is telling me something when half a cookie makes me feel sick. Surely it can't be good to consume as much sugar and carbs as I once did. Today I stood on the scale. No change in my weight, but there is a new roll around my middle that I'm not so happy with. So don't get too used to sugar, oh pancreas of mine – we're going back to local Dawson food!
For many Inuit communities in the far North, especially fly-in communities not connected to the outside world by roads, food security is an ongoing concern. While a number of new initiatives have been undertaken in recent years, including Nuluaq, The Inuit Community-Based Food Initiatives Mapping Project, one of the solutions is as old as the Inuit themselves — a return to country foods such as seal, walrus, whale, and fish harvested from the local environment.
Game meats are high in protein, fatty acids, vitamins and minerals. Seal meat is especially lean with less than two per cent fat (compared to 12 to 27 per cent fat in other store-bought meats). It's also rich in iron, zinc, vitamins A, D, B and C, and Omega 3 fatty acids. Through initiatives like community kitchens and cooking classes, hunter coops, and communal freezers, efforts are being made to help far Northern communities expand local access to country foods.
Southerners are discovering seal meat too, and some chefs, indigenous and non-indigenous alike, are bravely adding the dish to their menus, including Chef Eric Pateman's Edible Canada in Vancouver, and chef Joseph Shawana's Toronto restaurant, Kū-Kŭm Kitchen. The move can be a controversial one, because the harvesting of seals continues to be a touchy topic for some animal rights activists.
For several decades opposition to seal products by global animal rights groups has impacted the ability of Inuit communities to sell their seal products. Seal skin products used for waterproof, biodegradable clothing such as boots, mittens and hats, have long been a vital source of cash to purchase items such as the boats/snowmobiles, gasoline, and ammunition used by hunters.
The Inuit are fighting to change public opinion. Most notably, Iqaluit film maker Alethea Arnaquq-Baril, director of the documentary Angry Inuk , has started to alter outisder perceptions. The Canadian government is also trying to get the message across that the harvest is humane and sustainable. But for many northern Canadians it's much more basic. They simply consider seal comfort food.
Sometimes it absolutely amazes me what we can grow in the far North of Canada. Artichokes, asparagus, eggplants, golden berries and even occasionally ginger and tumeric …. I now add a new exotic flavour that can be grown in the North – shiso leaves! Until this year I had never even heard of shiso. I am now a huge fan, thanks to Carol Ann Gingras of Whitehorse, who introduced me to this herb and sent me some of her Yukon-grown plants.
One thing that I missed early on during my of eating local were spices from the Far East – cinnamon, cumin, cloves, nutmeg … Birch syrup and ground juniper berries helped to fill that void, but now I have a new favourite – shiso – to add some Asian spice to a Yukon local diet.
Shiso leaves taste exotic! To me, it is the taste of cumin combined with a hint of cardomon. For others it has been described as a combination of spearmint, basil, anise and cinnamon. Shiso (pronounced she-so), Perillafrutescens, is an Asian herb – used commonly in Japan, South Korea, Vietnam and China – and a member of the mint family. It was introduced to North America in the late 1800's but only introduced to me in 2018!
Although it flourishes in the southeaster USA, I would never have guessed how well it thrives during a Yukon summer. Its large leaves can be used to scoop up food or as a wrap for fish, meat and sushi. The fresh leaves, sliced in thin strips to bring out the flavour, can be added to soups, stir-fry, rice, scrambled eggs, salads, even fruit – almost anything, really. The leaves can be air-dried or frozen to use during the winter. Dried, the leaves can also be used as a flavourful tea. The leaves are high in calcium and iron. Apparently shiso buds and sprouts are also delicious and the seeds can be toasted and crushed and sprinkled on fish.
If you plant shiso in pots, let the plants go to seed and bring them inside before the first frost, then the plants will self-seed for spring. Here's hoping my shiso plants will self-seed so they can become a regular part of my on-going Dawson local diet!
FEAST an Edible Roadtrip is a project by Canadian food enthusiasts and writers Dana VanVeller and Lindsay Anderson. These two friends set out to find out what is cooking in kitchens, farms, markets and all kinds of places all over Canada. They even stopped by Dawson City on their travels, and sampled some of what the Yukon has to offer.
Their exploits have produced a cookbook that features recipes and stories collected on the road, from home cooks to seasoned professionals alike, including our own Miche Genest. They not only celebrate Canada's culinary diversity, but also note how important it is to look at where our food comes from and what we can do to get involved. We had a chance to ask them some questions about their project.
How did the idea originate for your project? What sparked the whole thing for you? When we were camping this one time we had a long conversation about food and culture, Canadian food culture, and how we had both travelled across the country (we both grew up in different parts of the country) and it turned into a talk about what we point to as Canadian food and we didn't quite know the answer. We thought, wouldn't it be interesting if there was a project where we went around for a certain amount of months to specifically talk to people in different regions and see what people were making and what they were eating. And we thought the most efficient way to do it would be on a road trip.
What makes Canadian food Canadian? Canadians tend to think that we don't have a distinctive culinary culture, it is interesting because there is this mentality that we are an immigrant nation and that the foods we consume are imported from other cultures, but it is in the mixing of those influences that you can find it. There are all these dishes that maybe come from somewhere else, but they are transformed by Canadian-specific ingredients and they become a whole new thing. And there is this feeling of "oh, this is just what we eat. This isn't Canadian food", as if we are reluctant to claim a food culture, and the wider sentiment is that we don't have one. It is almost like the cliché of Canadians, that we are always apologizing for everything, and we are also apologetic for our own culinary culture.
What kind of dishes or cooking techniques that you had never heard of before did you discover on your roadtrip? Did any of them make their way into your everyday cooking? There were almost daily discoveries. One of the coolest discoveries of a cooking technique was when we were on Spring Island on the northwest coast of Vancouver island and we were on a kayak expedition, and cooks from the Kyuquot first nation showed us this traditional cooking method for fish in which they butterfly the salmon and weave it through cedar slats and they roast it vertically over the fire. And it was the best roasted salmon I've ever had, but it also felt like a whole experience, not just a meal. The trip and the process of writing the cookbook completely opened us up to new cooking techniques and ingredients, like for example I had never cooked wild boar before, and we got this recipe from a Saskatchewan chef for wild boar meatballs and then we started seeing that you could actually get these ingredients around our area. Learning to cook different types of wild game and realizing how different all the flavors are, and that there really is so much variety out there. We definitely expanded our kitchens In P.E.I. a chef gave us a recipe for scallops that combined them with a pear and currant salsa, a combination that you normally wouldn't think of but they are all super Canadian ingredients that were locally sourced from the area. All the recipes in our cookbook feel Canadian for different reasons, either ingredient based or culturally based. Perhaps a recipe just happens to be really popular in a specific region, or the reason is because of the ingredients that are found there.
What are your thoughts on the issue of food security? It is interesting for people who want to change the way they eat and be more aware of what they consume, I think this is such a much easier time to do so. Food is a topic that has been exploding for the last 10 years or so, the local food movement has expanded so much. In my experience, the best way to get involved is to reach out and talk to different people, ask more questions, ask what everyone is eating and where it comes from. Also we have to think on practical terms, not everyone has the economic means to start spending more money on organic food at farmer's market or the time to grow their own food all of the sudden, but the fact that things are shifting is very important. Making an effort to be part of the conversation is important. A good way to do this is sharing meals together.
Dana and Lindsay's Yukon visit included a tour of Klondike Valley Nursery and a special dinner at Miche Genest's house - Photos by FEAST
Salmon roasting with cedar slats, Kyuquot stye - Photo by FEAST
Ione Christensen, an 84-year-old baker (and former Senator) in the Yukon, is using a sourdough starter that her great-grandfather carried over the Chilkoot Pass on his way to Dawson City during the height of the Klondike Gold Rush. Now 120 years old, the venerable sourdough is continuing to attract a lot of attention.
CBC's The Doc Project did an article and podcast about the iconic Yukon sourdough. That piece caught the attention of Karl De Smedt — Earth's sourdough librarian. De Smedt collects samples of sourdough from around the world and studies them. The samples are then stored in the refrigerated Puratos Sourdough Library in eastern Belgium for the future. Excited to hear of the historical specimen, De Smedt and a documentary crew travelled to the Yukon to meet Christensen (who cooked her Belgian guests sourdough waffles) and arrange for a sample of the starter to be shipped to Europe and stored in the Library. A sample will also be sent to a university in Italy, where the micro-organisms living in the bread will be analyzed and studied.
> Read more about Christensen's sourdough starter going to the Sourdough Library
The same sourdough starter was in Christensen's household when she was growing up in Fort Selkirk, Yukon, where her father was an RCMP officer. Christensen's mother used it regularly to make bread and flapjacks. Sourdough has a special place in Yukon history, and was a staple for manyof those who flocked to the region during the Klondike Gold Rush. The nickname "sourdough" still applies to anyone who manages to survive a Yukon winter.
During her year of eating locally, Suzanne even managed to produce her own sourdough starter using only local ingredients. Perhaps this will be the start of its own new centuries-old tradition.
Free Willy is on my mind. Listening to the turmoil in my guts is bringing back to my consciousness all the sounds of the poor whale in distress. In fact, it even feels as if Willy is inside of me, searching for escape, pounding against the delicate lining of my intestines.
It's been almost two weeks off "The Program." I've been bathing my body in unrestraint. Eating without thought. See-food diet, some might call it. Cherries, oranges, kiwis, bananas, sweetened yogurt, ice-cream, bread and bagels and cake. And then, more bread. And literally, testing the waters with coffee, beer and wine. And according to the weight scale and belt, my body has been sucking in the calories with all the haste of a bear anticipating an early winter. Eight pounds in thirteen days. Not bad, if only one was a bear.
But, aside from the weight, this new experiment with consumption has had other notable effects. I'm feeling pushed and pulled, chemically altered. Instantly, the effect of caffeine hits my head, creating urgency where none is required, disrupting the calm. After three or four cups, my heart races and my pulse skips. My stomach bloats, twists and groans. My intestines are rushed and my prostate feels like a single sandbag against the relentless floodwaters of a Red River spring. Yesterday, I had to run to the washroom and then passed water for so long that I could have squeezed in a decent nap. And I have zero tolerance for alcohol. It too, goes straight to my head, sending it in a spin, making me feel otherworldly, strange and unfamiliar.
And while I feel pushed by caffeine and alcohol, I am more notably pulled by sugar. For this "honeymoon" phase at least, sugar owns me. I can eat a sweet, feel full, and then have absolutely no inclination to stop eating. How's that for successful marketing! And the same holds for wheat and pastry products, all of which my body seems to recognize as recent deprivations in disguise. It has been nice to spice things up with a little salt and pepper. And we have eaten a few restaurant meals, giving us all a break from the domestic routine. But the new tastes are not what I thought. They are not better, and in many cases, they are significantly worse; just coated with spice and sugar and fat.
The new diet admittedly offers more variety and complexity, but these tastes are also more confusing. It is difficult to identify what I am ingesting, and all too often something that is really inferior is hiding under the sauce. I guess, through all this, we have discovered the origin of the phrase, "sugar-coated." So, perhaps the takeaways are to become a more discerning eater, to become alert to the sugar-coating, to be aware of the empty calories which are most appropriate for the pre-hibernation phase of a bear's life, to learn to enjoy the simplicity of high value and nutrient rich foods, and to maintain variety and occasional liberties.
And remember to listen when your body talks back to you, because under no circumstances should there be a whale living in your intestines!
What does a family buy during their first trip to the grocery store after a year of eating local in the North? I just so happen to have some first-hand experience in this. The items that flew off the grocery store shelves had one theme in common – breakfast.
- Six different types of cereal
- Bagels
- Bread
- Almond Butter
- Jam
- Cream Cheese
- Butter
- Yogurt (Yogurt? Yes, the super thick and sweet kind. That would be Gerard.)
- Coffee (Gerard again)
- And all manner of exotic fruit – oranges, kiwis, pineapple, cherries
Did I mention cereal? And what did I choose? Vegetable oil. Seems like my family didn't want another breakfast of fried eggs and potato cakes for a very long time. There is one positive thing about my family having these long-coveted breakfast items in the house again. It has got me off the hook for cooking breakfast.
Prior to a year ago, I was the sort of person who didn't eat breakfast. My hunger sense didn't kick in until at least 10 am. So getting up at 6:30 every morning to deal with food definitely didn't come easily to me. But I did it. For one year, I cooked breakfast every morning. It probably did me a world of good to start my day with a protein rich, healthy meal. But since bagels and cereal have re-invaded the cupboard space, I no longer feel the need to rise early. I've gone back to old habits. Almost. Instead of a cup of tea to get me through my morning, I am still enjoying a big mug of hot frothed local milk. Guess I'm getting a protein rich breakfast after all. And I can sleep in. Bonus. Let them eat bagels!
Check out the audio archive of Suzanne's latest appearance on the Yu-Kon Grow It segment of CBC Yukon's A New Day with host Sandi Coleman.
Photos by Mackenzie Pardy.
What better way to celebrate one year of eating local in the far north, than feasting on local food with some of the folks who were so important to the year's success. This time it was my turn to feed others!
A smorgasbord of delicious tastes spotlighted the wide variety of food that can be harvested in the North. An incredible assortment of local cheese from Jen Sadlier of Klondike Valley Creamery – Camembert to die for, Jaques LaRouge, Gouda, Black Jack , Labneh, and garlic chèvre. Pork porchetta and pastrami from Shelby Jordan of Bon Ton Chacuterie. Rye crackers and sourdough pumpernickel bread. Baked salmon. Roast chicken. Crustless spinach and bacon quiche. Potato salad with homemade mayonnaise. Green salads with Saskatoon berry dressing. And for desert – seven tubs of homemade birch syrup ice cream!
And we danced the Bhangra! Bhangra is actually a farmers' dance – many of the movements have to do with planting, harvesting and celebrating a successful crop. So it seemed only fitting that we would dance in celebration of a successful year of eating local by dancing bhangra in a farmer's field. Thanks to the patient teaching of Gurdeep Pandher from Whitehorse, we managed to pull off a semblance of bhangra. Smiling is an important factor in bhangra dancing. And there is no problem remembering to smile when you are already laughing at yourself!
Photos by Mackenzie Pardy.
The fields and the forests of Dawson were desperate for rain and on the day of the celebration it was raining steady. There was no visible end to the dark clouds… until the first guest arrived. Then, miraculously, the rain paused and didn't start again until we were packing up the last box and heading home.
I attribute this wondrous phenomenon to farmers' optimism. During the past two years I have had the privilege to hang out with farmers. I have witnessed how undaunted they are by the weather. With almost all the farmers gathered together in one field, how could the clouds not pause in awe!
Not everyone who helped make this past year so successful was able to attend. Nonetheless we were still a gathering of about 60 people – farmers and food producers, gardeners who had shared their garden space or their produce, folks who had shared their precious supply of wild berries during a very poor berry season, folks who taught me how to fish, those who taught me how to cook, folks who taught me to forage, people who shared recipes and all manner of local knowledge.
We were honoured to have Miche Genest, the culinary genius and author of The Boreal Gourmet, paddle to Dawson to join the celebration. Miche has been instrumental in teaching me ways to cook with only local ingredients this past year for which I and my family are forever grateful! Those who were unable to attend were still at the forefront of my thoughts during the celebration.
Many thanks to Cindy Breitkreutz, Miche Genest, Arno Springer and Hector Mackenzie who helped so greatly in preparing the feast; to Megan and Jake of LaStraw Ranch for hosting us in their field and to Gurdeep Pandher for travelling to Dawson from Whitehorse to teach us Bhangra. And of course a huge thank you to the many, many folks who helped make this year of eating 100% local in the Far North so successful!
Photos by Mackenzie Pardy.
We made it! The year of feeding my family 100% local food at 64 degrees north has come to an end.
I am very proud of my family. They didn't join this venture willingly. Gerard made it through an entire year, only 'cheating' when he left town. The kids joined in to the best of their abilities – respecting the ban on all grocery store food from our house, including salt. Adapting to strange new foods, not all of which have been palatable! T
he family is ecstatic to have 'normal' food, previously considered contraband, back in the house again. Tess is throwing a party for her friends – complete with junk food. Kate is looking forward "to being able to cook again". Sam can once again indulge in instantly grab-able late night calories. Gerard is looking forward to his first beer.
For myself, the grocery store food holds no allure. I remember the taste of an orange out of season and grocery store bread. Even chocolate does not beckon. Give me a Saskatoon berry plucked from the bush or a cherry tomato fresh off the vine any day! For the past year I have known where every single ingredient on my plate has come from. It has been both an amazing and a humbling experience to be so connected with my food and with the people and the land that helped put it on my plate. Check out some of the many, many people who helped make this year so successful:
I've said it before and I'll say it again: it takes a community to feed a family. If I had to choose the place in the world where I would want to be if a major disaster struck, it would be Dawson City. We have food, we have water, we have wood for heat and cooking. And, most importantly, we have resourcefulness, knowledge and ingenuity in spades!
For tens of thousands of years prior to colonization, the land was both the grocery store and the pharmacy for indigenous people of the North. Since colonization, we have gradually moved away from sourcing and producing our food locally. In 2018 we find ourselves dependent on one road to truck 97% of our food from thousands of kilometers away. With this dependence, comes vulnerability.
So, in 2018, it is reassuring to know that there is a bounty of food that the land and the people of the North can provide. Thank you Dawson City – I am so fortunate to call this remarkable community my home!
It's the last day of our year of eating local. (Actually of our year plus one day – seemed to make sense to end on the same day we started. Or was that just me never wanting it to be over!) It has come to an end all too fast from my perspective.
I'm enjoying my morning mug of hot, frothed milk and about to head out to pick Saskatoon berries. I have some butter culturing and a new batch of kefir on the counter. The fridge is full of fresh veggies, yogurt, goat's cheese, eggs and milk. There are rye crackers on the counter and pumpkin Saskatoon berry muffins in the freezer.
Our meat and fish stocks are low – but there are still a few meals left to sustain us until salmon fishing and moose hunting seasons begin again. Grayling is in the river and fresh local chicken is now available again. Just as we finish up last year's potatoes, new potatoes are being harvested.
The cycle of life has a whole new meaning to me. My feelings are a mixture of sadness, knowing that grocery store food will inevitably return to the house tomorrow, and celebration at how far I've come in the past year. I certainly did not accomplish this on my own. It takes a community to feed a family! Amazing farmers, the boreal forest and northern rivers, all the people of Dawson who were lending me gardening space, sharing berries, knowledge, recipes and cheering us on. T
he time for reflection will be tomorrow. Today there are berries to be picked! And for the rest of today I'm just going to bask in the joy of another day eating 100% local.
Just a couple of days left on "The Program." Regardless, I expect that much of our diet will remain unchanged: we will continue to support local agriculture as much as we can, not only because the quality and nutritional value is superior, but also as a means of economic support for those locals who are making the effort, despite the unlikely odds.
But there is still this unshakable craving for convenience and sugar and salt. I can't recall whether this preceded "The Program" or not, but I have taken to late night cravings. I find myself drawn to the kitchen, looking for that little something to cap the day off. Something that says, "Well done, now enjoy this!" A treat.
And usually, a quick survey of the fridge immediately discloses to me those food items of low interest. Sometimes I just can't place that unmet desire, and I then go through the process of elimination, trying one thing at a time in a desperate attempt to hit the nail on the head. And it is clear to me that we are not all wired the same.
Last night, as I stood forlorn in front of the open fridge, all I could hear was the quipping of Suzanne, "why don't you have some of that moose liver pate? It goes really well on that bread I made." (The bread is hard, dark, flat, dry and about 2 weeks old.) Then, without losing breath, she lists off my options in a speedy staccato: "Go down to the pantry and get some bottled moose meat so you can boil up a soup. There are chicken carcases in the freezer that you can boil up to make a nice broth. Try a mug of hot water; maybe you're just thirsty. There is some kefir in the fridge. Have you given any thought to the possibility that your late-night cravings might actually be the body's misrepresentation of just being tired? Why don't you heat up some milk and froth it? I don't understand why you don't like frothed milk when you readily eat cheese, yogurt and ice-cream by the gallon, and they all come from the same cow. Why don't you like frothed milk? Why don't you learn to like it? I don't understand!"
Meanwhile, I'm still transfixed in front of the open fridge, looking deep for dietary inspiration. All I can see are various mason jars of partially decipherable identities and dates. Many seem to contain whey, while some have meat products in them. Others have floating berries in a cloudy fermenting solution, the only thing lacking being the skull and crossbones identifier. There is something wrapped in cheese cloth, and intuitively, I highly suspect that I will not quench my craving by indulging in the contents within. There are two jars of promising-looking cream but unfortunately, both are labelled, "SAVE!" Two large gallon jars are filled with milk, clearly needing to be skimmed before being subjected to late-night culinary impulse. There is a whole chum salmon thawing on a cookie sheet. There is fresh Market Garden produce galore, including onions, zucchinis, carrots, tomatoes, cucumbers, radish and lettuce.
And in the deeper recesses of the fridge, there are the really dangerous things; the things that were failed experiments, still awaiting their final opportunity for recognition as potential marvels. These nearly-missed-miracles-of-creation are obviously too precious to toss, regardless of their age. Why, everyone knows that one more day of fermentation might be all that is required…
These are the items my eyes are casting over, while my ears are being assaulted by Suzanne's diatribe about the easy access to perfectly valid snack material, all just at my misguided fingertips. There is clearly a perceptional disconnect at play here. It became poignantly obvious when, just as I thought these very same words, they were uttered by Suzanne: "I don't understand!"
I'm in my groove. I can tell because it no longer phases me to have a two-gallon batch of yogurt on the go while simultaneously making chevre (goat's cheese). I can whip up a triple batch of rye waffles to stack in the freezer so the kids have an easy 'toast and go' breakfast before they head to their summer jobs. Mostly, I can tell I'm in my groove because I just came back from four days of camping in the Tombstone Mountains and I did it 100% local. Last year, I would not have been able to pull this off. I would not have been able to contemplate camping without the usual campfire staples of Kraft Dinner, instant oatmeal, pancake mix, bannock and marshmallows.
This year – no big deal. I prepped intermittently a few days in advance – probably no longer than it would have taken me to go grocery shopping and then return again to the store for the things I forgot the first time. And because I pre-made most of the food, cooking while camping was both easy and delicious. Roasted moose sausages and moose stew were the supper staples – accompanied by a fresh salad with saskatoon berry dressing.
Lunches were a smorgasbord of fresh tomatoes, cucumbers, rye crackers, garlic chevre and smoked cranberry birch moose sticks. For breakfast we grilled pre-made waffles over the fire or fried up eggs with potato cakes. Dry meat was the trail mix during the day hikes. I snacked on birch syrup-pumpkin seed brittle instead of roasted marshmallows. I even successfully made a batch of local popcorn popped in pig lard over the open fire! I am definitely in my groove. Seems a shame to realize I finally have it figured it out two days before the family will bring grocery store food back into the larder. Sigh!
I counted them! Crazy, I know, but it goes to show the depths of madness that one can descend into, given the right circumstances. It was the dishes, I counted. With my own silly encouragement, the family headed off to the Dempster to do a few days of hiking. I needed everyone out of the house so that I could wash and re-surface the sad and neglected wooden floors of our home.
With all the domestic industry over the past year, the floor of the kitchen was worn right down to the bare wood. In front of the tired old stove the floor was scalloped from the friction of our children's feet, a consequence of enslaved hours in the name of processing local food. A sort of work-to-eat program for them. Which, in turn, resulted in a varathane-to-eat program for me. I think all the money we saved on food went directly to the suppliers of floor repair products.
So, back to the count. When the early morning mayhem ended and the family was happily on the road, I settled down to tidy up the kitchen. Having finished a huge stack of dishes the previous evening I was comforted with the expectation that, since breakfast was the only interim meal, there would be a modicum of toil ahead of me. I was never more wrong!
A quick glance at the clock showed that it was only 7:30 am. A glance at the kitchen revealed a culinary apocalypse. There were 2 frying pans, 4 pots, 3 cookie sheets, 6 dehydrator foils, 4 zip-lock bags, 3 mason jars, 2 one-gallon milk jugs, 1 ice-cream maker, 2 cutting boards, 1 blender, 3 chopping knives, 2 metal spatulas, 3 wooden stirring spoons, 2 rubber scrapers, 1 potato masher, 1 cheese cloth, 1 garlic press, and for some unexplainable reason, each and every one of our complete set of measuring cups! And, as for my expectation of breakfast dishes, there were only 4 plates and 4 forks…
I still don't know how this happened. Everyone was up till midnight. I slept till 7:00 am. Did anyone else sleep or was this all Suzanne, fueled by summer and a pressing deadline? Was she up all night, making ice-cream, dehydrating food, cooking for the trip? Was she simply experimenting with each and every one of our cooking utensils, searching for their individual pros and cons? Or did she just want to leave a lasting impression of her industry in this year-long pursuit, something that perhaps, I might write about?
Sister Island, a 42-acre property located just a couple of kilometers down river from Dawson City, has a long tradition of growing. Given to the Sisters of St. Ann in 1898 during the Klondike Gold Rush, the nuns used the island to grow vegetables famous for their quality, and raised cows, chickens and pigs to feed a hospital and orphanage in Dawson.
Sister Island has a long-standing reputation for growing great veggies. Photo by Lou Tyacke.
The island was purchased a few years ago by Lou Tyacke and Gary Masters, and the couple are keeping the island's growing tradition very much alive. Visitors are also able to come and stay on the island.
Lou and Gary are originally from the U.K., and while the sub-arctic climate and short growing season they deal with is about as un-English as you can get, they are trying some new cultivars and livestock not typical to the Klondike. Among the fowl they are raising are some species more common to the British Isles than the Yukon. This year they are raising quail, pheasant, and heritage chicks as well.
Lou and Gary are trying some exotic species more familiar to the U.K. like quail, pheasant, and heritage chicks. Photo by Lou Tyacke.
A Tamworth Pig enjoying its mud bath. Photo by Lou Tyacke.
There are also Tamworth pigs, a well-known species in the U.K. The animals seem well-adapted to their home, and when they are not chasing the farmers' quad, love to take mud baths.
Lou and Gary have been growing turnips to help feed the pigs, but they are growing so well, the farmers are thinking they'll be keeping some of the vegetables for themselves.
> Check out the Sister Island Facebook page
Louise Piché, one of Dawson's great home gardeners, continues to defy expectations about what can be grown at 64 degrees north. Recently, she managed to grow an artichoke — perhaps the first ever raised in the Klondike. If you're inspired and want to try following in Louise's footsteps, the cultivar is the Green Globe Artichoke, and the seeds came from Best Cool Seeds, the online store for the Denali Seed Company, a Michigan-based firm that specializes in cold-weather gardening. And check out the other seeds that have been proven to grow well in the North!
It only took 30 hours. An overnight trip to Whitehorse, medicinally supplemented with a few coffees and Monster drinks to maintain energy and alertness, and then back on "The Program." And the price has been two days of caffeine withdrawal headaches. It seems that our bodies adapt more readily to the intake of nutrients and chemicals than it does to their removal. How unfortunate.
Simplistically, it helps one understand addiction and the inherent struggles with recovery. It took my body only 30 hours to adapt to, and depend on, the regular consumption of coffee. Meanwhile, it took months for this same body to accept even a diminished intake of sugar and grains. So much for mind over matter.
I've mentioned before that one of my ambivalences about coming off "The Program" is the potential for loss of thought about food choices. On the one hand, I look forward to the ease of eating indiscriminately. On the other, I worry about the loss of taste discrimination and the loss of altruistic thoughts about food security.
It was nice to be able to eat at a restaurant in Whitehorse. But, the barbequed ribs were not barbequed at all. They were simply bathed in barbeque sauce, which on first bite, tasted bold and delicious to my virgin taste buds. Scrapping away the sauce revealed overcooked and tasteless pork, much worse than the "happy meat," to which I have become accustomed. The fries tasted like a crusty conduit for bad grease, hidden beneath a generous dousing of salt, the ubiquitous masquerader. The small piece of corn-on-the-cob was tough and tasteless, suggesting that the chef decided it was best to pawn off the remnants of last year's stock, before the fresh, delicious, new stuff arrives…
Makes one think that taking control of one's dietary intake does have its merits. Another distinction of eating conveniently from stores, and one that is also worthy of reiteration, is the production of garbage that this entails. With virtually every individual item coming in its own designated package of single-use plastic or Styrofoam or tin or paper or cardboard, this rapidly adds up. Again, I had generated an embarrassingly notable bag of garbage by the end of my short trip, about the same as our whole family now produces in a week.
And while eating conveniently on the run feels decadent on the one hand, there is the undeniable lingering question about the wisdom of our course. Sure, we all want to do less dishes: washing out zip lock bags, jars, and plastic containers for repurposing, is neither convenient or fun. Just ask my kids. But, aside from the individual desire to minimize effort, it is time to re-evaluate the sustainability of the current retail business.
Hey, my headache is gone! Perhaps, just perhaps, there was more to it than caffeine withdrawal, after all…
The first fresh berries are ripe for the eating! Domestic haskap berries are ripe in gardens and the wild strawberries are now ripe in the fields. The sweet taste of a fresh, in season, strawberry is divine. In the North, wild strawberries are very small – but their taste is the sweetest of all – making them worth the effort of picking.
Haskaps, Lonicera caerulea, are a blue honeysuckle. Native to Russia, they withstand frost and the minus forty cold winters of the North quite well. They are currently flourishing in gardens around Dawson City. Also native to Japan, 'haskap' is an ancient Japanese name which translates to 'berry of long life and good vision.' Haskaps are packed with Vitamin C and contain more anti-oxidants than any other berry. The haskap berry is grape sized. They are perfectly ripe when they are dark blue in colour with an obvious dimple in the bottom of the berry. The taste of a haskap is a combination of sweet blueberry with tart cranberry.
Check out the Haskap Canada Association for haskap recipes. At Tundarose Garden in Dawson City, a bird found a well-protected area for nesting in the interior of the a thick row of haskap bushes. Not wanting to disturb, Suzanne and Mary Ann snuck a very quick peek at the eggs and were surprised to find two had just hatched. They backed off quickly so that mama could attend to her young in peace.
There is nothing quite like the taste of the first cherry tomato, picked straight off the vine. Especially after 10 months without! It popped into my mouth with a burst of intense tomato flavour complimented by a long missed combination of sweet, salty and juicy. And the taste explosion continued with the first freshly-picked cucumber from the greenhouse and the first fresh zucchini from the local Farmers Market.
It is with great excitement that every Saturday morning I head to our local Farmers Market to discover which new summer vegetable will appear. I find myself grazing on both spinach leaves and chickweed from the garden. And then there is the lettuce! I used to think of lettuce as a vehicle for salad dressing. But this year, I can happily munch away on the leafy green all by itself.
I am sure that the fresh vegetables of summer have always tasted this good, but the flavours seem more intensely delicious to me this year. Perhaps it is simply the ten month absence of fresh greens from my diet. Perhaps it is an increased sensitivity of my taste buds, after a year without salt and pepper. Whatever the reason, eating seasonally brings with it gastronomical joy!
With the first taste of lettuce, my desire for root vegetables instantly diminished. The potato, which has been our best friend and staple all winter, has been replaced with salad. And salad has never been so gourmet: wild sheep and warm vegetable salad, smoked salmon salad, the sky is the limit! T
hanks to Dawsonite, Kirsten Lorenz, I have even found a salad dressing recipe that rivals anything I ever made or bought in the past. It is a flavourful combination of berries, garlic, birch syrup and rhubarb juice. Summer has never tasted so good!!
Yesterday, I ate a tomato. And today I ate a radish. While I was luxuriating in the taste, it dawned on me that for the majority of the local population, this would not necessarily be a treat; that most people would not have gone many months without those foods. Most people use stores. And stores facilitate the access of foods from all over the world, regardless of the season.
I have to admit that eating local brings with it the excitement of renewed tastes as we immerse ourselves into the summer. It is great to have fresh haskaps again. And salad greens. And the steamed turnip tops are to die for. And each day unleashes a fresh supply of abundance and variety. It feels magical and decadent after a winter of waiting for the onions to run out.
Strange, but I'm starting to feel that my appreciation for food might suffer when we return to the non-local diet. Maybe it will all seem too easy, too undeserving. Will I really savor the taste and value the opportunity to eat fresh strawberries in February? Coconuts and pineapples in Dawson? Or will the process of shopping and eating become mechanized, without much deliberation or thought? Will thoughts of local opportunity, unnecessary transportation, food storage and seasonal limitations all be forgotten?
I did not enjoy using my living space as a storage silo, so that I won't miss. But maybe I will miss a part of what comes with living with your food supply: the awareness of knowing exactly what you must make do with, the appreciation of limitations, the necessity to find creativity within those limitations.
Everyone who enjoys camping and backpacking is essentially enjoying exactly that: a time when you must persevere with what you have, a time of restraint, and a time of discipline. The coffers have food aplenty with only three weeks to go on "the Diet." And with the forest and gardens producing, there is no anxiety about scurvy or beri-beri. We will make it.
I expect there will be a shock effect from that cold beer on a hot afternoon, or with the dough that has yeast added to it, or with that salt brine lathered on top of a roast. It will seem weird to eat in public or go to a restaurant. But this will pass.
I remember that when we returned from our winter in the bush there was a similar transient sense of disbelief and undeserving, when a simple twist of the tap produced hot running water. I am looking forward to the ease of eating and the convenience of unrestricted access. I am ready to not talk about food, or to think about it. I'm really looking forward to a glass of wine and a banana, for some reason. It feels like I have no memory of ever having experienced the taste of an orange.
So, there is always room for reflection, but for now, it's almost time to bring out the coffee!
The Amazing Race Canada episode shot in Dawson City aired last night on CTV. Part of the series coverage includes follow-up See It All webisodes, where former contestants, now hosts, Andrea and Adam take a more in-depth look at the community where the racers competed.
The brother-and-sister duo visited Tombstone Provincial Park, panned for gold at Discovery Claim No. 6, visited with members of the local First Nations community, and did the infamous Sourtoe Cocktail at the Downtown Hotel. But for their culinary component, they turned to Suzanne for a truly unique experience — a meal with 100% local ingredients, including a foraging expedition to pick up some wild vegetables for the menu.
> Watch it here
Check out the audio archive of Suzanne's latest appearance on the Yu-Kon Grow It segment of CBC Yukon'sA New Day with host Sandi Coleman.
"Knee high by the fourth of July" is a farmer's refrain south of the 49th Parallel – predicting a healthy crop of grain. So waist high by the 7th of July is looking pretty good up here at 64 degrees north!
Inspired by Miche Genest's post "Back Yard Grain Growing in the Yukon – the Logical Next Step"and Kokopellie Farm's success in growing grain in Dawson, I decided to give back yard grain growing a try. My experience last Fall taught me that hulling grain is no easy feat. In fact sometimes, as is the case for oats and buckwheat, it is virtually impossible for a home gardener. Therefore I was thrilled that Salt Spring Seeds carries hulless varieties of grain. After consulting owner Dan Jason, I decided to try Faust Barley (hulless) and Streaker Hulless Oats. And look how well they are doing!
Gardening has never come easily to me. I struggle to grow brassicas while the local farmers produce them in abundance. This year I decided to try my luck growing edibles that are not so easily found at our local Farmers Market. My raised beds are hosting oats, barley, amaranth, Tom Thumb popping corn and onions. The onions are not looking so good but, so far, the rest seem to be growing well.
With the idiosyncrasies of our short growing season, grains have often been difficult to grow in the North. Perhaps as a result of climate change, perhaps due to hardier cultivars, it seems that in the past few years growing grain is becoming more feasible. So it is a good time test out the possibilities of back yard grain growing in the Yukon! Fingers crossed that local barley and local breakfast oats will be on the menu in our house next year.
I am now in the last month of a full year of eating 100% local to Dawson City. At this point, I would have expected to be sprinting towards the finish line – a piece of chocolate, a cup of strong black tea and plateful of sushi temptingly waiting for me on the other side. But rather than sprinting, I want to put on the brakes. I want this last month to stretch out as long as possible.
It is with trepidation and some sadness that I think of Cheerios, bagels, coconuts and all manor of exotic and processed non-local foods re-entering our kitchen. Items which are now fully engrained in my psyche as 'contraband'.
After we returned from living in the bush, I was determined to continue making my own yogurt, my own crackers, my own bread. But gradually, despite my initial resolve, convenience overcame my intentions. Ritz and Triscuits became mainstays in the cupboard, yogurt once again came from the store, packages of bagels lined our counter. Will the same thing happen this time or will my resolve prevail?
When it comes to cooking, I do better with boundaries. Limitless choice handcuffs me. I have evidence of this from my past. In university I became paralyzed in the cafeteria line up when I was asked "cheddar or mozzarella?" I avoid restaurants with six-page menus. It's also one of the reasons I live remotely. When you go to the store for a new toaster, you buy the only toaster on the shelf – no decisions to be made.
The constraint of cooking with only local ingredients has done wonders for my previously non-existent culinary talents! I might just continue to avoid grocery shopping. If my family wants it, let them go to the store and buy it. I suspect the novelty of shopping might quickly dissipate after their August 1st shopping spree. But then again, baking powder would be nice.
One month to go, then back to normal. Or, have I got that wrong? This "local" diet has been the mainstay of human sustenance since the first green shoots erupted in the Fertile Crescent? That which we now consider normal, is in reality, a modern expectation that stems from a cheap and well-organized transport system. It begs the question as to whether this current food delivery style is either normal or sustainable.
The beginning of each month heralds "weigh-in day." Suzanne has been logging the entries dutifully. Once a scientist, always a scientist. Looking for logic in numbers, searching for correlations. The weigh-in day is a reminder to me that this is, after all, just an experiment. It too, shall pass.
A glimpse at the numbers reveals that in the second half of this "game," the male members have steadily gained weight. The women have either lost or held steady. So what can be deduced? As for my son, well, he is in that teenage anabolic stage of life, when the simple act of looking at a calorie equates to muscle growth. How unfair, I say to him, that at his age he only needs to sleep and eat to get better at everything he does, while those of us from the older generation can only measure success by the slowness with which we deteriorate.
During the first three to four months of the program, my weight dropped like gold in a sluice box. About 10 pounds per month. The wasting was so profound that if it wasn't for my insatiable appetite and for my increased vigor, I would have worried more about some sinister disease lurking in my inner depths. Still, the thought did cross my mind.
As winter encroached, the lack of body fat became a problem: I simply could not stay warm. With virtually no grains in my diet, I turned to fat, sugar and starch. The hunger stopped, the cold intolerance disappeared, and the weight returned. My skin-folds became thicker than that on the back of my hand. My ribs, once again hid from view. My pants and underwear resisted the embarrassing pull of gravity. The beard was no longer essential to hide the hollow in my cheeks.
There has always been an abundance of animal fat in this relatively protein-rich diet. I increased on this by upping the amount of ingested cream: homemade ice-cream, berries with cream, anything with cream. The sugar came primarily from birch syrup. Added to cream, added to sauces, added to waffles and increasing doses of breakfast clafouti. The main contributor of starch was the potato. It became a winter staple, a daily part of supper and a frequent part of the fried breakfast concoction. My potato dependence has given new appreciation to the profound devastation of the blight of Ireland in the mid 1800's.
So, to those of you wanting to gain weight, my advice is simple: either increase your intake of sugar and starch, or revert to adolescence.
Achilles was dipped in a vat of yarrow tea as a young child, to protect him from the dangers of war. As the story from Greek mythology goes, only his heel was left unprotected as that was where his mother held him when she dipped him into the vat. Achilles' heel turned out to be his demise when it was pierced by an arrow.
Yarrow flowers are now in bloom around Dawson City and this is the best time to harvest. Yarrow is well known for its many medicinal values as well as being an effective mosquito repellent. However, dried yarrow also has benefits as an edible plant. It is full of minerals such as calcium, potassium and sodium as well as vitamins A, C and thiamine. The dried flowers make an excellent and aromatic tea. Try a tea blend of yarrow, juniper, mint and lemon balm. Infuse birch syrup with dried yarrow flowers, rosehips and rose petals.
The dried leaves make an excellent herb. Try grinding dried yarrow leaves with wild sage, nasturtium seed pod, spruce tip, nettle and celery leaf to make a herbed butter or a chicken seasoning. The best way to harvest yarrow is to cut it at the base of the stem, and then bunch the stems together and hang upside down to dry. Thanks to Bev Gray's "Boreal Herbal" and to ethnobotanist Leigh Joseph for the knowledge that has been summarized in this post.
There's one tool that's proving to be indispensable on this diet program. And, I'm happy, even proud, to say that it was my foresight that brought said tool into our house.
A few years ago I went through a stage of craving smoothies. And our ancient Value Village blender was not making the task of home-made smoothie production either easy or fun. The ice cubes would not shred and there would be surprise clumps of fruit obstructing the straws and gagging the palate. A detailed online research repeatedly directed me to the Vitamix, so to heck with the expense, off to the store I went.
It was one of those purchases that I felt required no justification or explanation: the best is the best. My wife thought the expense was extravagant and needless. I battled her taunting by immersing the family in offerings of smoothies. Smoothies for breakfast, smoothies for desert, smoothies on hot afternoons. Smoothies on winter movie nights and smoothies as a way of disguising leftovers. Smoothies, I learned, could be the vector for injecting green vegetables into a sweet snack. Smoothies, in short, were the embodiment of dietary excellence, wrapped in a package of convenience and decadence.
Perhaps I overdid it. Soon, I couldn't pay enough for the kids to accept a smoothie of questionable content. Perhaps, I had taken the nutritional thing a step too far. Too many green smoothies. Too many dried bagels dissolved and disguised in the body of a smoothie. So, the blender took a rest. It started to live the life that Suzanne had predicted from the beginning. It became a red and black decorative piece on a counter that was designed for function, not fashion. It was in the way.
But then … then came "The Diet!" And this new sugarless life was fertile ground for a yearning for something sweet, something different than another baked potato. And so, the blender has throttled back into action. Gentlemen, fire up your engines! Now, the blender is a daily contributor to our nutrient load. We still have berries from last Fall in our freezers, and we have access to yogurt and milk, and birch syrup is our sweetener.
So, smoothies are back! And not only that, the blender is now used to make butter. You can tell that we have entered the world of mechanization by our forearms, which are shriveling back to normal human size. So, we have come full circle. Nothing like a little winter of deprivation to teach the masses about the benefits of a great blender.
And, in the process I feel vindicated for that extravagant purchase so many years ago, clearly now a harbinger in disguise.
Wild rose flowers are out in abundance around Dawson City, along with lungwort (blue bell) flowers. Both are edible — lightly perfumed with a touch of sweet.
Wild rose petals can be eaten fresh, used as a garnish, steeped as a tea, or sun-steeped for rose-flavoured water. They can also be dried or frozen for storage throughout the year. Remember to only pick one petal from each rose flower so that they continue to attract bees.
Check out Suzanne's most recent radio appearance on CBC Yukon's Yu-Kon Grow It segment of their A New Day program. Suzanne talked about all the great spring foraging opportunities. https://soundcloud.com/cbcyukon/spring-foraging-on-yu-kon-grow-it
I'm awake early. Sounds of ocean waves crashing against stubborn granite fill the air. I'm at home, in the Yukon, far from the ocean. I pinch myself; yes, I am awake. It's the new thing, apparently: sound recordings to lull babies to sleep.
My daughter is here visiting with her baby daughter, so the ocean is pounding through the night at our house. I wonder if this is not so much about sleep as it is my daughter's subliminal desire to firmly entrench our Newfoundland heritage into the makeup of the next generation. Lest we forget…
Perhaps my daughter secretly wanted a mermaid. Or a fish? In any event, if there is a remote chance that sound can influence the genetic composition of the young, then I expect any day now to see scales. But more than anything, the sound is filling me with a yearning. I'm missing the water. My boat is in the repair shop and so my Spring fix is being agonizingly postponed. And, I think this feeling of incompletion is worsened because of the withdrawal from my daily sojourns to the river over the winter.
I hadn't realized the paradox, that by fishing for burbot in the winter, I too was being hooked, lured back into distant familiarities. To fish is to be fished. One notable thing about the Yukon is the dramatic seasonal changes. And with that comes new perspectives, new activities and new recreational pursuits. It's time to put burbot thoughts aside. Time for trout and grayling. Time for fresh greens and asparagus and radishes and tomatoes and strawberries. Time again to roam the forest and munch on spruce trees!
And maybe, when my daughter is unsuspecting, I can expose the next generation to enough Yukon delights such that this too, will forever be as entrenched within her as the sounds of the ocean.
Check out the menu from this 100% Yukon local feast served in 1912! Courtesy of Kathy Gates. From The Dawson Daily News — Friday August 2nd, 1912
YUKON PRODUCE AFFORDS A SWELL DINNER
One of the most unique dinners ever held in the North was given Tuesday evening at "Messieur Pete's" Merchants' Café by Peter Rost, the Dominion operator, in honour of Rev. Father Vaughn. Every article on the menu was a Yukon product. Nothing but Yukon grown vegetables, Yukon meats or game and Yukon beverages and berries were placed before the feasters. The dinner was termed a 'potlatch' and the menu included cream of tomato soup, from Yukon's own love apples; combination salad, Yukon vegetables, Yukon salmon and other fishes; Yukon grizzly bear, and other big game entrees; stuffed Yukon chicken, and Yukon birds. Dawson grown native strawberries; wild Yukon blueberries and raspberries; ice cream from Yukon dairy; Yukon milk, and Yukon's peerless sparkling water. Yukon brewed amber drinks might have been provided also were it not the crowd comprised tee-totalers.
Those at the table were: Peter Rost, host; Father Vaughn, Father Bunoz and B. L. Jelich. A magnificent menu in many colours was printed by the News as a souvenir. Father Vaughn said he will have London newspapers write up the feast, and give wide publicity to what Yukon can produce in foodstuffs.
I always thought of asparagus as an exotic vegetable. But guess what, it will grow in the North! Several Dawson gardeners have been successful growing asparagus and generous in sharing some of the harvest with me this year — yum!
For all your asparagus cravings dine on firewood shoots in May and garden asparagus in June and July! Tips if you want to try growing your own asparagus:
- Buy roots, not seeds
- Plant the roots in spring in 1⁄2 dirt and 1⁄2 sand
- The harvest will be in the second year
- Harvest by cutting from June till mid July, and then stop cutting
To check out varieties that have grown well in the North, check out Louise Piché's Seed Guide.
Bet your local coffee shop doesn't have this nutritious, delicious latté flavour on its menu — at least not yet! Right now, stinging nettle is at its prime for harvesting (although you'll want to wear gloves!) Far from being an annoying weed, stinging nettle is rich in calcium, Vitamin A and C, and plant protein.
> Check out Leigh Joseph's recipe for Stinging Nettle Latté!
The stinging part of the nettle disappears when it is juiced, cooked or dried. Stinging nettle makes a great vegetable, a nutritious juice to add to smoothies or soups, and a mild herb or tea that can be blended with other herbs to add a boost of nutrition. It can also be blanched and frozen like spinach. To dry it, cut at the base of the stem, bundle several stems together, and hang upside down. When dry, remove the leaves into a mason jar. They can be crushed later or ground into a powder in a coffee grinder.
Stinging nettle is best picked when under a foot high and there is still a purplish tinge to the leaves. Definitely pick before it flowers.
> Read more about stinging nettle
Here are some great recipes made with stinging nettle:
> Stinging Nettle Birch Tip Latté
> Nettle Fireweed Shoot Spanakopita with Spruce Tip Infused Butter
By Leigh Joseph
Rice Root bulb with nodding onions on skunk cabbage leaf.
"Our people look after what we take, we don't take too much, we leave something, we don't go back to that same place, and we go gather elsewhere. All the harvesting is done to take what you need and not take everything. You need to leave something for other people and leave something so that the plant can continue to live. You've got to take care of those things."
~ Chief Floyd Joseph, Squamish First Nation
I have grown up with the belief that plants are our relatives. Connected to this belief are plant harvesting and cultivation practices that are rooted in respect and reciprocity. For each plant food or medicine there were, and are, sustainable practices employed to ensure the long-term health and productivity of plants in particular harvesting areas.
When settlers arrived in Canada there was a misconception that the landscapes they encountered were untouched and unused. In reality, the landscapes were intensively managed and cultivated to maximize productivity of foods with the understanding that future generations would also carry out these practices and rely on these foods.
There are many well-known examples now of ecosystems that were shaped by millennia of cultural practices and Indigenous knowledge aimed at building sustainable and bountiful food sources. These practices centered on the understanding that harvesting has impacts and in order to balance out these impacts there must be reciprocity. Reciprocity is the practice of giving back for mutual benefit. A plant-harvesting example of this would be replanting a section of root when you are harvesting roots for food to ensure the plant you are harvesting from returns and thrives. There is often a spiritual aspect to this type of reciprocity as well, in the form of a prayer or offering to the plant.
Sustainability has been built into indigenous plant management practices since time before memory. People were taught to manage root vegetables through replanting and cultivation. They knew that harvesting too many leaf buds from a tree or shrub would stunt new growth. They knew that to harvest entire flowers meant that pollinators and animals would lose a food source and fruit would not develop. Two examples of Indigenous plant cultivation are camas meadows and estuary root gardens.
Camas is a traditional root food that was grown in family managed gardens. Camas gardens were found in open meadows that were maintained through fire management. Burning the meadow would bring nutrients into the soil, remove grasses and provide open habitat for camas to thrive.
Estuary Root Gardens were also family managed gardens in estuaries. Management of these gardens included weeding, tilling, replanting and rotating harvest to ensure the productivity and sustainability of the gardens.
The relatively new popularization of wild foraging is leading to overharvesting and can be seen as another form of 'taking' from the land. I share in the excitement of harvesting but I ask you to please educate yourself and consider the impact you may have. Ask yourself: "Is this a plant I should be harvesting?" "Who else might be relying on these plant foods?" "Where am I harvesting? Is this a culturally or ecologically sensitive area?" "What is my intention with harvesting? How much do I take and what do I give back?" "How do I harvest and give back in a way that will sustain these plant foods for generations to come?"
If you don't know the answers to these questions I urge you to seek out training or contact your local Indigenous community to ensure that you are practicing in a respectful way. Purchasing plants from a native plant nursery or transplanting into a garden setting are two great ways to have less of an impact on the wild plant populations.
Here are some great books if you are interested in further learning.
- Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge and the Teachings of Plants by Robin Kimmerer
- Plants Have So Much to Give Us, All We Have to Do Is Ask by Mary Siisip Geniusz
- As We Have Always Done Indigenous Freedom through Radical Resistance by Leanne Betasamosake Simpson.
Only two months left in my year of eating 100% local to Dawson. And it is not joy nor eager anticipation that I feel as the end approaches, but a sense of melancholy. I don't want to stop. I loathe the day that packaged and processed foods re-enter the fridge and the cupboards and I know that I will be powerless to stop it.
My family has put up with this experiment for almost a year, and they are very much looking forward to the shopping spree on August 1st. Tess misses salt and the ability to pour herself a bowl of Cheerios in the morning. Kate misses baking – the fluffy sort that comes with white flour, baking powder and white sugar. Sam misses grab and go filler food – bagels, crackers, a limitless supply of apples all year round. Gerard misses big tubs of unrationed ice-cream.
And what do I miss? Surprisingly almost nothing. Except a hot mug of strong black tea – which I am loathe to return to after ten months of being caffeine free. I expected I would miss chocolate, avocados, oranges, sushi, nutritional yeast on butter slathered popcorn… But it is not these things that I miss. I miss salad dressing! Vegetable oil and balsamic vinegar salad dressing! Fresh greens are back on the menu and I now realize just how much I miss salad dressing. Lettuce, on its own, just doesn't cut it for me. Ghee (clarified butter) and melted animal fat do not make good vegetable oil alternatives for salad.
Rhubarb juice (my vinegar) doesn't have enough punch on its own. I have tried making a ranch style dressing with yogurt, herbs, garlic and honey but it is still missing something. So, with 2 months left to go, and fresh greens popping out of the ground, I am determined to crack this case. There must be a 100% local salad dressing option that can rival vegetable oil & balsamic vinegar. Help? If you have any suggestions, please let me know!!
I've been away for a bit. Living the life of the normal mass of humanity. Eating salt and sugar and chocolate and coffee and bread. Lots of bread and pastry. Relishing in croissants, light and fluffy, laced in butter (the salted type please!). Cereals for breakfast. Taking full advantage of the utility of commercial stores, buying food and consuming food while on the move. Rediscovering the sheer decadence of grabbing an ice-cream bar when a bit peckish on the road, marveling at not having to peel a potato and watch it boil as the stomach growls in wanton anticipation.
Sometimes we wonder about human progress. We wonder about the cost of convenience, about skills that have been abandoned, then lost. We marvel at the rise of dough in a pan or the conversion of agitated milk into butter. We love to see fresh garden shoots, sprouting from inert seed to vibrant life, made possible with the magical combination of dirt, sun, soil and water.
It is easy to sentimentally linger in the past, easy to feel that we have become disconnected from the entanglement of chemistry which defines life. But the human quest for convenience is not a recent event. We have always strived to make life more comfortable, to anticipate future needs and to mitigate risks. Thus, societies were born, and dependence on agriculture offered more predictability than the nomadic life of the hunter/gatherer. To grow, harvest and store food with increasing efficiency is to be human.
So, it is no surprise that we have evolved into our current state, where food is processed, packaged and shipped prodigiously. And while we can all agree that this process allows for some nutrient loss as well as the addition of some unwanted preservatives and additives, we cannot deny the necessity. We can't all go shoot a moose. Nor can most of us grow and store our own food, regardless of how good it tastes or how nutritious it might be.
So, modern life must be about compromise. Be attentive to our food and make the most practical and healthy choices we can. Enjoy our indulgences but try to keep them infrequent enough such that we do not suffer from the health consequences that so often accompany them. And did I mention that adding a few spruce tips to a mug of boiled water is a pleasant drink with which to start the day? .
Wild sage is out in abundance now around Dawson City. There are two kinds of wild sage, one you may be more familiar with and one less familiar with. For both, the leaves can be dried and used as a herb.
The more familiar wild sage is artemisia frigida — which is distinctive by its sage green colour. Its scent is a delicate with that aromatic sweet sage smell. It is most often found in alpine areas and outcroppings.
You may be less familiar with artemisia tilesii, commonly referred to as stinkweed. This is a misnomer. There is nothing stinky about the aromatic smell of sage! Artemisia tilesii is prolific – especially along road sides, and it looks very much like an inedible weed. But that is just a ruse. You can identify it by rubbing the leaf to smell its distinctive sage smell. As it is quite plentiful, you can cut it at the base of the stalk and hang it to dry. The dried leaves keep well in a mason jar throughout the year. Crush the dried leaves or grind them in a coffee grinder before adding as a seasoning.
In case mosquitos are bothering you while you forage, the leaves of wild sage, along with yarrow, also acts as a mosquito repellent if you rub the leaves on your skin. And here is a tip from Bev Gray's The Boreal Herbal, if you have sore feet while you are hiking or foraging, line the soles of your boots or shoes withartemisia tilesiileaves!
My 15-year-old daughter, Kate, has been at it again. She doesn't cook often since we have ventured into this year of eating local, for reasons which I suspect are obvious to everyone except me. But when she does cook, she goes local gourmet!
Kate recently adapted a recipe for Choux Pastry Cream Puffs to our local ingredients and it worked! The ingredients are surprisingly simple: home churned butter, some Dawson grown Red Fife whole wheat flour, a couple of local eggs, and some Klondike River water. Instead of filling the Choux Pastry with local whipped cream, Kate decided to fill them with home-made local custard. Fantastically delicious!
> Check out Kate's recipe for Choux Pastry Cream Puffs
by Miche Genest
The buds are appearing on the trees, there's new growth on the ground, and across the territory farmers, gardeners and consumers are gearing up for market season. In Dawson the first outdoor market took place on May 13, Mother's Day; in Whitehorse the Fireweed Community Market officially opens May 17; and the Stewart Valley Community Market (SVCM) will rev up on May 26th.
"Keep your friends close and your farmers closer," says a poster on the SCVM Facebook page, which pretty much sums up the idea behind local markets: farmers and community. Joella Hogan is one of the SCVM organizers, along with Sandy Washburn and Susan Stanley. "We usually try to have five or six markets a year," she says. "Usually the first one in spring so people can get bedding plants and visit, and celebrate spring. "When we started, our whole point was about connecting farms to local people, because lots of people couldn't get out to the farms," she continues. "We had no idea that it would become this huge social thing."
The market started up about seven years ago, with the help of funding from the Community Climate Change Adaptation Project at Yukon College, which enabled organizers to invest in tables, tents, a barbecue and a cooler. Now the market is totally self-sufficient, deriving revenue from table rentals at $10 a shot and a $25 buy-in fee for food vendors.
Farmers Ralph and Norma Meese from Minto Bridge Farm are market regulars, and so are Adam and Danica Wrench from North Wind farm, a small family operation just up the road from the Meeses. "The Meeses sell mostly vegetables and eggs, whereas Adam and Danica are getting into pigs and chickens," says Hogan. "There's even a local lady selling eating rabbits."
The farmers are joined by a good handful of local food producers, artists and artisans. Sometimes jeweller Esther Winter of Winterchild Jewellery takes a table, especially when she's testing new designs. "She'll say, 'These are three new designs; pick your favourite and there will be a draw.' I love it!" says Hogan. This year market organizers are hoping to get more kids interested in participating, whether to sell lemonade or hold a bake sale. "We want to encourage entrepreneurship and small business, so we want to get the kids involved in the market so they understand more."
The other group in the community the organizers have their sights on is the seniors and Elders. "They're our biggest fans; they love getting out and visiting. Our thinking is, let's engage them to have more ownership — phoning their friends to remind them there's a market and putting up posters, so that it becomes more of a community-wide thing."
Hogan recently attended the Zero Waste Conference in Whitehorse. "I said to Sandy, 'We have to get on Zero Waste!'" Now, like the Fireweed Community Market and other markets across the country, SVCM is grappling with how to reduce garbage. "How do you do that? Do you offer incentives to the vendor? Do you, as the market, supply all the dishes and utensils so it meets your values? At what expense?"
Already, SVCM uses compostable cups, and Susan Stanley has made felt holders that will go around mason jars, which Hogan then takes home and washes after the market. That is, if folks will allow her to take their coffee cups. Hogan says, "People don't want to go home at the end of the day. We're packing up and they're like, 'I just want one more cup of coffee!'"
One of my favourite edible leaves, lungwort (commonly known as blue bell) is now out and about around Dawson City. The young leaves are very tasty raw and can be added to salad, steamed or added to soups and stews. The early flower buds are also quite tasty – (although I always feels a bit guilty eating them before they have a chance to flower).
Important rule of thumb:In general, blue and purple flowering plants are NOT edible. Lungwort is the exception. Don't eat lupine or delphinium or Jacob's ladder which are also starting to appear around the same time (but the leaves look very different from lupin).
Lupin. Lungwort is the only blue-flowering plant you should eat. Photos by Suzanne Crocker.
Spruce tips are a versatile ingredient in a variety of sweet and savoury dishes and can be frozen or dried for use throughout the year. Photos by Cathie Archbould, Archbould Photography.
A candy, a spice, a tea, and great to snack on fresh — all this in the spruce tip! Pick some now and enjoy them all year long. At this time of year throughout the North the spruce trees are starting to put on their new growth.
The dark green of the existing branches is highlighted by the bright green of new tips. These emerging spruce tips are a delicious and versatile wild food and high in Vitamin C. Spruce tips have a distinct taste — citrus with a hint of resin. You can snack on them fresh or or add them to salads. Dried spruce tips can be ground in a coffee grinder and make a great nutmeg like spice – check out the recipe for Moose Steak with Yukon Rub and for Northern Pumpkin Pie! They can also be used in teas.
Candied spruce tips make a delicious snack and they store well in the fridge in a mason jar. The remaining birch syrup infused with spruce tips makes a wonderful coniferous-deciduous syrup blend that can then be used to make Spruce Tip Spritzers.
To enjoy spruce tips all year long, store them in the freezer. Or dry some to grind for a spice later in the year. You'll know the spruce tips are ready to pick when they are bright green with a small brown husk at the end. Knock off the husk before using. Remember that this is the tree's new growth, so pick sparingly from any single tree before moving on. It's a good idea to pick a good distance from any roadway to make sure they're free of airborne toxins.
Enjoy this versatile burst of Vitamin C from the forest!
Those of us craving fresh local greens at the end of the long winter need look no further than our own backyards. The dandelions are coming up, folks! They're fresh and tender now, before the flowers come into bloom; a good time to enjoy them in salads.
If you like arugula, you will like dandelion leaves.! Later the leaves increase in bitterness, and are best in cooked dishes—try sautéing dandelion leaves with morel mushrooms and garlic scapes. Throw in a few flowers as well! Dandelions are legendary for their health benefits–the leaves are packed with Vitamins K and A, contain substantial amounts of C and B6, as well as thiamine, riboflavin, calcium and iron, among other nutrients, and are high in fibre. Current research suggests that extract of dandelion root may be helpful in the treatment of leukemia.
Some tips for picking: grasp the leaves where they meet in a crown near the root, pull slightly and cut just underneath the crown, keeping the plant in one piece. Sometimes several plants are packed tightly together; then you'll need to dig with your fingers to discover where each crown emerges from the root. Sometimes you can free a number of plants with one cut. Do the first cleaning outside, removing grass and other leaves. Use your knife to scrape away the sticky, dark skin at the base of the stem. Cut the stems off at the ends.
Remember old recipes that direct you to wash something "in several waters"? This is very important with dandelions. A gritty salad is no fun. Wash and wash again, lifting the leaves from the water into the strainer each time, leaving the dirt behind. When the water is clear, you're good to go.
Remember to pick only in those places you know haven't been sprayed, and avoid roadside ditches. Now, get out there with your trusty knife and have fun! For a dandelion salad recipe, click here.
The foraging season is now in full force! New edible plants are popping up daily. Many of them are only edible when they are young, so the window for a tasting opportunity is short! Horsetail, equisetum arvense, is one such example.
Horsetail is a relative of a prehistoric plant that grew to over 15 meters high 400 million years ago. Horsetail is eaten by caribou, moose, sheep and bears and, when young, can be eaten by humans too. The young, male horsetail shoots are edible when the fronds are pointing up. When the fronds start to point outwards or downwards, then they should no longer be eaten as oxalate crystals will be building up inside the stem.
If you catch them early, the young shoots can be eaten raw or steamed as a wild vegetable. Or they can be dried and used as a tea. They are rich in antioxidants and high in minerals including calcium, magnesium. Of note – long-term regular ingestion or horsetail can deplete thiamine levels (Vitamin B1). Also to be avoided in folks with edema, gout, heart and kidney disease.
If you don't catch them young, horsetail make good pot scrubbers while camping. Horsetail is high in silica and when dried and steeped in hot water apparently makes a great foot soak or hair rinse. Look for horsetail in damp open woods, meadows, dry sandy soil and disturbed areas. Research for this post thanks to Beverley Gray and the The Boreal Herbal.
As part of the Dawson Youth Fiddlers entourage, I have just returned from Vadzaih Choo Drin, Caribou Days, in Old Crow, Yukon – four days of celebrating the Spring migration of the Porcupine Caribou Herd en route to their Northern calving grounds and feasting on food from the land!
Caribou Days is a wonderful four day celebration of feasts, games and music, with jigging and dancing that continue to the wee hours of the morning. Everyone takes part, young and old, men and women. One of the Dawson contingent coined a new slogan for Old Crow: "Old Crow – where men dance!"
Much of the feasting celebrates food from the land. The caribou, vadzaih, features front and centre, but also rabbit, muskrat, whitefish, salmon, duck and beaver. For me, it was my first taste of muskrat! (Although I took my tub of Dawson local food with me, I also treated myself to some tastes of local Old Crow food while I was in Old Crow!) There is a wonderful synergism to the games and feasting at Caribou Days.
The log sawing competition and the kindling competition help keep the outdoor fire going for the huge grill that cooks the food from the land. The rabbit skinning contest and the muskrat skinning contest are perfectly timed before the meat hits the grill!
The caribou are vitally important to the Vuntut Gwitchin who have relied on the caribou for tens of thousands of years for food and for clothing.
All parts of the harvested caribou continue to be used from the head to the hoof to the hide. The Vuntut Gwitchin and the Porcupine Caribou Management Board, with the support of many Canadians and Americans, continue to fight for the protection of the Porcupine Caribou Herd's calving grounds, wintering grounds and migration routes from oil and gas exploration. Massi Cho Old Crow for welcoming the Dawson Youth Fiddlers so warmly to Caribou Days with amazing Old Crow hospitality. We had a fantastic time!
> Read more about the Porcupine Caribou Herd
by Miche Genest
One of my foraging and chef friends in Whitehorse goes over to Haines, Alaska a few times every year to enjoy the sea and the salt air and do some wild harvesting. She might come back with bags of lambs quarters, she might score a clutch of chanterelle mushrooms or a kilo of spot prawns.
The other day, just back from one of her excursions, she texted me, "Want some fresh eulachon for supper?" She was lucky enough to have been there for the weekend of May 5th, when the eulachon were running. I texted back, "Wow! I'm really not sure. Do I?"
The reason for my hesitation was I'd heard that eulachon oil, a delicacy to the Indigenous people of the Pacific Northwest from California to BC to Alaska, can be really strong for the uninitiated. I'd also heard that the fish are so oily that when dried, they can reportedly be lit to burn like a candle. I'd smelled the eulachon being processed beside the Chilkat River last spring. The aroma was powerful. But I'd never tasted the oil, or the fish.
In many parts of the formerly eulachon-rich Pacific Northwest, this small, smelt-like staple of the Indigenous diet has disappeared. Happily, the run is still strong in Haines. My friend said that the Chilkoot River ran black in places, there were so many fish. She tried catching them in a collapsible camping colander, but they were too quick, so she just plunged her hand in and grabbed them, two or three at a time, stuffed them into a pot on shore, slammed the lid on and waded back into the river to grab some more — bouquets of eulachon, the gift of spring.
Back in Whitehorse, after our text exchange, my friend came over with a baby cooler. In it were a baggie-full of eulachon and two good handfuls of devil's club sprouts. (The only time I've ever tasted those sprouts is when she has brought them back for my husband and me. ) She just happened to be in the forest at the right time; one day later and the sprouts would've been too big, the prickles starting to harden.
That night we feasted on these two presents from Alaska, kindness of my friend. On her advice, we lightly smoked the eulachon whole, then coated them, still whole, in flour. My husband had just returned from a hike with beautiful ripe juniper berries; I crushed those and added them to the flour, which was local; the last of my supply of triticale flour from Sunnyside Farm in the Ibex Valley.
We fried the fish quickly in butter, and the devil's club sprouts in butter and garlic. We ate both sprouts and eulachon with our fingers. We peeled the backbone, organs attached, from the fish, split the head to remove the brains and crunched the crispy skulls in our teeth. The flesh was sweet, mild, and silky, not oily at all. The devil's club sprouts tasted, as my friend's partner often says, like pure life. Strong, conifer-like, bracing, almost medicinal. I said to my husband,
"We have to really pay attention because we're not going to taste these flavours again until next spring." The bonus of eating seasonally, and locally, is that you can savour these experiences for the special treat that they are.
Check out an audio archive of Suzanne's latest radio appearance on CBC Yukon's A New Day in their Yu-Kon Grow It segment with host Sandi Coleman.
by Miche Genest
Last year's grass is long, yellow and plentiful in our Whitehorse backyard, and the new green shoots are already showing underneath. It really is time to rake away the old and prepare for the new. But I'm getting ready for a trip overseas, there's so much to do, and the inevitable looms — I will not get to the raking.
Every year it's the same — we have great plans for the yard. We'll build a food forest! Sow some grains! Cause passersby to stare in wonder at the glory of our garden! And every year, I might manage, latterly, to stuff armfuls of old grass into the compost bucket, fill a few pots with edible flowers, and maybe cut down last year's stalks of Artemesia tilesii in the otherwise empty garden boxes.
Then it's time for the trip to Scotland, or the long hike, or the paddling trip. And instead of staring in wonder, passersby shake their heads. My husband offers words of comfort: "We're not gardeners. We're gatherers." Right. So, we'll gather.
By the time we get back from Scotland, the dandelions that have colonised the yard will be in flower, smiling brightly between leaves of grass. We'll have dandelion fritters for dessert. The spruce tips will be young and green in the higher altitudes, and this year we'll make a special day trip just for picking. I'll make spruce tip and juniper butter, spread it on freshly baked bread and pile hot-smoked salmon on top.
And, you heard it here, I will roto-till the garden box outside the fence, dig in a whack of compost, and plant the rye I've ordered from Salt Spring Seeds. If all goes well, we could be gathering grain in the fall. Gathering has to be my kind of gardening — for now.
Spruce Tip and Juniper Butter 2 oz (56 gr) butter, softened 1 Tbsp (15 mL) fresh spruce tips, finely chopped 1 tsp (5 mL) juniper berries, crushed 1 Tbsp (15 mL) garlic scapes, finely chopped Combine all ingredients in a small bowl and mix thoroughly. Spread on fresh bread and top with smoked salmon and sliced red onion.
Finding nutrient-rich soil in the far North can be tricky, but as Old Crow demonstrates, it's not impossible. Old Crow, home to the Vuntut Gwitchin, is the most northerly community in the Yukon, located 128 km (80 miles) north of the Arctic Circle.
A fly-in community of approximately 300 people, Old Crow rests at the confluence of Crow River and the Porcupine River. Vuntut Gwitchin means "People of the Lakes", named after the many lakes at Crow Flats, the second largest wetland in North America, and the main hunting, trapping, fishing and gathering area for the Vuntut Gwitchin.
With no road access, grocery store prices in Old Crow are very high. Old Crow has seen detrimental effects from climate change over the past decades. The permafrost is melting. Water levels and subsequently salmon stocks are declining. Lakes are drying up. In adapting to climate change, more folks in Old Crow are growing vegetable gardens.
One couple, in the 1990's, planted their vegetable garden about two miles upriver from Old Crow on the banks of the Porcupine River, about 50 feet back from the edge of the riverbank, in front of a drained out lake. The soil must have been nutrient rich as the garden produced an abundant crop of carrots and giant cabbages that Old Crow resident, Mary Jane Moses, still remembers well.
Take 26 minutes to watch "Our Changing Homelands, Our Changing Lives" to hear from Vuntut Gwitchin about climate change and food security in Old Crow.
To learn more about Old Crow and the Vuntut Gwitchin First Nation check out www.oldcrow.ca And don't forget to check out the Old Crow Recipe Page for delicious caribou, muskrat, rabbit, duck, ptarmigan and whitefish egg recipes!
Fireweed shoots are the asparagus of the North and our first vegetable of Spring! The tender shoots are now poking up around the Yukon. They can be eaten raw, sauteed or steamed. The best part is, that even though they are being snipped, they will grow right back! Harvesting the shoots doesn't damage the plant, so you can harvest some now for eating and then let them grow back to enjoy the flowers later in the season. The sweetest fireweed shoots are those cut when the leaves are still reddish. They are a good source of Vitamin C and Vitamin A Fireweed is the official flower of the Yukon and its eye-catching fuchsia blossoms add an extra layer of beauty to the Yukon landscape.
But it is not just another pretty flower, all parts of the fireweed are edible. The young leaves can be eaten raw in salads or sautéed in a stir fry or with other greens. The flowers and buds make a beautiful garnish and can be used to make fireweed jelly.
Fireweed grows rapidly during a typical Northern summer, as the hours of daylight extend to more than 18 hours a day. As a result, the season for harvesting the shoots is very short, and you better get them fast before they grow too tall and become bitter. If you live in the North, have a look in your yard or your garden and have a taste of a young fireweed shoot.
The buds on the birch trees are just starting to turn green, which means it's coming to the end of birch sap season. For the past few weeks you could spot a birch tree being tapped in many Dawson City backyards. Most of us have been tapping a tree in order to drink the cold, refreshing and nutrient rich birch water – loaded with thiamine (one of the Vitamin B's) and manganese, as well as some Vitamin C, iron, riboflavin, zinc, calcium and potassium.
Birch water tastes like a super fresh and delicious glass of crystal clear water with only a rare hint of sweet if you look for it. When the sap is running, the tree is actually pulling the sap from its roots all the way up to the top of the tree to feed its leaf buds which is an amazing anti-gravitational feat in itself. Birch water goes bad within a couple of days, even in the fridge, so it needs to be consumed fresh. Alternatively, you can freeze it (even in ice cube trays) and save some frozen birch water to consume later in the year.
The tapping of one tree will produce a lot of birch water, so be careful not to tap more than you can consume. Very few of us will boil down the sap we collect to make birch syrup. We leave that to Sylvia Frisch and Berwyn Larson and their crew who are currently very busy, working around the clock, collecting sap from about 1500 trees and preparing Uncle Berwyn's Yukon Birch Syrup to supply us all with the sweet stuff for the upcoming year.
My birch syrup supply is down to the last cupful. We are consuming about 1 litre of birch syrup per week! So I decided to boil down some sap and see if I could supplement our supply until the end of syrup season when we can get our next 12 L bucket from Sylvia and Berwyn's birch camp. Birch syrup and maple syrup, although both sweet, are quite different in both taste and components.
Birch syrup contains fructose, the sugar in fruit, and it does not crystallize like maple syrup does. Maple syrup contains sucrose, the sugar in table sugar. One of the major differences between the two is the sugar content of the sap. It takes twice as much birch sap to make a litre of birch syrup, compared to making maple syrup. In fact the ration of birch sap to syrup is an astounding 80:1! What does that look like in real life? I took my two largest pots and boiled down 14 litres of birch water. All that sap produced a scant ¾ cup of syrup!
A big thank you to the birch trees for sharing some your sap and to Sylvia Frisch and Berwyn Larson and crew for all the hard work that goes into turning it into syrup! If you haven't yet tasted birch syrup, you really must. It is delicious! When using birch syrup in recipes, I find I don't miss the absence of other spices such as cinnamon or allspice.
Check out the many recipes using birch syrup on our Recipe Page. As the leaf buds start to turn green, the sap will take on a bitter taste, marking the end of the tapping season for another year.
> Check out photos of birch camp here
The Yukon River ice broke yesterday around 1:30 p.m. officially marking Dawson's transition into Spring! Every year the The Imperial Order of Daughters of the Empire (IODE) hold an ice pool in Dawson to guess the exact date and time that the ice will break up. The charity splits the proceeds of the pool 50/50 with the winner. And there is almost always someone who guesses it to the minute!
Once the ice clears (usually in about a week) the George Black Ferry will be launched and folks will once again be able to cross the river in their vehicles. Good news for me as it means I can re-stock my dwindling potato supply from the root cellar at Kokopellie Farm on the far side of the Yukon River!
It is 'break up' time in Dawson City. Break up as in the river, not as in divorce! The ice is breaking up, the rivers are not crossable and my milk supply is on the other side of the Klondike River.
In anticipation, I froze 12 gallons of milk in advance. Throughout the winter, they easily remained frozen on our verandah. However, Spring has now arrived and the great outdoor deep freeze is no more. Twelve gallons of milk would take up too much room in the freezer so I have been trying to keep them frozen in an ever-shrinking snow bank – the last of the winter snow around our house.
Unlike my children, Sadie, the family dog, desperately wishes she had been included in the local diet this year. We found out the hard way that she was lactose intolerant, after letting her lap up some whey — a by product of yogurt and cheese making. Sadie loved it, but was quickly cut off when her intestines revolted.
She steals whatever bit of local food she can get her paws on. Rock hard sourdough bread, that my family can't chew, is better than dog biscuits according to Sadie. If you accidentally drop a carrot on the floor, you had better be quick to pick it up before Sadie devours it. Recently Sadie struck it rich when she realized she could chew the caps of the milk jugs in the snow bank!
Despite the fact that it snowed yesterday in Dawson City and there is still ice on the river, Spring has, in fact, arrived. As announced by the blooming of the wild crocus, the first wildflower of Spring! No, it's not edible, but it is a harbinger of edible plants to come. In one week the fireweed shoots, nature's version of asparagus, should begin poking their heads out of the ground.
I marvel at nature. While I have been busy ordering, planting, watering, fertilizing and tending to my fragile seedlings in preparation for transplanting the end of May, nature has been quietly taking care of all this without any human intervention at all — year after year producing successful crops of wild edible plants that help sustain both animals and humans.
Welcome to the wild crocus and all the wonders of Spring that will soon appear!
April is over and with it, our onion supply.
In bygone days, when folks weren't relying on freshly stocked grocery store shelves, the months of March, April and May were known as 'The Hungry Gap". The time of year when much of the winter's store of food had run out and the potential of a new crop still awaited planting season.
We ate the last of our lettuce in September. Our last squash was consumed in February. We are close to finishing off the last of the carrots. And now we have no more onions.
In this new reality, where our consumption is almost entirely based on what we have stored away for the winter, I would have thought that consuming the last taste of onion would cause me anxiety. But it doesn't. It doesn't seem to matter as much as I had thought it would. Perhaps it is because we are far from hungry.
My worry last summer about not having enough seems to have resulted in over stocking. I think I have put away enough tomatoes for two years! Perhaps it is because of our new reality of eating with the season. Perhaps it stems from the challenge of cooking well with what we have instead of pining away for what we don't have.
So we have run out of onions. But I still have garlic. I have one jar of dried chives. And I still have lots of dried herbs. No more onions, no big deal. Come July, the first taste of a fresh onion will be all the more delicious!
It's something Dawson City hasn't seen since the 1930's — local dairy products for sale. Klondike Valley Creamery, a dairy farm in Rock Creek, on the far side of the Klondike River, has been raising the first dairy cows the region has seen in almost 80 years. And now the Creamery's first dairy products have just arrived on grocery store shelves in Dawson.
Products for sale at the Dawson City General Store include a delicious onion-and-dill cheese spread and, for those with a sweet tooth, Mocha Labneh — the nutella of dairy products. Each container is labelled with the names of the cows who donated their milk for the cause!
The Creamery is planning to have more local Dawson dairy products after this year's river break-up.
Then and Now
by Miche Genest
As the swans return and the Yukon River breaks up, the longed-for foraging season inches ever closer. This waiting-for-spring seems endless now, but we know from experience that once the new plants start to appear it's all going to happen really fast.
First the dandelions and the spruce tips will appear, then the wild roses and the plantain and lamb's quarters, then the Labrador tea and then the berries, the rapid succession of beautiful berries.
Now, as we lounge in spring's waiting room, it's a good time to reflect and prepare for the foraging season ahead. As our love of wild foods grows, there are more and more of us out there, and it becomes crucial to practice ethical harvesting, doing our part to protect and conserve, so we, the animals and the birds can continue to enjoy the wild harvest for generations.
The north is a big place, and sparsely populated, but even so the forager's effect on the environment, especially sensitive environments, can be devastating. One Dawson resident said recently, "Indiscriminate harvesting concerns me as our population grows and more people are interested in the wild things." When we're out in number, our cumulative effect is far greater than we might think.
Stories from the forests of Quebec provide a cautionary tale. The wild leek (Allium tricoccum, also known as ramps, wild onion or wild garlic), once abundant in the wild, was so over-harvested for commercial and personal use that it became endangered. Urban sprawl and habitat destruction also played a part. Since 1995, by Quebec law, the only wild leek harvest permitted is 50 bulbs or plants for personal use.
Today, though commercial harvesting and sales of wild leeks have been banned, the species is still listed as endangered. Chef Nancy Hinton and her partner, the legendary Quebec forager Francois Brouillard, own Les Jardins Sauvages, a restaurant and small wild-food condiment business in Saint-Roch de l'Achigan just outside Montreal. Brouillard grew up spending summers in the woods near his grandmother's cottage, now the restaurant, and was foraging for wild foods long before they became de rigueur on restaurant menus and at farmer's market stalls.
Now, says Hinton, though she and Brouillard are very happy people have learned about wild foods, the downside is the woods are becoming overcrowded and habitat is threatened. "There's a lot of people going out, and they're going too fast, they don't have the knowledge and the patience or the experience necessary, even if they care about sustainability."
Worse, continues Hinton, the demand for wild food is so great it has spawned a flourishing black market. "There's tons of people, and they sell to chefs, or to other people that sell."
This causes a number of concerns. "First, there's no traceability, so if there's a problem you don't know where it came from or how it was picked. Second, these people are not people who are so concerned about sustainability." Hinton and Brouillard now sit on a committee that's trying to develop guidelines for this burgeoning industry, but it's complicated. How do you monitor compliance? How do you monitor the woods?
In the case of wild ginseng, an endangered species in Ontario that brings high prices on the black market, Environment Canada is using video surveillance cameras on known patches. In the meantime, wild ginger and crinkle root, plants that Brouillard has been gathering for years, and which still thrive on his family's property because of careful harvesting, are listed as "at risk" in Quebec and their harvest subject to regulation.
Hinton says that while she doesn't want to dampen enthusiasm for beginners interested in wild harvesting, and understands that mistakes are made innocently, it's frustrating to be denied access to much-loved plants because of others' ignorance or willful negligence.
We might think it can't happen in the Yukon. But in Whitehorse low bush cranberry pickers have already noticed that they have to go farther and farther afield to find berries, even in a good berry year. There are simply more of us out there.
The way foraging works, one friend brings another, who then goes back to the same place with a new friend, who then returns with one of her friends, and so on, until the small patch of wild berries that might once have supported one person's family with a few cups of berries for the winter is now under an enormous amount of pressure.
Last year at an area in BC famous for its wild watercress and its beautiful, extremely sensitive Karst landscape, my husband and I came across a Whitehorse family in the midst of harvesting wild watercress. They already had three large garbage bags full, and they were filling a fourth. "We do it for all of our family," they said. Well, okay. But surely we have to think beyond our own families. What if we all filled several large garbage bags every spring?
Amber Westfall, herbalist and wild food educator from the Ottawa area, has compiled a short list of helpful reminders on how to forage with care. It's not a bad idea to review her guidelines while the season is not yet upon us.
Guidelines for Ethical Foraging
Composed by Amber Westfall, herbalist and proprietor of The Wild Garden, in Ottawa, Ontario. Amber says, "Please practice good stewardship and take care of the plants that take care of us!"
- Make sure you have a one hundred percent positive ID. Ideally, reference more than one field guide, or go out with an experienced forager or wildcrafter.
- Do not over-harvest. Be mindful of how many remaining plants are needed to ensure the stand will continue to flourish and thrive. Learn about how the plant reproduces. By seed? Rhizomes? Slow growing bulbs? Think about what other animals, insects and people might be using those plants.
- Know the poisonous plants in your area and what to avoid.
- Be aware that anyone can have an allergic reaction to any plant. Eat a small amount and wait 24 hour to see if you have a reaction.
- Harvest away from busy roads and rail lines. Avoid contaminated areas and areas that have been sprayed with chemical fertilizers or pesticides. The edges of farm fields, unless organic, are not appropriate for harvesting for this reason.
- Know the history of the area you are harvesting from. Be wary of empty lots and avoid 'brownfield' land.
- Do not harvest on private property without permission.
- Do not harvest on protected land, fragile or at-risk environments or in provincial or national parks.
- Learn which plants are threatened or at-risk and do not harvest them.
- Learn which plants are prolific and which plants are invasive. These are ideal for harvesting.
- Whenever possible, replant root crowns, rhizomes, and spread seeds (except invasives).
- Only harvest the appropriate part of the plant at the proper time of day and/or in the proper season.
- Use clean, appropriate tools to reduce the spread of disease. Make neat, clean cuts at growing nodes to allow the plant to heal well and continue growing.
- Leave some of the best specimens to go to seed and reproduce. If we take all the best plants and leave behind weak or diseased specimens, we are selecting for future plants that will be weak and subject to disease.
- Have as little impact on the surrounding area as possible. Fill in any holes, re-cover bare dirt with leaf litter and try to leave the area better than you found it.
- Don't waste the plants that you harvest. Use and process them promptly while still fresh and compost any parts that are not used.
If you are in the Toronto area or have friends or family in Toronto, Suzanne's award winning documentary film All The Time In The World is returning to the Hot Docs Film Festival tomorrow, Saturday 28 April at 12:30 pm as part of Hot Docs 25th Anniversary Redux Programme celebrating great Canadian films.
Suzanne will be answering questions via Skype after the film. Advance tickets have been sold out for weeks, but rush seating is still available.
All The Time In the World is a family-friendly documentary that has screened in 25 countries around the world winning 22 awards, including 9 Audience Choice Awards, 4 Best Picture Awards, and 6 Youth Jury Awards. It has been translated into 12 languages. David Suzuki described it as: "A magnificent film. It is an amazing idea, a remarkable family and a film with a powerful message to those of us who live busy urban lives.
Anyone watching this will have to ask, what is life all about, why am I in such a hurry, what is it that gives us true happiness. Thank you for making a film that demands that we answer those questions."
All The Time In The World features Suzanne and her family as they took their 3 kids (then aged 10,8 and 4) into the Yukon wilderness to live for one year with no electricity, no digital technology, and not a single clock or watch.
An amazing Spring refresher is a tall glass of ice cold Cranberry Slushie. This beverage combines the tastes of Spring: Spring snow crystals found by digging under the hard top crust of spring snow plus a shot of birch syrup… With the taste of Fall: High bush cranberry juice that has been canned or frozen to keep through the winter. Delicious and refreshing!
> Click to view the Cranberry Slushie recipe
Tess enjoys a Cranberry Slushie. Photo by Suzanne Crocker.
What are the chances that the burbot are concerned for my welfare? They've been offering themselves up with some regularity over the past month or two.
Graeme Gibson, in his book, The Bedside Book of Beasts, refers to the fact that amongst many species, one individual will sometimes offer itself for the slaughter when there is an obvious threat to the group. And all of us who have hunted can recall at least one incident when something other than our hunting prowess accounted for our success. Luck? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe it was that particular animal's chosen destiny.
So, do you think the word is out amongst the burbot and they are worried about our extinction, a painful and slow starvation on this local diet? Is that why they have been generous with their personal sacrifices? Or perhaps they've gotten wind of the fact that they contain more mercury than most fish and are compensating for their shortfall by way of this generosity.
After all, it wouldn't demand much research on their part to learn that humans are not in the least deterred from eating foods which contain a multitude of toxins! So what's a little mercury? Or, possibly the mercury has gotten to them, affecting their higher cognitive functions, and they know not what they do, for they are all buzzing about, literally as mad as a burbot!
The burbot meat, by the way, is delicious. It is white, flaky and light, with minimal smell. It's great when fried or added to stews or soups. The fried liver is reminiscent of a lightly cooked scallop. It is a very easy fish to eat, preferable to most other fish. It is unfortunate that the mercury intake recommendations suggest eating no more than one serving per week.
Success at the fishing holes has recently fallen off. Is it the fact that there is competing food available for them? (Still, their stomachs are usually empty, despite the fact that the water is now teeming with larvae). Or could the new water turbidity be affecting their desire to take the lure? Or the change of light? Temperature? Increasing current? Just plain tired of the same kind of bait, day after day, with no change in the menu? Or, could it be that they are avoiding my hooks because they know that break-up looms and they feel it is high time to get off the ice?
You see, my hunch was right, they are concerned for my welfare after all…
Yesterday, it felt like being at the fishing holes was the best possible place on earth. The sun burned on the skin. There was a free display of ice in all its forms, something unappreciable in low light and deep cold. Crystal ice, as clear and transparent as glass, jumped out for recognition. There was ice impregnated with sticks and debris, bringing new appreciation to its depth and genesis. And the recent surface water was freshly frozen, splintering like broken glass in all directions as I walked; a cosmetic distraction from the treacherousness of spring travel. There was no wind and all was quiet except for the gentle swishing from yet another burbot on my line.
By my definition, we are now in the third and final stage of winter. This is the time when I do not want winter to end. We still have enough snow and ice to allow efficient travel. We have intensity of light paired with ever lengthening days. It is cold enough to keep the bugs at bay. It is warm enough to encourage outside work but not so warm as to make it insufferable. And all is clean, the inevitable mud still biding its time.
I consider the fall months to be our introduction to winter. It is the time when the bulk of snow accumulates and our bodies adapt to the increasing cold. It is a time when the concept of winter is still novel and we preoccupy ourselves with new recreational opportunities. And we are distracted from the progressive darkness by the imminence of Christmas.
The second phase of winter is heralded by the dark, cold months. The euphoria of the Holiday Season has ended, and we gauge the progression of our lives by how long we have endured the most recent cold snap. We worry about how much wood our stoves are gobbling up, doing the mental math of consumption rate versus supply every time we fill the wheelbarrow at the woodshed. We wander through our houses, taking note of the drafty spots, making the familiar false promises to ourselves that, come this summer, we will most definitely rectify the situation. We forget to shave and cut our hair. We confuse night with day. Those that can, are off to exotic lands….unless they particularly enjoy despondency and morbid introspection.
But then, our "spring winter" is suddenly upon us and the melancholia melts away. We forget about the empty woodshed and mounting fuel bills. We toss the parka and walk with a spring. We speak in full sentences again. We plan for summer. When asked by the returning folks how our winter was, we minimalistically respond, "great, just great!" And off we go to soak up the beauty at the burbot holes …
Video by Peter Dunbar Welcome, nine new lambs to Peter Dunbar's sheep herd, on the banks of the Yukon River, about 5 kilometers downstream from Dawson City. There were two sets of triplets, one set of twins and one singleton. It is still cold in the Yukon so the newborns get sweaters to help keep them warm for their first few days of life.
Photos by Peter Dunbar
Burbot liver has been providing me with Vitamin D during the long Yukon winter. I know that fish tend to accumulate toxins from our water systems, especially predatory fish. So I wondered, since I am consuming a fair amount of burbot liver this winter, do I need to worry about mercury levels and other contaminants such as PCB's and DDT?
To my surprise I learned that, in fish, mercury accumulates in the muscle in levels much higher than in the liver. This is the exact opposite of terrestrial animals such as caribou where mercury levels are higher in the liver compared to the meat.
Mercury levels in fish vary depending on the location but, in general, predatory fish (lake trout, burbot) have higher levels of contaminants than non-predatory fish (whitefish, grayling, salmon) and larger (older) fish have lower levels of contaminants than smaller (younger) fish.
According the limited burbot data we have available in the Yukon, the mercury levels in burbot muscle are five times higher than in the burbot liver. However burbot muscle has the highest mercury levels of all the freshwater fish we catch in these parts. Chum salmon has the lowest mercury levels (less than a tenth that of burbot).
Based on Health Canada's tolerable daily mercury limit is 0.47 ug/kg/day (for adult men and adult women who are not of child bearing age), my daily limit of burbot would be maxed out at 45 grams (1.5 oz) per day! And my daily limit of burbot liver would be a whopping 225 grams (8 oz) per day. So my Vitamin D needs of 10 grams of burbot liver per day are no big deal.
But a daily limit of 45 grams of burbot muscle is a really small portion! Of course, I am not eating burbot every day, so it still averages out ok – but it was a good reminder to limit my consumption of burbot.
So my take home message: Burbot liver is a great source of local Vitamin D. By consuming sautéed burbot liver one can get enough Vitamin D without too much mercury. Burbot flesh should be considered a winter treat and if one is going to eat a lot of local fish, grayling and salmon would be better choices.
Want the stats? Here are the statistics from fish in Old Crow from a study by Yukon Research Scientist, Mary Gamberg Mercury per gram of fresh fish:
- Burbot : 0.62 ug/g
- Pike: 0.17 ug/g
- Burbot liver: 0.124 ug/g
- Grayling: 0.06 ug/g
- Chum Salmon: 0.04 ug/g
(Based on a sample size of 14 burbot, 11 pike and 12 chum salmon from Old Crow and grayling from other Yukon locations.) For adults, the tolerable daily mercury limit is 0.47 ug/kg/day (Health Canada) (less for women of child bearing age) This translates to a tolerable daily limit in grams of fish for an adult woman of my size:
- Burbot : 45 g (1.5 oz)
- Pike: 164 g
- Burbot liver: 225 g
- Grayling: 466 g
- Chum Salmon: 700 g
As mercury levels differ from one water system to another, I was curious as to what the levels would be in the burbot living in the Yukon River at Dawson City. I sent in one 4 pound, 11 year old burbot for testing and levels came back as 0.23 ug/g mercury in the muscle and 0.04 ug/g in the liver.
The mercury levels from the Old Crow burbot are 2.5 times higher than the levels in the one fish tested from the Yukon River. One sample only, but it suggests that the mercury levels in the Yukon River near Dawson are less than the levels around Old Crow. For PCB's and DDT, the amount found in 10 grams of burbot liver from the Old Crow study was quite low, one tenth of the tolerable daily intake for PCB's and one twentieth for DDT.
By Miche Genest
Alan and Cathy Stannard of Mandalay Farm have been raising free-range chickens for the last nine years on their acreage off the Burma Road near Whitehorse. For eight of those years theirs was a small, family-run business with a flock of about 100 birds. They sold the eggs through neighbourhood buying groups, who knew the Stannards well enough that they invited them to community brunches.
Today, the egg business is still family-run but you wouldn't call it small. Under the brand name Little Red Hen Eggs, the Stannard's brown free-range eggs are sold in four supermarkets and one variety store in Whitehorse, plus a grocery store in Haines Junction. Their other commercial customers include Air North, two local coffee shops and two large downtown hotels.
In 2017 the Stannards upped their egg ante considerably — they built a large barn, brought in 2,000 chicks and invested in a commercial grader that can grade 7,000 eggs in an hour. In the spring of 2017 Al Stannard told the Yukon News, "Our goal is to provide a brown, free-range egg for the Yukon."
There's no shortage of eggs in the Yukon — consumers across the territory have some access to eggs sold over the farm gate to buying clubs or through private arrangements. And local, graded eggs are available for sale at Farmer Roberts grocery store in Whitehorse. But the difference here is one of scale. Since the Partridge Creek Farm stopped egg production in the mid-2000s there has not been a large-scale egg producer in the Yukon; there's never been a large-scale free-range brown egg producer.
There is a market, or several. Jonah Tredger, executive chef at the Westmark Whitehorse, has been a customer since late January. He currently buys 8 to 10 cases of 15 dozen eggs a week, and that's in the slow season. Wykes Independent Grocer purchases 500 dozen a week; the owner reports they're the best-selling brown egg in the store. Consumers want to buy local free-range eggs, and they're willing to pay extra for them.
That the birds are free-range is key to the Stannard's success, and to their own job satisfaction. "We love those birds," says Al Stannard. "We want [them] to have a good life." It's hard to imagine 2,000 birds being able to range freely. But the Stannards make it work. Inside the barn, "the girls" have a 10 by 90-foot patch of gravel, six inches deep, for scratching and digging, two essential chicken needs. "They like to dig foxholes, and lie in there and dust themselves," says Stannard. "It's like walking through a field full of gopher holes."
In winter, as long is the temperature is -10C or above, the birds go outside into a fenced-in enclosure to catch some rays. They're given feed that has not been genetically modified. "We do our utmost at all times to make sure our feed is GMO-free," says Stannard. This is for customer satisfaction as much as bird health. By all accounts, customers are satisfied. They send thank you cards to the Stannards. One long-time Whitehorse resident wrote, "I've been waiting for 60 years for something like this to come along."
Chef Tredger of the Westmark is satisfied too. His goal had always been to serve local food at the hotel, and a recent change in hotel ownership made that possible. So he went out in search of consistent sources of local product. He met the Stannards at Meet Your Maker, an event connecting farmers and buyers co-hosted by TIA Yukon and the Yukon Agricultural Association in Whitehorse last January.
"My biggest concern was trying to keep up volume," he says. "It's really reassuring to know, and exciting to know, that they can." "What I really like about being able to use [Little Red Hen Eggs] is there's a high demand." Any egg on the breakfast menu is a Little Red Hen Egg, and that has been good for business. "Every time we tell a customer [the eggs are local] they get pretty excited, and they tell their friends, and we see a lot of repeat business that way."
"One of the best things is the money stays in the community. We're supporting a local business and in turn they support us." The Stannards plan to build a second barn in 2018 and purchase another 1000 birds. "That way, we will not have a lack of eggs when the birds change out." He's referring to when the first set of birds wind down, or become "spent", as they do after 18 months to two years of laying.
The calcium in the egg shells comes from the chicken's bodies, and their bones eventually become brittle and vulnerable to injury. At that stage, Stannard says, "we put them down quickly and quietly." Stannard shares this aspect of egg production frankly, saying, "It's part of the process, and it's important that people know."
He would like to see the spent birds be consumed as food, and has recently spoken with a local chef and café owner about giving cooking lessons on how to make soup and cook chicken feet, a classic dim sum item that's now gaining traction in mainstream cuisine as chefs and consumers become more sensitive to eating the whole bird or animal. In the meantime there are the eggs: free range, brown, and commercially available in Yukon markets and restaurants. If all goes as planned, Little Red Hen Eggs will soon be in a store near you.
Speaking of burbot (see Suzane's recent blog post and Gerard's thoughts on the subject) it was the topic of a recent radio episode of Yu-Kon Grow It on CBC Yukon's A New Day with host Sandi Coleman.
Setting rabbit snares was a common adolescent pursuit when I grew up in rural Newfoundland. We often set our "slips" as a side interest when fishing for trout. It was the era of self-created recreation. And my mother was totally supportive. She would regularly buy rabbits from whomever came to the door with them for sale. "Two dollars a brace."
I still have memories from my pre-school years, holding rabbits up by their hind legs while mom skinned and gutted them. It was an intimate time, each of us tugging against the other, laughing at the foulness of the smell. And at supper time, mom would relish in the repulsion of others as she picked at the cooked heads on her plate of stew.
I thought it would be an easy and natural transition to set snares here in the Yukon during this winter of eating local. It was, after all, a skill I had not totally let lapse. When I worked in Northern Saskatchewan as a young doctor I often set slips. I would check them before work in the early mornings with a flashlight, as headlamps were yet to become the normal northern winter adornment that they have now become.
It was an opportunity to endear myself with the older generation who were familiar with subsistence eating. It gave us common ground, an opportunity to lighten the conversation before launching into the drama of their personal illnesses.
Back then, as if living in a remote northern community wasn't rustic enough, I liked to "get away from it all" by going on short bush stints. I developed a proficiency in building quincys and "bow-whiffets." I would go with whomever I could convince, on a weekend excursion of cold, physical exhaustion, disrupted sleep, meager food intake and uncertainty.
Of course, success with the rabbit snares was part of the calibrated need. My buddy Bob, some thirty years later, still laments the time that we were on one such trip. It was -43 and we were hungry and cold, sleeping in a tiny quincy that was too shallow to even allow us to turn on our sides. Checkers, the dog that was with us, later succumbed to pneumonia. We set a number of snares and had only one rabbit.
As we hungrily approached the last snare, we realized that there was a living rabbit, loosely caught. In my effort to dispatch the critter, I accidently cut the wire, giving us the dubious satisfaction of watching the happy rabbit lope away. So impacted by the event, Bob reminds me of these details on each of our reunions.
So, I had full expectations of providing the family with wild rabbit this winter. But all I have to show for my efforts is the loss of my good ox-head axe. Not a single rabbit. Not even a slip that was brushed aside. Seems that these rabbits were not interested in using runs predictably; they kept slipping the slips. It became laborious and tedious to do the daily checks without reward, so I accepted defeat, haunted by the scorn of my friend, Bob.
But, "what goes around, comes around." We were rewarded for catching no rabbits. After expecting nothing from the Easter Bunny during this year of sugar deprivation, I was pleasantly surprised to see that he made an exceptional effort for our household. I was awaken on Easter Day by the sounds of glee from my youngest. There were hidden treats throughout the house: birch syrup toffee, dehydrated berry packages, and carrots galore!
And, I appreciate the carrots the most, since I know that they represent the greatest personal sacrifice from the perspective of The Bunny. All things happen for a reason…
Living in the far North, I usually take Vitamin D, the sunshine vitamin, during the winter months (1000 IU/day). This year I wanted to see if a local diet alone would keep my Vitamin D levels stable. Not unexpectedly, my levels dropped below normal as the days became shorter. But, thanks to local Dawsonite and ice fisher, Jim Leary, I was introduced to burbot and it saved the day!
Burbot is an amazing fish. It is a freshwater, carnivorous, bottom feeder that thrives at the coldest times of the year under the ice of the Yukon River. In fact, it has chosen January as its favourite spawning month. Burbot live to be decades old. They have no scales and some folks find them a bit ugly and eel like. I think they have beautiful eyes. A survivor if ever I saw one. Which leaves me with some ambiguity about catching them. But their flesh is a thick and delicious white fish and their livers are especially nutritious.
Burbot liver is huge – six times larger than the livers of other freshwater fish of the same size, and comprising about 10% of their body weight! And their liver is packed with Vitamin D and Vitamin A, in fact 4 times the potency of the Vitamin D and A found in cod liver. Turns out that a mere 10 grams of burbot liver per day would supply me with the equivalent of 1000 IU of Vitamin D. Chopped into chunks and sautéed in butter, burbot liver tastes similar to scallops. So consuming 150 grams of burbot liver every couple of weeks was no hardship on the palate.
And it worked! Thanks to the burbot, my Vitamin D levels returned to normal. Fish tend to accumulate toxins from our water systems, especially carnivorous bottom feeding fish. I will share my findings on mercury levels in burbot and some other Yukon fish in the next blog. If you've ever wondered about the nutrients in wild meat and fish harvested from the land, check out this comprehensive table of data compiled by Centre for Indigenous Peoples' Nutrition and Environment at the University of McGill:
> Traditional Animal Foods of Indigenous Peoples of Northern North America
by Miche Genest
When chef Joseph Shawana was growing up on Manitoulin Island on Lake Huron, and he wanted to eat morel mushrooms, he just went outside and picked some. "I didn't even know how much morels cost until I moved to Toronto and people were talking about morels for 50 or 60 bucks a pound, and that was quite a steal," he says. "And here I am at home just frying them in a little bit of garlic and butter."
Cedar, juniper, partridge, the white-tailed deer and a "huge abundance" of morels are just some of the wild flora and fauna found in Shawana's traditional territory on the Wiikwemkoong Unceded Reserve. Along with cultivated foods sourced from small, local producers, wild foods form the backbone of the menu at Shawana's Toronto restaurant, Kū-Kŭm Kitchen.
The seasonal menu reflects Shawana's heritage and his training—he attended culinary school in Toronto and worked in several restaurants there, most recently at Snakes and Lattes, where in 2016 he featured a special Aboriginal Day menu that quickly sold out, eventually inspiring him and partner Ben Castanie to start up Kū-Kŭm.
Shawana's 27-seat spot, opened barely a year ago in an older mid-town neighbourhood, is one of four Indigenous restaurants in Toronto, and his work is emblematic of a new wave of Indigenous chefs across Canada who are wowing diners by combining traditional ingredients with contemporary cooking techniques.
Three of those chefs—Shawana, Shane Chartrand of Sage Restaurant in Edmonton, and Christa Bruneau-Guenther, chef and owner of Feast Café Bistro in Winnipeg, will be in Carcross, Yukon Territory on April 7, cooking for the First Nations Fire Feast, a Yukon Culinary Festival event co-hosted by Northern Vision Development. Held in the Carcross Tagish First Nation's newly built Learning Centre, the feast will be cooked, as the title suggests, over open fires, and will feature dishes that highlight the food systems of Indigenous peoples.
"It's a really good opportunity to showcase Indigenous cuisine," says Shawana. In the spirit of collaboration and mentorship, each chef will work with a Yukon First Nations chef or culinary student to produce dishes that celebrate Indigenous cuisine.
Shawana will bring a few different Indigenous traditions with him, starting off the multi-course meal with a squash, corn and bean soup that honours the Haudenosaunee or Iroquois nations of southern Ontario and the north-eastern United States.
Squash, corn and beans are known as the Three Sisters in that tradition; they are companion plants that help each other in the growing phase. Corn stalks support the bean runners, the bean plants fix nitrogen, and squash provides ground cover, moisture retention and protection against rodents.
As a tribute to the Inuit peoples of the Arctic, Shawana will serve seal loin, seared in a pan over the fire and accompanied by sautéed sea asparagus from the West Coast, some wild onions and wild garlic, and fire-roasted Yukon beets.
Shawana took some flak when he introduced seal meat at Kū-Kŭm in October 2017. A petition with more than 3,000 signatures circulated online, demanding he remove seal from the menu. That sparked a counter-petition from a Toronto Indigenous artist, who was frustrated at the bad press Shawana was getting, and with a more general misunderstanding of Indigenous culture and traditions.
Shawana was aware he might be headed for controversy. "We were hesitant to have [seal] on the menu here at first, just because we knew we'd get a little bit of backlash for it," he says. But, as he told CBC in an earlier interview, "…it's part of the northern community's culture. So we're trying to pay homage to them, as we do with everything else.… It's all dietary needs of the Indigenous communities from east to west."
Seal meat is still on the menu at Kū-Kŭm, and Shawana says it's doing very well. Not long ago he served his seal to a party of Inuit diners. "It was their first time of having seal the way we serve it here," he says. "They loved it."
Shawana learned to love cooking at his grandmother's side; she cooked for the family and for the community. "My grandmother played a huge role in all of our lives growing up. That's part of the reason I named my restaurant Kū-Kŭm. Another reason is my wife is Cree and Kū-Kŭm means grandmother in Northern Cree—so it's a way of paying tribute to my wife [too], who is a huge part of who I am today." A mural of his grandmother, his mother and his mother-in-law graces one wall of the restaurant.
Dinner at Kū-Kŭm might include main courses of pulled caribou wrapped in caul fat, goose with puff pastry, or bouillabase of mixed Canadian fishes and seafoods in a cedar and anise broth. Dessert could be a pot of rich chocolate mousse lightly flavoured with lavender. But the meal always ends with a cup of cedar tea. In winter, passersby can drop in, even if the restaurant isn't open, to warm up with a cup of that same tea.
"My grandmother always taught us to keep the door open, because you never know who's going to want to come in and get fed, or just keep warm," says Shawana. " That simple, human hospitality goes hand in hand with Shawana's philosophy of respect for whole ingredients and for bringing community together over food. "We deal with smaller businesses that actually know their products and know their farmers and their families, and know how everything is harvested."
Shawana sources wild ingredients from Forbes Wild Foods, who work with several Indigenous communities in Ontario. "So we're helping that business out, which in turn helps out a lot of First Nations communities." Before Shawana was approached by organizers to take part in the First Nations Fire Feast, he wasn't aware there was a food scene happening in the Yukon.
"It doesn't surprise me, just considering that everybody is starting to go back to the roots of where food actually comes from." "It doesn't come from the grocery store, it comes from [outside] our back doors." To purchase tickets for the First Nations Fire Feast, visit here.
Hear Suzanne's radio interview this week with CBC Yukon's A New Day on their Yu-Kon Grow It episode, featuring host Sandi Coleman. Suzanne discussed how to get through Easter when you're eating only 100% local foods.
The nights are still cold in Dawson City (-20°C), but the days are warm, the sky is blue and the sun shines for at least 12 hours every day. In the mid-afternoon it is very pleasant to bask in the warmth of the sun. The cows at Klondike Valley Creamery agree. During the winter, the snow cover prevents the electric fence from grounding properly, so the cows spend most of their days in the barn. But soon, they will be pasture grazing once again. Bring on the sun!
Yeah for the Easter Bunny who recognized that, this year, our house was Dawson local food only! The kids were a bit worried that they would be sent on a hunt for hard boiled eggs. But, instead the Easter Bunny hid local carrots (fresh, sweet & crunchy), fruit leather (in flavours of wild strawberry, raspberry, haskap and saskatoon berry) as well as birch syrup toffee. Yum!
Guess the neighbourhood kids got extra chocolate eggs this year.
Suzanne is currently in negotiations with the Easter Bunny not to bring any "contraband" into the house this year. Happy Easter weekend!
It's planting time once again. For best times to plant seedlings in the North, check out Grant Dowdell's Seed Guide. Grant is a long time farmer in Dawson with over forty years of market gardening experience in the North. He has generously shared both his favourite cultivars and the best time to start them indoors for a Yukon growing season. Happy planting!
by Miche Genest
I used to think you needed a prairie to grow grains, or at least a big field. Then I met Dan Jason, farmer, gardener, author, cook, and owner of the seed company Salt Spring Seeds. His dearest wish is that we all become grain growers, whether we have a plot of land, a box in a community garden or a backyard of clayey soil in downtown Whitehorse.
Jason lives and gardens on Salt Spring Island, and he is a legend in British Columbia. For the past 30 years, he has been finding, cultivating and saving the seeds from ancient varieties of grain; grain that has grown in different parts of the world for thousands of years, providing sustenance and a way of life for numerous peoples. Jason is passionate about the beauty of these grains, in the field and on the plate; he loves the way they look and the way they taste, their grace and their nutritional benefits.
In 2017, introduced by our mutual publisher, we collaborated on writing Awesome Ancient Grains and Seeds, a garden-to-table book with growing information and recipes for grains from amaranth to rye. Now he has me convinced that not only can I cook with grains, I can grow them too. "Growing grains is a lot easier than just about anything else," he says. "It's like planting grass."
Despite our short growing season and cold winters, farmers have been growing grain for animal feed and green manure in the Yukon since the Gold Rush era. But we have a history of growing grain for human consumption too. Hudson's Bay Company trader Robert Campbell harvested a "keg" (about seven and a half gallons) of barley at Fort Selkirk in 1848. In 1901, the Pelly Farm produced wheat and sold it, ground into flour, in Dawson City. Oats, wheat and barely were successfully grown at the federal experimental sub-station at the J.R. Farr farm on Swede Creek, 10 kilometres south of Dawson, in 1917.
In the present day, Otto Muehlbach and Connie Handwerk at Kokopellie Farm near Dawson have grown and harvested rye, barley and even wheat, keeping Suzanne Crocker and her family well-supplied with grain to grind into flour for baked goods in this year of eating locally. In 2016 Krista and Jason Roske harvested 40 kilos of triticale, a rye and wheat hybrid, at Sunnyside Farm in the Ibex Valley near Whitehorse. I worked with their grain and flour all year long. Several years ago Tom and Simone Rudge of Aurora Mountain Farm on the Takhini River Road harvested rye and ground it into bread flour; it made beautiful bread.
But this is all grain grown on a larger scale, with the expectation of a fairly substantial yield–if not enough for the commercial market, then at least enough to contribute to the grain and flour needs of a small household. It's unlikely that backyard grain growers will feed the family more than a few meals with their crop. Their yield will be of a different sort—fun, satisfaction, and beauty in the garden at every stage of growth. And maybe a celebration or two.
This sesaon Randy Lamb, Yukon agrologist and chair of the Downtown Urban Gardeners Society (DUGS), which runs the Whitehorse Community Garden, plans to plant a 4 x 20-foot bed with barley from local farms, a hull-less barely from Salt Spring Seeds, and Red Fife wheat. "I should have enough to make bannock or pancakes for one of our season-end potluck socials at the Whitehorse community garden this year," he says.
He plans to thresh and mill the grain himself, make hot cakes, and serve them with raspberry jam made with honey and berries from the garden. "My goal is to present it as "100-metre hotcakes", based on the 100-mile diet theme." That's a pretty great incentive to grow some grain.
Dan Jason would add, remember to eat your backyard grains whole, too. Or sprout them. "You get a lot back, sprouting your grains," he says. Jason thinks hull-less barley is a great idea, because it's pretty tricky for the home gardener to remove the hulls from other varieties.
He suggests rye, too, for the Yukon climate. "Rye is super-hardy. It can go to -40°C easily. And it's easy to harvest, because the hulls are really loose-fitting. You just rub them and they come apart." Flax and buckwheat are also good possibilities for the northern backyard grain grower. They're hardy, adaptable and produce beautiful flowers.
Those who grew up in the Whitehorse suburb of Riverdale will remember oats and wheat growing in their midst, in the front yard of the Cable family's house. Jack Cable planted the grains as green manure. "I was brought up in market garden country, so I knew that soil needed amendment, up here. It wasn't a grain harvesting exercise, it was a soil-amendment exercise."
Urban grain-growing was so unusual (and still is!) that the 15 x 5–foot plot in the Cable front yard became a local attraction. Cable's intention was to grow a lawn once the soil had been amended. In my downtown Whitehorse backyard there is no lawn, but there is grass. Long, wild, tenacious grass.
My intention is to replace some of that grass with grain. Jason suggests roto-tilling a few times first to dislodge the grass. He thinks I might even be able to grow amaranth—it's worth a try. I'm hoping that raising grain turns out to be as low-intervention as raising the wild grasses, lambsquarters and dandelions currently holding dominion in my yard.
Would it not be the coolest thing, to walk through a Yukon community and see not mown lawns, but waving seas of grain growing in all the backyards? That would be some local attraction. As Randy Lamb says, "The locavore movement has been growing for years up here. Every season I've been adding something extra to my local diet. Veggies and berries are easy. Fruit, eggs, and honey take a little more effort. Grain is the logical next step."
I once read that a significant contributor to the modern day North American obesity epidemic is genetic memory from the years of starvation during the American Civil War. Essentially then, we have been on the rebound for a couple of hundred years, pouncing on the bountiful availability of food. And by all physical appearances, we are well along the path of annihilation of that genetic memory, hell-bent on the creation of genetic bliss.
But what if our genes also have a short term memory? What if this dietary experimentation of Suzanne's has the same rebound potential?
I have been out of Dawson for more than a week now, taking in the Arctic Winter Games. I'm off the diet, grazing as I go on whatever seems edible. I'm amazed by the ease of eating without consciousness, of eating whatever is accessible, of eating without deliberation.
And there is the re-found convenience of packaging: I am able to carry food with me now, whether that is a package of muffins, or a bag of chips, or a can of root beer, or a handful of chocolate bars. Because of packaging, I find myself always with food, no longer having to cope with a begging tummy that somehow feels forgotten and abandoned in the melee of life. My tummy and my genes are happy.
I was sitting with my son the other day, watching the gold medal table tennis match, when I noticed a wrapped sandwich in his hand. I said rather unconvincingly that it was nice of him to bring his starving father some food from the athlete's cafeteria. He responded that he is experiencing the compulsion of grabbing food whenever he sees it, regardless of the need, and regardless of hunger. I said that I also, was succumbing to a "see-food" diet. Seems that we are both on the rebound.
And I somehow doubt that this new shared phenomenon of food hoarding has much to do with the American Civil War! And all would be fine if my food selection was reasonably healthy. But what I'm noticing is that my temptations are unabashedly succumbing to the lure of empty calories.
For three days in a row, I found myself choosing from the "sale" bin of chocolate bars at the Northern Store. Similarly, I was magnetically attracted to the pastry section, where I could buy muffins by the six-pack. I found myself mesmerized in the chip and Dorito section, internally debating the flavors and prices, deluded by the prospect that there might be any true "value" in the purchase. And after an eight month abstinence, and perhaps as a way of assuaging my growing guilt about poor food choices, I could not seem to get enough bananas.
I've noticed that my waistline is expanding, despite increasing my exercise. And I've noticed that I experience no real hunger with these foods of high glycemic index. Contrastingly, in the Fall, when my diet contained no sugar and no grains, I felt constantly chilled and hungry, and the fat melted off my bones.
So, my take-home message? Enjoy feeling hungry. Not necessarily constantly, but for some portion of every day I will tolerate the awareness of an emptiness within. And if nothing else, it will bring a closer connection to my famine-suffered ancestors of old.
by Miche Genest
Guild is an old word denoting an association of like-minded people engaged in a common pursuit — armorers, cobblers, or weavers, for example. In Whitehorse weavers, sewers and felters have organized themselves into a Fibres Guild, and theatre-goers attend plays at the Guild Theatre.
On a small homestead on the Annie Lake Road, there's a different sort of guild at work, involving players of another kind. They are plants; all kinds of plants from herbs to berry bushes to fruit trees, and they work together in a "food forest" planted and maintained by Agnes Seitz and her partner Gertie.
For the past several years Seitz has been slowly building what has become known in permaculture circles as a food forest, but is actually, she says, "comparable to a really extensive home garden." This kind of home garden has been grown in tropical climates from the Amazon to India for thousands of years; such gardens are a low-intervention way of ensuring food security. In the mid-1980s,
British gardener Robert Hart began experimenting with "forest gardening" in Shropshire, England, bringing those techniques into a more temperate climate. In the Yukon several gardeners and homesteaders are experimenting with building food forests in a much colder environment, Seitz among them.
"The idea is that a young woodland is the most perfect natural system and the most prolific one," she says. "And that's what we're trying to copy, a young woodland." A young woodland occurring naturally is basically self-sustaining. While a planted food forest is not entirely self-sustaining, it can come close.
Planting in guilds is a cornerstone in the building of a food forest. "You plant in such a way that throughout the season [the plants] support each other," says Seitz. "There are nitrogen fixers in there, there are attractants that bring in the bees for pollination, there are plants that bring up minerals from the soil. You bring all these players together in a system that makes it so much easier on us."
When she was starting out, "because we don't have soil here," Seitz brought in a truckload of compost from the City of Whitehorse dump. Five or six years later, now that the system is up and running, Seitz's interventions are low-tech and low-key. She fertilizes with wood ash and human urine. "Humans are one more part of the habitat we are building there," she says. "An apple tree needs about five pees a year to get all the nitrogen it needs."
Seitz also uses "green manure," turning plants into fertilizer using a technique called "chop and drop." After harvesting, "you just cut the plants and let them fall, and they feed the micro-organisms and that's how you build the soil." Seitz also grows a huge annual garden of organic vegetables, which she says requires lots of controls and lots of work.
Square foot for square foot, the annual garden uses nearly twice the mount of fertilizer of the perennial food forest. She estimates there are about 80 species of herbaceous plants in her 4,000 square-foot food forest, most of them edible, like sorrel, burdock, mint, lovage, a wide variety of chives and onions, and Old World plants like sweet cicely and Good King Henry. Mixed amongst these plants are nettles, fireweed, lambs quarters and dandelions. "Wild foods, what we call weeds, are an essential part of the system," she says.
The next layer up is composed of berry bushes such as Saskatoons, gooseberries, red, white and black currants, haskaps and raspberries. Among the next layer, the fruit trees, are hawthorns, sour cherries, pin cherries, several species of apple, Siberian pear, Manchurian plum, Manchurian apricot, Siberian pine (there may be pine nuts in 12 or 15 years) and even hazelnuts.
The more exotic species are still "kind of a research project," says Seitz. Though the hazelnuts are not yet fruiting, they have lasted three years. "It's going to be interesting to see how they did with this really cold winter." Seitz has not planted low-bush cranberries, a favourite Yukon berry, because she can easily walk into the surrounding boreal forest to find them. "They're right around the corner."
But for just about every other kind of herb, plant, berry or tree fruit, she says, all she has to do is walk into her backyard food forest and "kind of like just – forage." For further reading and resources on food forest gardening, a good place to start is Permaculture Research Institute.
Five days a week for 7½ months translates into 150 breakfasts of eggs and mashed potato cakes. My family has reached their limit. Gerard can't seem to swallow another egg. Sam is done on mashed potato cakes. Breakfast clafouti and crepes are reserved for weekends because they require extra time. So that leaves smoothies or cooked rye grains as my breakfast alternatives.
That is until now…. Kate and Sam are away, competing at the Arctic Winter Games. In their absence, there have been fewer dishes to wash which has translated into more time to experiment. So I thought I would try waffles. I was not optimistic as I was missing one of the key ingredients – baking powder – and, of course, salt. But what did I have to lose (other than some precious Red Fife wheat flour).
So I pulled out my 1969 Farmers Journal Homemade Bread recipe book and a General Electric waffle maker of about the same vintage (thank you Evelyn Dubois) and gave it a go. Success!
Crispy on the outside, tender on the inside. Smothered in homemade butter and birch syrup. Didn't seem to miss the baking powder, or the salt, in the least. I will have a welcome breakfast surprise for Kate and Sam when they return! Next challenge will be to try them with rye flour, as the wheat flour is in short supply. > Check out the recipe for 100% local Yukon Waffles
If you haven't yet seen it, check out this sneak peek into the upcoming documentary First We Eat: Food Security North of 60 . Coming in 2020.
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People often ask what we are doing for Vitamin C over the long Northern winter – in the absence of oranges and grapefruit from the south. Worry not. No scurvy in this family! Besides spruce tips and some precious local apples, it is berries that are providing most of our Vitamin C this year.
We have one freezer devoted entirely to berries! Two of the many awesome women farmers in Dawson are Diana McCready of Emu Creek Farms and Maryanne Davis of Tundarose Garden. Both produce succulent crops of delicious berries – saskatoons, haskaps, raspberries and black currents. Emu Creek Farms even grows some northern cherries! Diana and Ron McCready have the added challenge of having no road access to their farm, it is only accessible by boat.
Northern Cherries and domestic Haskap berries at Emu Creek Farm. Photos by Suzanne Crocker.
A late June frost wiped out many of the wild berries that we normally count on. We will be forever grateful to the many Dawsonites who donated some of their precious wild berry stock to help supplement our year. Wild low bush cranberries are a family favourite! Fortunately, although the wild berry crop was meek, domestic berries thrived!
Berries have become one of our staples: berry sauce on custard, berry and beet muffins, crepes with berry sauce, steamed berry pudding, breakfast clafouti. And one of my new favourites: Saskatoon Berry and Birch Syrup Roast. Imagine a roast moose or roast pork cooked slowly slathered in birch syrup, Saskatoon berries and garlic. Wicked!
Saskatoon berries and birch sryup are an awesome combination. Many thanks to the McCready's and to Maryann Davis for keeping us healthy this winter thanks to their delicious berries.
> Check out the recipe for Saskatoon Berry and Birch Syrup Roast.
A three-page article about the First We Eat project, written by Suzanne, is appearing in the Spring issue of Harrowsmith magazine. The issue is available on newsstands now.
Harrowsmith's tagline is: "Make. Grow. Sustain. Share." It's therefore not surprising that Suzanne's message of sustainability and Northern food security is a perfect fit for the publication. Harrowsmith has been spreading its message for over four decades, and was the first Canadian magazine to focus on organic living, alternative energy sources, and a country lifestyle.
There are times when I wonder about this project. Like when there is an event involving food or drink. Which seems to be continuously, in Dawson. So, I find myself in a constant state of wonder and doubt.
Obviously, the festive holidays such as Christmas and Thanksgiving pose a problem, not so much in the hampered ability to celebrate in our own home, but in the ability to eat outside the home. And I was surprisingly blindsided during the last hockey tournament when, after looking forward to the banquet, it suddenly dawned on me that there was absolutely no point in attending a banquet without being able to either eat or drink. So home I went. And likewise, during the day of games as hunger was entrenching, I was unable to just pop out to the concession for a quick bite. So, hunger I endured.
Of course, these examples are all surmountable; with a little preparation and foresight, I could pack lunches and pre-empt such pitiful notions of deprivation. But, I don't. No good reason, I just don't. So, I am left to wallow in a state of self-imposed social isolation, for I am more aware now than ever, that almost all social functions eventually involve food and drink.
For many months I was enjoying the novelty of letting my beard grow thick and wild. I had not realized that this was made possible because of the lack of social eating. It simply did not matter that, through the mass of fur, food could not find its way to my mouth! Nor would there be risk of embarrassment because of food debris being trapped in the facial fuzz. Just another benefit directly attributable to "The Program."
I miss chocolate and so does Suzanne. It was only fitting therefore, that on Valentine's Day, I gave her an "up-cycled" tin that once was the bearer of chocolate. In it were colorful candy wrappers, each containing pieces of dried zucchini and meat jerky. This whole thing was her idea after all!
Suzanne, along with the Yellowknife Farmer's Market and Food Charter Coalition will be guest presenter for a webinar this coming Monday 12 March 2018 from 10 a.m. to 11:30 a.m. PST on what sustainable food means in the North. There is no charge.
Click here to register.
The Northern Food Network (NFN) is co-hosted by the Arctic Institute of Community-Based Research (AICBR) and Food Secure Canada (FSC) as a space for people working in and interested in northern food security to share, learn about best practices across the North and advance collective action on food security. They co-facilitate bi-monthly webinars and teleconferences with focused presentations and discussion around 4 core themes:environment, health, agriculture,and food security.
by Miche Genest
When Art Napoleon found he had to cook a selection of wild and cultivated ingredients from a local food "mystery box" over a campfire with three Indigenous Yukon Elders, he said, "Oh no! You're going to gang up on me." He had reason to be fearful—Tetl'it Gwich'in Elder Mary Jane Moses, Teetl'it Gwich'in Elder Dorothy Alexie, and Tr'ondëk Hwëch'in Elder Peggy Kormandy are all experienced campfire cooks with many years of cooking on the land behind them.
But as participants at "Our Camp is our Kitchen" learned, when it comes to campfire cooking Napoleon is no slouch. He and the ladies transformed the ptarmigan, rabbit, caribou guts, caribou meat, sheep ribs, wild rhubarb, cranberries, birch syrup and a host of other delicacies into soup, stew, fricassee, viande grillée and pudding that fed anywhere from 75 to 100 people. Their cooking fire burned in an galvanized metal drum with a grill set over top; their camp was a wall tent and a tarp shelter in the parking lot beside the Tr'ondëk Hwëch'in Community Hall.
The event was part of the Tr'ondëk Hwëch'in Myth and Medium Conference, held from February 19 to 23 in Dawson City. Napoleon was a special guest at the conference, and the organizers worked him from morning till night, calling several of his skills into play. He arrived Monday afternoon, gave the opening keynote address that evening, cooked all day Tuesday, performed a concert Tuesday evening, gave a talk on food and nutrition Wednesday morning and flew out Wednesday afternoon.
As Napoleon told the audience Monday night, he juggles several careers–singer-songwriter, educator, conservationist, naturalist. He holds an MA in Language Revitalization from the University of Victoria and is a former Chief of the Saulteau First Nation in north-eastern BC. Most recently, he's co-host of APTN's Moosemeat and Marmalade with British chef Dan Hayes — an exploration of two very different approaches to cooking wild game, the Indigenous and the classically trained.
Food and cooking are the sinews that tie much of Napoleon's life and work together. He first learned how to cook on open fires and woodstoves as a child living in Peace River country, and later grew comfortable in modern cooking facilities. He has always loved cooking for people, and one of his approaches to cooking traditional food is to "gourmet it up." "It's given me great pleasure to serve good food to people, especially if I can present traditional food in ways that people haven't tasted," he said. "If you want to show the beauty of your culture, food is one way to do that."
Napoleon said that at heart he's an educator, and cultural revitalization is a cornerstone of his life philosophy. "So food is something that fits in there nicely. Food and philosophy and cultural teachings—I don't really see much difference between those."
Napoleon, who lives in Victoria, advised people on how to "Indigenize their diet" in an urban context. In his talk on food, nutrition and planning on Wednesday morning he reminded the audience, "If you live in the city there's lots of ways you can still access your traditional resources." He goes back to his traditional territory to hunt; he receives packages of wild food from his family; he learns what wild foods grow in his area and goes out foraging.
"I can still be an Indian down there, I don't have to be a Victorian." Napoleon also suggested ways of incorporating better nutrition into modern diets, noting that on the land, "People ate clean and they were very active. They were in great shape. Our meats were the original free range organic meats." Today, he said, "The food industry sucks. It's all about the money. You've got to make it all about health, and make your own choices."
The reality is that Indigenous people live in two worlds, he added, and even hunters supplement their traditional diet with store-bought foods. "They've just become part of the culture." He laughed. "Red Rose tea is part of the culture!" He admires Suzanne for her efforts to eat only local food for a year, calling her endeavour "either crazy or brave, and maybe a little bit of both. I think it's a lot of work, and would take great, great discipline."
But he shares one of Suzanne's concerns, mentioned in her presentation on Tuesday evening: how sustainable is her diet? Napoleon asked, "If everybody wanted to do it…would things get over-harvested? What kind of impact would it have on the land? Long ago people managed it in a way that was sustainable, but now there are bigger populations."
These are questions shared and pondered across Canada and around the world: how do we feed ourselves in a sustainable manner? When the population will potentially reach 9.7 billion by 2050? As Indigenous people who live in two cultures, Napoleon said, "There's no way we can survive as an island. That's the great thing about the Yukon–the divide is not so wide as it is in Southern Canada."
He ended his Wednesday morning talk on an emotional note. "You guys are lucky," he said, near tears. "You guys who are living in territories that are bringing [the traditions] back." Napoleon said he always likes to contribute food for thought in his work. Asked what he would like people to take away from his participation at Myth and Medium, he reflected for a minute and said, "The need for balance. Always remembering that we walk in two worlds, and there's ways to return to your cultural integrity while still living in these modern times." 
My daughter, Tess, was having a craving – for poutine. It was then I realized that I could actually make a totally northern, totally local poutine! And so I did. Dawson potatoes, Dawson cheese curds, and moose gravy!
Norland potatoes grown at Kokopellie Farm are stored fresh all winter in their root cellar. With a skidoo or a four-wheel-drive truck I can brave this year's long and bumpy ice road on the Yukon River and head to Kokopellie Farm on Saturdays between 2 and 5 pm to buy them direct from Otto's root cellar. The potatoes were oiled with rendered beef tallow from the Klondike Valley Creamery and then baked into scrumptious fries.
I made the cheese curds with milk from the Klondike Valley Creamery with the help of rhubarb juice (instead of vinegar). And the moose gravy is from a recent moose roast, thickened with homemade potato starch. My children claimed it was lacking one of the key poutine ingredients – salt. But in my mind it was delicious nonetheless.
If only humans were part burbot. With our current medical knowledge, we might live forever if we were fortunate enough to have appropriate additions of burbot DNA. And I have little doubt that burbot DNA infusions would be a sure-fire way of toughening up the human species.
One would, of course, have to exercise due precaution in the dosing: too much infusing might not only disqualify one from the category of "human," but could also contribute to deleterious effects such as growing barbels where once there were beards, or preferring to mate in the darkest, muddiest, coldest confines. Hmm, come to think of it, based on some visible human behaviour and phenotypes, perhaps there have already been some surreptitious burbot-to-human genetic transplantations …
You see, burbot do not like to die. Obviously, they are tough, thriving in the coldest of silty waters, enduring months of minimal food, living under ice in the darkest of conditions, only then to survive the relentless grinding of house-sized ice floes and spring floods, protected only by a slimy skin and a solitary barbel. Clearly, the burbot is the quintessential survivalist. You can bonk a burbot with a wooden mallet till its eyes bulge. You can dislocate its neck and break its back. You can stick a knife into its heart. Then, hours later, there might still be a twitch of the tail. Or, a slow contraction of the excised heart. I have even felt the contraction of a fresh fillet in my hands, minutes after its removal from the skeleton.
As a child in Newfoundland, my mother would pay the boys 10 cents per eel. They caught them under our wharf and would deliver her a bucket of slithering, reptilian-like creatures, much to Mom's delight. It was a win-win arrangement: the money was well appreciated by those kids in rural Newfoundland in the 60's where fishing was one of the main forms of recreation for youth, and mom, although she liked to eat eel, certainly did not like swimming with the teeming hoards that seemed to reside under our wharf!
I have emotionless memories of mom dumping the eels in a sink-full of water, grabbing one at a time, chopping off their heads, cutting them into inch-long segments, and squeezing out the offal. She would matter-of-factly place the offal and gasping-mouthed heads back in the bucket so they could later be fed to the remaining eels under the wharf. A reward for their troubles, I suppose. Perhaps a deposit, expecting growth with interest. She would then wash the segments more thoroughly and toss them into the hot buttered frying pan.
During the entire operation, the eel pieces would be squirming. They would be wriggling in the sink, flailing on the chopping board, twisting in her hands and twitching in the pan. And through all this my mom might be dispassionately talking about the weather or asking us questions about school. Any exclamation or indication of alarm from us was met with the same pragmatic response, "My mother used to always say that eels don't die till after sundown." And that was that.
She grew up on a farm. She was equally dispassionate about boiling live lobsters. We ate a lot of lobster, since at that time in rural Newfoundland there was minimal commercial market for lobster and much of it was used for garden fertilizer and bait for marketable fish. My mom seemed to have endless seasonal access to lobster. As they were plopped head-first into the pot of boiling water, lid held tight against the thrashing tail, the usual stoic utterances could be heard as we waited for the silence. "Reflexes." "Nerves." "Death throes."
My dad, on the other hand, was more skeptical about the humanity of this, preferring to err on the side of caution by bonking each lobster behind the eyes immediately before pot insertion. Later, he developed the technique of "hypnotizing" the lobsters by balancing them on their heads and stroking their backs until they found their equilibrium. On lobster night, one would have to tread carefully in our kitchen because at any one time there might be a half-dozen lobsters on the floor, all asleep on their heads, tails arched backwards, oblivious to what was awaiting them.
So, the fundamental question is whether or not this can somehow be translated into a debate about the definition of life, consciousness, pain perception and morality. Or is it just impossible to extrapolate our sensibilities to other animals? Obviously, it sits best with all of us to assume that pain perception and the definition of life is somehow inferior in those species that we eat. It is our way of remaining carnivorous. It helps with our relentless expansionistic existence, where the needs of any other species are deemed less important. Truth be dammed.
How can it be that humans are so fragile when compared to many other species? And even more puzzling is our lack of humility in the midst of this knowledge. For instance, a quick internet search suggests that the "zombie bug" or tree weta, is capable of surviving after being completely frozen; the lung fish can recover after months without air or moisture; the decapitated head of a snake will still strike at prey; the frog can continue to hop without its head; the headless male fruit fly is an effective courter (apparently because he is easily outwitted by the female!). We have much to learn and there is much to marvel at. The question is whether we choose to continue on the path of convenience or whether we embrace the uniqueness of living organisms, learning as much as we can along the way. In the meantime, I'll still eat burbot. I admire the resilience of their reptilian brain and I am increasingly humbled in its presence. And maybe, if I eat enough, some of that burbot fortitude might just rub off!
It is the middle of winter and in my hand I hold a crunchy, juicy, sweet, locally-grown apple. Yes, that's right, locally grown – in Dawson City, Yukon – 64 degrees north. Further north than Iqualuit, Yellowknife and Whitehorse. It is all thanks to the ingenuity of John Lenart at Klondike Valley Nursery, Canada's northernmost nursery.
John has spent the last thirty years studying and grafting apple trees in order to cultivate varieties that can withstand the climate of the north. The nursery now has 65 cultivars and some of those varieties are 'winter apples' – meaning that they keep well in cold storage throughout the winter.
2017 was a tough season on the apple trees due to a late frost in the middle ofJune. But Klondike Valley Nursery has generously been sharing some of their personal apple supply with me for this year of eating local. And I can tell you that a crunchy locally-grown apple in the middle of winter is a treat beyond all measure!
by Miche Genest
All manner of foods were celebrated at the Tr'ondëk Hwëch'in biannual Myth and Medium conference during the week of February 19, 2018, from whole grains to healing herbal concoctions to wild game. Not surprisingly, animal guts played a significant role, not just in cooking, but also in presentations and demonstrations, and in conversations among Elders and cooks from several Indigenous nations.
Vuntut Gwitchin hunter Stanley Njootli Senior told the audience on Wednesday night that the bag carried by The Boy in the Moon in the traditional story shared by many northern Indigenous peoples was filled with–caribou guts. Elizabeth Kyikavichik remembers that the first thing her family ate after a successful caribou hunt was the guts. Elizabeth, who is Teetl'it Gwich'in, grew up on the land near Fort MacPherson and was an avid student of her parents' traditional hunting and cooking methods. In traditional Indigenous cooking the whole animal is consumed, from antler to hoof, and guts are a highly valued source of nutrition.
In fact, the same is true of pretty much every culture worldwide — traditionally, guts have been eaten with pleasure and gusto. Think of blood pudding, or liver paté, or steak and kidney pie, or the Greek kokoresti, or the Costa Rican sopa de mondongo. In North America it's only since the Second World War that we've turned our backs on guts, or offal — we've grown accustomed to the relatively inexpensive, choice cuts made available through the large-scale industrial raising and harvesting of animals, and by the supermarket retail model of selling food.
The smaller butcher shops that typically carried offal have become harder to find. Now we tend to be squeamish about what we perceive as the stronger flavours of animal guts, and their different look and texture. In recent years Indigenous hunters in the Porcupine Caribou range have noticed that some hunters were leaving gut piles and heads behind in the field when they harvested caribou.
The Van Tat Gwich'in Government and the Porcupine Caribou Management Board collaborated on the publication of Vadzaih, Cooking Caribou from Antler to Hoof in part to encourage a return to traditional hunting practices. The book is both a field guide and cookbook, designed to appeal to hunters and cooks of all ages, pairing old and new ways of preparing caribou heads, shins and offal, as well as other parts of the animal.
When I worked on developing the contemporary recipes for Vadzaih with the community cooks of Old Crow, I grew accustomed to eating, and enjoying, kidney, heart, liver, tongue and brain. But I shied away from the intestines and the stomach. I don't know why, since one of my favourite dishes as a teenager dining out with my parents was sweetbreads (pancreas) in Madeira sauce. Why was pancreas okay and not stomach? I don't have an answer.
At Myth and Medium, those who attended the "Our Camp is Our Kitchen" cooking fire during the Shì Lëkąy Food Tastes Good Knowledge Fair were lucky enough to sample two different kinds of caribou stomach, prepared by Tetl'it Gwich'in Elder Mary Jane Moses, Tetl'it Gwich'in Elder Dorothy Alexie, Tr'ondëk Hwëch'in Elder Peggy Kormendy and visiting cook, hunter, musician and TV producer Art Napolean, of the Beaver people in Peace River country in northern BC. I screwed up my courage and tried a piece of tripe. It was mild, sweet and chewy, and I would try it again without hesitation.
I'm not alone. Among the Canadian settler population, due to the resurgence of interest in eating local food and the growing concern about food waste, guts are making it back onto the menu. International celebrity chefs like Gordon Ramsay and Hugh Fearnsley-Whittingstall are serving tripe in their restaurants. Canadian chef and author Jennifer McLagan has published Odd Bits, How to Cook the Rest of the Animal, a cookbook devoted to cooking the head, feet and guts of domestic animals. (We relied heavily on Odd Bits when putting together Vadzaih.)
And small butcher shops are making a comeback not only in big urban centres, but, luckily for us, in Whitehorse and Dawson City. At Myth and Medium we learned that Suzanne had taken to eating burbot liver in order to replenish her internal stock of Vitamin D. Suzanne offered samples of the liver during her workshop on Wednesday afternoon. We also ate caribou tripe and caribou head cheese and several different kinds of pemmican cooked by several different Indigenous people. And the Moosemeat Men served moose nose at Thursday evening's feast.
I went home to Whitehorse with a few pounds of charcuterie made by Shelby Jordan of BonTon Butcherie and Charcuterie, and a surprise bonus. This was haggis, also made by Shelby, from pork liver, pork and wild boar tongues, boar head, boar kidneys and beef suet, all from locally raised animals, mixed with the requisite toasted stone-ground oatmeal and a flavourful blend of warm spices, the whole thing stuffed into beef bung, or appendix, which is in modern times the typical haggis casing.
Haggis, as we know, is the classic Scottish way of eating the whole animal, a traditional dish cooked right after the hunt and now most often served on poet Robert Burns's birthday. I brought my BonTon haggis to a potluck dinner party on Sunday after the conference, where it was enjoyed by 14 people, some of whom had never eaten haggis or offal before. My husband, who is a Scot, said it was the best haggis he's ever had. Converting the masses to offal one caribou stomach, one haggis, at a time.
"Enny meeny minny chum, Catch a burbot with my thumb, If I holler, let me run, Back to home where fishing's done!" Today was a re-baiting day at the burbot holes. Being relatively "warm" at 15 below, I felt that I could easily change the bait on site. So, off I went with my bag of freezer-burned chum slices.
Shortly after arrival, the slight breeze was notable on the wet, exposed fingers. Nevertheless, I persevered through the several hooks that required removal of the old bait and reapplication of the new. It wasn't till my thawing fingers were back home that I noticed the multiple red dots on the tips of my thumbs and index fingers. A gentle squeeze revealed the tell-tale ooze of blood from each dot and alas, the mystery was solved!
Apart from the obvious benefit of catching burbot, this "dietary program" (which Suzanne now simply refers to as a "shopping choice"), has reminded me of the origin of the medical use of the word "freezing." For generations, cold has been effectively utilized in the medical arena for the purpose of diminishing pain. The analgesic effect of a mouth-full of ice chips was well known to the earliest dental surgeons. Similarly, many a limb was amputated under the chilling bite of a cold pack, when there was an absence of either whiskey to be drunk or poppy leaves to be chewed.
I'm feeling quite thrilled by the realization of the absolute analgesia I experienced with my frozen fingers. The next time my hands get that cold, I will glance at the filleting knife and then give serious attention to that cyst on my knuckle, thinking, "could this be the right time?"
Check out Suzanne's most recent Yu-Kon Grow It interview on CBC Radio's A New Day with host Sandi Coleman.
All ingredients are 100% local to Dawson City, Yukon.
The batter for these crêpes was made from Red Fife wheat flour from Kokopellie Farm, eggs from Lastraw Ranch and Sun North Ventures, milk and butter thanks to the Klondike Valley Creamery, and honey compliments of David McBurney and his overwintered bees.
The berry sauce was made with black currents from Emu Creek Farm, sweetened with birch syrup. Yogurt was made from the milk from Klondike Valley Creamery and cultured with locally made kefir.
Smothered in birch syrup from Birch Hill Forest Farm.
Deliciously local!
> Check out the recipe here.
Every second year, the Tr'ondëk Hwëch'in First Nation in Dawson City, Yukon, hosts a colloquium/conference entitled Myth and Medium. The theme in 2018 was Food, Culture, and Identity, so not surprisingly, given her First We Eat project, Suzanne was asked to be one of the contributors to the event.
The week-long celebration kicked off on Monday with a potluck dinner, where attendees were invited to bring a dish that helped denote their heritage or identity. (Suzanne's contribution to the potluck was her 100% locally-sourced garlic chevre on rye crackers.) But the evening's main course was the collection of food-centered stories that followed by various guest speakers, including Suzanne and her husband Gerard.
The next day the official presentations began, given by a collection of notable speakers, indigenous and non-indigenous alike, including luminaries like Art Napoleon and Lawrence Hill, to name just a couple. Participating in a session entitled The Land Sustains Us, Suzanne paid tribute to those in the local community whose wisdom and aid have made her local-only experience possible. The audience was also treated to a preview snippet from Suzanne's film, with very favourable crowd reaction.
Cameroon and Mali, and how it influenced his development as a writer. Photo by Maria Sol.
Other Myth and Medium 2018 sessions touched on a wide variety of subjects, as one would expect from something as fundamental and far-reaching as food. From looking at wild plants for food and medicine — and a way to reconnect with traditional values — to finding what ancient stories can teach us about our food, the speakers were diverse, knowledgeable, and thought-provoking.
The next two afternoons saw Suzanne at a booth and doing hands-on cooking demonstrations and tastings of some of the things she has learned during her journey — from using colts foot ash as a salt substitute, to frying up burbot liver to help boost her Vitamin D levels.
Myth and Medium wasn't all business. The event, which told attendees to: "Bring your dancing shoes and your appetites," included lots of feasting, music, laughter, and activities. One of the highlights was the outdoor campfire, where there was cooking of all manner of wild local meat, including some rarer fare, such as moose nose, lynx, and a local 'haggis' made by stuffing a caribou stomach. Ultimately though, the conference proved the old adage (although perhaps on several new levels as well), that we are what we eat.
I continue to search for a local option for salt in my community of Dawson which is nowhere near the sea. I haven't yet had to resort to collecting the sweat off Gerard's back as he chops wood.
So far coltsfoot ash has been the most surprising result – a wild plant whose bland tasting leaves magically transform into a salty ash after they are dried and burned. Dried celery leaves have been my go-to salt substitute – adding a mineral rich flavour to all things savoury.
Coltsfoot ash (left), and celery leaves. Photos by Suzanne Crocker.
I am still researching the possibility of harvesting salt from local animal mineral licks. In the meantime, the Takhini Salt Flats came onto my radar – an endangered ecosystem that occurs in a small pocket of the Yukon a short drive from Whitehorse. This ecosystem is so unique that it is not even found in nearby Alaska. The Flats are not close enough to Dawson to be considered an option for my year of eating local. But it did inspire me to question if the salt from Takhini Salt Flats would be suitable for human consumption.
I contacted Bruce Bennett, Coordinator of the Yukon Conservation Data Centre, at Environment Yukon to find out more. And the more I learned about the Takhini Salt Flats, the more fascinated I became – unique plants that can be watered with salt water, ancient arctic ground squirrel cloaks from the Beringia Era, and inland ponds of shrimp! Read on and I will share some of the fascinating information I have learned about the Takhini Salt Flats.
Takhini Salt Flats is considered an athalassic salt flat which means the salt does not come from the sea. Instead, with a mountain range close by, the salt comes from silt from glacial lakes. Areas of permafrost prevent the water from soaking into the ground and there are no outlets to take the water to nearby rivers. So the water gradually evaporates leaving salt crystals on its surface. Besides being very salty, the ground at Takhini Salt Flats is also very alkaline with pH values between 8.5 to 9.5.
For both these reasons, most plants will not grow there. However there are some unique salt and alkali loving plants that flourish, many of which give the salt flats its distinctive red hue. And some of these plants are also edible. One such edible red plant, that does not grow elsewhere in the Yukon, is Sea Asparagus or Arctic Glasswort (of the Salicornia family). Too bad it doesn't grow near Dawson. Apparently, the young shoots taste salty and are rich in calcium, iron, Vitamin B and C and are exceptionally high in Vitamin A.
Another fascinating edible plant at Takhini Salt Flats is Salt Water Cress (Arabidopsis salsuginea ) part of the mustard family and a relative of canola. Salt Water Cress, is a 'super plant' – you could water it with sea water and it would grow! And it will survive freezing, drought and nitrogen deficiency! It used to be common throughout Alberta, Saskatchewan but is now virtually non-existent in those areas due to agriculture and housing developments.
Chenopodium (the Goosefoot family) is related to quinoa (Chenopodium quinoa). The two most common Chenopodium in the Yukon are Lamb's Quarter (Chenopodium album) and Strawberry Blite (Chenopodium capitatum) – both edible. (I ate a lot of both while foraging last summer and Fall!) However there is a rare Chenopodium, Chenopodium salinium, that dates back to the Beringia Era, that can still be found at Takhini Salt Flats. Chenopodium salinium pollen, which is preserved by freezing, helps archeologists date artifacts uncovered by melting permafrost in the North.
The remains of Kwäday Dän Ts'ìnchi , Long Ago Person Found, was discovered in 1999 by sheep hunters on Champagne and Aishihik First Nations territory in Tatshenshini-Alsek Provincial Wilderness Park in British Columbia near Haines Junction, Yukon. His remains were found as well as his walking stick, a spruce root hat, a small bag made of beaver skins and a fur cloak made out of arctic ground squirrel pelts. A high portion of preserved Chenopodium salinium pollen was found on the fur of the cloak and that clue showed that he had visited alkaline flats and helped date Kwäday Dän Ts'ìnchi to around 1700 AD.
Arctic ground squirrel cloaks were worn ceremonially by indigenous people long ago and traditional trails can still be found in the Takhini Salt Flats which would have been used by indigenous hunters over 700 years ago. The Takhini Salt Flats were a natural grassland for arctic ground squirrels because the high salinity of the soil prevents forests from taking over. Although, for unknown reasons they died out for a time, Arctic ground squirrels are now starting to return to the Takhini Salt Flats.
One would expect to have to go to the ocean to find shrimp. Not so! Several varieties of shrimp live in the inland ponds of the Takhini Salt Flats. One such variety is the Fairy Shrimp. Fairy Shrimp are the Sea Monkeys that many of us remember from our childhood! Many migratory shore birds come to the Takhini Salt Flats for a shrimp feast. But I digress. What about the salt?
The salt itself is mainly in the form of mirabilite (Na2SO4·10H2O – also known as Glauber's salt) and thenardite (Na2SO4). There is about 5% sodium chloride (NaCl) which is what we eat as table salt, but there is no easy way to separate out the NaCl from the mirabilite and thenardite. Mirabilite and thenardite are used by the chemical industry to make soda and also used in glass making. Mirabilite is also used in Chinese medicine and thernardite is also used in the paper industry.
My conclusion? Even if I did live closer to the Takhini Salt Flats, I'm not sure it would be safe to be sprinkling this salt on my food. Although I would certainly be taste testing the edible plants that grow there. Regardless, Takhini Salt Flats is a fascinating place to visit. If you are in the area, Bruce Bennett gives tours of every August. Details can be found at Yukon Environments Wildlife Viewing Program.
Kate, 15 years old, made a delicious supper of moose steak with Béarnaise sauce and roasted vegetables using only ingredients local to Dawson. The Béarnaise sauce tasted very lemony despite having no lemon juice in it. Kate substituted rhubarb juice for both the vinegar and the lemon juice. And she used ground nasturtium seed pods in place of pepper.
> Check out Kate's recipe for Yukon Béarnaise Sauce
Who needs chocolates on Valentine's Day. (Don't answer that.) We will be celebrating with one of our favourite deserts — Birch Syrup Ice Cream Cake. Check out the recipes for Birch Syrup Ice Cream and Creamy Birch Syrup Frosting. Pour the ice cream into a mold and let it freeze overnight, then slather on the frosting. Yumm!! (Just don't say the word 'chocolate' and I'll be fine.)
Tastes like cod, looks like eel. We've added the burbot to our diet. Not the same as ling cod, I am told. This is a different species, Lota lota, isolated to cold fresh waters. It goes by many monikers, including the Inuktitut word, Tiktaalik and my favorite, for this bottom-feeder, "the lawyer."
The Yukon River is home to the burbot and catching them has added a new distractor to the winter. My very first hole yielded nothing other than dirt, as my auger plunged through the three feet of ice! Hard on the blades and all the more reason to not borrow an auger from your best friend! But once you get out of the dirt, there is much to discover.
Water depth, hole location, current tolerance, inside or beyond the "mud line." Bait. Keeping the lines from freezing in. Daily checking. Chiseling. Filleting. Then there is the human factor, chiefly, keeping ones fingers attached and functional. Protecting the ears and nose, although less critical to the task at hand, is another desirable objective. The cold has been relentless, and at -35 I pulled the lines. Retreated like a whipped dog to the comforts of home, nursing the scabs of flesh on my cheek.
Surprised by that "beat up" feeling. Surprised to be content to add another log to the fire and monitoring the weather from the inside of a window. Surprised at the length and depth of cold this winter. But it has been worth it to have burbot in the diet. Very tasty, and the "cod-ness" brings me back to my childhood on the east coast. And we have been frying up the livers for vitamin D. Even tried some raw! And raw burbot liver is not offensive like the cod liver oil of my childhood memories. It is rather bland, but still, unmistakably like raw liver…
As soon as temperatures allow, I'll be back at the burbot holes. Its funny that eating "the lawyer" might be the very action that brings added justice to our diet!
Lily gave birth to a new calf — a heifer.
Gentle Lily is one of Jen and Loren Sadlier's dairy cows at Klondike Valley Creamery in Rock Creek, just outside of Dawson City, Yukon. Another wonderful celebration of farmers' ability to overwinter and breed livestock at 64 degrees north!
"When the cat is away the mice will play!" That seems to be the sentiment of the week, the question most posed during this time of Suzanne's absence. But fear not, for we are living in a state of self-imposed restraint. We are now so deeply entrenched in "The Program" that we no longer depend on the wrath of Suzanne to sustain our momentum.
The brainwashing has reaped its yield, the temptations are squashed, the longings are suppressed, the wistful explorations of taste are on the shelf of life. Throw me into a vat of salted caramels, plunk a cappuccino in my hands, and observe personal restraint in action! Work me into a sweating lather on a hot summer afternoon, then offer me a cold beer in a frosted mug, and watch me, unfazed and resilient as I let it turn to vinegar.
My mother used to describe me as stubborn. Suzanne labels me as obstinate-defiant. I found it best not to ask what my employees and patients thought. Better to imagine only the most complimentary adjectives. Although I don't really want my tombstone to read: "Here lies one stubborn man," I have to admit that there are benefits to having the trait.
Like now. When getting through the tough. When there is a principle to uphold, when only perseverance will do. My main assistant is Tess. She is all over the dairy products: skimming the cream, making the yogurt, shaking for butter, creating chevre. And I have found that a successful way to maintain my poundage has been to assume the duty of ice-cream making!
We have been eating well. Roasts and vegetables every evening. Potato cakes, eggs and sausages every morning. Lots of protein, dairy and complex carbohydrates. Little sugar. We are 6 months into "The Diet," holding strong (possibly stubborn!) and firm in the resolve that sugar is the nemesis in the human diet.
Corn is notoriously difficult to grow in the North. Even with nearly 24 hours of sunlight in June and July, our growing season is just not hot enough for long enough. Last summer, Dawson had only 66 consecutive frost-free growing days.
When I was thinking about eating local to Dawson for one year, my mind went immediately to what I would miss. Popcorn was right up there! I know it is not an essential food item. But a large bowl of popcorn smothered in melted butter and nutritional yeast has, for years, been one of my favourite snacks and one of my comfort foods.
Call me a 'popcorn geek' – since high school, I have carted my hot air popcorn maker around the country – to various universities and job sites. In fact, I still have it. And Friday Night Family Movie Night has always been accompanied by several large bowls of popcorn.
Grant Dowdell, who has been farming on an island up river from Dawson City for over 30 years, has the best luck growing corn in this area – in part due to his farming skills and in part thanks to the unique microclimate on his island. Grant has tried many varieties over the years and Earlivee (71 days to maturity) is the only one that has ever been successful.
That is until last year. Last year, I asked Grant to grow Tom Thumb popping corn for me. With the shortest maturity date of any corn I know – only 60 days – Grant agreed. Tom Thumb popcorn proved to be both Northern hearty and moose hearty. Moose pulled out all the stalks early in the summer but Grant and Karen stuck them back in the ground and they continued to grow!
I let the cobs dry for a month and then crossed my fingers and tried to pop them. Failure. The kernels cracked, but didn't actually pop. Having never popped popcorn that didn't come from a store, I wasn't sure if they were too dry or not dry enough. Distraction intervened and I let them hang for another month before I had a chance to think about them again.
This time they did pop! And they popped really well, with very few kernels leftover. The popcorn is small, but very tasty. So good the kids say it doesn't even need butter! My winter is saved. Bring on Friday night movie night! Tom Thumb popping corn seeds, which date back pre 1899, can be ordered from HeritageHarvestSeed.com
> Download GrantDowdell and Karen Digby's seed guide
When most Dawsonites make the 550 km trip to Whitehorse, they head down the highway with an empty vehicle and come back loaded with goodies from the city – including groceries from the big box stores. Today I find myself in the opposite situation.
I was pretty sure that I wouldn't be travelling at all during this year of eating 100% local – mainly because of the daunting task of bringing all my food with me. But, with February comes the Available Light Film Festival and Industry Conference in Whitehorse. And I found myself itching to attend. So I am going. For one week. And I'm not driving. I'm flying. One week's worth of Dawson local food on its way to Whitehorse as luggage on a plane.
Just how much is one week's worth of food for one person? Sixty pounds worth it turns out. Or, at least, that's what I've got. I once again am having 'range anxiety' over food. Having all my food in one tub feels very finite.
Will it be enough? What did I forget? I guess I'll find out. While the other industry guests graze on appy's and oysters, I will be pulling out cheese, dry meat, carrots and toasted pumpkin seeds from my parka pockets. While they sip on a cold beer or a glass of red wine, I will pull out a thermos of hot milk. One thing is for sure, there will be no shortage of conversation starters!
Inuk chef and cooking show host Ooleepeeka (Rebecca) Veevee, The Laughing Chef, is a familiar and beloved face in Nunavut. Armed with her ulu, her infectious smile and her sense of humour, Ooleepeeka is the driving force behind the Inuit Broadcasting Company's popular TV show "Niqitsiat" (which means "Good Food Ideas") – a cooking show that profiles Northern dishes made with traditional Inuit food from the land or "country food".
Caribou pizza, goose soup, char casserole, seal pie, beluga muktuk stir-fry are just some of the dishes that Ooleepeeka Veevee cooks up on her show. Ooleepeeka often brings guests on her show including NHL hockey star Jordin Tootoo (first Inuk to play in the NHL). No one is too famous to learn from Ooleepeeka!
In 2015 Ooleepeeka Veevee received the Governor General's Meritorious Service Award for her work promoting traditional Inuit foods. In awarding her the honour, the government cited how her TV program has been recognized for combating a growing epidemic of diseases related to poor nutrition in northern communities.
Ooleepeeka has shared her variation of a Traditional Seal Meat Recipe (link) with First We Eat. "Niqitsiat" has been broadcast in Inuktitut on the Inuit Broadcasting Company since 2009 and can be viewed on APTN . Check out an episode of Niqitsiat, Ooleepeeka Veevee teaching how to cook BBQ arctic char and caribou head.
> Click here for Ooleepeeka Veevee's Traditional Seal Meat Recipe
The onions have returned to the living space of our house. For a few pleasant weeks over Christmas they were relegated to boxes in one of the cooler, yet accessible places in the house, under Kate's bed. Not good enough. When the precious onions began to sprout, it was time to spread them out and keep them dry. So, back came the drying rack, a lovely addition to the room decor.
You can hardly blame the poor onions. They like to grow in the dirt and clearly, they agree with me that there is plenty of that in my daughter's bedroom! I'm hoping that the incident will help with my daughter's adolescence-induced blindness.
I'm also thinking about patent options: maybe I could market something called, "the dirt detector." All I'd need is a few onions in a box, and people could place them strategically around their homes to locate the dirt. They could be positioned in those places not readily seen or reached, like under beds, in closets, on the top shelves, etc. They could be marketed as a house-cleaning time saver, such that one would only need to clean those areas where onions sprouted.
What child would complain about checking to see on the growth of an onion? They would become eager participants in the search for domestic dirt. And in so doing, their intrinsic adolescent blindness would be cured!
Who would have guessed that the tear-inducing onion would prove therapeutic for teenaged eyes?
I definitely did not have a green thumb prior to starting this project. Never ask me to take care of your house plant. I'm not sure my thumb is yet brilliant green, but it is several shades closer than it used to be. So this year I am excited to pull out the seed catalogues and decide what to order for the upcoming growing season.
In the North, tomato seeds are started indoors the end of February and most everything else gets started indoors in March and April. As you get ready to dog-ear pages in your seed catalogues, check out the seeds that have proven themselves to grow well for other Northerners on the First We Eat Seeds page. And if you have some favourites that grow well in your part of the North, let us know (there's a contribution form on the page) and we will share it .
Here are my seed ordering tips for 2018: Fothergill's Perpetual Spinach. Spinach is notoriously difficult to grow in Dawson. Sure we have a short season. But our short summers are really hot! And regular spinach just bolts up here. Both New Zealand Spinach and Fothergill's Perpetual Spinach grow well in Dawson and do not bolt. I tried them both last year, but preferred the texture of Fothergills.
My favourite tomato last year was Black Prince. And while you're at it, consider growing some GMO-free sugar beets. They grew well in several locations in Dawson last year. They are a delicious white beet to eat and the pot liquor you cook them in can be boiled down to make a sweet syrup! Salt Spring Seeds, based on Vancouver Island, only carries organic, non-GMO seeds and is your one-stop shop for Fothergills Perpetual Spinach, Black Prince tomatoes, and non-GMO sugar beet seeds!
Precious, precious grains of wheat and rye. This is how I think of them now. Every food has become more precious to me since starting this project of eating only food that can be hunted, foraged, fished, grown, or raised in Dawson City, Yukon. Just prior to the 'freeze-up', that time of year in October and November when the Yukon River is too full of ice to boat across, but not yet frozen enough to cross by foot or by snowmobile,
Otto at Kokopellie Farm handed me a 25 kg bag of wheat grain and a 25 kg bag of rye grain. The wheat grain has been disappearing all too quickly thanks to sourdough bread and Christmas baking experimentation. So I now am turning my attention to rye flour and saving the wheat for special occasions. I carefully consider how much flour a recipe calls for. Two cups or less and I'm in. More than 2 cups and it's usually out. There hasn't been much sourdough bread recently in our household for just that reason. I also carefully consider if rye flour could be substituted for wheat flour and in many cases it can.
Thus far in my experimentation it seems that rye flour makes dough stickier. But it easily works in many recipes including this delicious Saskatoon Berry Beet Cake, by Miche Genest. It makes a great 9×9-inch 'spice cake' or muffins. The grated beets make the cake moist and add a charming pink colour to the batter. The birch syrup adds sweetness as well as a cinnamon/allspice flavour.
Although any berry would do, Saskatoon berries and birch syrup just taste like they were made for each other! Do you have a recipe that uses rye flour (but not more than 2 cups!) – let us know.
> Check out Miche Genest's Recipe for Beet and Saskatoon Berry Muffins or Cake
"When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe." – John Muir
New York chef, Dan Barber, likes to tell how he experienced an epiphany a decade ago watching his chefs constantly dipping into the flour bin located outside his office. He realized that he knew nothing — where it came from, or how it was grown — about this ubiquitous, and somewhat tasteless ingredient, which was pretty much in everything the restaurant prepared.
He set out to find a healthy, holistic flour alternative, but what started simply as a search for organic, locally-sourced grains, led to a broader understanding of sustainable agricultural methods. He realized there were many secondary crops being planted by the farmer to nurture and protect the soil and yield, but not necessarily contributing to the farm's bottom line. That's when Barber realized he needed to integrate his culinary methods and list of ingredients to include all those being used by the grower.
Barber has long been a champion of the local, organic food movement. But his interest goes beyond just serving this type of fare in his pioneering farm-to-table Blue Hill restaurant. Now, with a new book, The Third Plate: Field Notes for the Future of Food, Barber is striving to change not only the way food is grown, but the consumption habits of Americans as well.
Barber's relates how his pursuit of intense flavor repeatedly forced him to look beyond individual ingredients at a region's broader story. In The Third Plate he draws on the wisdom and experience of chefs, farmers, and seed breeders around the world, and proposes a new definition for ethical and delicious eating. He charts a bright path forward for eaters and chefs alike, daring everyone to imagine a future cuisine that is as sustainable as it is delicious. 
In Barber's view, modern industrial food systems are actually disconnected from the whole because of their large-scale specialization and centralization of food products. For organic farm-to-table agriculture to be truly sustainable, the whole process, including those preparing and consuming the food, need to be treated as parts of an interconnected, holistic fabric.
Barber has now opened a second restaurant, Blue Hill at Stone Barns, a working farm and celebrated educational center in the Hudson Valley region of New York, where he both practices and preaches his philosophy.
And the world is taking notice. He has received several accolades and awards for both his cuisine and his crusading efforts. In 2009, he was named one of Time's 100 most influential people in the world.
In an article in The Atlantic magazine, Barber describes how one of his inspirations is John Muir, (a naturalist, author, environmental philosopher, and early advocate for the preservation of wilderness in the United States), who wrote: "When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe."
The relaxation phase of my retirement is being disrupted this morning by the jarring sound of dueling coffee grinders. For Christmas, Suzanne gave me a T-shirt that said, "Retired, now I chop vegetables." But, the reality is that I don't generally get to my "second calling" until some time in the afternoons. I like to reserve the mornings for luxurious non-productivity, lounging in the dawn darkness, awed by the masses of productive workers, awed that it was not so long ago that mornings were my most productive time.
But this morning things are different around here; my harmony is shattered. Suzanne and Leigh are concocting in the kitchen. They are gathering samplings of the omnipresent hanging herbs and plants that adorn our home, grinding them up, and test-running various combinations. So, the re-purposed coffee grinders are in action, as is the blender, and the steamer.
The noise is intrusive. I'm learning that one of my main roles in this experimental year is to embrace tolerance. Eating entirely local was not my idea of a year well spent. It is something to engage in when there are no other options. Sort of like the glib answers I used to get when asking patients about their exercise habits: "sure, I walk… when my car is broke down," or "I would run… if something was chasing me," or "the only reason to swim is to get yourself out of a pickle when your boat sinks."
So, through tolerance, I must accept and appreciate that Suzanne feels that this project is critical in highlighting the issues of food security in the North. Tolerance does not demand that I agree with her. Nor does it necessarily demand that I participate. But, for now at least, I appreciate that her success in this endeavor is more certain if all the family members participate. So we will.
Now, I'll head downstairs and see whether the inspirational drinks the girls just created are capable of converting my thoughts ….
My three kids have been desperately missing bagels. And toast. You might recall that last winter, in anticipation of this, I experimented with sourdough rye and barley bread – with mixed results. Our first three months of eating local were entirely grain free. Then, against many odds, a successful crop of wheat and rye was harvested just as winter started to blanket Dawson with snow.
Shortly thereafter I found a way to grind the grains and the miracle of flour re-entered our diet. I have no yeast. But sourdough starter has been around the Dawson area for over one hundred years – introduced during the Klondike Gold Rush. In fact, there are Yukoners who continue to feed sourdough starter from the Gold Rush days. With regular feeding, you can keep it indefinitely. Therefore, I decided to classify it as a 'local' ingredient.
But I wondered – could you actually make a sourdough starter from scratch, from 100% local Dawson fare? Bev Gray's "The Boreal Herbal" held a clue – juniper berries. I thought I would give it a try. I started with 1 tbsp of flour from wheat grown at Kokopellie Farm, added to that 1 tbsp of Klondike River water and about 5 dried juniper berries that I had picked in the Fall.
I mixed them all in a small clear glass – so that I could easily see any remote chance of bubbling– a successful sign of fermentation. I covered the glass loosely and let it sit in a warm place. I wasn't very optimistic. When I checked on it later I was rather shocked to see those wonderful bubbles appearing within the mixture! Now sourdough starter truly is a local ingredient!
I continued to feed the starter for a few days until it seemed quite active and then proceeded to make a loaf of sourdough bread. For my first attempt, I decided to be decadent and use only freshly ground wheat flour – no rye. And it worked! Beginner's luck perhaps, as it was the best batch I have made to date. Subsequent batches have varied between bricks requiring chainsaws to slice them and slightly more palatable varieties.
> View the recipe for sourdough starter
Bread dough is like a living organism and sourdough bread even more so. Every time I make it, it comes out differently. It has become a luxury (depending if it is a good batch or a brick batch), not a staple. But great to know that, even starting the sourdough starter from scratch – a 100 % local Dawson bread is possible!
> See the recipe for Yukon Sourdough Bread
My memory of last night's hockey game was that my stick felt like a noodle in my hands. Every shot was wide. There was no power. Passes felt soft and uncertain, even indifferent. It was as if my stick had an alter ego, as if it did not want to be a hockey stick last night. How does a hockey stick get an alter ego, anyway? What would inspire it to have another personality?
Since this is the "dark" month, the month of cabin fever, it would not be outrageous for me to go downstairs and have a heart-to-heart with my stick. Or would it? Instead of talking to my stick, I took on the equally concerning tact of examining other influences that might have caused the noodle-like behavior of my stick. That brought to mind, my hands. Now, that sounds more logical.
Yes, obviously the noodle intrusion was hand-induced. Yesterday, was a day of sadness. Rotting squash were discovered in the cold room. Not so much rot, as soft. One gentle squeeze from Suzanne (when I wasn't the recipient), and she proclaimed, "freeze spots." As with the pumpkins, we had run the temperature too close to the freeze mark during this last cold snap. And now we were witnessing the price.
So, to the cutting board and kitchen I went. Cutting and scooping. Cooking the salvageable parts. It was the spaghetti squash that were most affected. The ones closest to the cold air intake. So, I spent a portion of the afternoon chopping and cooking and scooping the noodle-like squash. And recalling that afternoon activity, was my Eureka! moment.
Clearly, my hands had adopted their "noodleness" from the spaghetti squash! There was a transference of energy during the handling / cooking process, something that seems entirely plausible in January, in Dawson City, in the Yukon, just after a long dark cold snap, when one is feeling a little down, a little needy, a little trapped, and when one is looking for an excuse for poor hockey performance!
But, now having re-read the above, I find myself searching… Clearly, my hands are controlled by my brain. Could it be that the problem did not lie with my hands, but that my brain ….
New kids Freddie, Fiona, and Freda. Photos by Suzaane Crocker.
There are 3 new kids in town! Welcome to Freddie, Fiona, and Freda, born 10 days ago at Sun North Ventures in Rock Creek, outside Dawson City, Yukon.
Goats are a marvellous addition to food security in the North. According to the Northern Farm Training Institute in Hay River, NWT, one person needs approximately 1 million calories per year. The milk from just one goat provides 600,000 calories per year, more than half our calorie needs! In contrast, the meat from one goat would only provide 40,000 calories.
Goats are multipurpose. Female goats will provide milk as long as they are breeding and reproducing. Goat manure can be added directly to a vegetable garden as fertilizer – it doesn't need to compost first as does horse, cow and chicken manure. And goats not capable of milk production or not required for breeding can become a local source of meat.
Becky and Paul Sadlier are two of many farmers who are successfully raising livestock in the North, despite the challenges of overwintering, feeding and breeding.
Larger animals, like goats, pigs and cows are able to produce enough body heat to keep their barns warm without needing any external heat – even at minus 40° C. Finding local feed is important, as shipping costs are expensive to bring feed from down south.
And then there is the breeding – keeping variety in the gene pool to keep the stock healthy without having to import animals from down south. Congratulations to the Northern farmers who are finding ways to make it work. Do you know of other goats being raised further North than Dawson? Let us know.
Sean Sherman is known as the Sioux Chef and he is on a mission to revitalize indigenous cuisine across North America. Sean and his indigenous Sioux Chef team create delicious meals using local indigenous ingredients — game meat, foraged plants, and wild grains. They exclude ingredients introduced since colonization such as dairy products, wheat flour, processed sugar, beef, chicken and pork. No bannock or fry bread! T
he traditional native foods are low glycemic, contain healthy fats and great proteins. Amaranth, quinoa, wild rice, vegetable flour, cedar, juniper, sage, bergamot, squash, corn, maple syrup …. these are just some of the staple ingredients in the Sioux Chef pantry. The result, says Sean, is "vibrant, beautiful and healthy. It is a way to preserve and revitalize indigenous culture through food."
As a chef, Sean found he could easily find food from all over the world but he had difficulty finding foods that were representative of his indigenous culture. So he began researching what his Lakota ancestors were eating in times past. His research took him into the foundations of indigenous food systems including Native American farming techniques, wild food usage and harvesting, land stewardship, salt and sugar making, hunting and fishing, food preservation, Native American migration histories, elemental cooking techniques, and Native culture and history.
Sean and the Sioux Chef team take knowledge from the past, apply it to modern day and create something new from it. They have just released a fantastic cookbook "The Sioux Chef's Indigenous Kitchen" complete with award winning recipes and teaming with knowledge. This is Sean's version of 'The Joy of Native American Cooking'!
Through the non-profit organization NATIFS, North American Traditional Indigenous Food Systems, the Sioux Chef team have a dream to increase access to local indigenous food across North America. They plan to help set up Food Hubs across the USA, Canada and Mexico, each consisting of a restaurant and a training centre that focuses on local indigenous foods of the area.
Check out the CBC Radio One interview with Sean Sherman on Unreserved with Rosanna Deerchild.
>Get more information about The Sioux Chef and NATIFS
It is -42°C in Dawson City, Yukon. At 4 p.m. the sun sets, transforming the sky into rich hues of pink and orange. It is the depths of winter. The time for comfort food. Brian Phelan, Dawson City chef, shared Rappie Pie with us, a comfort food dish from his Acadian Roots. Miche Genest, Yukon chef and cookbook author, shared Pork Hock and Rye Casserole another great comfort food. Here is one more wonderful winter comfort food, thanks to Alfred Von Mirbach of Perth, Ontario, who has shared his mother's Warm Potato Salad recipe.
And, of course, with every recipe comes a story. This recipe is from Alfred's German ancestry. When he was a child it was served every Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve with sausage, mustard and pickles. Alfred and his brothers continue the tradition today. Yet another example of how food connects us with family, tradition, ancestry and, of course, memories.
I have two precious jars of dill pickles successfully fermented, without salt, in celery juice and decided to use half a jar to make an adaptation of Marianne's Warm Potato Salad. It was so delicious that the rest of the dill pickles have now been relegated to three more repeat performances. I will definitely be fermenting more dill pickles in celery juice next year!
> Check out the adapted recipe here
My day started auspiciously with a double dose of sweetener. First, in my sleepy state, I grabbed the near-empty container of cranberry sauce, boiled some water, and proceeded to stir and slurp. A spoon was helpful to capture the swirling bottom-lurking lumps. This was followed by my lucky strike into the empty honey (yes, local!) jar.
Honey is a particularly valuable asset, as the adhesive qualities mean that an empty jar is never really empty. I added hot water and drank greedily, rapturing in the wealth in remnants. I've since hidden the jar for an afternoon pick-me-up.
So, my day was off to a wondrous start. And, my actions translated into fewer breakfast dishes, a job that most often falls on my list of responsibilities. I call these win-win situations, double benefits. But, not everyone understands the life efficiencies that are intrinsic to double benefit opportunities.
Take, for example, my children. They walk to school, love sports, and devote significant time and effort to improve their athleticism. But when it comes to my helpful suggestions about the double benefit potential of the wood pile or of the snow-shoveling, they then become miraculously deaf. Selective hearing, it seems, is not an affliction of married men only.
Over the holiday season, Suzanne immersed herself into cooking and baking, taking on that responsibility with all the precision of a scientist on the verge of a world-changing breakthrough. Science, it turns out, is a gold-mine for double benefits. Each day, there seemed to be burned sugar beet syrup, or soft muffins, or cookies that just didn't work with pumpkin seeds and cauliflower as their main ingredients.
I readily adopted the double benefit role of consuming all these experimental failures. And, to keep them coming, I offered my purely scientific observations as fuel for initiative. And through all this, there were some diamonds in the rough. For example, I found a lovely wine-substitute for Christmas dinner in the pot liquor of boiled vegetables. Nothing drained, nothing gained.
And the double benefits! I no longer have that empty belly feeling, or the perpetual chill, or the problem of my underwear slipping over my absent buttocks. Science has been good to me. Now, where did I put that honey jar?
by Miche Genest
On the last day of 2017, I'm looking back on a year of cooking with local foods and reflecting on the highlights. I was lucky enough to spend much of 2017 cooking and baking with a locally grown grain: triticale from Krista and Jason Roske's Sunnyside Farm, located in the Ibex Valley close to Whitehorse.
The Roskes acquired some seed from Yukon Grain Farm in the fall of 2015 and planted it on a portion of their land, intending to plow the plants back under to enrich the soil. But 2016 was such a good growing year that the plant actually matured, a rarity for grain in the Whitehorse area.
From that planting the Roskes harvested about 40 kilos of grain, by hand, and sold small quantities of whole grains, bread flour and pastry flour to customers in and around Whitehorse. I learned about their grain and flour from Jennifer Hall, executive director of the Yukon Agricultural Association, and a great champion of local farmers and their products. The Roskes delivered one kilo each of grain, bread flour and cake and pastry flour to my house in early 2017.
I was in the midst of developing recipes for a cookbook celebrating ancient grains, written in partnership with Dan Jason, a passionate organic farmer and owner of Salt Spring Seeds, and experimenting with all kinds of grains. (Awesome Ancient Grains and Seeds will be released by Douglas and McIntyre in early 2018. Stay tuned for Whitehorse and Dawson launch details!)
The Roskes's bread flour made a beautiful sourdough pumpernickel-style bread, and the pastry flour produced gorgeous muffins, excellent quick bread, delicious beet gnocchi and most recently, lovely birch syrup shortbread cookies for Christmas.
That triticale got around in 2017. Chef Chris Whittaker of Forage and Timber Restaurants in Vancouver made tiny mushroom tartlets with the pastry flour at a Travel Yukon dinner last February, and in June, chef Carson Schiffkorn and I served whole triticale grain with a morel mushroom-miso butter to guests at Air North and Edible Canada's Across the Top of Canada dinner at Marsh Lake.
I served the very last of the whole grain, with more miso butter, for a media dinner hosted by Travel Yukon on November 26. Everybody loved the story of the accidental success of this beautiful, locally grown grain.
Triticale is not an ancient grain, but a hybrid of wheat and rye first developed in the late 1800s in Scotland and Germany, combining the grain quality of wheat with the hardiness of rye. In 1954 the University of Manitoba experimented with the viability of spring triticale as a commercial crop, and in 1974 the University of Guelph did the same with winter triticale.
Winter triticale varieties are particularly good for short-season areas like the Yukon. For the Roskes, hand-harvesting triticale grain "quickly lost its charm," reported Krista. However, the success of growing triticale has whetted their appetites for more grain experiments, and Krista said they're planting spring wheat in 2018. "Fingers crossed we will have wheat for flour by next September. I'll definitely let you know if it works out!"
Last time we spoke, the Roskes were contemplating buying more machinery — perhaps a small combine and a small grain cleaner. "It's farm evolution," said Krista. I'm sad to say goodbye to the last of the whole triticale grains, but very happy that I will be returning from Christmas holidays in Ontario to a few cups more of triticale flour in my pantry at home. Birch syrup shortbreads anyone?
> Click here for a recipe for birch syrup shortbreads.
Follow the story of the Roskes's grain growing adventures on their Facebook page, @sunnysidefarmyukon
Local eco-chef and self-proclaimed foodie Benjamin l. Vidmar, has a dream. He wants to make the remote northern Norwegian community of Longyearbyen, Svalbard more sustainable, and to produce locally-grown food. Svalbard is an archipelago in the Arctic Ocean, located about midway between continental Norway and the North Pole. The latitude of the islands range from 74° to 81° North, making them some of the most northerly inhabited places on Earth.
Like many communities north of the arctic circle, there is no viable soil in Svalbard. How does one grow local food if there is no local soil? In 2015 Chef Vidmar started a company called Polar Permaculture Solutions, whose goal is to apply permaculture principles and ecological design to create a circular economy in Longyearbyen, and "to connect people back to their food."
Working at the time as head chef at the Svalbar Pub, he noticed how all the food was being flown or shipped to the island. However, in the past food had been grown on Svalbard, and Vidmar wanted to return to that tradition — but with some modern enhancements and without having to ship in soil. Vidmar started with hydroponic systems using commercial fertilizer, but felt he could do better.
Why ship fertilizer up to the island, he reasoned, when there is so much food waste available to compost and produce biogas? Food waste in his town is dumped into the sea, and he took up the challenge to grow locally-grown food making use of available resources on the island. Polar Permaculture researched what others were doing around the Arctic, and opted to go with composting worms, specifically red worms, which excel at producing a natural fertlizer from food waste. He got permission from the government to bring worms up to the island, which took a year and a half, but "was worth the wait."
Vidmar's company is now growing microgreens for the hotels and restaurants on the island. Fine dining chefs use microgreens to enhance the attractiveness and taste of their dishes with their delicate textures and distinctive flavors. During the growing process, worm castings are produced, and this natural fertilizer that can be used to grown more food.
In addition to composting with worms, Polar Permaculture has started hatching quails from eggs and is now delivering fresh locally produced quail eggs to local restaurants and hotels. Their next step will be to get a bio-digestor setup and to produce biogas with it. The worms are mostly vegetarian, but with a digestor, the operation will be able to utilize manure from the birds, as well as food waste that would normally be dumped into the sea.
This will also allow them to produce heat for their greenhouse, as well as produce electricity that can run generators to power the lights. A natural fertilizer also comes out of the digestor, which will then be used to grow more food for the town. What started as one chef's personal journey has become a local permaculture operation that is reshaping the nature of the local food economy, and providing an inspiration for other Northern communities interested in food sustainability.
By the year 2050, the world's population is expected to be 10 billion people. How will we be able to feed 10 billion people? Valentin Thurn's documentary "10 Billion: What's on Your Plate?" takes the viewer across the world to examine possible solutions to this question – from insects to artificial meat, from industrial farms to micro-farms.
If you eat food, this documentary is a 'must see.' And, although the feature length version is difficult to view from Canada, until Jan 21, 2018 you can watch the 53-minute version for free online thanks to TVO. Ontario's educational TV network. https://tvo.org/video/documentaries/10-billion-whats-on-your-plate
The conclusion might surprise you. Or it might not. Start the New Year with a sense of hope for the future and take 53 minutes of your time to watch "10 Billion: What's on Your Plate" before January 21st.
Gerard has been suspiciously silent in his blogs over the past three weeks. I'm not sure if this is because he is taking a holiday from the computer, or because he has lately been so well fed that he has had nothing to complain about. I suspect it is the former, although I will choose to believe it is the latter.
If any of you have been worried that his silence has been due to weakness from starvation, fear not. We have been feasting well over the Christmas season! Our family tradition is to cook up Christmas dinner on Boxing Day. That way, we can stay in our P.J.'s all day on Christmas Day and hang out together with no time pressures. (In previous years, we have even been known to have Kraft Dinner on Christmas Day.
This year we had smoked salmon, marinated in birch syrup, and left-over moose ribs). On Boxing Day, our Christmas dinner feast was complete with all the trimmings! And it was wonderful to share this 100% local Christmas feast with friends. Our turkey was raised by Megan Waterman at LaStraw Ranch. The stuffing was made with celery grown by Becky Sadlier with onion, sage, parsley and cooked whole rye grains grown by Otto at Kokopellie Farm and apples grown by John Lenart at Klondike Valley Nursery.
We had delicious mashed potatoes grown by Otto and seasoned with butter and milk thanks to Jen Sadlier and her dairy cows at Klondike Valley Creamery. Carrots and rutabagas grown by Lucy Vogt were mixed with parsnips grown by Grant Dowdell. The gravy was thickened with home-made potato starch. The cranberry sauce was made from low bush cranberries from the boreal forest (thanks to the wonderful Dawsonites who have shared some of their precious wild cranberries with us during this very poor year for wild berries) and sweetened with birch syrup thanks to Berwyn and Sylvia.
During this year of eating local, I often find myself discovering gems of knowledge from times past, when food was perceived as a precious commodity — perhaps due to rationing or economic hard times, or just the plain hard work of growing your own. But, whatever the reason, I am struck by the difference in our perception of food today, at least in Canada, where the bounty of food stocked on grocery store shelves appears to have no limits in either quantity or variety.
One of the English traditions that stems from times past and has been passed down in my family is my grandmother's steamed Christmas pudding with hard sauce. What better year than this to pull out her recipe. In the past, when I have decided to re-live my childhood by making Christmas pudding, I have had to search in the far corners of the grocery store freezers for the key ingredient – suet. This year, animal fat is a staple in my own freezer so, thanks to some beef tallow from Klondike Valley Creamery, I didn't need to search far for a local suet!
Christmas pudding adapted itself well to local ingredients and the result was eagerly devoured, despite the fact that I burned the bottom of it by accidentally letting the pot run dry. As a child, I remember the small dollop of hard sauce allocated to each of us and the way it slowly melted on top of our small portion of warm steamed pudding. Its melt-in-your-mouth sweetness always lured us back to the bowl for extra hard sauce, knowing that we would regret it later for its richness.
My local hard sauce adaptation this year was partially melt in your mouth – other than the lumps which I optimistically referred to as sugar beet gummies, from sugar beet sugar that wasn't quite dry enough and clumped together irreconcilably. But even the sugar beet gummies found fans and were consumed with gusto!
> View recipe for Steamed Christmas Pudding with Hard Sauce > See a recipe for Birch Eggnog
Christmas – a time for giving, a time for sharing, a time for family and friends and a time for feasting. We have enjoyed all – during our 100% local Christmas.
Drin tsul zhìt shò ä̀hłąy! Nothing says Merry Christmas like a moose nose! Using all parts of the moose or caribou is important when you are harvesting food from the land. This is one of the many lessons I have been learning during my year of eating local.
For Tr'ondëk Hwëch'in elders, the delicacies are not the moose steaks or the moose roasts, but the often-overlooked parts of the moose: moose nose, moose tongue, moose head soup, moose heart, moose liver, kidneys, and bum guts. Yup, I said bum guts. Part of the large intestine (cleaned well!) and cooked. I am venturing into the world of moose delicacies. Stay tuned…
Victor and his Moosemeat Men will be cooking up a feast for the upcomingMyth and Medium conference, organized by the Tr'ondëk Hwëchin Heritage Department, and taking place in Dawson City, Yukon from February 19 to 22, 2018. Happy Solstice everyone – the shortest day of the year a.k.a. the longest night. It only gets brighter from here!
Suzanne made another one of her regular appearances recently on CBC Yukon Radio's A New Day with host Sandi Coleman on the Yu-Kon Grow It segment to talk about the latest happenings on the First We Eat project.
I cooked a steak! This may not seem like such a big deal, but it is the first time I have ever successfully cooked a steak. For many years, I was a vegetarian. Actually this only changed when I hitched up with a moose hunter who liked to cook. I am probably the only person on the planet who has difficulty roasting a chicken.
Steak, has also been a mystery to me. How to cook it so that it is tender and not over done. Not my forté. Moose steak is particularly daunting, as it is not the tenderest of meats, requiring long, slow cooking or marinating. So I have always opted to leave the moose steak cooking to Gerard. He manages to cook it, thanks to marinades and the BBQ (a cooking device that I have also never mastered). Ah, the marinade. Let's see – no soy sauce, no vinegar, no wine. So how to marinade? Gerard tried marinating in rhubarb juice, but it wasn't very successful. Perhaps it just needed more time.
Dawn Dyce of Dawson City to the rescue! Dawn marinades her moose (and any wild game) in milk. I had heard tales of Dawn's most tender moose roasts, so I decided to give it a try. In my case I had just made some chevre, so I had whey on hand and decided to marinade the moose steaks in whey. At Dawn's suggestion, I put the thawed steaks in a ziplock bag, added some whey, removed the air and set the bag in the fridge for 24 hours, turning it over now and again when I noticed it.
Hoping that the whey would impart tenderness to the moose steak, I still had the dilemma of flavour and how to actually cook the darn thing. Enter Whitehorse chef Miche Genest! One of the many lessons I had from Miche's week long visit in my kitchen, was how to cook a moose steak with only the local ingredients I had on hand. Miche taught me about rubs. So, remembering her moose rub lesson, I removed the moose steaks from their whey marinade and patted them dry.
In the re-purposed coffee grinder (no coffee in this house) I blended together dried juniper berries, nasturtium pods, and spruce tips, and then rubbed the spice mix onto both sides of each dried steak. Then I wrapped the steaks in plastic wrap and set them into the fridge for a couple of hours.
Miche also taught me about cooking – hot and fast. Miche likes her steak rare so she sears it for 1 ½ minutes per side. I decided to go a little longer – but I did watch the clock. The result? Yummm! Tender and tasty. Drizzled with a moose demi-glaze (made from moose bones – recipe to come later). Perhaps my ears deceived me, but I think I heard 15-year-old Kate say, "You could open a restaurant after this year, Mom." Fine praise indeed for the mother who didn't like cooking!
> View the recipe for Moose Steak with Yukon Rub
For two days the North Klondike Highway has been closed due to unseasonably warm weather causing black ice and massive frost heaves. This means that my community of Dawson City, as well as the communities of Mayo, Fort MacPherson and Inuvik, are all cut off from the rest of Canada. No road in. No road out. No grocery trucks. No mail.
Ten days before Christmas. Air North, the only airline that links our communities to Whitehorse and hence, the rest of Canada, has managed to squeeze in extra flights during the short window of December daylight, to help transport the many people who are now unable to drive south.
But this is not a panacea. Yesterday the plane couldn't land in Dawson due to bad weather. Some folks won't get a seat on the plane for another four days. And although the planes can transport people, they can't supply Dawson and Inuvik with groceries.
So here it is, another reminder of our particular vulnerability in the North. It's not the first time. It happened on an even larger scale in 2012 when the only road into all of the Yukon was closed due to mudslides – causing the shelves of the many large grocery stores in the Yukon's capital, Whitehorse, to go bare within a couple of days.
There is no doubt we are seeing the effects of climate change around the world, and especially in the North. Dawson's average temperature this time of year should be minus 20° to minus 30° C. For the past two weeks we have had temperatures ranging from plus 2° to minus 10°C. Whitehorse has had above zero temperatures and rain.
This is the second year that the Yukon River has failed to freeze between Dawson and West Dawson. Without an ice bridge, the journey to town for West Dawsonites for supplies is now 12 km instead of 2 km – and currently only passable by foot, skidoo, or dog team. These are quickly becoming the new norms in the North. Another poignant reminder of the importance of increasing our self-sufficiency and our food security. The importance of lessening our dependence on infrastructure that links us to the south.
The reason why I am putting myself to the test and feeding my family of five only food that can be sourced locally for one full year. I, of course, have enough food to get me through. Many others have freezers full of moose meat. Hopefully, the highway will soon re-open and this event will be considered a mild inconvenience in the memories of many.
But should we pass it off so casually? Is it actually the canary in the coal mine. And rather than a temporary inconvenience, a foreshadowing of things to come. A memory that should inspire adaptation and change. Many studying global food security suggest the answer will be in the development of more local, small-scale organic farms and growers. I agree.
And I believe this will be especially important for Northern Canada along with a renewed understanding of what we can source locally from the land. The less we need to rely on 'one road in, one road out' the better off we will be.
The Christmas season has arrived – a season for many wonderful things, not the least of which is Christmas baking. Holiday baking traditions in my family are melt-in-your-mouth shortbread and rum-soaked fruit cake that has aged for 6-12 months. This year is a little different.
My family recently headed to Whitehorse for various sporting events (and two days of eating contraband!) So I took advantage of the empty house and settled in for a two-day Christmas baking extravaganza. Although it might be better described as a two-day Christmas baking science lab. What is unusual about this year's baking, is that it is all experimental. No white flour, no white sugar, no icing sugar, no baking powder nor baking soda nor corn starch. No salt. No nuts. No chocolate. No candied orange and lemon peel. No raisins. No currents. No cinnamon, ginger or cloves.
I pulled out my traditional recipes for short bread, ginger snaps, aspen rocks and fruit cake and attempted to adapt them to the local ingredients I have on hand. I pulled out old dusty copies of December editions of Chatelaine and Canadian Living and scoured them for recipes that might suit my ingredients. I have yet to find a recipe for just my ingredients, so adaptations, substitutions and imagination have taken over. I am extremely grateful for the ingredients I do have available.
Thanks to the hard work of Dawson farmers, and the abundance of edibles the Boreal forest can provide, there will be 100%-local Christmas baking in my house this year! I now have flour (thanks Otto) and sugar beet sugar (thanks Grant, Becky, and Paulette). I also have butter (thanks Jen), eggs (thanks Megan and Becky), birch syrup (thanks Sylvia and Berwyn), honey (thanks David) and berries (thanks Diana, Maryanne, the forest and the many Dawsonites who shared some of their precious wild berries with me this year). I have potato starch (thanks Lucy, Otto, Tom, Brian and Claus). I have a few winter hearty apples (thanks John and Kim). I have dried spruce tips (thanks forest) and dried nysturtiam seed pods (thanks Andrea and Klondike Kate's).
Of course, experimenting is also limited by quantity. Every ingredient I have has been hard fought for. The sugar takes several days to create from sugar beets. The butter takes several days to make from the cream skimmed off the fresh milk. And before I have flour, I need to clean the grains and then grind them.
Whereas I once automatically doubled or tripled recipes for Christmas baking, this year I find myself cutting every recipe in half. I have become leery of recipes that call for 2 cups of sugar for example – as that would use up almost all the sugar I have on hand before starting the arduous task of processing more sugar beets.
Mixing and matching, substituting, altering quantities – such is the alchemy behind Christmas baking this year. A few recipes have worked out well enough to be shared and repeated – such as Birch Brittle and Yukon Shortbread.
But many have been less than desirable. My friend Bridget dropped by during my baking frenzy and sampled some of my experiments. "You can't call these cookies," she announced after tasting one of my shortbread trials. I was deflated. "But you can call them biscuits." She then proceeded to lather some butter onto one of my cookies and declared it quite good.
After I got over my moment of self-pity, I too tried one with butter and then with cream cheese and had to admit she was right. They taste more like oatcakes (without the oats). So sweet biscuits they are.
The recipe included here for Yukon Shortbread did, however, pass the cookie test. My family has now returned from Whitehorse and I will bring out the results of my baking bit by bit to see what they think. The experimenting will continue – adjusting this and adjusting that. Trying a few new recipes. But first … I have to make some more butter, grind some more flour, and peel some more sugar beets.
If you have any Christmas baking recipes that you think might adapt well to my local ingredients, I would be more than happy to have you share them!
> See the recipe for Birch Brittle > See the recipe for Yukon Shortbread
I love birch syrup and am grateful to Sylvia Frisch and Berwyn Larson who are raising their two daughters in the bush and producing birch syrup commercially. During the past 4 ½ months of eating only local foods, we have consumed 24 litres of birch syrup. I have discovered that the flavour of birch syrup alone can substitute for the 'far east' spices of cinnamon and all-spice. I have even been known to down a shot of birch syrup, straight up, during those moments when, in a previous life, I would have grabbed a piece of chocolate – to get me through a moment of emotional or physical despair.
I also love David McBurney's local honey – it is pure, delicate, and divine. And it is treated like a delicacy in the family. It also makes the perfect sweetener to enhance other delicate flavours that would be overpowered by the robust flavour of birch syrup. But there are times, especially in baking, when chemistry is required and a liquid sugar option just doesn't do the trick.
Now that I have local flour, and Christmas is coming, baking is on my mind. So what to do when crystalized sugar is required? Birch syrup, unlike maple syrup, does not crystalize. I learned this last April while visiting Birch Camp.
So, with birch sugar no longer an option, I ordered GMO-free sugar beet seeds. I have never had any luck growing regular beets, so I recruited others to grow the sugar beets for me – the great gardeners Paulette Michaud and Becky Sadlier.
Unbeknownst to me, long-time Dawson farmer, Grant Dowdell, also had my year of eating local on his mind and ordered non-GMO sugar beet seeds to see if they would grow in the north. The sugar beets grew marvelously for all, confirming that they are indeed a reasonable crop for the North. They like warm days and cool nights – perfect for a Dawson City summer.
I ended up with 350 pounds worth to experiment with! Sugar beets contain approximately 20% sucrose, the same sugar found in sugar cane. One quarter of the world's refined sugar comes from sugar beets. In Canada, Taber, Alberta is the industrial hot spot for growing and processing sugar beets into sugar.
On a commercial scale, lime (calcium oxide) and carbon dioxide are added to form calcium carbonate which solidifies and pulls out any impurities – thus resulting in familiar white sugar. No such additions for a local home-made sugar, so the resulting sugar is brown with a richer taste.
There is a paucity of information out there on just how to make sugar from sugar beets at home, so I gave up on research and moved to trial and error. After all, with 350 pounds of sugar beets, there was room for experimentation and failure.
And failure there has been! Although no failure has yet to see itself in the compost. The family seems more than willing to devour the failures – be they sugar beet toffee, sugar beet gum, sugar beet tea. Even burnt beet sugar has found a use. (Thank goodness because there has been a lot of burnt beet sugar!)
In the process, I have also discovered the wonder of the sugar beet – a root vegetable that was previously unknown to me. Sugar beets are often touted as a food for livestock or a green manure crop so I was expecting the taste of the sugar beet itself to be unpalatable. But it is just the opposite! Cooked up, it is a delicious, sweet, white beet.
The sugar beet leaves are also edible. And amazingly, even after the sugar is extracted, the sugar beet pulp remains sweet and delicious. I'm afraid the local Dawson livestock will be getting less sugar beet pulp than previously anticipated this year. One thing is for certain – processing sugar beets into sugar requires time and patience.
Here are my step-by-step instructions on how to make syrup (easy) and sugar (difficult) from sugar beets. Sugar was first extracted from sugar beets in the mid 18th century. In the early 19th century, during the Napoleonic wars when French ports were cut off from the rest of the world, Napoleon encouraged wide-scale sugar beet production and processing. France remains one of the world leaders in sugar beet production and most of Europe's sugar comes from sugar beets, rather than sugar cane.
Consider adding non-GMO sugar beet seeds to your next seed order. In Canada, they can be found from Salt Spring Seeds and from T&T seeds. Sugar beets grow well in the north and are a delicious root vegetable in their own right. But don't throw out the water you cook them in, as this water is sweet and can easily be used to make beet syrup and beet syrup candy. And, if you are brave, sugar!
If you live in an area populated by deer, be warned that sugar beet tops are a great attractant for deer. Word is now out to the Yukon moose so perhaps next year Dawson's sugar beet rows will require fencing!
> View the recipe for Sugar Beet Sugar and Syrup
Who would have guessed that "the diet" would become a vehicle for enhanced weekend variety? Previously, I had mentioned that driving kids to Whitehorse for recreational opportunities is a weekend pursuit familiar to me, as well as to many Dawsonites. But last weekend I shirked that responsibility, displacing the schlepping responsibility to another unsuspecting parent.
And why, you might ask? Well, the truth is that another task of joyful potential was imminently presenting itself to the arena of daily responsibilities. Suzanne had been dutifully storing the year's supply of pie pumpkins in our cold storage room, which really isn't a cold storage room at all, but rather, my otherwise cozy workshop / recreational room, which has been repurposed "for the greater good."
Now the room stores food, and my main purpose for the space has been diminished to a cold storage place for my coat, boots, and hockey gear, so that my climatization process might begin well before I even step outside. So, with grave urgency and a voice of impending doom, Suzanne woke me, advising that her inspection of the food stores revealed a situation of calamitous proportions. There were "soft spots" appearing on the pumpkins. The dreaded soft spots that we all live in fear of. The harbingers of rot, the messengers of mold, the precursors of peril. And with all the vitality of Saint Nick on Christmas Eve, I leapt from my bed to save the pumpkins.
So, the initial examination revealed that 45 of the 75 stored pumpkins were in need of some sort of resuscitation, presumably tainted by a touch of frost. Suzanne did the initial triage, finding only a few code blacks. These were quickly dispatched, put out of their suffering by cold immersion in the great outdoors. We set to the code reds and yellows with some haste, fearful that the warmth of our working kitchen would disseminate the contagions, contaminating all that we have worked for, diminishing the project to a wasteland of sorrow. We put the code greens aside for the next day, knowing that they were not in immediate danger, reconciling that this was an undertaking with great magnitude.
Perhaps it is my training as a doctor or perhaps it is just human nature, but there is immense tactile joy when you insert your hand through the mold of a pumpkin, pulling out the diseased mush. In some ways, extracting the soft spot of pumpkins is better that dealing with human rot, as it does not have the same intensity of smell, which is unmistakably pervasive in the case of humans.
Anyway, back on track … the process was extensive. There was the washing, the debridement of mold and mush, the separation of salvageable parts, including those seeds that were not black, or tainted in a cobweb substance that reminded me of the dendrites of neurons, as demonstrated in electromagnetic images of the brain. There was the scrapping of the pulp, the peeling of the skins, the chopping, the packaging and finally, the freezing for future processing.
We roasted seeds the whole while, using them as nourishment to fuel the event. We collected the discarded parts, marveling that there was not so much waste after all, and that most of it was being commissioned as food for the pigs and chickens of Dawson. And at the end, using the logic that we were already in chopping mode, Suzanne pulls out more of the ubiquitous sugar beets for washing, peeling, chopping and boiling …
Since I retired, one of the common questions I field is, "so, what are you doing with all your free time now?" The truth is, the surgical part of my job is not much changed, it is just that my patients have.
Recently, I had the distinct honour to have Yukon chef, Miche Genest, in my kitchen, devoting a week of her time helping me cook! The week went by all too fast, but we covered a lot of ground – soups, dinners, sauces, desserts. And we started experimenting with grains (more on the grains later).
I promised to share some more recipes and here is another. (See also previous posts with Brian Phelan's Rappie Pie and Token Gesture Custard) One of the favourite supper recipes was Pork Hock Rye Casserole, although it doesn't have to include pork hocks – it is adaptable to any slow cooking meat. And the rye could easily be substituted with barley (once I thresh it) and probably even with wheat grains (although I think I will preserve every precious grain of wheat for baking!) This, like Rappie Pie, is another excellent one dish winter comfort food – filling, delicious and 100% Dawson City local!
> View recipe for Pork Hock Rye Casserole
I feel like Pandora's Box has been opened. What with the great cooking from Miche Genest, the effective grinding of flour reintroducing grain into the diet, and the discovery of my wife's "freeze-up" stash of birch syrup ice-cream, all on the tails of months of hunger and craving, there is now a flood of dietary temptations to which I am succumbing.
Today is weigh-in day. On the first of the month each household member must step on the scale, the scale of truth, transgressions and temperance. It is a little like the confessional booth, each of us enticed to tell all, once the weight is announced, collectively rejoicing in the euphoria of cleared conscious. And for the first time since committing to "the diet," I have added a few pounds to my atrophied skeleton.
Of course, this is hardly earth shattering news, so I am not really letting the cat out of the bag about the propensity of dietary grains and sugars to round out one's figure. And I could tell, even without the scale of truth, that things were changing. My belt was a little tighter, my skin folds a little thicker, and there was an absence of the constant emptiness. But my cravings are still relentless, well beyond the normal cyclical changes of winter that most of us northerners are familiar with.
All this has me now wondering about rebound. Are these the first days of my new self? Will I keep growing and growing? Should I submit my Christmas clothing wish list now, or would it be best to wait, monitor my growth daily, plot it out so that I could have a more accurate estimation by Christmas Day?
In the meantime, I smell fresh bread, and like a burbot after rotting meat, I am out of here!
Despite a very cold November, with several weeks of -35° to -40°C, it looks like it is going to be a long freeze-up for the Yukon River again this year. I am lucky enough to have 25 kg. of wheat grains and 25 kg. of rye grains that were secured from Otto at Kokopellie Farm just before the ferry was pulled. But Otto's wonderful grinder is on the other side of the Yukon River. So, for now, I am left to my own devices.
I tried to grind the grain with a combination of blender and flour sifter. It took many, many passes. It was possible to eke out a small amount of flour, but certainly not very efficient. Although Dawson is small (about 1,500 people), it is the kind of community where you can put out a request for an obscure item, such as flour grinder, on the local Crier Buyer Facebook page and expect to get a response. I was not disappointed.
Within a day, I was very grateful to receive a call from Louise Piché. She had a hand crank flour grinder, not yet tried, that she had picked up somewhere or other and I was welcome to borrow it. A flour grinder is a wonderful thing! A couple of passes through the grinder along with a bit of an upper body workout and voilà – flour! Flour!!
Flour means the possibility of bread and baking! We have flour! Subsequently, I received another call – this time from Becky Sadlier who has an electric flour mill that we could borrow. However Becky lives on the other side of the Klondike River, now filled with slush. But Yukoners are never too daunted by the weather. Loren Sadlier was making one last canoe trip across the Klondike, through the slush, and the grinder could go with him.
I had thought the hand grinder was a gift from the heavens. The electric grinder was able to make an even finer flour! There are still a few obstacles to overcome, such as the lack of yeast, baking soda, baking powder and crystalized sugar. But where there is a will, there is a way. Let the baking experiments begin! (And let me remember my lesson in grain moderation! )
Miche Genest sent me this wonderful breakfast option, Breakfast Caflouti, which only requires ½ cup of flour and no leavening agent. It was a tremendous hit in our family – and a very welcome change from our usual fried eggs and mashed potato cakes.
Grains have now entered my local diet. And, unfortunately, I did not heed the concept of moderation with their re-introduction. Spending almost four months entirely grain free was very interesting. Certainly, it was the one food that haunted me. When I ventured outside my house, the smell or sight of baking was associated with a sense of longing. Plates of bannock at Tr'ondëk Hwëch'in feasts, the smell of Nora Van Bibber's cinnamon buns at Fall Harvest Camp, the desert table at potluck dinners, the baking at Christmas bazaars – those were the difficult times. Those were the times when I realized how important it was that my family agreed to the 'no grocery store food in the house' policy.
I do have will power, but I'm not sure how much. I have also come to realize how much grains contribute to a sense of being full. Without them, potatoes help fill the gap. As does a mug of steamed milk. In the absence of grains, these have become my go-to's when I need a quick snack. Mashed potato cakes have become the morning staple to replace toast, bagels, or cereal. I have really become quite fond of them and haven't yet tired of eating them almost every morning.
At the start of this local diet, there was an almost instant melting away of extra pounds. Gerard's weight loss was the most noticeable, losing 30 pounds during the first two months! Was this due to being grain free? The other unexpected result of eating local was a distinct lack of body odour. Could that also have to do with being grain free? Have those folks who live a gluten free existence noticed the same phenomena?
When Yukon chef, Miche Genest, came to stay with us last week I had to clean up the grains that had been drying in the loft floor so that Miche would have a place to sleep. The barley is not yet threshed. And I haven't figured out how to de-husk the buckwheat or hull the oats. But thanks to Otto and his combine, the wheat and the rye were threshed and just waiting for me to find a way to grind them.
So, one evening, when 12-year-old Tess started talking about how much she yearned for a bowl of cereal, I came up with an idea. Why not boil the whole rye grains! And so Tess did. Accompanied by warm milk, the first mouthful was an extremely comforting and satisfying experience.
All my grain longings seemed to come to the forefront as I ate spoonful after spoonful. Somewhere in the logical side of my brain was a small voice suggesting that downing a giant bowl of cooked whole rye might not be the best way to re-introduce grains after four months without. But I couldn't stop. So I ate the whole bowl.
I had a fitful sleep that night. For the next 2 days, I felt like there was a brick in my stomach. I produced enough gas to power our house. Short-term gain for long-term pain. Lesson learned. I will attempt a more moderate re-introduction once I recover from this one.
> Check out the recipe for Mashed potato cakes
Despite its sub-arctic climate, the Yukon is blessed with several apiaries. With care, bee hives can survive the harsh winters, even as far north as Dawson City. This is the profile of one of the Yukon's honey producers.
Bee Whyld is a small apiaryin Watson Lake, Yukon, specializing in producing Fireweed Honey. Owned and operated by Courtney and Joel Wilkinson, Bee Whyld was officially founded in June of 2016, although it had been in the works for a few years prior.
Courtney originally had a job as a salesperson for an Alberta honey company, and was working towards keeping her own bees. On a visit to the Yukon to visit her then-boyfriend Joel, she noticed the fields of fireweed common in the territory. Courtney knew from her experience selling honey that Fireweed is not only one of the rarest honeys, and also one of the best for flavour and medicine, and this sparked the idea to bring bees up to the Yukon and make Fireweed Honey.
Beekeeping in the North is quite challenging, especially overwintering and maintaining the health of the hives, but through trial and error Courtney and Joel have learned what it takes to successfully produce honey in the Yukon.
Their honey bees gather all of the nectar that they turn into honey from the Boreal Yukon forests, with fields of flowers that are untouched by pesticides, and not genetically modified. Their honey is also both unpasteurized and raw, meaning they don't heat it at all. This ensures all the natural antibiotics, pollen, and Royal Jelly are still intact within the honey, making it a good choice for medicinal uses (such us helping to heal wounds, helping to fight off infections, helping to reduce allergies, and alleviating sore throats). Bee Whyld's Yukon Fireweed Honey has been called "the Champagne of honey." It is a rare honey prized around the world for its medicinal qualities, and its light sweet taste.
This "diet" is an inspirational opportunity, a chance to demonstrate creativity, an exercise in economy of action. Clearly, life would have been amiss without it and I would have felt like I had been abandoned in a black hole for eternity.
Lately, I've found new joys in drinking dishwater. Sans the soap part. And also sans the multiple and varied particles that typically inhabit true dishwater. So, to ensure that I am communicating properly (and in order to be politically correct), let's just call this "false dishwater." Or, to be even more politically correct in the nostalgic eyes of Canadian baby-boomers, we can condense this to F.D.
So, F.D. has become one of my staples. And the variety of flavors and textures offers enough intrigue that it competes with the best of the addictive alternatives. I've referred to F.D. in the past, so as a refresher, this is how I recommend it: take an "empty" birch syrup container, add a bit of hot water, swirl, pour into the cup that was once your treasured coffee cup, drink lavishly and selfishly of the elixir of F.D. When finished, repeat the process for an entirely different richness of flavor. Keep repeating until the original container is virtually clean (and thank whomever that the days of wooden kegs is all but past!).
So, while experiencing a variety of unique and flavorful drinks, one can do the family a favor by cleaning dishes using F.D. There are an abundance of missed opportunities; the joys of ingestible F.D. can be found everywhere in the kitchen, literally awaiting discovery and daring. For a more savory mid-afternoon winter tea, try F.D. from a pickle jar. An experience in globular texture can be readily had through F.D. yogurt. Or if that is too stimulating to the regurgitating reflex, then one can tame it down by trying the more subtle and less distinct curds of F.D. milk.
With time, tolerance overrides tact. I sometimes find myself unscrupulously indulgent, thinking selfishly that there are no other cravers of F.D. in the room. Why, just the other day, I casually picked up the nearly empty pot of stew, added some boiled water, swirled, and proceeded to drink directly from the pot, entirely skipping the stage of soiling a clean mug.
My kids were appropriately aghast: clearly I should have shared my bounty.
By Miche Genest
When I came to Dawson to cook with Suzanne, I was prepared for frugality, for the careful husbanding of food supplies — I had read Gerard's blogs about the one onion a day, the rationing of juniper berries. I was prepared for ingenuity, too, the experimentation with flavour in the absence of salt, sugar, spices, and oil.
What I was not prepared for was how Suzanne's frugality and ingenuity would change my way of thinking. I've always thought I was experimental, and I am, given a cupboard full of nutmeg and cinnamon and garam masala to complement the juniper berries and spruce tips, the many varieties of sugar and syrups available to me, the wine for wild berry reductions, the fresh leeks and fennel for moose stock.
I've always considered myself a frugal cook, wasting little, using the whole vegetable, saving scraps for stock. But here, in this kitchen, frugality and ingenuity have taken on new meaning. Here's how.
Ingenuity: Suzanne has figured out how to make sugar beet syrup. Simply put, cover chopped sugar beets in water, bring to the boil, simmer for several hours, strain, squeeze excess juice from the beets, boil down cooking liquid into a delicious, complex, earthy syrup, a syrup that goes well with everything on the table, sweet or savoury, livens up a cup of warm milk, and substitutes for sugar in baking (with some adjustments, but that's for a later post). Sugar beets grow well in this climate, and we speculate: is there a future Yukon industry in sugar beets?
Frugality: Chef Brian Phelan came over and taught Suzanne and I how to make Rappie Pie, a favourite Acadian comfort food. The recipe involves juicing 10 pounds of potatoes and cooking the pulp in boiling chicken stock — there's more, but that's for another post. The by-products of the juicing are as many as 14 cups of potato liquid covered with a layer of stiff foam, and, at the bottom of the bowl, a cement-like residue of potato starch.
Suzanne would not allow any of this by-product to be composted. I cooked the potato liquid for use in soup. She skimmed off the foam and baked it into an odd but tasty version of potato chips — a recipe that still needs perfecting, but the basics are there. And she chipped the starch out of the bowl, crumbled it onto a drying screen lined with parchment, and put it in the food drier. The next day, she ground some in a coffee grinder, made a paste with cold water and it thickened our moose stew to perfection.
I helped with all of these endeavours, but Suzanne was the driving force; fierce, committed, consumed with curiosity. I was prepared for her fierceness, but did not know exactly where it might take us. Now I do. It takes us to ingenuity and frugality, sugar beet syrup and homemade potato starch; it takes us to new ways with food we hadn't thought of.
Miche and I were very privileged to have Dawson City chef, Brian Phelan, join us in the kitchen this week to teach us how to cook a dish from his Acadian roots, Rappie Pie. Rappie Pie is a total comfort food and definitely a great winter dish, especially this week in Dawson with temperatures hovering between minus 35° and minus 40°C.
The three hours in the oven required to bake Rappie Pie helped keep the house warm! In many ways it is quite a simple dish, requiring very few ingredient: basically a chicken and some potatoes. One of the most interesting things about Rappie Pie is the preparation. You juice the potatoes but only use the pulp. However, you measure the juice produced to determine how much hot chicken stock to add back to the potato pulp. The magic ratio is 7:10. (For every 7 cups of juice produced, you add 10 cups of boiling stock to the pulp.)
The timing is critical, as you don't want the potato pulp to oxidize. The boiling chicken stock that you add to the potato pulp actually cooks the potatoes in the bowl – even before it goes in the oven. Then you add your herbs or spices (traditionally sautéed onion and salt and pepper; in our case onion and ground celery leaf) and layer the potato pulp mixture with chicken in a large casserole dish.
During the three hours of baking, the casserole absorbs the chicken stock, becomes firmer and develops a delicious crust. It's not the kind of dish that looks great on the plate – the word 'mush' comes to mind. But it is delicious and filling and oozes comfort.
Traditionally, the potatoes would have been grated (hence the name 'rappie' from the French word "râpé" which means grated) and then the juice squeezed out. But juicers definitely make that process much more efficient.
One of the wonderful things about food is how it gathers people together and the memories we associate with certain foods. Listening to stories from Brian of Rappie Pie suppers past, reminded me of this and how important food is – not just to sustain us, but all the traditions, gatherings and memories that go with it. I'm not sure if this year of eating local will become one of those fond memories in future years for my kids or if it is scarring them for life. Some days it's hard to tell. But I will keep my fingers crossed for the former.
Click here for our adaptation of Rappie Pie for a totally local Yukon meal .
Another weekend of "balls and braces" has passed. This is my new term for those weekends that I take one or more of the kids to Whitehorse for sporting events and orthodontic work. There have been many such journeys over the past couple of years; so much so that when people ask about Dawson recreational opportunities, I glibly respond that on weekends, we like to drive to Whitehorse.
Another notable aspect of these trips is the inherent opportunity for dietary transgressions. What could be more stimulating, after prolonged periods of personal restraint, than experimental observation of the effects of self-indulgence? Who could have ever imagined the joys that this year would provide?
Coffee is generally one of my first dietary infractions when I find myself succumbing to temptation "on the road." And with alarming consistency, the taste of real coffee is always less enjoyable than that conjured up in my memory.
But soon enough, I find bread, and that's a different story. Whether it is a bun with butter, or garlic toast, or a muffin, donut or morning toast, it doesn't matter. All forms of pastry are absolutely enthralling, urging me to have just one more… And so I do! The grains are satisfying, quelling the emptiness that is so familiar to me now.
But, the downside is some bloating, which unfortunately is paired with enough gas to make the concealment of dietary misdemeanors problematic. Between the caffeine and the grains, my guts awaken! The grumbling and gurgling, I feel, is almost orchestral.
Sadly though, my family is disinclined to appreciate the musical genius contained within my body. And to this, I remind them of the notable scientific advancements through personal experimentation, and that my gas production affords them a critical role as participants in this ongoing process of discovery…
It has been a wonderful and very busy first two days in the kitchen with Yukon chef Miche Genest. Despite several interruptions for broken down cars, 40 below temperatures, dog walks and Christmas bazaars, Miche and her sous-chef (me!) have still managed to cook up a storm!
In between meal preparations we have been boiling down sugar beets into syrup, hand-grinding flour, experimenting with sprouting rye and wheat grains, making yogurt and preparing chevre.
Saturday's supper: scalloped potatoes, baked spaghetti squash glazed with butter and birch syrup and rare moose steaks prepared with a savoury rub from both garden and forest, served with a morel mushroom cream sauce.
Sunday night's supper: was a delicious pork hock casserole cooked with whole rye grains and a yummy custard with cranberry sauce for desert. Eventually we will post most of the recipes. But for now – here is the recipe for the delicious custard with cranberry sauce, otherwise known as 'Token Gesture Custard' by Gerard in reference to a portion size that was incongruous with his desire for more.
> View the Token Gesture Custard Recipe
By Miche Genest
It's my first night in Dawson, it's -22C, and there's a starry sky up there. I just walked home along First Avenue in the quiet, snow-lit darkness. I'm staying at Bombay Peggy's on the last night they're open for the season—maybe I should be down in the bar but instead I'm up here in the Gold Room enjoying the solitude and the feeling of a season coming on, the winter revving up. The trees are heavy with snow. The cold, the quiet, the snow, the dark trees, the deep excitement of winter, remind me of when I first arrived in the Yukon, 23 years ago.
When I was a kid growing up in Toronto, Collingwood was our version of the North. We skied there every weekend in winter. I loved the pillows of snow, the slanting light, the blue shadows of those winters. But coming to the Yukon was like coming to where winter began. The stillness at night, the snow sparkling like diamonds—I'd never seen that before, snow in Southern Ontario doesn't do that.
Winter began here. I got that feeling again tonight. And, buzzing underneath the crisp cold air, was the low-voltage, warming hum of possibility. That's another thing I remember about first coming to the Yukon. Anything is possible here.
Tomorrow I move up to Suzanne's house, and we will start a week of experimenting with the food she has grown, gathered from farmers and the forest, processed, preserved and stored over the past several months. The work she has done is mind-boggling. There is enough in her larder for a rich and sustaining menu of delicious local food all winter long.
Our task list is lengthy. Transform 350 lbs of sugar beets into syrup. Figure out what to do with the delicious pulp. Lessons in meat cooking. Discover new quick ways to cook potatoes. Devise snacks that the kids can grab and go. Crackers—how are we going to make crackers? Pizza crust with steamed cauliflower—can we make it work? Yes we can. Anything is possible.
The kitchen is not my natural habitat. It used to be the one room in the house that I tried to avoid. (Having a husband who is, or should I say 'was' a good cook, certainly helped with my kitchen avoidance issue).
But for the past 110 days, the kitchen has felt like it is the only room in the house that I occupy – from early morning till bedtime. I am thinking of setting up a cot beside the fridge. And it has been quite the learning curve. Clearly, necessity is also the mother of creativity in the kitchen.
So you can imagine how thrilled I am that celebrated Yukon chef and cookbook author, Miche Genest, is arriving in Dawson today for the sole purpose of spending ONE WHOLE WEEK in my kitchen. I feel like I have won the lottery! In fact the whole family, feels like they have won the lottery!
Michele Genest, also known as The Boreal Gourmet is passionate about cooking with local ingredients from the North and from the boreal forest. She is the author of several best selling cookbooks including The Boreal Gourmet, Adventures in Northern Cooking and The Boreal Feast, a Culinary Journey Through the North . She also collaborated with community cooks from Old Crow, Yukon to help create recipes for Vadzaih, Cooking Caribou from Antler to Hoof. And, in collaboration with Jennifer Tyldesley, will soon be launching "Cold Spell, Cocktails and Savouries for a Northern Winter."
Miche has been invited to share her passion and skills for Northern cooking at events across the country – both north and south. This summer, Miche was a guest cook on Canada C3 expedition, a 150 day expedition from Toronto to Victoria through the Northwest passage to celebrate and share the stories of coastal communities and connect Canadians from coast to coast to coast.
When Miche arrives in Dawson today, she will be taking stock of the local ingredients I have in the house and then tomorrow, we start cooking! Expect some great 100% northern local recipes to be coming this way soon!
Our house is dripping. The windows are sweating and there is rime on the outside soffits wherever the moisture has found breaches in the vapor barrier of the house. Opening the door releases a cloud of humidity into the starkly contrasting cold world outside, engulfing everything in a fog dense enough to cause nightmares in a Newfoundland fisherman.
Three of the stove-top burners are blasting away at pots of boiling sugar beets. The stove fan is humming, desperately trying to do its job of ridding the house of moisture. Our daughter's fiddle is out of tune. There is a new scrape under one of the doors and another needs unusual persuasion to close properly. Suzanne's hair is a mass of tight ringlets. Everyone's skin is nice, wrinkle-free, offering a glimpse of our appearances a decade ago.
We have had another assembly line of production. Sugar beets have been double washed and scrubbed. Then peeled and sliced thinly or grated. Then boiled to extract and concentrate the sugar. And there is so much boiling that I worry that our ancient repurposed camp stove might take an early and unexpected retirement, even before it runs out of propane. Or that the outside of the house begins to resemble a quinzhee as the inside becomes resurfaced in slime mold.
I've taken to closely examining my appendages for early signs of webbing. Last night I awoke in a sweat, dreaming that the pain I felt in my leg was the first indication of its metamorphosis into a mermaid's tail. After reassuring myself of the nonsensical nature of dreams, I feel comfortably back to sleep, only to awaken this time in a panic, thinking I was a goldfish trapped in an aquarium.
And so it will continue today; another assembly line of working children is planned. But first we must wait till they surface for the day and swim out of their rooms to demonstrate their new adornments of scales and slime.
I'm an uninspired chef these days, attempting to navigate unfamiliar territory. The problem is that I am the type of person who needs visual cues to achieve inspiration. Normally I would shop by walking every aisle, identifying the things needed or wanted as I see them. I pack for trips similarly, wandering from room to room, recognizing things that I might need. And if I don't see them, then there is a high probability that there will be no spontaneous reminder of the need.
And similarly, I've always cooked that way … browsing through the cupboards and fridge, praying for visual cues and inspiration, looking forward to getting this duty over with. But now, when I open the fridge, I am met with an unknown terrain.
Certainly, I can identify the cheese, the eggs, the 4 containers of milk and the vegetables. But then, things get challenging. Almost all that remains in this
packedfridge is an unrecognizable assortment of containers. And even though they are dutifully labeled and dated with strips of masking tape, I still have trouble navigating my way through, to find any relevance to my plans for meal preparation.
This is an example of some of the items in the fridge: two containers of chicken broth, bottles of pickles that do not resemble pickles, bottles of kephir grains labeled "do not throw out," (for which there is neither worry of me throwing out, or of ever, ever, using them). There are bottles of apple cider, rhubarb vinegar, two creams, one yoghurt, tomato sauce x 2, the very dark colored "ketchup," sausage water, and water kephir (whatever that is!).
To continue, there are containers of spruce tips, separate containers of boar fat, bacon grease and butter. There are 3 buttermilk containers, all with different dates, and one with visible separation and worrisome coloring. There is one labeled "moose thickener," which I imagine is a body-building supplement for the aspiring young moose.
And it continues: there is one labeled crushed tomatoes, another called ghee, another of boar "scrunchions," and one of "moose in veggie stock," (who I imagine is praying for his eventual release, much like a genie in a jar, or a man on a restricted diet). It could be just me, but this is a difficult supply list for my creative juices. So, I resort to the very recognizable and mundane vegetable and meat. Sorry, family. But I intend to make up for all this.
Having recognized all the masking tape we are going through for labeling, I intend to buy shares in the company. With this new-found profit, I will have a celebratory feast when these difficult times come to an end!
Check out Suzanne's latest radio interview with host Sandi Coleman on CBC Yukon's A New Day's Yu-Kon Grow It feature.
by Miche Genest
Sheila Alexandrovitch has homesteaded on the Annie Lake Road, 40 kilometres south of Whitehorse, since 1981. Over the years she's raised goats, llamas and sled dogs; she's brought up her two children on the farm, and pursued an artistic practice there, working with materials like willow, beads, precious stones and wool. These days she raises sheep (producing beautiful felted work with their wool) and as always, vegetables.
Lots and lots of vegetables. Alexandrovitch is locally famous for her vegetable ferments, selling jars and jars of them at the Fireweed Market in Whitehorse and the weekly market at the Mount Lorne Community Centre on the Annie Lake Road all summer long. At Mount Lorne's last, stock-up market of the year, on September 26, she and her helper stood behind two tables groaning under her ferments, and giant mounds of fresh carrots and potatoes.
As I purchased a few pounds for our house, we struck up a conversation about root cellars — I knew she was pretty much self-sufficient, and curious about her storage methods.
Every winter, Alexandrovitch stores an impressive weight of vegetables in her root cellar — this year, she's got 135 pounds of potatoes, 80 pounds of carrots, 40 pounds of beets, 20 to 30 pounds of parsnips, 35 pounds of turnips and 7 or 8 cabbages. Asked when she runs out of supplies, she replied, "I don't. By the end of June I'm out of carrots, but I always have rutabagas and beets, and I always have potatoes. And by the end of June, we've got greens."
The cellar that stores this bounty is a hole dug into the ground under her house, accessed by a trap door in the kitchen floor. The cellar is framed in with 2 x 6 boards, insulated with Styrofoam, sheeted in on the inside and completely sealed. In the 2½-foot crawlspace between the earth and the floor of the house, the walls of the cellar are exposed, so the above-ground portion is wrapped with Styrofoam and foil and banked with dirt.
The space is 7 feet long by 6 feet wide and around 4 ½ feet deep — about chest height for Alexandrovitch. There's no ladder — she just lifts the trap door and jumps in. She piles whatever supplies she's retrieving onto the kitchen floor, and then jumps out of the cellar, the same way you'd push yourself out of a swimming pool. (She finds this athletic feat unremarkable.)
In winter the temperature in the root cellar is around 2° or 3°C above freezing. There's no air circulation system, but she's never noticed any ill effects from ethlylene — not surprising, because most of the foods she stores don't produce ethylene. (Learn more about the fruits and vegetables that produce ethylene here.)
Alexandrovitch keeps endive, leeks and chicory in pots, in another cold space, this one on her porch. She runs out of those greens sometime in January, but then she's got all her ferments, plus frozen leeks and kale, kept in her freezer at a neighbour's place.
She has canned goods and grains in the root cellar, and she might drive to town for coffee, butter and oil, but she prefers to use goose fat—she'll render 6 to 8 litres this year–or pork fat, which she'll also render.
Alexandrovitch estimated that she spends about 95% of her time growing, processing, preserving and preparing her food. "But what a good way to spend 95% of your time," she said. "It's not so hard. It's just a bunch of work."
Moments of unscrupulousness sometimes have the redeeming quality of offering insight into one's behavior. I seem to find or create many such moments in the normal course of my day. Suzanne and I share the meal preparations so I decided to marinate some moose steaks a couple of nights ago.
First, I grab the rhubarb "vinegar" from the fridge, only to be redirected to the rhubarb juice department. The vinegar, I was instructed, had a separate specific purpose. Then I grab the container of juniper berries, take a liberal portion, and proceed to crush them, adding them to the lovely evolving marinade.
This was duly noted. Suzanne suggested that the flavor could be enhanced if they were ground in the now repurposed coffee grinder. When I did not respond to this suggestion enthusiastically, she tried once again, stating that the supply of juniper berries was perilously scant, and that grinding them would make them last longer. But by this time, the deed was done, berries stubbornly crushed and added.
In the time it took for the unmoved grinder to gather an infinitesimal modicum of dust, I was offered a generous portion of humility. The visibly upset Suzanne delivered a composed and articulate commentary on the scarceness of juniper berries this year, which I had clearly not appreciated.
She outlined the cold and prickles she endured, and reminded me that she bore the lone responsibility for gathering those berries. As I said earlier, the only redeeming aspect of the moment was the personal insight I acquired.
Clearly, this was about more than juniper berries. This was about respect and appreciated effort and shared commitment to a course. It was about meaningful communication and the need to understand potential ramifications before acting. It was about the value we place on personal involvement in the acquisition of security, and how even the simplest of tactile tasks can foster feelings of tremendous individual engagement and ownership.
So, the things we grow, gather or build have more personal value than their monetary value would suggest. Might this explain the disproportionate satisfaction we enjoy with a shed full of firewood? Or a freezer full of moose, or berries, or blanched broccoli? Might it explain why we build our own boats, or shelves or sheds? Why we crochet, knit or needlepoint?
Given that, then why has our society increasingly moved away from the joy we could acquire through manual tasks? What will be the price for this evolution? And what would it say, if the juniper berry could speak?
Juniper is a coniferous shrub that produces berries. In Old Crow, Yukon it is sometimes known as 'sharp tree' thanks to its very prickly needles which are very familiar to all who pick juniper berries. Juniper berries should be picked with great respect as it takes 3 full years for a berry to ripen! When ripe they turn from green to a dark blue. The ripe berries can be picked any time of the year, but you may have to dig to find them under the snow in the winter, as juniper is a low lying shrub.
Eaten raw, juniper berries have a distinct aromatic spicy flavour reminiscent of gin. Juniper berries make an excellent spice — especially once ground into a powder. A coffee grinder works very well for this. A small amount of ground juniper berry goes a long way. It can be used in marinades or dusted on wild game including moose, caribou and grouse. It can even be lightly dusted on salmon. A small amount can also be added to soups or stews.
According to Boreal Herbal, in Sweden a conserve is made out of juniper berries and used as a condiment for meats. Juniper berries have a few extra qualities as well. They help digest gas-producing foods such as cabbage. Also, because juniper berries have a light coating of yeast on their skin, a few berries are often added to ferments to help out the lacto-fermenting process.
So adding a few juniper berries when making sauerkraut has a triple effect: flavour, aiding the fermentation, and less gas when you eat the kraut! The yeast coating on the berries also makes them a useful ingredient in creating sourdough starter (which is another form of fermentation). Mix some flour and water and add a few juniper berries. Once it becomes bubbly and smells yeasty, you can remove the berries and the sourdough starter will be well on its way!
In Old Crow, juniper berries are also boiled as a tea, which the Vuntut Gwitchin say also helps ease colds and cough symptoms. Juniper berries should be used in moderation and avoided in people with kidney disease and in pregnant women. Research for this post is from Boreal Herbal by Beverley Gray and Gwich'in Ethnobotany by Alestine Andrew and Alan Fehr.
At First Hunt Culture Camp students learn about all aspects of caribou hunting under the guidance of experienced Elders and hunters. Photos by Ashley Bower-Bramadat.
I don't think many high schools in Canada offer caribou hunting as a high school credit. But Robert Service School in Dawson City, Yukon does. Since 1995, every October, the Tr'ondëk Hwëch'in First Nation have introduced youth in the community to caribou hunting under the guidance of experienced Elders and hunters at First Hunt Culture Camp.
It is open to all high school students, both First Nations students and non-First-Nation students, and counts as one high school credit. This year 18 youth participated. They spent four days up the Dempster Highway (the northernmost highway in Canada) on traditional land that has always been an important source of food for Tr'ondëk Hwëch'in ancestors.
The youth chop wood for the woodstoves that heat the cabins (this year the temperature dropped to -22°C during First Hunt), they learn gun safety and rifle target practice, they practice archery, they learn how to snare rabbits, and they go caribou hunting. After a successful hunt, they also participate in skinning, hanging and butchering the caribou. The meat is then distributed to local elders and used for community feasts.
I had the privilege to be part of this year's First Hunt Culture Camp, which was held Oct. 19-22. What struck me most, apart from all the adults who volunteer time to be part of First Hunt, is how all the students totally thrived in this element, regardless if they came to First Hunt already with skill sets or were learning new skills for the first time. Mähsi Cho for inviting me to be part of First Hunt!
For the Inuit communities of Nunavut, seal meat has been a staple in their local diets for millennia. The meat is a vital source of fat, protein, vitamin A, vitamin B12, and iron. Seal pelts are also prized for their warmth, and since first contact with Europeans, trade in seal products has played an important role in the regional economy.
This revenue is especially crucial in remote areas where many foodstuffs need to be imported, and transportation costs are high. A commercial seal hunt in Southern Canada, most notably the annual spring hunt in the Gulf of Saint Lawrence, has generated controversy in recent decades, led by high-profile animal-rights activists, and resulting in a 2006 call by the European Union for a ban on all harp seal and hooded seal products.
The traditional Inuit seal hunt has been swept up in an animal rights activism fervor, adversely affecting an age-old way of life. But now indigenous groups are standing up for their heritage and defending their traditional lifestyles.
Inuit filmmaker Alethea Arnaquq-Baril has released Angry Inuk, a feature-length documentary that defends the Inuit seal hunt. In Toronto, Indigenous chef Joseph Shawana is keeping seal meat on the menu at his Ku-Kum Kitchen restaurant, despite a petition calling for its removal, and is galvanizing a groundswell of public support of his own.
Partially shot in the filmmaker's home community of Iqaluit, as well as Kimmirut and Pangnirtung, where seal hunting is seen as essential for survival, Angry Inuk also follows an Inuit delegation to Europe in an effort to have the EU Ban on Seal Products overturned.
The film criticizes NGOs such as Greenpeace and the International Fund for Animal Welfare for championing animal rights while ignoring the needs of vulnerable northern communities who depend on the hunt for their livelihoods.
Chef Shawana, whose restaurant specializes in indigenous-themed dishes, says he researched the Northern hunt before opting to serve seal meat. He points out the Inuit seal harvest is very sustainable and humane, and contrasts it with the roughly two million cows, 20 million pigs, and 550 million chickens killed each year in Canada alone during large-scale food production. But at the root of the issue, says Shawana, is the need to acknowledge and support Canada's aboriginal cultures.
There is a local saying about the weather in Dawson City: "Nine months of winter and three months of tough sledding." It's only a slight exaggeration. One thing for sure is that the shoulder seasons — Spring and Fall — are extremely short in the far north.
This is yet one more challenging aspect of growing in the North. We posted previously about the efforts by Otto at Kokopellie Farm to harvest his crop of locally-grown rye and barley so Suzanne could have some grain in her 100%-local diet. Otto did finally manage to harvest his rye and wheat on Oct 23rd. Turns out it was just in time. This is what Dawson looked like, one week later!
Photos by Suzanne Crocker.
Just in case you are wondering, this project is about more than eating local. Much more. This is a ferret into social behavior and individualism, tolerance and will. And of course, it is about hunger and stupidity.
All our lives we have heard the mantra: humans are a social animal. But what does that mean practically? It means we hunt and gather in groups, we live in groups, and we eat together. We work and play together. We help one another. We share. We concern ourselves with the less fortunate. We set standards and rules which are acceptable to the group, preferring group safety over whimsical notions of individualism.
So what happens when individuals become non-conformists, breakers of tradition? When does the novelty of individual exploration and challenge wear off? When does it become an annoying expression of self-indulgence to the friends? What is the tolerance within a society? And of course, a huge part of social structure is communal eating and drinking. And now even more, since social smoking is all but banished.
So, what happens to the dynamic when people do not share the same food? When does it become uncomfortable, or even intolerable, to demonstrate one's dietary defiance? Who would have thought that "the diet" would have opened a pathway to a more profound understanding of one of the forces behind cultural segregation and assimilation?
By Miche Genest
Underground, above ground, inside, outside — northerners have developed numerous ways of creating cold storage areas. Perhaps one of the simplest is the outdoor freezer: as soon as it's cold enough, and barring a thaw, many northerners simply keep foods frozen by storing them outdoors.
In the hamlet of Tuktoyaktuk, NWT, there is a different solution. Katrina Cockney, Manager of Administration and Community Services, explains that as late as the 1980s individual families dug ice houses for their own use. But as the community grew in size and more houses were being built, that became less practical. In the late 1960s, with the help of government funding, the community built a freezer deep in the permafrost, 30 feet below the surface.
There are three main corridors down there, opening into 19 rooms. Access is via a steep ladder through a trap door in a small, locked shed. The contents of the freezer change according to the season — in summer there might be dry fish and muktuk, geese in the fall, and caribou and dog feed in the winter.
The freezer used to be accessible to tourists, but is no longer due to safety concerns. The hamlet is considering building a walk-in icehouse in order to show tourists the local technology.
In more modern times, many households have one or more chest freezers for traditional foods. When the temperature is below freezing, they often move one freezer outside. But Katrina Cockney estimates there are still about six families who use the community freezer year-round.
There is another part to the story. Not only is the freezer practical, "It's beautiful," says Cockney. "It's hard to explain, but it's like a wall full of crystals." Cold storage can be beautiful in more ways than one.
For the first time in my life as a mother, all three of my children had Hallowe'en without me this year. No doubt it had something to do with the house rule about 'only local food allowed in the house'. They were not about to sacrifice their holiday tradition of gorging on mini chocolate bars, rockets and bags of chips, so they each conveniently made plans to be at the houses of others on All Hallow's Eve.
This left me with the realization that there would be no Halloween candy for me this year! No snacking from the bowl meant for the trick-or-treaters (who rarely ever come to our out-of–the-way house). If a stray child came knocking on our door this year, we would be handing out carrots. No bargaining with my kids to share some of their loot. And no sneaking into their treat bags when they are at school, hoping that they won't notice the occasional missing chocolate bar.
But since Halloween is the season for unreasonable sugar consumption, I decided I would find a way to do it local – even without sugar. So I pulled out the candy thermometer, took stock of my local food resources and set to it. I can now proudly say, that I have successfully overindulged on local sweets for Halloween. Thanks to birch syrup candy, dehydrated yogurt sweetened with wild strawberries and …. sugar beet candy! (see the recipes) More on the sugar beets later.
But suffice it to say, Halloween inspired me to dig into my 350-pound store of sugar beets and start experimenting. I feel a bit sickly and my teeth are sticky, but I do not feel left out of the Halloween candy splurge.
> Halloween candy recipes
Freeze-up has begun in Dawson — a unique, but very significant, season to communities in the north who are separated from roads by rivers. Dawson is nestled at the confluence of two rivers: the Yukon River and the Klondike River. Some folks live on the far side of the Yukon River in West Dawson and Sunnydale. Some folks live on the far side of the Klondike River in Rock Creek.
These folks have no access to any stores or other amenities of town during 'freeze-up' — the time of year when ice floats down the rivers preventing boat travel and the ferry that crosses the Yukon River gets pulled for the winter. They must wait till the river freezes solid enough to cross by skidoo or eventually by vehicle.
Last year freeze-up lasted 7 weeks. So for those folks, stocking up on enough water and food to last them through freeze-up season is a normal part of October. I am not normally one of those folks. I live on the town side of the rivers. But this year the grocery stores are off limits to me. This year, freeze-up is playing an entirely new role in my life. Because this year, some of my main local food sources are on the far side of rivers.
My root vegetables are on the far side of the Yukon River – at the Kokopellie Farm root cellar in Sunnydale. The dairy cows (the source of all my milk, butter, yogurt, cheese, and ice cream) are on the far side of the Klondike River — at the Sadlier's Klondike Valley Creamery. So this year, I too must stock up for a freeze-up that could last up to 7 weeks.
The last ferry run across the Yukon River was on Oct 29th. On this side of the river I have stocked up with 150 lbs of potatoes, 150 lbs of carrots, 40 lbs of beets, 40 lbs of rutabagas, 20 lbs of cabbage and, of course, lots of pumpkins. The Klondike River is still crossable by canoe, despite the ice. But not for much longer.
For the past 6 weeks, I have been collecting empty milk jugs from friends and neighbours and freezing as much milk as I can. I have also been making extra butter and ice-cream — all in preparation for freeze-up. On our local diet, we have been consuming about 1 gallon of milk per day. At that rate, for a freeze-up lasting 7 weeks, we would need 49 gallons of frozen milk! We don't have that. We have about 20 gallons. I will continue to collect and freeze as much as I can and then … let the rationing begin.
Three months into this "lifestyle change," and I've been testing my resolve. And of course, the risk is that there is not much resolve to test. The other day, I chatted with someone who was sipping on a well-deserved cold beer, while I dutifully nursed a cup of freshly boiled water. Surely, I was enjoying myself more …
Last night, there was an office celebration of my retirement (this, of course, could be interpreted in more ways than one!). As per many social festivities, there was food involved, and while "the diet" can compete with most main course offerings, desert is a completely different matter. You see, the relative absence of sugar is probably the most notable hallmark of this altered form of sustenance. And deserts, by definition, tend to be sweet.
So, I decided to tackle the temptation head on: I planted myself right by the desert selection. There was a wide variety of displayed decadence, from puddings to pies to pastries. My survival tactic was to watch others with full undivided attention as they sampled the multiple options of sheer deliciousness, while allowing myself the pleasure of slowly gnawing on a piece of dry moose meat.
It was an experiment really. I was hypothesizing that close physical approximation to such rapturous consumption, might somehow endow me with a vicarious experience of equal proportion. Much to my chagrin, the hypothesis was not substantiated through the course of the experiment.
So, this morning I'm re-evaluating the relevance of the Scientific Method in my life. Clearly, this logical deductive process demonstrates overtones of dispassionate indifference to the relevance of my personal pleasure. I'm feeling abandoned by science.
It's late, and I'm not anywhere near ready for sleep. Could have been the sugar. Could have been the day's dosing of several coffees. Could have been the incessant gut rumbling and sense of bloating following the spree.
Let's back up and start over. I'm just back in Dawson after a 36-hour absence. I had to dash to Whitehorse with my son for a couple of errands, and in my typical state of rush, "forgot" to take food. So road food it was.
We avoided the deer, grouse and lynx, which were all seemingly offering themselves up to us, and decided to dine on commercial goods, which paradoxically in today's world, might be deemed more "traditional" than the real meat of true road-kill. So, here I am, wondering what to do with this bubbling bath of energy in the early morning hours. And as I was clearing out the trash from the truck, I thought that some of you might be interested in a qualitative analysis of my brief dietary splurge.
First of all, I'd like to say that I am amazed by the volume of trash generated from food wrappers over this relatively short time: there is a plastic grocery bag filled with wrappers, plastic and styrofoam. This is more trash than our whole family has been generating over weeks on "the diet." Hmmm…
A search in this bag helps my recollection and tells the story. There is a styrofoam cup that once held road coffee. All in all, it was not a very satisfactory beginning to a breach of caffeine absenteeism. And of course, I knew better, but this experiment was not so much a deliberate act of temptation with the very best offerings that earth can present, as it was a simple indulgence in the type of foods that could easily be passed off as normal or acceptable daily intakes. And sadly, every single subsequent coffee was disappointing, whether it was the "free coffee with gas" (which I now understand more fully the meaning), or the fill-ups with restaurant breakfast, or the bought coffee on the run. Nothing to miss there…
There are more empty packages that once contained the likes of sweet chili Doritos, hickory sticks, an ice-cream bar, a "family pack" size of sushi, road-side popcorn, a milk shake and monster drinks. We'd all have to agree that these choices are not quite consistent with the recommendations of the Canada Food Guide and that there is plenty of room there for dietary improvement, but the truth is that I could once eat this with impunity.
Not now. I've been buzzing for the past day, and probably even through this medium, you can hear me. I feel bloated and for the first time in awhile, no longer have that familiar emptiness in the tummy.
But, I do not feel satiated: I feel thirsty, unsatisfied and strangely… hungry. I think the hunger is simply a disguised craving for more strong flavors. And that was the most striking observation. The flavors were so overwhelmingly intense, whether that be salt or sweet or hot spice, and this intensity seemed to successfully sabotage my ability to differentiate between need and desire. In a world where that is the benchmark, how does the subtlety and nuance of real and nutritious food stand a chance? And how will we even begin to make gains on the obesity epidemic?
In the meantime, I'm really enjoying the simplicity of my hot cup of water right now and I look forward to the search for gentle and genuine flavors tomorrow.
I didn't realize that the Good News, Bad News story of grain would end so quickly.
Shortly after posting my tale on Oct 23, I received a call from Kokopellie Farm. More snow was in the forecast so Otto decided it was now or never for harvesting the rye and the Red Fife wheat.
And so the story continues: After some serious labour with ropes, the wet snow was removed from most of the grain heads in the field. Unfortunately some of the grain was laying flat under the snow. Fortunately some could be resurrected via pitch fork and muscle power. Unfortunately some patches were already frozen to the grown and not harvestable. Fortunately there was still a good section standing. Unfortunately the wet stalks of the rye kept getting jammed in the combine requiring manual removal. Fortunately Otto was able to do this without injury. Unfortunately the engine of the combine broke down. Fortunately Otto was able to fix it. Unfortunately the combine engine kept breaking down. Fortunately Otto never gives up and was able to get it going again each time and finish harvesting the rye. Unfortunately it was getting close to dark, more snow was in the forecast and the wheat had not yet been harvested. Fortunately, Otto discovered the final issue with the engine, repaired it and was able to harvest the wheat before darkness fell!
Yeah!!! Many, many thanks to the tenacity, mechanical genius, ingenuity and hard work of Otto and Conny who were able to harvest the rye and wheat against all odds! Now it dries (under shelter) and can eventually be ground into flour. The last of the crops has now been harvested. There is sourdough bread in my future. Let it snow!
By Miche Genest
Miche here. In late October my household of two took delivery of a 35 lb box of local carrots, cabbage, beets and potatoes, part of a fundraiser for a local school. It was not an overwhelming amount, but it did bring up again one of our failures when we built our house in Whitehorse. We forgot to include a cold room.
The family home in downtown Toronto, where I grew up, had a cold room. It was a dank, dark, spidery kind of place, and it was, on one occasion, the lair of a roast beef dinner, stored temporarily during a power outage and then forgotten. The roast beef, peeled potatoes and sliced onions transformed over time into an awe-inspiring, slime-covered monster. (We brought our friends to see it until my mother found out. As I recall she threw the dinner away, roasting pan and all.)
But though not altogether welcoming the cold room did what it was supposed to do—it kept whole, unpeeled, raw root vegetables cool enough for long-term storage.
Now, in present-day Whitehorse, my household doesn't stockpile local root vegetables because we don't have a cold space, apart from the fridge. Instead, we freeze, can, pickle, ferment, and go to the store to buy root vegetables that someone else has stored. Freezing, salting, drying, smoking, fermenting and canning are all technologies key to the long-term storage of food.
But only cold storage preserves the vegetable raw, so you can eat a crunchy, home-grown carrot in January or grate a local beet into your coleslaw in mid-March.
Over the next while here at First We Eat, we'll be exploring food storage ideas from across the north. Tell us: how do you keep your vegetables over the winter? Do you have a root cellar? Do you cover your carrots in sand? Do you wash them first or not? What do you do about cabbage?
In the meantime, I see a lot of kimchi in my future.
I am often asked which food I miss the most. I had expected it would be chocolate or caffeine (very strong black tea was my comfort drink). Surprisingly it is neither. What I miss most is grains: cookies, pies, bread, bagels, rice, pasta – these items that were once staples in our household are no more. The potato is trying its best to fill the gap, but after 85 days without, grains are definitely missed.
It is not easy to grow grains in the far north, as our growing season is so short. But it has been done.
I feel like Northern grain is a character in one of those 'Good News, Bad News' stories:
The good news is that in 2016, Otto at Kokopellie Farm had a successful crop of rye and barley that he was able to grind into flour. The bad news is that I used up all I had last winter experimenting with wheat-free and salt-free sourdough bread recipes.
Fortunately Otto planted rye and barley again this year and it grew well. Unfortunately, in August, a moose ate the barley. Fortunately the moose didn't eat the rye (because it was protected by a fence). And the GREAT NEWS is that, unbeknownst to me, Otto had also planted Red Fife wheat and it grew well (and was protected by the fence)!
Unfortunately, the combine required to harvest the grain was stuck 550 km away in Whitehorse, waiting for a bridge on the North Klondike Highway to be repaired. Fortunately the bridge repairs finished just in time for harvest season mid September. Unfortunately, while hauling the combine to Dawson, the trailer had several flat tires which caused another week's delay. Fortunately, the combine did eventually make it to Dawson. Unfortunately by the time the combine arrived in Dawson, it began raining and you can't harvest grain when it is wet.
Fortunately there was a brief break in the weather in early October. Unfortunately, there was no time to put the combine together because the root vegetables had to be harvested before the ground froze. Fortunately grains can withstand frost. Unfortunately, after all the vegetables were harvested it began to snow. Fortunately dry snow can easily be knocked off the grain. Unfortunately this snow was heavy and wet. Fortunately the combine is now fully assembled and ready to go. Unfortunately it is already October 23 and the wet, heavy snow remains on the grains.
Otto, a very pragmatic and optimistic farmer, still feels there is hope. The wheat and rye are still standing. Some cold, clear weather might dry up the snow and make it possible to remove the snow from the grain so it can be combined, but time is running out.
I am not sure how this good-news, bad-news story is going to end. My moose anxiety resolved with a successful hunt. Now I have grain anxiety.
It worked!
I've been blogging this week about preserving and pickling without the use of salt or vinegar, as these ingredients are not locally produced in Dawson City. I had hoped to use rhubarb juice as a substitute for vinegar for pickling, but despite its low pH value, there was a chance it might not prevent botulism-carrying bacteria … definitely not worth the risk.
So, after some research and consultation, it was on to plan B, lacto-fermentation without salt, which involved using celery juice or whey instead of a salt brine. I prepared batches of sauerkraut, kimchi, and dill pickles, fermenting one jar with celery juice and another jar with whey. No salt.
And it was a success! The fermentation with celery juice worked really well and is already starting to be flavourful.
The jars with whey are not quite as promising. They seem to be developing mold quite quickly. Although fermenters know this is not a big deal. You just scoop it off as it grows. A tough transition for someone who grew up being taught to throw out moldy food. But, more importantly, the initial taste of the whey jars is not as great as the celery juice jars.
So — salt- free sauerkraut and kimchi with celery juice coming up!
An interesting tip, thanks to the local fermenter Kim Melton – to help keep the pickles and veggies crisp add a black current leaf to the bottom of the jar.
It's the rationing that will be my undoing.
All summer and fall there has been an abundance of harvest coming through the house. And when working outside, a simple stroll through the garden yielded tomatoes, cucumbers, carrots and the odd berry, which could satisfy those peckish moments enough to get a person through till the next meal.
Now, things are tightening up. The other day, I was preparing a nice broiler of moose meat, lavishly garnished in onions and garlic, a decadent gesture in celebration of the successful hunt. Suzanne strolled by, peeked over my shoulder, and did not deliver the expected awe in regards to my culinary efforts. Instead, she took this as an opportunity for a discussion in realism and restraint.
She reminded me that we had limited stock for the winter, equivalent to "one medium-sized onion and one clove of garlic, a day." What we have is what we have. Till summer.
I quickly realized that there is no room in that calculation for decadent delights. And that's when the fear started to crawl into my persona. You see, my calculations suggest that we often have potato pancakes and scrambled eggs for breakfast, both accented with onions and/or garlic. Naturally. Then, a nice on-the-fly winter lunch could be canned moose meat fried up with a little…onion. And/or garlic. Something that could sustain a guy through the woodpile at 20 below. And then there is the supper for a family with almost three teenagers. That medium-sized onion is going to require some serious divine help.
And then there was last night. As you know, Suzanne has been making birch syrup ice-cream fairly steadily recently, preparing for freeze-up which is the time when the cow becomes inaccessible. So, last night she pulls out the ice-cream as a treat. We all had some, and as a respectful gesture of appreciation for fine taste, I motioned for another round. No luck. That would deplete the stock. What we have is what we have. You can have today if you don't mind being without tomorrow.
The problem I'm having is that I really care so much more about today than I do tomorrow. We are talking ice-cream addiction here. What has tomorrow got to do with anything? Eat now.
You see, this is the kind of thing that comes naturally to Suzanne. She enjoys calculated restraint. Not everyone does. She doesn't know that. It reminds me of a ten-day hike that she took me on years ago, before kids, when we walked the old Yukon Ditch from Dawson to Tombstone. She took care of the logistics and food. I had the simple job of lugging everything.
Every day, in fact every moment of every day, I was hungry. Suzanne had "done the calculations," but the tiny meal allocations and the meager desert allotments of "either one square of chocolate or this sliver of fruit cake," were not making any impression on my constant state of starvation. It was not till we returned to the land of food and sustenance, and after realizing that we had each lost one to two pounds per day (!!), that a re-punching of the numbers revealed that the calculation was quite incorrect. No kidding.
So, this whole experience is starting to feel that it could be a déjà-vu opportunity, a chance to test our mettle, and perhaps a chance even for Suzanne to brush up on her math…
With no intentional self-indulgence, I have occasionally glanced at myself when walking by a mirror. This simple act offers explanation as to why my pants are slipping over my hips and shirts that were once small seem to have stretched over the years of storage. I've lost weight. No denying it.
And I can't say that this has been intentional, but rather, a direct consequence of "The Diet." But, let's not refer to it as "the diet" anymore, since the word, diet, is in this modern time, suggestive of a concerted and deliberate effort to lose weight. This has simply been a change in the way of eating, or more specifically, a change in the types of foods eaten.
I am always eating something, spurred on by an insatiable emptiness in my gut. Carrots are my "go to" snack food, followed by yogurt, whey, cheese, and any leftovers that I can find in the fridge. I eat eggs daily and in quantities that my body has never experienced. There are fried potato cakes daily, and often sausage or bacon added to the breakfast menu. Every evening we have meat or fish or pork, along with an accompaniment of assorted vegetables.
There is no shortage of food. And the food is good. The veggies taste great, just as they are. The milk is decidedly sweet. All the local protein is nourishing and seemingly endless in quantity. And has anyone tried the dehydrated yogurt? It is like sour candy—something unique, special, and quite pleasing to the palate.
And the other day, for my birthday, Suzanne pulled out an ice-cream cake, lathered with a birch syrup/cream concoction of sheer decadence. That large platter went in one sitting. But yet, the weight is falling off.
And the only disappointment of all this is the realization of the power of my delusion, the delusion that I was not over-burdened, that I was not harboring such flab, that my physical package of power was unchanged, just a little padded over these past years. But the mirror and clothes are not lying; over the years my body has been relentlessly replacing muscle mass with fat. And for that revelation, I am grateful to "The Diet."
Recap from yesterday's blog: I have no local source of salt to help me preserve a year's worth of food and rhubarb juice pickling is out.
What about lacto-fermentation? Fermentation is as old as humanity. Think beer, cheese, sauerkraut and kimchi.
Lacto-fermentation of vegetables, such as sauerkraut and kimchi, takes advantage of the naturally occurring good lactic acid bacteria on the surface of the vegetables, which helps transform the juice of the vegetable into an acid that essentially 'pickles' the veggies. There are lots of experts in lacto-fermentation in the Yukon including Kim Melton here in Dawson. I recently took a wonderful fermentation workshop by Kim at Yukon College. However, the fermentation of vegetables calls for a brine, made from salt. And I have no local salt.
Not to worry, the ingenuity of northerners prevails! Leslie Chapman, who spent many years living in the Yukon bush near Dawson, ferments without salt. She uses celery juice.
I also consulted Kim Melton's copy of the fermenting bible,The Art of Fermentation by Sandor Katz, a very large book with a very small paragraph on fermenting vegetables without salt. It mentions the option of using a starter culture of whey.
I have celery. I have whey.
So I tried a new experiment. I made sauerkraut, kimchi, and dill pickles, fermenting one jar with celery juice and another jar with whey. No salt.
Stay tuned and I'll tell you how it goes.
78 days in and I no longer miss salt! I'm not sure when it happened. There seems to have been a gradual and imperceptible change in my taste buds. But it is a good thing, since I do not yet have a local source of salt to season my food.
However, salt has been used for generations as a preservative. And this Fall, as I struggle to store a year's worth of food, preservation has an entirely new meaning in my life.
Pickling and canning are a mainstay of preserving foods, but they require an acid — usually vinegar. I have no vinegar. I have no lemon juice. I did discover that rhubarb juice is almost as acidic as white vinegar (with a pH somewhere between 3.0 and 4.0). So I tried making sweet pickles with a brine of rhubarb juice, birch syrup and ground celery leaves. No salt.
I was pretty pleased with the taste and quite proud of myself for finding a way to pickle without vinegar or salt. I put my 4 jars of experimental pickles in the pantry. Then, while researching more thoroughly, I discovered caution after caution about pickling or canning with homemade vinegars.
Apparently, with the variable pH of homemade vinegars, they can't be relied upon to prevent botulism. Great. I imagine the headline: Family of Retired Physician Eating Local Dies of Botulism! I immediately moved my 4 jars of sweet pickles from the pantry to the fridge and put them on the 'to be eaten soon' list.
So — rhubarb juice pickling is out.
The noise, the noise, the noise!
Now that I brought them back to civilization, my ears are being assaulted. There is the constant drone of our homemade dehydrator, working away at the tomatoes and celery leaf and meat. There is the whir of the fans that are drying our onions upstairs and the beets and herbs downstairs.
The stove burners are hissing away, concentrating tomato sauce. The juicer is pulverizing celery and rhubarb into salt and vinegar substitutes. The fridge and freezers are audibly straining to keep up with demand that comes with harvest time. One kid is vigorously frothing hot milk for Suzanne, her new comfort drink to replace the Red Rose tea. Another kid is making ice-cream…stocking up for freeze-up when the cows will be on the other side of the river and we will be rendered dairy-free. Someone is scrubbing, banging and rattling the relentless supply of dirty dishes.
And, as if that is not enough, everyone is talking, despite the radio being on in full competition. With their ears being that much more sensitive than mine, there is no wonder we don't have any moose in our own backyard!
This has been an usually warm fall in Dawson City, Yukon. Last week crocuses, our first wild flower of Spring, were seen sprouting on sun-exposed bluffs, and one gardener reported pea shoots sprouting in her garden.
This type of mild weather is certainly not what you'd expect in a town not far from the Arctic Circle. Traditionally, on Thanksgiving weekend Dawson receives a snowfall that stays on the ground.
Well, as it turns out, despite the atypically warm fall, this year was no exception … On October 10th, Dawson saw its first snowfall, and all indications are that the snow will be sticking around.
That means it's time to get those hoses drained and put away for winter, and to pull the last of the veggies from the garden before the ground freezes hard next week.
We previously posted how Suzanne was having some angst about coming up with a local option for her family's traditional Thanksgiving favourite — pumpkin pie — with no grains available for crust and no traditional pumpkin pie spices.
Thanks to Miche Genest, Suzanne was able to adapt the Boreal Gourmet's recipe for pumpkin pudding — to great success.
Here is Suzanne's adapted recipe for Crustless Pumpkin Pie — Northern Style.
She tried Miche's suggestion of using ground dry-roasted low bush cranberry leaves as a spice, but it didn't work for Suzanne.
So, instead Suzanne tried two adaptations:
1. Birch syrup alone adds a delicious flavour with no extra spice needed.
2. For a spicier option add ground dried spruce tips, ground nasturtiam seed pod 'pepper' with the optional addition of ground dried labrador tea leaves. Both were topped with a dollop of whipped cream.
The jury was split as to which variety was preferred, but both were devoured! Note: the cream, hand separated from the milk, was naturally sweet and needed no sweetener addition. Interesting observation compared with store bought whipping cream.
Hint: To get hand-separated cream to whip, pour it into a bowl and let it chill in the freezer until it gets a thin frozen crust on top. Then whip.
Some of the Dawson Farmers contributing to Suzanne's Thanksgiving Dinner
I received the ultimate compliment last week in the bank line up when a local farmer said to me " Suzanne, you're looking like a farmer these days!"
I looked down at myself. I had worn both knees out of my jeans. My hands were rough. Garden dirt was etched into the creases of my palms as well as a permanent fixture under my nails. My 'bush coat', previously only worn during camping trips, had become my practical everyday wear. And I felt a small surge of pride.
Over the past year, I have witnessed how hard farmers work. For my part, mostly from the other end of a camera. But I have experienced snippets of hands on work (such as helping a farmer dig up 300 pounds of beets) and gleaned a new appreciation for the difference between gardening and farming. Every day farmers are working hard outdoors from early morning till sunset (which during a Yukon summer, can be a very long day!)
On rainy and blustery days when I choose to stay indoors with a hot cup of tea, farmers are outdoors working. When the blackflies are at their worst, farmers are out in their fields. No such luxuries as a weekend off or a summer camping trip. I believe that farmers are one of the most undervalued segments of our society. No matter where we buy our food, it is the incredible hard work of farmers, invisible to most of us, that provide us with this necessity of life.
This past Thanksgiving weekend, as I sat down to share a turkey feast with family and friends, I felt especially thankful to farmers. And I felt both privileged and humbled to know each farmer responsible for every single ingredient on our supper table.
Our turkey was thanks to Megan Waterman at Lastraw Ranch. Our carrots and potatoes thanks to Lucy Vogt. The milk and butter for our mashed potatoes thanks to Jen Sadlier at Klondike Valley Creamery. The brussel sprouts thanks to Otto and Conny at Kokopellie Farm. The celery thanks to Becky Sadlier at Sun North Ventures. The onions thanks to the Derek and the students at Tr'ondëk Hwëch'in Farm. Our pumpkin pie thanks to Grant Dowdell's pumpkin, Megan Waterman's eggs, Jen Sadlier's cream, and Sylvia Frisch and Berwyn Larson's birch syrup. A precious apple thanks to John Lenart at Klondike Valley Nursery. And our low bush cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie spices thanks to the forest.
There are many, many folks who have helped me during our first 72 days of eating only local to Dawson City, be it the farmers who grow the majority of our food or the folks who have leant me garden space, shared some of their produce or shared their helpful advice.
Thanks to all and a very special thank you to farmers.
Originally written on Oct. 5th in the bush during Gerard's Hunt
Perseverance has brought me home. Success on the hunt finally came after a grand finale of a day, with multiple sightings interspersed amongst the erratic transitions of nature from rain to wind to sun.
It was providential that I got this young bull. Circumstances beyond my understanding brought him to me, giving room for ethereal musings, even awe.
It had started as another day of frustration: cow after cow. The only visible reminder of this earth's existence of bulls, were their telltale tracks. And those tracks are seductively dangerous, for they lure one further and further into the land of impracticality, the places where one man alone should not shoot a moose.
This was just not working, so I blasted off to another region altogether, a little archipelago of islands, a little oasis off the big river. Instantly, I saw a huge bull…much larger than I wanted or thought I could handle. But, despite that, after him I went, exhibiting all the logic of manhood.
I tried sabotaging him from the back of the island. I tried calling him out. I tried motoring upstream, then quietly and unsuspectingly drifting back. I gave it a rest and went elsewhere, saw another cow.
Then the weather turned nasty. Rain and wind and a black sky were the harbingers of what was most certainly snow. As it was getting on in the day, this was incentive enough to seek shelter, set up camp, and brace myself for the storm. Quite fortuitously, my search for ideal shelter steered me back in the neighborhood of the large bull sighting.
I called a little, while setting up camp. I was surprised to hear the bull rustling and grunting in response, something new to this year's experience. So I sat in the moored boat, gave a grunt and watched the bull come running towards me. But, it was not the large guy at all. Rather, this bull was young, of manageable size and intent on walking close to the water's edge. He was clearly offering himself and I thanked him when he fell.
It wasn't until the next afternoon that the work was done and I left for home with the dressed moose in the boat. During the whole process, I couldn't stop thinking about how fortunate I was that this guy showed up. If I had shot that monster moose, there is a good chance that I'd still be there…
Listen to Suzanne's latest appearance on Yu-Kon Grow It, a segment of CBC Yukon's A New Day with host Sandi Coleman. Suzanne reported on how things are going two months into the project, and talked about some of her plans for Thanksgiving.
Back on the river, Gerard's writing from Oct 4th:
I'm writing this using a carpenter's pencil I found in my jacket; a subtle reminder of my unfinished shed project. The paper is the unused margins of the 2017 Yukon Hunting Regulations booklet. Don't say I'm unprepared.
It's a glorious afternoon to drift on the river. For the moment, this is my new stealth tactic, after failing at motoring, tracking, climbing, spotting, calling and calling and calling. I feel that this will work. Why wouldn't it?
Everything else has only improved the lot of local moose, as they inch their way to the end of the hunting season. It's cold and a bit windy. I do calisthetics to keep the monotony and chill at bay, something my father passed down from the generations of sailing and fishing in Newfoundland.
I saw two more cows this morning. No sign of the bull after tracking for a couple of hours. These are evasive creatures, capable of silently disappearing in the smallest droke of trees. Amazing.
There was no trampolining mouse last night, nor were there owls. In fact, other than the hopeful raven and eagle, the river is practically devoid of birds. The rare Merganzer, no geese, two paired swans. It's late in the season, I'm guessing. Maybe late for moose, even…
But, the land is big, capable of harboring a wide variety of hidden life. I saw a small brown bear that seemed to be this year's cub, yesterday. No mother in sight. This morning, I saw a large grizzly.
There is a wisp of orange on the tops of the cottonwood, and some willows are hanging on to their foliage, in stubborn denial of the season. It's a game of patience, this.
One swings from despondency to hope, simply by the sighting of a moose, or even a burst of sunshine through the grey overcast. My mood is fickle. Food might help. I think I'll try that thing called Tomme, which looks like a dairy derivative. Maybe it'll make my spirit soar.
Back on the river, Gerard's writing from Oct 3rd:
This morning was full of no such thing as the expected action. Instead, I was awaken by dueling grey horned owls, each trying to out-perform the other… hoot-a-hoo, hoo-oo…
And peculiarly, in the night, I was perturbed by either a carnivorous or fun-loving mouse, who repeatedly attacked my tent. He would scramble up the side of the tent, only to slide down. He did this repeatedly. I consoled myself with thoughts that it must be a joyful mouse, excited by the frosty canvas that was offering a moon-lit opportunity for pre-snow sliding.
Now, I'm sitting down to another breakfast of eggs and burger, washed down with mugs of boiled, delicious, silty water. The owls and mouse have settled down for the day, just as mine is gearing up, demonstrating that this earth provides space for a living opportunity unique to all.
Back on the river, Gerard's writing from Oct 2nd:
Tonight I'm camped in a most unlikely location.
From that you might surmise that I'm hunting again. On the river again. It's my third night, this stretch, and I'm not sure how long I'll be out.
This is the first year that Suzanne was really interested (invested) in my success with getting a moose, so she essentially sent me packing. Said, "there's not much point in you coming back till you get a moose."
So, out on this beautiful river I sit, drift and explore, suffering through a man's duty or living the dream, depending on perspective. And Suzanne was kind enough to throw a few things in the cooler. Good thing, since grouse is off the menu after I realized I forgot the .22 bullets.
I've got a couple of packs of moose sausage, three dozen eggs, two packs of moose burger, something called Tomme, and a whole bunch of carrots and potatoes. I've just finished my third consecutive supper of burger/ potato soup, and perhaps because of the paucity of options, each supper tasted better than the last.
I was thinking luck would be on my side, and I'd be eating fresh tenderloin and roasted rack of ribs all month, till I felt like ending the holiday, proclaiming that, "I just got him last night." But, the way things are going, I might just be here for the winter and suffer a lingering slow death as I run out of food.
Sure, I've seen moose. But no shots fired. They're skittish, grouping up, uninterested in my calls, running on sight so quickly that I haven't even seen an antler. No inquisitiveness in me at all, despite having a red boat. I guess "seeing red" doesn't mean the same to Yukon bulls as it does their Spanish relatives.
And what's worse, is that moose seem to be fully versed in the general regulations about hours of operation. This morning, a cow and (possible?) bull presented themselves in the early dawn, too soon for certain identification. Tonight, two cows and another possible bull, provided me with a tantalizing glimpse just at dusk.
Which is why I am camped here. Right across the slough from that last sighting, on a steep bank, back-dropped by a grassy viewing slope, and just enough "flat" ground for my small tent's footprint. I'm so close to the boat, I might as well have slept in it.
An unknowing observer might think that I've deliberately parked the boat this way as a safety, such that if I was to roll off this precipice in the night, I would land in the boat and be saved from a chilly, wet drowning. They would not know that this site was not so much chosen as provided.
Tomorrow there will be action.
I have been suffering from moose anxiety. I suspect this might be a diagnosis particular to northern Canadians, with variations such as caribou anxiety and seal anxiety depending in which part of the North you call home.
Every October when the first snow falls, I look out at a woodshed full of wood and a freezer full of moose meat and feel the tremendous comfort of knowing that, come what may, we will have heat and food through the winter. "It's like money in the bank".
This year is different. This, the year we are eating only food local to Dawson City. The name 'Murphy' comes to mind. Gerard has been hunting for almost 2 weeks and had yet to even see a bull moose. Very unusual. Lots of tracks, but no moose. Unfortunately, you can't eat tracks.
It has been a surprisingly warm Fall this year in the Yukon. Perhaps the bull moose are waiting for colder weather before going into full rut. Whatever the reason, they have not been interested in the call of a pseudo-cow (i.e. Gerard). Perhaps he should have shaved.
On Oct 1st, after re-stocking his food (3 dozen local eggs, 2 pounds of local cheese, 20 pounds of local carrots, 10 pounds of local potatoes and the remnants of last year's moose — 3 pounds of moose burger and 15 moose sausages), Gerard headed out on the river again for one last hunt.
I'm sure I had given him the strong impression that he was not to come home again until he had a moose. But as the days passed this week, I began hoping that he wasn't taking that literally. He is hunting alone.
And then, late last night, the phone rang.
It was a call from a satellite phone. And it was Gerard's voice at the other end of the line. He was still alive. And one bull moose wasn't. Phew! A relief on both accounts.
It has not just been the moose that have been affected by the weather this year in Dawson. A late frost in mid June seemed to have destroyed many of the wild berry blossoms resulting in an unusually poor year for wild berries. A very dry summer affected the wild mushrooms such that mushroom foragers have been scratching their heads to find any at all – worst year for wild mushrooms in 25 years!
It is another poignant reminder on our dependence on the forces of nature. And the importance of diversity (if not moose, at least we have some local chicken and local pork in our freezer). And the importance of community.
Despite the slim pickings, Dawsonites have been generously sharing their precious supply of berries with us this year and I am sure that if this was to be Gerard's first ever unsuccessful moose hunt, those who had more luck would have been sharing their moose as well. Moose anxiety has now been lifted.
Mähsi Cho Jejik. And thank you Gerard.
We previously posted how Grant Dowdell and Karen Digby were attempting to grow popping corn for Suzanne on Grant's Island, located about 10 km upstream from Dawson in the Yukon River.
Grant has tried many varieties of corn in the past and the only one consistently successful has been EarliVee sweet corn (See Grant's Seed Guide) which takes around 70 days to reach maturity.) This year, however, he agreed to give the Tom Thumb variety of corn a try, since it has a short growing season (only 60 days to maturity). He used seeds from Heritage Harvest Seeds.
Things looked iffy when a hungry moose visited Grant's Island and pulled up the crop early in the season but Karen popped them back in the ground and they grew! Recently Suzanne and family harvested the plants, hoping for a favourite family treat to accompany their movie watching.
Unfortunately, first attempts at popping have been unsuccessful. Suzanne's not sure if the kernels are not dry enough — or perhaps they're too dry. She will keep experimenting, but any suggestions are very welcome. If anyone has grown and successfully popped their own popcorn, let us know.
Thanksgiving weekend is coming up.
For Suzanne and family. a favourite Thanksgiving treat is pumpkin pie. Now, Suzanne does have 91 pie pumpkins in storage for the winter! Thanks to Grant Dowdell who grows great pumpkins on his Island about 10 km upstream from Dawson on the Yukon River. Grant has had great success with the Jack Sprat variety of pie pumpkin (check out Grant Dowdell and Karen Digby's Seed Guide). Grant finds they have the best storage capacity of all the squash, storing well into May.
So, although Suzanne has no grains for a crust, she certainly has the pumpkins — as well as cream for whipping, eggs, and birch syrup for a sweetener. But she has no pumpkin pie spices such as cinnamon, cloves, ginger, nutmeg, or allspice. So what to do?
Could she use dried and ground spruce tips or Labrador tea? First We Eat collaborator Miche Genest has a great pumpkin custard recipe for Suzanne. Miche has suggested adapting it using cream instead of evaporated milk. plus birch syrup to taste instead of sugar, and adding an extra egg.
For spices, Miche suggests dry-roasting low bush cranberry leaves in a frying pan, then grinding and adding those. Suzanne will give it a try and report back on the results. If you have any suggestions for alternative pumpkin desert recipe, or a northern local alternative to pumpkin pie spices, let us know!
It's been 65 days since Suzanne started eating locally, which means it's also been that long since she's had any grains!
But there's a glimmer of hope on that front, thanks to some buckwheat that was grown in Dawson this year by Stephanie Williams and Mike Penrose. They planted it as a cover crop for their yard and it grew quite well in our northern climate.
Suzanne has harvested the buckwheat groats. Now, if she can just figure out how to thresh them by hand she will try cooking it. (If anyone has experience with hand threshing, suggestions are welcome. Just contact us.)
Despite the name, buckwheat is not related to wheat, as it is not a grass. (It's actually related to sorrel and rhubarb). It is one of the so-called ancient grains, having been first cultivated around 6,000 BCE. Porridge made from buckwheat groats, known as kasha, is often considered the definitive Eastern European peasant dish.
The dish was brought to North America by Ukrainian, Russian, and Polish immigrants who also mixed it with pasta or used it as a filling for cabbage rolls, knishes, and blintzes.
If you have any recipes made with buckwheat groats that Suzanne can use, we welcome your submissions.
Buckwheat early after planting (left) and when flowering. Photos by Suzanne Crocker.
Moose were spotted having a garden vegetable buffet in Henderson Corner, near Dawson City, last week. Bites were taken out of cabbage, the tops eaten off of kohlrabi, beets, romanesco, and broccoli, and some beets plucked out of the soil. The tracks told the tale of the culprits responsible. Seems like a mama moose and her offspring were craving some fresh greens — and backyard gardens in Henderson Corner were ripe for the picking.
Munching moose leave their mark. Top eaten off of a kohlrabi plant (left) and a romanesco (right) with a big bite taken out of it. Photos by Suzanne Crocker.
At 3:30 p.m. today I flung my rifle into the river. This was immediately followed by my body. This, like most of life, was more circumstance than deliberation.
I was feeling rather sprightly and adept, much like I would have felt after shooting a moose 20 or 30 years ago. But sadly, today there was a great absence of moose. And I am no longer as footsure as I was 20 or 30 years ago.
I had untied the boat, coiling up the painter as I approached it. As the current was strong, I had to quicken my pace towards the bank, taking that fateful (non-sprightly) leap onto the deck. The landing didn't go so well, and in an effort to save myself, I inadvertently flung the rifle off my shoulder and into the river. Stupidly, my reaction was to plunge an arm in after it, thinking I suppose, that the rifle might be floating there, awaiting a rescuing hand. There was nothing for it but to jump in after it.
Thankfully, the water was only about 2 feet deep. I groped at the bottom and found no rifle. But the boat! It was adrift and even more of a priority than my trusty old 30-06. So, I floundered after the boat, grabbed the painter, tied her off, then retraced my steps upriver, in the water.
Now, over the years this family has lost a thing or two in the silty and opaque waters of the Yukon River. Once I dropped the fuel cap for my boat in 2 feet of water. I spent a good hour scouring the riverbed to no avail. One of my daughters was momentarily distracted while washing some mud off her shirt, only to turn around and find it gone. Another daughter lost a pair of pants the same way. The river gobbles things up and doesn't spit them back.
Those were my thoughts as I rummaged around in this grey, swirling milk. I wondered how the pull of the 5-knot current might affect a rifle, whether things tend to get dragged to the deep or slide straight downstream. I worried about kicking it deeper, felt it best to start downstream and deeper, working towards the estimated point of entry. And I worried that whatever the effect the river was going to have on the rifle, it was going to compound with time.
After only a couple of minutes of frantic dredging, my hand blindly seized the precious tool!
Not this time, Mr. River, not this time!
A Dawson fall tradition — and food staple — continues as the annual Chum salmon run is in full swing in the Yukon River.
Out on the river, several commercial fisherman are catching Chum to help fill the freezers of Dawsonites. There was a time when Chum salmon used to be known as 'dog fish.' This was when the King salmon (also known as Chinook salmon) were running in such great numbers that Chum was reserved for dog food.
This is no longer the case. The King salmon population has declined significantly and eight years ago a moratorium on fishing of species was put into place, and there has been no commercial King salmon fishing in Dawson since then.
The Tr'ondëk Hwëch'in First Nation, who have traditional rights to the harvest, also voluntarily stopped subsistence fishing for King salmon in 2014 for a seven-year period, in hopes that by then the King salmon population will have revitalized.
Dawsonites keep hope of a renewed King Salmon run someday. In the meantime, chum has become a staple in a local Dawson diet. Suzanne especially enjoys it marinated in birch syrup and smoked or poached in the oven with onions and rhubarb juice.
Isn't it funny that some behavior patterns don't change? Like for instance, I always eat the non-yoked half of a boiled egg first. That's what comes to me as I sit on a log, eating one boiled egg after another, awaiting the furtive moose that I've been calling since yesterday.
Why sit? Go after him, you might say. Well, yes that's one way. Hunters have choices and I've tried that. You see, yesterday I found this place: fresh tracks, wide open shooting ranges, unobstructed views in three directions. No wind. Quiet! Beautiful conglomeration of willows, water, gravel and sand. No mud! It's the place where I want to shoot a moose. Unfortunately, it seems that it is not a place where a moose wants to die.
Yesterday, I called and called here, sat in disbelief that the moose wouldn't expose himself in this perfect spot. I examined the empty tracks, tracks of yesterday's history making, hoping they would fill with moose before my very eyes. Disillusioned, I finally left.
In spite, I decided that it would be fitting retribution to the unslaughtered moose if I went for a "drive-by"… cruise the river, check out a few other spots with hopeful sign. Did that, no luck. Just loneliness and hopelessness.
And because there was no better place to field dress a moose and load my boat alone, I came back before dark, set up camp, roasted three moose sausages on a stick (no dishes!), called and called, and was asleep by 10pm, knowing that Mr. Moose would awaken me in the morning.
To my dismay, he did not. I called some more, scanned till my eyes crossed, then started the fire. As I was boiling the eggs I thought, how convenient: hot water to drink, hot water to wash up with, hot water to boil eggs, and no dishes! Genius at work.
But now, the eggs are gone and it appears that the moose has also. I pack up, drink some hot water, decide that there is no point in wetting my face with the water when the rain and tears of the day will do that anyway. So I toss the water and head to the boat. I'll search for the moose of circumstance, interrupted by a man of circumstance. You can't linger over tracks. Tracks are a euphemism for life: you can't dwell on the past. Time to move on and try something new.
The next time I boil an egg, I'll eat the yoke first.
This past weekend the Tr'ondëk Hwëch'in First Nation held their Fall Harvest Culture Camp at Forty Mile. This is an annual event where traditional knowledge is shared with youth and adults.
Forty Mile is 77 km down the Yukon river from Dawson City at the confluence of the Yukon and Fortymile Rivers. It is known as the oldest town in the Yukon, but was largely abandoned during the Klondike Gold Rush. The location is currently a historic site co-owned and co-managed by Tr'ondëk Hwëch'in and the Government of Yukon.
Forty Mile has a much longer history, however, as a harvest area used by First Nations for generations. This location was one of the major fall river-crossing points of the Fortymile caribou herd. Hunters would intercept the herd here as it crossed the Yukon River. In spring and summer, it was the site of an important Arctic grayling and salmon fishery.
The Fall Harvest Culture Camp saw harvesting of moose, chum salmon, and grouse, as well as wild plants and berries from the forest. It was a successful harvest, taking place in a beautiful and peaceful location, and overall a wonderful weekend.
What a fun-filled evening! It was Suzanne's idea, not mine. She suggested, since the last couple of cauliflower-processing family marathons did not really result in happiness all around, that I should do it alone tonight. Perhaps she had nothing but benevolence as her motive, thinking that the multi-tasking exercise would help keep my looming dementia at bay. Perhaps she just wanted to affirm how advanced my decline might be. A test, in other words.
Her cited reason for me "putting away" the cauliflower was almost as transparent as the family's need for a dough-substitute. She simply stated that everyone else was busy, what with the two oldest tackling the ubiquitous mound of dishes, the youngest shaking her innards to the point of potential harm in an effort to produce butter, and Suzanne boiling down two pots of tomatoes and juicing up celery for God knows what. That left me with free hands.
So, I clear some working room and get to it. Chop some cauliflower, blanch it in the steamer ("for precisely four minutes" — ha!), cool it in a basin of cold water, place it in the blender, transfer it into a cheese-cloth, squeeze out the liquid ("save that for soup stock or as a nice hot drink"), transfer the paste into zip-lock bags, remove the air, seal, label and date, freeze. Repeat. And repeat.
But what happens is that some stages take longer than others, so in the name of efficiency, new batches are started, until eventually all stages end up going simultaneously. There is nothing more to it than moving the body around the stations, using the mind to keep track of those "precise four minutes" and, well, using the mind.
It wasn't long before the unattended blender started producing unusual whining sounds, and the cold immersion bath was hot, and the "precise four minutes" became anytime really, and the squeezing station was backing up. Then someone said, "Is something burning?"
Putting away food is a peculiar activity, possibly designed by the desperate, or by those who are into the aesthetics of touch and texture. When all was done, the counters (and floor) cleared off, the blender and cheese-cloth cleaned and rinsed, the black charcoal scraped and scrubbed off the previously perfectly functional steamer, I had a reflective opportunity while cradling my hot cup of cauliflower drippings and the five little baggies of dough.
Earlier in the day, I had put the tin on my shed roof. I had also repaired my boat and test-driven it. But tonight, following a similar investment of time as those earlier endeavors, I processed enough cauliflower that we could have five whole pizzas! Makes you wonder why I don't spend more time in the kitchen …
Here in the Yukon, and throughout much of the North, it's moose hunting season. Moose is a staple for many Yukoners. One moose can feed two families for a year. Plus, since the animal has lived a good life feeding in the wild, moose meat is alean and healthy source of protein. Many Northerners rely on a freezer full of wild meat, such as moose, fish, seal and caribou to feed their families rather than relying on grocery store meat that travels a great distance to reach us. In the Yukon, there are approximately 70,000 moose — that's twice the human population of the territory. Hunts are carefully managed, with limits set on each region. Unless a limited number of special tags are issued by the government for hunting cows, only the bulls are harvested in the Yukon.
As Northerners we are acutely aware of where our wild meat comes from and we value the land and the animals that provide it. Mähsi Cho Jejik. (Thank you moose in the Hän language).
Breakfast today was beyond definition. It was a three-way compilation, which, as a word of warning, can happen when a man is left alone in the kitchen, bleary-eyed and hungry. It started with the simple observation that there was a pot of leftovers obscuring all else in the refrigerator. Removal of said pot revealed a container of cooked cabbage. Digging deeper revealed the eggs, as well as other containers harboring mysterious concoctions. Creativity is like that. Some of the greatest inventions are crafted from the aggregation of necessity with available resources. And of course, blind optimism helps. When all things were stirred together, mixed with "local" boar fat, made into little patties, and fried up on the grill, it was surprising to me that the neighbors were not lining up with their plates and utensils in hand! And the memory will be forever embellished by the fact that this recipe will not be replicated by any, except possibly the very brave, or the blind. Addendum by Suzanne: I asked Gerard this morning what the ingredients were in his "pancake" creation. He was elusive. It was then that I noticed that the vase of wilted and forgotten flowers was missing. Hmmm. I may never know. But at least they were all edible flowers.
Young eggplant plant on Grant's Island before fruit appears (left) and eggplant appearing on the vine (right). Photos by Suzanne Crocker.
There are signs that the season is ending. Our green lawn is replaced with yellow leaves. There is a zip in the morning air, felt again the moment after the sun sets. There was a magnificent showing of Northern Lights the other night. The tomatoes are developing thick skins. The garden leaves are yellowing and drooping, begging reprieve. And the tired watering can sprung multiple leaks in defiant obstinance, kicking the bucket before our very eyes.
We've been digging and processing. The dehydrator has not stopped. The newly built onion drying rack was overwhelmed the moment after its completion. Similarly, I've been advised that regardless of the dimensions, the ''shed of optimism" is guaranteed to be too small …
I learned the other day that there was once a communal root cellar in Dawson. And of course, there were multiple other root cellars, both personal and commercial. Now, the only large-scale root cellar that I am aware of is at Kokopellie Farms in Sunnydale.
It's another example of how perfectly logical approaches to regional sustainability are quickly forgotten in a world of expedient transportation. Do we have to wait till the transportation becomes compromised before regenerating some of those time-proven skills?
Yu-Kon Grow It, a regular segment on CBC Yukon's A New Day, interviewed Dawson farmer Lucy Vogt, of Lucy's Plants and Veggies last week. Lucy grows many vegetables for Dawson and is most famous for her sweet and delicious carrots! Lucy will continue to sell produce from her vegetable stand in Henderson Corner into October.
I'm up early today. No, not because of the eager anticipation of yet another scintillating cup of rhubarb tea. Nor is it because of the alluring wonder about new ways to cook an egg this morning.
It's the fire in my right hand that owns my senses. Lucky for me, I have a background of medical knowledge, so my mind is not racing with unnecessary fears and concerns about endless hypothetical possibilities. I recognize carpal tunnel syndrome for what it is. And the pulsating tightness in my finger represents the festering splinter from yesterday's effort.
The blame sits squarely on the shoulders of produce. The sheer volume of foodstuffs is squeezing us out of house and home, so I have felt compelled over the past days to mitigate this pumpkin-invasion by building a storage shed. And with frost looming, and with moose in full rut, time is of the essence.
So I have been taking matters in my own hands, contributing to Suzanne's cause divergently. A frenzy of saws with noble intent. A flurry of nails and boards, all single-mindedly set on seeing this project through.
And the hand symptoms, with a tincture of time, will dissipate. The mind will forget. Only the shed and its contents will remain.
One of the most challenging food items in Suzanne's 100%-local-only diet is bread. Especially since no grains have yet been available.
So, she was thrilled to discover carb-free bread! Thanks to Cindy Breitkreutz in Whitehorse who found this recipe on MOMables.com. Suzanne adapted it to fit with her local ingredients, and it not only worked, but was a big hit in her family — on its own, as the english muffin in eggs bennie, and as the bun for a burger (which finally satisfied Tess's longstanding cheeseburger craving).
In fact it was so good that Tess and Kate declared they want cloud bread for their birthday cakes this year.
Suzanne adapted the original MOMables.com recipe, and we're now calling it Top of the World Cloud Bread (a tribute to the legendary Top of the World Highway that runs from Dawson to Alaska). She used ¼ tsp rhubarb juice instead of cream of tartar (used to keep the egg whites stiff). The cream cheese she used was homemade (by draining yogurt overnight in cheesecloth).
> Click here to view the recipe
Versatile Cloud Bread used as a hamburger bun , and under Eggs Benedict. Photos by Suzanne Crocker.
Suzanne's quest for a local salt option continues. And of course, Suzanne also has no pepper. In the meantime, she has found two good alternatives for seasoning the family's food.
In the absence of table salt, Suzanne and family have started noticing that certain foods taste naturally salty — especially tomatoes and spinach. And, saltiest of all, there is celery. So instead of salt, the family is using dried, ground celery leaves.
They have also come up with a pepper alternative — nasturtium seed pods, which are dried and ground. If you still have nasturtiums in your garden, hunt for the seed pods and taste one fresh – it is like a burst of wasabi! Nasturtium seed pods can also be pickled (maybe even in rhubarb juice for Suzanne) as a locally grown caper. Of note, nasturtium flowers and leaves are also edible and have a mild wasabi-like bite to them. Try tasting one!
Nasturtium plant in blossom (left). Nasturtium pods after picking (right). These are then dehydrated, ground and used as a pepper substitute. Photos by Suzanne Crocker.
It is harvest season and, in Dawson City, the end of the Farmers' Markets. It is a good opportunity to get what's left of the fresh veggies before the winter sets in. It is also a good time to launch our #FirstWeEatChallenge, a fun way in which everyone can help Suzanne come up with ideas to add to her locally-sourced menu.
Suzanne has been eating only 100% local foods for 51 days now, and it has been a real eye-opening experience. Think you could do it? Perhaps you already do eat mostly local fare. If you want to show your solidarity for Suzanne's year, or just see for yourself how challenging or how easy it really is, we invite you to try preparing just one meal with only foods local to your community.
Alternatively, check out the list of local Dawson City ingredients and make a "Dawson Local" meal. It would be ideal if you could stick to the same 100%-local-only standard as Suzanne for finding substitutes for salt, oil and spices, but we understand if that's not feasible.
Either way, we trust that everyone's creativity will blow us away. Come take the challenge, and share it with us on Instagram, Twitter, or Facebook using the hashtag #FirstWeEatChallenge, or send it to us via email .
If you want, you can include the recipe for your dish so Suzanne can try it at home, with any necessary adjustments. We'll then include it on our Recipes Page.
by Miche Genest
One of Suzanne's big challenges is going to be condiments. She's nailed the ketchup, and maybe her mustard plants will yield enough seeds for homemade mustard.
But what about mayonnaise? Fresh eggs she'll have in abundance; oil is going to be a problem. The solution is surprisingly easy. Hollandaise!
The familiar, creamy, buttery sauce we love slathered over Eggs Benedict is very much like mayonnaise once it's chilled. Same basic ingredients: egg yolks, acid, fat. But in the case of Hollandaise the eggs are cooked and the fat is melted butter.
There is another stumbling block though — one of the key ingredients in Hollandaise is lemon juice. Not to worry. The sharp, slightly-stringent flavour of crushed juniper berries, combined with a splash of homemade rhubarb vinegar or rhubarb juice, do a great job of brightening the sauce's flavour and cutting through the butterfat.
> Click here to view recipe for Northern Hollandaise Sauce
Our house is a warehouse. It is nothing more than a vessel of storage. There are onions covering the downstairs floor, awaiting my construction of a commercial-grade drying rack of immense proportions. Upstairs, there are green plant-like things looking tired, dry, and done, hanging upside down from every possible tie-off.
Upon close examination of the house, there are indicators of the original intent of a home. A peek past a wall of canned tomatoes reveals what most likely was a perfectly functional kitchen. A simple reshuffling of buckets of kale exposes a passageway, which in all likelihood, was explicitly intended to guide the weary to their sleeping quarters.
These were once called bedrooms because the rooms generally contained beds that were not hidden behind more buckets of fluffy white stuff that approximates some wistful northern attempt at cotton. The dining room table hides beneath the "yield of the day." This could be bags or buckets or boxes of produce.
And we are talking serious quantity here, not one zucchini and a handful of carrots, fresh from the corner grocer. No sir. Our table is starting to buckle in the middle, and if it doesn't implode soon, then it will be a miracle. Do I need to mention that there is no room for eating at the table?
All through late winter and early spring, I tolerated our living room and comfortable seating area in the sun, being owned by wooden planks bearing none other than rows of seedlings and the ubiquitous watering can, so that I could make myself useful should I ever wander into the living room. No room for humans ("what do you think this is, a house?"). I felt that this imposition was a mere temporary inconvenience, hardly worth the bother in the greater scheme of things.
But looking at life now, I wonder how differently things might have transpired had I been more assertive, had I for instance, suggested boundaries as part of the bargaining process which pre-dated this project. Would it have been unreasonable of me to expect to return to a recognizable home, after toiling away the day for a handful of berries so the children can have a "sweet" before bedtime?
And the worst is that it doesn't end. The other day, in a desperately furtive attempt to open up some living space, I started to pack the grow light up to the shed, when Suzanne caught me and stated without uncertainty that she needs the grow-light imminently to start the "Indoor Garden"!
Here in Dawson City, it's harvest season! For Suzanne, this means it is 'now or never' for many of the veggies grown this summer. Suzanne is trying to gather enough for her family for the year and to store them all away.
On Grant's Island on the Yukon River, the harvest for Suzanne's family included 148 pounds of onions and 226 pounds of pie pumpkins, along with 10 large seed pumpkins.
Fortunately for Suzanne, she will continue to be able to buy root vegetables such as potatoes, carrots, turnip, beets and kohlrabi throughout the winter thanks to the amazing root cellar at Kokopelli Farm.
Saturday, Sept 16th will be the last Dawson Farmers' Market for Lucy for the year. However, Kokopelli Farm will continue to sell for a few more Saturdays in town and to sell root veggies from the farm gate in Sunnydale all fall and winter. Lucy Vogt will continue to sell veggies at the gate at Henderson Corner into October. The Tr'ondëk Hwëch'in Teaching and Working Farm will be having their final public market on Wednesday 20 September at the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre.
If you are interested in which onions and pumpkins grow and store well in the North: the onions that Grant grows are Expression onions, which store extremely well if they are well dried before storage. Grant's pie pumpkins are of the Jack Sprat variety, and they store well in a cool room till May.
> See Grant's Seed Guide
Despite the short growing season in Dawson City, Yukon (there were only 66 consecutive frost free days this summer), with almost 24 hours of daylight in June and July the growing season is intense. If you happen to be able to create rich soil to go along with the short, concentrated growing window, then Dawson can grow some mighty big vegetables. Check out this romanesco grown by Paulette Michaud, weighing 7½ lbs!
Romanesco is a member of the cauliflower family. It was originally introduced by Grant Dowdell to the Dawson community and its unique beauty still turns heads at the Saturday Farmers' Markets. Cabbages also thrive in the unfettered Dawson summer daylight despite the short grown season. Take a look at this giant cabbage grown by Louise Piché.
By Aedes Scheer
Each year I wait for the late summer to start hunting wild mushrooms. I have been an amateur mycologist ("fungiphile") for about 30 years. The Dawson City region is generally abundant with many different species of mushrooms over the months of July to October, and occasionally November, if it is a warm fall.
What sets this region apart from much of Canada and even the lower portions of the Yukon Territory is that it escaped glaciation in the last ice age. Dawson City actually has topsoil, which holds not only fungal spores but also mammoth bones and all sorts of curiosities from the Pleistocene era.
I use the field guides for the Northwest Pacific American States as I find the mushrooms in our region key-out most closely — not exactly, but pretty darn close — to the winter species listed there. I use a combination of fruiting body appearance with spore prints and, because I geek out on this sort of thing, microscopic spore examination.
The remnants of the mammoths have long since stopped adapting to the local environment but our mushrooms have continued their own path of adaptation over the intervening tens of thousands of years since those glaciers scraped off all the topsoil between the Tintina Trench and Spokane.
But this year has been a bust. I cannot recall a year so devoid of mushrooms in my time living up north. Not even the usually prolific, hardy and poisonous Cortinarius has appeared. Yesterday I found a portion of a deer mushroom (Pluteus cervinus) which a nervous squirrel dropped as I walked by on a trail. After a good rainfall over the last couple days a pathetic cluster of maggoty puffballs (Bovista plumbea) appeared beyond my doorstep. A week ago I found a couple mummified Lactarius deliciosus or delicious milk cap (not always delicious but always pretty).
And that has been it. My hunch is that it has been too dry this summer to promote decay of the substrates (dead wood, forest floor duff) along with the growth of the fungal mycelia which are the "roots" of a mushroom but actually the largest component of the organism that live for days to hundreds of years. Perhaps if we get more rain and some warm days, we could still see a decent crop of mushrooms. Fingers crossed!
References:
Arora, David. (1991) All that the Rain Promises and More… Berkley, California: Ten Speed Press
Ward, Brent & D. Bond, Jeffrey & Gosse, John. (2007). Evidence for a 55–50 ka (early Wisconsin) glaciation of the Cordilleran ice sheet, Yukon Territory, Canada. Quaternary Research. 68. 141-150. 10.1016/j.yqres.2007.04.002. (Specifically reference to the diagram)
Suzanne's family has a weekly family movie night that traditionally was accompanied by a very large bowl of popcorn slathered in butter and nutritional yeast. It still remains to be seen if popping corn will grow in the Klondike region, so Suzanne has been thinking of an alternative — a bucket of kale chips. The snack is seasoned with ghee and birch syrup. The recipe was tested last year and Suzanne discovered that the kale chips can retain their crispness for many months if they are stored in an ice cream bucket with at tight-fitting lid.
So Suzanne's plan is to create 52 bucket of kale chips before the kale disappears. She's not convinced she will be successful; she has made the equivalent of 22 four-litre buckets to date. But she will keep on trying!
Kale Chips Recipe
- Break up the kale into large pieces (without the stem).
- Mix equal amounts of ghee and warm birch syrup in a bowl and pour some of mixture onto the kale pieces.
- Mix well until all the kale is covered in ghee/syrup combo.
- Spread in a single layer on a cookie sheet.
- Bake at 250F for 16-20 minutes until crisp.
- Cool and then store in an airtight container or zip lock bag.
It's happening. I'm developing a taste for the subtle flavours. I can eat a boiled vegetable with no seasoning. I love the taste of a tomato off the vine. Try a kohlrabi today; peel it, slice thinly, eat slowly, savour the crispness and rush of liquid as it flows across your parched and desirous palate. Meat and fish are great, as is, seeping in their own juices. Skip the gravy; save it for the nearly rotten meat, when you need to hide the rancid taste. Use gravy in the way perfume was once used to disguise body odor.
Salt is a cover; it is there to disguise flavour, not enhance it. Same for sweetness. And pepper and curry and cinnamon and nutmeg and all the rest. Rise up people and revolt! No longer allow yourselves to be chained to culinary tradition, which encourages the bathing of food with herbs and spices, such that you will be indifferent to the plethora of food mediocrity. Good food has its own good flavours.
Dwarf dogwood is a common wild flower found around Dawson and throughout many parts of the North. It is also known as bunchberry. In the summer there is a single white flower in the middle of this low-laying plant. Around mid-August the flower disappears and is replaced by a cluster of small orange berries.
The berries are not unpleasant, and have a small seed that is easily chewed, but the taste overall is rather bland. However, they are very high in pectin and can be used as a thickener if added to low-pectin fruits when making jam. Suzanne is gathering the berries and freezing them, and will test them out in preserves this winter.
Maybe I'm not cut out to live off the land. I'm certainly not taking full advantage of the opportunities which are being presented to me. This morning I swerved the truck to avoid a few young grouse, filling their gizzards with pebbles from the road. And a couple of weeks ago I nearly sunk the boat in my effort to avoid a gaggle of darling ducklings that darted in every direction I steered.
Why is it that I am not searching out these circumstances as opportunities, as gifts to me, the purported self-provider? Is it innately instinctual to exhibit this aversion to dietary road-kill? How can it be that we are almost willing to die in avoiding a collision with an animal, only to go home and load the gun for a fruitful hunt? How interestingly peculiar (note that I did not say, "hypocritical"?) that we might spend weeks nursing an injured rabbit back to life, only to spend another portion of our recreational time in the pursuit of snaring rabbits.
As a minimum, we might wave away this peculiarity with the suggestion that it is powerfully compelling, and certainly endearing, to nurture and love; on the other hand, for the omnivores and carnivores amongst us, there is apt justification for the phrase, "food for thought."
by Miche Genest
Recently a friend told me she makes really good raw, dried crackers with the leftover pulp from juicing vegetables or fruit. Sounded like a great way for Suzanne to use up the pulp from all the rhubarb juice she's making, and provide those quick snacks for the family she's always on the lookout for. I don't have a mechanical juicer—mine is a steam juicer, a Finnish Mehu Lisa that leaves quite a moist pulp behind.
So instead I grated vegetables, ground them in a food processor with some northern seasonings, added a bit of whey for bite, and spread them out on parchment paper laid over drying screens. I dried them at 135F for 9 hours. This is the result:
Not so good. Most recipes for raw crackers include some kind of binder like ground nuts or seeds to give the crackers heft. Not allowed in a Dawson-only diet. It's back to the drawing board for me.
In the meantime, what to do with the failed crackers? Grind them into powder and use them as a salt substitute. Snatched from the jaws of failure! But still, it kind of hurts to see 3 beets, 2 carrots, 4 cloves garlic, 1 large onion, juniper berries and Labrador tea reduced to this:
Ouch.
I've got a sore forearm today. Reflecting back, it's the rhubarb to blame. Or maybe the size of the knife. My advice is that if you have to spend all morning chopping 5,000 times in rapid succession, then choose a small knife. Better still, build a factory.
So, we need a ton of rhubarb. This is washed, chopped, packaged, weighed, frozen. Then, most is juiced into a vinegar-substitute so that we can have cheese. Today, my arm is questioning the relevance of cheese.
In fact, this project is making me question eating. Sometimes I feel as if more energy is utilized in the gathering and processing of food than what could ever be sequestered from the consumption of that produce. As I shrivel away, with the gnawing background of unrequited hunger always lurking, I feel that this journey is going backwards from what nature intended.
Don't bears just eat and get fat for winter? You don't see them chopping rhubarb, thinking this will be really delicious in January. And moose just eat, get fat for winter, deal with whatever as it comes along, tolerate and expect the more lean diet of winter in trade for a delicious Fall of gorging and growing and whatever else moose do in the Fall.
It is a sad day to realize that, in life, we don't so much emulate the great beasts of this planet, as we do this one pesky critter, as we "squirrel" away food for the winter.
i
It's back to school time, which means another year of trying to figure out what to pack in school lunches for our hungry pupils. For Suzanne's family during their year of eating only local foods, school lunches are an even greater challenge — especially at this time of year, when no local grains are yet available, which means no bread for sandwiches.
Today, they headed off with potato pancakes, moose sausage and carrots – all local of course. So Suzanne is looking for creative ideas and can certainly use your help. Take a look at the Dawson City list of local ingredients (keeping in mind that there are no grains yet, as they have yet to be harvested).
Any suggestions are always welcome, just let us know.
Suzanne appeared on the latest Yu-Kon Grow It episode on CBC Yukon's A New Day and reported on how things are going after her first month of eating only food local to Dawson City.
While the weather in the Dawson area is starting to cool off, there are still hopes of a summer reprise before fall kicks in. Certainly, during the recent hot weather creamsicles were a favourite and refreshing treat for Suzanne's family. They're easy to make, and for Suzanne's kids were ideal for hot sunny days … or when you're craving a sweet treat (and trying not to think about chocolate).
Recipe:
2 cups cream
3 tbsp birch syrup.
Mix together well and pour into popsicle molds. Freeze.
Makes approximately 6 large popsicles.
Corn is a southern crop that has traditionally been quite difficult to grow in the North. But this year, many of those who attempted to grow corn in Dawson City have been successful. After a rocky start with late frost in June, the heat in Dawson in July and early August was beneficial for those who have been growing corn.
Some growers, like Sebastian Jones, Megan Waterman and Grant Dowdell, have had luck growing corn outdoors. Others, like Louise Piché, have done well growing it in their greenhouses.
Corn growing outside Sebastian Jones's cabin. Photos by Suzanne Crocker.
As reported earlier, Grant Dowdell is growing a crop of popping corn for Suzanne's family on Grant's Island, and we're pleased to report it is doing beautifully, despite some unwanted attention from a midnight marauding moose. Grant also has good success growing sweet corn outdoors.
The Tr'ondëk Hwëch'in Teaching and Working Farm are also experimenting with growing corn. It's good news to know that with some special care and cooperation from Mother Nature corn can indeed be grown in Dawson!
So, it's official: Suzanne is the only member of the "100% club."
These trips out of town are just not conducive to the local diet. I lasted till the kids had wings and yam fries and pizza at Earl's, when the combination of hunger and weakness of conviction overpowered me. And the food was, well … delicious. It was zesty, and the relative newness of the salt was notable enough to surprisingly create an evening's worth of thirst.
And for breakfast, I tried to delude myself into thinking that the eggs and sausages could be local. But again, the salt kept the truth not far from the surface. And since the cat was out of the bag, I tried coffee. It was surprisingly unrewarding and the taste rather alarming, so I soon reverted back to my cups of straight-up hot water, Zenning in the bestowed purification.
I thought there would be more guilt. And likely, had I "cheated" while in Dawson, there might have been cause for reflection, personal evaluation of self-worth and the like. But, travel presents a practical excuse for indulgences of this sort. Thank goodness for travel.
The kids were quick to indicate to me that dietary guilt was an imperceptible emotion for them, nowhere on the radar. And, of course, that is the way it should be. This is not so much a challenge; it is really only an exercise in discipline, designed to inspire thought and conversation, designed to promote the healthy benefits of regionalization, but designed also to teach us appreciation for an infrastructure that allows such diverse dietary options.
We have posted previously about some of the unique things Louise Piché has been able to grow in Rock Creek, Yukon, just outside of Dawson City. including ginger and tumeric, asparagus, and ground cherries.
This year, Louise experimented with growing purple peppers, and reports they grew really well. These plants — a sweet pepper variety — are purple on the outside but white on the inside and very tasty. The seed variety she used was the Purple Star Hybrid from William Dam Seeds (65 days to maturity).2
But there were more interesting things growing in Louise Piché's greenhouse this year. A white pumpkin! Despite its long days to maturity in a short growing season, the pumpkin is doing quite well in a Dawson greenhouse. The plant is of the New Moon variety from Veseys Seeds. It takes 100 days to grow to a final size of 25 to 35 lbs.
To see the specific varieties of fruit and vegetables that one of Dawson's great home gardeners has had success with, download Louise Piché's Seed Guide.
Have you had success re-growing a plant not typical in the north? Share it with us.
Last evening presented an opportunity for us to explore our inner emotions. And our motives.
It came on the heels of a heavy load of processing cauliflower into paste, to be used as a dough substitute. And then a huge topping of dishes before bed. This was all tempered with the message that was intended to be optimistic but proved catastrophic, that we would only need two more such evenings to provide us with enough "dough" to allow us the privilege of one pizza a week for the next year.
A notable benefit of childhood meltdowns is the necessity, eventually, for a rational conversation. We actually experienced that benefit rather soon, perhaps too soon for the "rational" part. But life, after all, is not scripted.
All kinds of cathartic comments were delivered during that evening of emotional venting. Sam kept saying, "I didn't sign up for this", which was then followed up with, "it's a good job that I have a summer job, so I can afford to eat now, but how am I going to keep from starving when I go back to school?"
Tess revealed that her recent walks to town were for the primary purpose of acquiring a cheeseburger, to dampen the craving fire in her belly. Kate was dreaming of chocolate. All were feeling victimized and wanting escape from the extra chore burden.
As always, the morning presents a more encouraging future. The promise of less mundane chores is acceptable. The imminent trip to Whitehorse for myself and the girls will come with a welcomed reprieve from the diet. And most importantly, everyone has been heard, and there is an understanding that despite the circumstances of the day, we are united in our efforts to sort this out together
Recently we posted how Suzanne was looking into mineral licks as a possible source of salt. Well, the lab results have returned and there is salt!
We should note that here are many different types of salt. Table salt is sodium chloride. There are also other minerals that combine with chloride to form salts such as calcium, potassium and magnesium.
Here are the results from Suzanne' s salt lick sample: sodium (Na) 331 mg/kg; calcium (Ca) 129 mg/kg; magnesium (Mg) 73 mg/kg; potassium (K) 46 mg/kg; Chloride (Cl) 489 mg/kg Now the question is: can Suzanne distill the salt from the mud? She is waiting for a large mineral lick sample to experiment with and she will give it a try.
Don't be surprised if you notice that our children have Popeye forearms. It's the cow that's responsible. And that's even without the milking responsibility.
Once the milk enters the house, the action begins. One sentry awaits the definition of the line, as the cream rises. Then there is the careful skimming and separation of this precious, precious stuff. Some of it will be destined for creamsicles, some for ice-cream, some for butter.
After appropriate warming, the jar of cream is shaken vigorously, for longer than you want, the contents first turning a tinge of yellow, then magically transforming into clumps of butter. This needs separation from the buttermilk, washing and containment.
Meanwhile some of the skimmed milk is warmed, stirred continuously, and kefir is added. The watchful waiter of the next few hours has first dibs on yogurt. And then there are the frothers. Milk is heated, stirred and frothed with vigor. Everyone likes hot frothed milk.
So this house is comprised of skimmers, stirrers, shakers, frothers, and scrubbers. Kudos to the cow.
One thing that's especially difficult about eating 100% locally is the difficulty socializing outside of one's own home — like meeting someone for 'coffee,' or going out for lunch or supper.
Sophia Ashenhurst's creativity at Dawson City's Alchemy Café, on a busy Discovery Days weekend, allowed Suzanne and family to 'go out' for the first time since they started their completely-local diet. Instead of going out for coffee (the Alchemy is famous for its delicious coffee), the family went out for smoothies — 100%-local "alchesmoothies".
The 100%-local alchemsoothie consists of: carrot juice, kale, steamed swiss chard, haskaps and rasperries. Yumm! And for those who didn't want a smoothie there's a tall glass of carrot-celery juice — all from completely locally-grown Dawson City vegetables and berries. Delicious!
Thanks to the creativity of the Alchemy Café, the possibility was opened up of going out — guilt free. So if you see Suzanne or her family sipping on a tall glass at the Alchemy, they are not actually 'cheating' — they are drinking out 100% locally.
The Alchemy Café supports sustainable living and farming practices. The café uses as many organic ingredients as possible. In the summer, The Alchemy sources as much local, chemical free produce as possible from Dawson's local farmers.
The café also offers several gluten-free options, even in sweets and baked goods. They have a sizeable selection of smoothies, protein shakes, iced drinks, and fresh juice, but are perhaps best known for their cornucopia of coffee drinks — all fair-trade organic coffee from the local Yukon roaster Bean North Coffee Roasting Co.
There's a problem with this diet. There is no capacity for fine restaurant dining, nor even for terrible take-out. There can be no "just get yourself a snack at the bakery" comments … unless those words are truly meant to hurt and torture.
There can be no utterances of "we'll pick up some highway food on the way out." There can be no energy drinks or Red Bull to help on those late-night, wintry returns from Whitehorse. There can be no bag of grapes or chips or Doritos or Cheezies, just sitting on the passenger seat, awaiting the ultimate fulfillment of their anticipated destiny as you devour them.
Let's make no mistake about it, there will be no devouring. And what about travel? Should I book an extra seat for the cow? Are you allowed, even in the depths of thirst, to milk a cow on the plane? How can I politely decline the warm Air North chocolate chip cookie with a smug demonstration of my bag of carrots?
No one will understand. Not even me …
Suzanne and her family were thrilled to have a new sweetener added to their list of locally-available ingredients — honey. And they're very grateful to David McBurney and his bees for sharing.
Birch syrup is delicious and the family is finding all kinds of ways to use it. However, it does have a distinctive flavour that can sometimes overshadow other more subtle flavours (for example, when used as a sweetener for things like fireweed jelly). Honey has a much lighter and more delicate flavour.
David McBurney's bees, who successfully survived Dawson's -40°C in winter, have been busy this summer collecting pollen from local fireweed and clover. and transforming it into delicious, delicate honey. They produced about 20 pounds (9 kg.) of honey per hive!
Hopefully they will produce enough honey this summer to share with the humans while reserving enough to get them through a second Dawson winter.
I'm on a dishwater diet. Our fridge is a ready source of jars and containers, all of which get emptied, cleaned and refilled, on a regular basis. So my new thing is to search out the nearly empty containers, add some hot water, stir or shake, then drink it. Yum! A
nd when that is emptied, I serially add more water, each time diluting the contents and virtually gifting myself with an altogether new flavor. Then I move on to the next surprise jar. The variety is endless and sometimes the experience can be downright exhilarating. Everyone should be doing this!
Of course, I'm mostly (but not exclusively) referring to dairy products, since our fridge is now devoid of store-bought staples. But, since I'm being so open, I'd best give full disclosure and right now admit that this dishwater diet is not entirely a newly acquired skill. Even before Suzanne's influence on me, I was known to indulge in the "serially diluted experience" (a.k.a. "SDE") with the ketchup, mustard, Worcestershire sauce, jams, honey, blender contents and virtually anything in the mixing bowl.
Generally, and needless to say, this is a privilege of the dishwasher of the day, which means that once this secret is out, no family will ever again have that age-old struggle to find volunteers for that duty. Problem solved!
As is often the case, the first frost in Dawson hit mid-August, on the Discovery Days Weekend. On August 17th there was a 20-minute hail-storm down the Yukon River. Although this bypassed the town, it caught Suzanne and family while they were out berry picking!
Then on the morning of August 18th, temperatures dropped to -1°C in town and went down to -4°C along parts of the Klondike River Valley and at Henderson Corner. Some gardens froze hard, while others were frost touched.
Most of the mature veggies, especially the brasicas, weathered the frost, but it is nature's reminder that summer is over and Suzanne had better speed up her harvesting, as more frost filled-nights may be just around the corner.
There's an emptiness in my belly. Some might call it hunger, but I feel that the word "hunger," is not quite complex enough to explain what I feel.
There is an abundance of food in the house and I seem to graze on carrots and broccoli all day long. We're going through the better part of a dozen eggs a day. There's moose and fish and even sheep. Tomatoes, radishes and lettuce stalk me wherever I go. My wife keeps suggesting that we have to eat more cabbage and that turnip greens are good too. And she likes to remind me that while working in the yard, I can nourishingly nibble on the wild strawberry blite… which seems to be actually everywhere, once your eyes are trained.
So, I am experiencing a disconnect, a personal quagmire: while gorging on food, I feel as though I am suffering from starvation.
I think it's the salt. Or the sugar. Maybe it's the bread, the pastry, the cereals, the grains, the bagels, the toast, the chips, the cookies, the muffins, the chocolate, the coffee, the nachos, the pizza. Basically everything!
So, the only option is to embrace the subtle tastes, of which there are many, while ignoring the lure of the strong, flavorful tastes, familiar to me from a long life of culinary decadence. That should be easy.
As some of you may have gathered from Gerard's posts, coffee was his main breakfast drink of choice before starting the 100% local diet. For Suzanne, it was black tea. Hopefully soon they will recover from caffeine withdrawal (see Gerard's blog post "Symptomatic Addict").
In the meantime, creativity with tea abounds. Elfie Lenzin recently came up with a wonderful tea combination that is currently Suzanne's favourite and now referred to as "Elfie's Tea" — labrador tea leaves with a few crushed wild blueberries. It is very flavourful with a hint of sweet and a beautiful colour.
Other tea possibilities abound as well. They include combinations of nettle, yarrow, mint, lemon balm, chamomile, rose petal, fireweed petals … the list goes on.
Do you have favourite local tea combo you would like to share with us?
I am learning so much. It is consoling to come to the realization that all is not lost; as my body shrinks, my mind expands.
I am increasingly appreciating the value of societal structure. Take farming, for example. We, as you know, have already spent some effort at berry picking, fighting the wilds and relentless foes, while never being certain of the profitability of the venture.
Most recently, though, we have been exposed to the greatest invention of all time: just bring the berries to your home and cultivate them there! These people have it all figured out. Bigger and better and more berries can be grown right on your doorstep. What could be wrong with awakening in the morning, stretching your arm out the window of your home, returning it with a handful of juicy berries, lovingly growing right outside your window?
And, of course, the same can be appreciated of chickens, goats, cows, pigs and all the garden vegetables. Clearly, people's adaptations have been driven by need. I wonder what interesting adaptations this house will witness over the winter …
Recently we wrote about Suzanne's investigation of coltsfoot as an alternative source of salt, which Suzanne needs for flavouring and preserving over the next year. Well, Suzanne tried it. It was like magic!
If you taste a fresh or a dried coltsfoot leaf, it really doesn't have much taste — perhaps a fine hint of celery flavour. But if you burn it, the resulting ash tastes salty! Admittedly it's a smoked salt taste, but definitely salty.
Suzanne tried mixing the burnt coltsfoot in with foods during preparation and unfortunately the salt taste didn't really transfer, but when sprinkled on top it works – as long as the coltsfoot ash touches your tongue.
So it looks like Suzanne's family will be shaking on the coltsfoot ash this year! The experiment with mineral salt licks is also in the works, so we'll be reporting back on that soon as well.
What I'm learning is that stores were invented for good reason. They were not invented singularly as a retail opportunity. Like banks, they were invented with the needs of the community foremost.
Right now, I'm suffering from the lack of a store. The problem is the sheer bulk of produce that is available at this time of year. So the store's purpose of "storage" is desperately needed at our house. Our living quarters are being overrun by heads of cabbage.
I look for a pot and find it filled with forgotten string beans, well along in the process of ripening the very air I'm wanting to breathe. In deep hunger, I open the fridge only to be confused by the unknown array of jars and containers, in some stage of experimentation. I close the fridge and eat a carrot, which I happen to find on the stairs, or in a pocket of one of the starving children. For thirst…well, there is always water. The math is frightening.
Normally, stores protect the public from math, so without them, we must do our own calculations. And what I'm learning from this preliminary research is that we simply do not have the room to do this. We will need hundreds of pounds of fruit and vegetables. We have three freezers. Does that mean that we have to process and condense and dehydrate and generally desecrate every bit of texture and flavor in order to survive this trial?
Suddenly, this food experiment of Suzanne's is taking on a whole new flavor. Not only will the house become our store and warehouse, but the people in the house will become pickers and packers and washers and sorters and canners. But only if we want to eat …
Here in Dawson City it's the height of berry season!
This has even more significance for Suzanne and her family, as berries will be their main fruit supply for the next year, while they eat only local foods.
Suzanne recently did a calculation that has her rather nervous. If she and her family each ate 1 cup of berries each per day (which seems reasonable considering it will be their main fruit source for the year), and since one cup of berries weighs about 1/4 lb., she would need 456 pounds of berries for the year!
This seems impossible. Currently she has 170 pounds of berries in the freezer (which seemed like quite a lot until she did her fateful calculation). Regardless, she will continue to collect and purchase as much as she possibly can and the family will just have to ration them accordingly.
Thankfully, Suzanne has help in her berry-gathering endeavour. Local producers Emu Farms and Tundarose Garden are helping her out tremendously. (If it were all up to her family picking wild berries, they would be in serious trouble.) Emu Farms supplies Dawson restaurants with delicious local berries. Maryanne from Tundarose Garden sells her scrumptous local berry jam every other Saturday at the Dawson Farmers' Market.
A berry prolific bounty. Clockwise from upper left: high bush cranberries, low bush cranberries, saskatoon berries, soap berries, raspberries, haskaps. Photos by Suzanne Crocker.
Wild Berries
For Dawsonites, berriesabound throughout the short summer. Although the wacky weather this summer has, so far, resulted in lower than average harvests of wild berries. Wild strawberries started in mid-July and were over in early August. Soapberries also started mid-July and are now falling off the bushes. Wild raspberries began appearing towards the end of July. Wild blueberries are in season now — if you are lucky enough to find any this year. High bush cranberries are starting and low bush cranberries and rosehips will follow shortly.
Domestic Berries
Haskaps were the first domestic berries to appear, back in early July. Saskatoons started late July and into August. Black currents and domestic raspberries are ripe now. Unfortunately domestic strawberries did not fare well this year in the Dawson area because of the weather.
Sister Island is a private 42-acre island just downriver from Dawson City, and has a longstanding agricultural tradition. Given to the Sisters of St. Ann in 1898 during the Klondike Gold Rush, the nuns used the Island to grow vegetables famous for their quality, and raised cows, chickens and pigs to feed a hospital and orphanage in Dawson.
Suzanne visited there recently to meet the current owners, Lou Tyacke and Gary Masters, who are now farming there. Suzanne was thrilled to discover that Lou was growing fennel as it is hard to come by in Dawson this year.
Lou is also successfully growing some other unique produce, not usually found in the North. This includes Jerusalem artichokes (a type of sunflower), which is grown for its edible root/tuber), and is growing very well in the Sister island greenhouse. She is also raising a variety of colourful carrots, as well as "black" tomatoes, which are actually vine tomatoes of the indigo rose variety.
Jerusalem artichokes growing in the Sister Island greenhouse (left) and some colourful carrots. Photos by Suzanne Crocker.
For Suzanne, the timing of the visit to Sister Island was especially fortuitous, as she arrived the day before she started her 100-per-cent-local eating. She was treated to one of Lou's amazing cupcakes — a floral art form in itself — and a cup of tea. … which turned out to be her last cup of orange pekoe tea (and cupcake) for a year.
Earlier, we posted how Suzanne was looking forward to having some quinoa in her diet, thanks to conservationist and local grower Sebastian Jones. Quinoa is not normally a northern crop, but Sebastian has been experimenting with growing it in previous years. He's had good success with the plants, although he has just never gotten far enough during the short season to be able to harvest the quinoa seeds before the fall frost.
This year, he planted early, and Suzanne was excited about the prospect of quinoa in her local diet, as there will be no rice, and minimal grains. Unfortunately, the quinoa has grown up … and turned out to be turnips instead. The culprit was a seed mislabeling issue, as quinoa seeds look similar in size and shape to those from turnips. Even after the plants had germinated, the power of positive thinking had convinced Sebastian for a while that he had a field of lovely baby quinoa seedlings — until the harsh reality, turnip root and all, could be denied no longer. "I don't even like turnips," Sebastian complained.
That may or may not be the end of the story. Suzanne has four struggling actual quinoa plants of her own in the ground, and her fingers are crossed in hopes that they take off.
There are also some potential alternatives. She will be looking at the wild plant lambsquarter, also sometimes known as pigweed (which is a cousin to quinoa) to see if she can harvest and cook the seed this autumn in a similar manner.
Has anyone had any success processing lambs quarter seeds, or have some other tips for Suzanne? Let us know!
I grew up in Newfoundland. I ate fish every day. When we had free time, we fished. Alternatively, we would collect mussels or clams, or if we wanted something different to do, we would hike into the hills to go fishing for trout. As young men, when we went camping, it was up the river to fish for salmon. The beginning of summer vacation was always hallmarked by parties at Caplin Gulch, while we fished for … caplin. If the caplin was in abundance (as it always
was), we would use the surplus in our vegetable gardens as fertilizer. Or we would add seaweed to the soil, which was a "byproduct" of our fishing.
Breakfast was most frequently fish. My mother loved to fish and we lived on the banks of a salmon river. Throughout the summers she would often fish early in the morning, so we could awaken to the smell of frying trout. Failing that, she would fry up cod's heads. Or salmon. Sometimes, there would be "fisherman's bruise," made from the leftovers of the previous evenings supper. Since we ate fish every day, it always gave us a moment for reflection when others would specifically mention how they were having fish because it was Good Friday.
For us, every day was Good Friday. So you can imagine the shock when I came to the realization that I don't like to fish. I've been thinking the thought for a few years now. I've been reminiscing about my exploits of the past and I've been wondering whether it was the fish I was seeking, or just the food, or perhaps the camaraderie of my buddies. Or was it just the expectation, the alternative of being a "non-fisherman" being too sacrilegious to even contemplate?
I've been trying out the words lately, saying things like, "I only like fishing when there are fish." In other words, I've been fishing for responses, testing the waters before coming out of the closet with the admission that I don't like to fish. So, that's it then. I don't like to fish. Can't help it. Ancestors, don't roll in your graves, or haunt me tonight (or for all eternity for that matter!).
Because of this diet thing, there has been a certain amount of pressure for me to fish, since fish is local. Tried a couple of times for whitefish. None. Tried for grayling, but could not disguise the fact that mostly I just want to drive the boat. It's hard to catch fish if the line doesn't touch the water…
But last night, last night I caught two grayling! And we fried them up and ate them and they were delicious and they brought back a flood of fond memories and now I think I've got grayling figured out and so am thinking about fishing, looking forward to it actually.
So now I am confused, my conviction is being tested. Could I, in fact, enjoy fishing?
It looked like the problem was solved. Miche Genest did some experimenting and was able to produce homemade vinegar. Unfortunately, Suzanne has not had the same success. Her first batch of vinegar was a dismal failure. It was not sour, and not drinkable — she's still not sure what she's going to do with it. She has another batch on the go, but is losing confidence in her fermenting abilities. Hope remains, however, for some other possible sources. Suzanne also has an attempt at apple cider vinegar fermenting on the go thanks to some of John Lenart's culled apples (small, sour and green) that he saved for her. And, of course, the birch sap vinegar experiment is also doing its thing until Fall. But Suzanne needs a vinegar substitutenow (in order to make ketchup, string cheese, mayonnaise, etc.) So it was perfect timing for an inspired idea by Jen Sadlier of the Klondike Valley Creamery — rhubarb juice. One bite of raw rhubarb and you know how sour it is. Rhubarb apparently contains malic acid, which is the ingredient used commercially in flavouring salt-and-vinegar chips. Suzanne tested the juice with pH strips and it is almost as acidic as white vinegar (pH 3). This makes it a great substitute for vinegar or lemon juice. Unfortunately, rhubarb is not easy to juice. The best way is to freeze it first and then let it thaw before putting it through a juicer or blender, and then squeezing out the juice. So far, things are looking promising. Suzanne has successfully made string cheese and hollandaise and ketchup with it. Next, she is going to use the juice to try pickling cucumbers. We will keep you posted on Suzanne's progress.
I'm having renewed doubts today. We spent a couple of hours yesterday, hunting for raspberries. And raspberry picking, as most of you will know, is not necessarily joyful picking. The raspberry's preferred terrain is mostly upturned mounds, often around deadfall, stumps, and hidden ankle hazards. And then they immerse themselves amongst the nettle and the roses and other prickly deterrents. Oh, and as if that is not enough, they arm themselves with thorns, and guard their territory with a mass cooperative of thousands of stinging insects, all working in noisy unison to minimize my joy with the process. The whole thing feels conspiratorial, personal. And afterwards, while soaking our feet in the healing river, we look in the pails, dreamily thinking of the jams and pies, when all this becomes ruined by the horror of the moment. Less than a liter apiece is our yield! And that is even before we remove the twigs and leaves and abundance of bugs and spiders. There are definitely going to be some desperate evenings come January…
Last week we wrote about how Suzanne is looking into coltsfoot as a possible source of salt for her year of eating only local foods. At the moment, salt for seasoning food and curing meats remains one of the unsolved problems on Suzanne's journey. Another possible natural source that has been proposed is salt from mineral licks. These can be found all around the Yukon — places where moose and other wild animals go to get their salts. Salt licks mostly look like dirt or mud, but could there be human-consumable salt in them? Thanks to some hearty hiking friends, Suzanne recently obtained a sample from a mineral lick and has sent it out for testing. Before it left, she had a taste, but it looked and tasted only like dirt. Stay tuned, and we'll let you know whether Suzanne has found a saline solution. Have any knowledge or this or any other subject related to Northern food security you'd like to share with us? We welcome your contributions.
I'm up early today. While I'm sipping enviably on a sweet cup of steaming kohlrabi, it isn't that which motivated my arising. It was the myalgias; the pains in my hamstrings and low back were relentless, nagging and unrelievable. No caffeine for one week. Just to ensure that I wasn't ignoring my body's indication that I was in the last throes of the dying process, I googled the symptoms of caffeine withdrawal. It's all there. The headache (which has now dissipated, thankfully). The profound sleepiness. The constipation (which we'll just acknowledge and move on…) The lack of concentration (Ah-ha! So that's why my boat hit that rock in the river yesterday.) And the muscle pains and cramps. There, in black and white for all to see. The affirmation that the source of this pain, my pain, is identifiably harmless, and that all this will be temporary, is reassuring. All I need now will be positive affirmations and indifference to taste, to make it through the next 51 weeks.
It's the dishes that are the killer. No one saw that coming. Tubs for gathering, bowls for holding, cookie sheets for drying, pots for simmering, slow cooker for condensing. But nothing compares to the dairy processing. Jugs for milk, containers for cream, yogurt, kefir and whey. There are containers to be shaken for butter and jugs to be skimmed for cream. Then there are containers to store these things. Not to mention containers for cheese of different varieties. The cows own the fridge! And everything needs to be washed. That's where the children and I come in (Yippee!). The only alternative is a kitchen without room, a kitchen with every conceivable counter space occupied by some reminder of food preparation. A kitchen with splatterings of ketchup in the making, a kitchen of strainers and cheese cloth, a kitchen of pots and bowls and jugs. And all this is awaiting a miracle, a miracle that falls squarely on the shoulders of the kids and me! (Did I mention that Suzanne refuses to own a dishwasher!)
One of the challenges of raising livestock in the North is finding local feed for them. Shipping costs to the north are very expensive, so acquiring feed from the South can be prohibitive. Growing and cutting hay is very weather dependent and the North has challenging weather. The farmer needs enough rain for the hay to grow and then a spell of dry days to cut and bale it. This spring the weather was all over the map, especially in the Klondike region. Luckily, however, July's weather was somewhat more cooperative for both the growing and the cutting of hay. Dan Reynolds of Dawson City grows hay at his fields off the Dempster Highway. He cuts it in July, which is earlier than most hay farmers. Although this means less yield, it translates into twice the amount of nutrition per bale. Not surprisingly, Dan's hay is in high demand in Dawson for horses and livestock. The Yukon is also fortunate to have the Yukon Grain Farm, just outside of Whitehorse, as a supplier of feed for livestock. Yukon Grain Farm grows a variety of crops including grain, barley, oats, wheat, and root vegetables.
I'm on my fourth cup this morning. Not coffee. Not tea. With the nagging headache of caffeine withdrawal foremost on my mind, I have been searching for that ideal substitute. I've learned that heat is important to my constitution, so the kettle is on. And while hot water works, it is rather bland, with just a hint of sweetness in the boiled water. (Is that true, or is it possible that my taste buds are already adapting and searching for something … anything?) My current cup is flavoured with a carrot. Previously today, I've tried broccoli, spruce tips and cauliflower. I am immensely reassured by the experimental power within my range. I've learned that, while always surprising, the flavors are never distasteful, perhaps because of the familiarity to those foods. And the flavors are dose dependent: more carrot, more flavour. Furthermore, the flavours continually change during the steeping stage, such that every sip offers a fresh surprise. In the mornings I need liquids, so the extent of this tasting extravaganza is limited because of my consumption haste. But by afternoon, I will take the time to sip and steep. Perhaps I will invent something and call it soup.
With no local source of salt for spicing up and preserving her food, Suzanne is looking for a natural, local substitute. One possible alternative that has surfaced is coltsfoot.
Coltsfoot is a wild plant that is often found in boggy terrain and disturbed areas. Its flowers open on leafless stems in early spring before the leaves come out. The leaves, which resemble a colt's foot in outline and have angular teeth along the edges, appear after the flowers die in the early summer. According the The Boreal Herbal by Bev Gray, in the past, coltsfoot ash was used by indigenous people as a salt substitute. The large coltsfoot leaves and stems were rolled into balls, dried, and then placed on top of a small fire rock and burned. The ash was then used in cooking. Suzanne has been gathering coltsfoot and drying it, and will test out this possible salt substitute. Stay tuned to see how it turns out. 
I read a quote the other day, which fairly represents the current state of things in our house: "She wanted a puppy. But I didn't want a puppy. So we compromised and got a puppy." So, last night, after Suzanne prepared a delicious supper of local everything, we were instructed that there was no time to relax. Why, ripe blueberries have been spotted in the hills! All hands on deck! Man your posts! Fortunately, part of the preparation for this year involved gorging ourselves with "store-bought" ice-cream, so there are no shortage of plastic tubs in the house. Empty tubs. Tubs that are supposed to be filled. By us. Oh, joy upon joy! So, off we go. Lovely evening. Beautiful on the hill. No wind, few mosquitos. And there were berries, yes. Patchy. Small. But, berries undeniably. We set to work with dreams of bounty that would supplant any winter cravings for oranges or grapefruit or pineapple or grapes. Why, we would imminently be rich in produce, capable of spending a winter of movie-watching with blueberries as our popcorn substitute. The problem with gathering is the concept of value for time. My time. Is this a real problem or merely a personal misconception? Or could it perhaps be familial? After an hour I found one of the children sitting on the moss, dreamily listening to her audio-book while petting the dog. I found another sprawled out on a sunny bank, the telltale sonorous breathing explaining all. Meanwhile, I had taken a preference to looking for the mother-load of berries, hiking and exploring, being lured by the adventure, actually doing something. As for berries? Needless to say, we will be returning to the hills.
Suzanne will be appearing again on Yu-Kon Grow It, a regular feature of CBC Yukon's A New Day radio show with host Sandi Coleman. The episodes feature Yukoners involved in local food issues. After a summer holiday in July, Yu-Kon Grow It will again air every other Wednesday morning between 7 and 8 am. Suzanne has been a regular guest on the show, appearing once a month to outline her findings and progress.Catch the next episode with Suzanne tomorrow, Wednesday 2 August. You can listen to past interviewshere, and stay tuned for more episodes every other Wednesday on CBC Yukon.
I woke in a sweat this morning, feeling like I had missed the plane or like the phone was ringing in the middle of the night. No plane. No phone. Just "Day One" of Suzanne's year-long local diet commitment. Just the beginning of sacrifice and hunger. Just the beginning of caffeine withdrawal, bread dreams and sugar cravings. This is just the beginning. So, I sweat. But it does make one wonder why anyone would commit to this and toss away a perfectly comfortable life. And then drag the rest of the family into this nonsense with luring promises of renewed appreciation for quality food, and improved health, and all the meat you can eat. And the unforgettable opportunity to browse in the forest for anything edible. Are the rest of us committed to this? Not really. The kids mostly want to support Suzanne, and I mostly want to, well, support Suzanne. But total adherence to this diet? No salt? No chocolate? No cake or pie or bagels or pancakes or cereal or coffee or burgers or pepper or nuts? This is nuts! It was Bob Dylan who wrote that "people who suffer together have stronger connections than those who are most content." I guess we'll see about that.
Suzanne talked on CBC Yukon's Yu-Kon Grow It show about officially launching her year of eating only 100% local foods.
In a previous post we wrote how Suzanne and family were looking forward to some popcorn in their local-only diet, with the help of growers Karen Digby and Grant Dowdell. Having had success with sweet corn in the past, they planted a field of Tom Thumb popping corn especially for Suzanne. The plants survived the mid-June frosts that savaged so many other local crops, but now there's another, much larger, hazard afoot. It turns out a trio of moose have been hanging out at Grant's Island. Of all the vegetables growing in the fields, the moose seem to have a particular appetite for Suzanne's Tom Thumb popcorn plants, even more so that Grant's sweet corn.
The family dog does his best to dissuade the marauding ungulates, but finds it harder to run off moose than bears. A scarecrow is now on the job and we will just have to see if it can keep the moose at bay and protect Suzanne's precious popcorn. Grant's Island is one of the rare microclimates in the Dawson area capable of growing corn outside, so Suzanne's popcorn experiment is "all in one basket."
Wild strawberries are one of the first wild berries to ripen (followed closely by soap berries, which we'll cover in a later post). It's best to "get low" when harvesting wild strawberries as they are located very close to the ground, often hiding underneath their foliage. You'll typically find wild strawberries in meadows, young woodlands, sparse forest, woodland edges, and clearings. It may take a while to cover the bottom of your bucket, but your patience will be amply rewarded. They are oh so sweet and bursting with strawberry flavour! Best popped straight into your mouth, but if you have the willpower to save them. then they can be also be frozen for later and used for all things strawberry.
It may be time to start looking at lambsquarter in a different way. Much like chickweed, this common garden weed (sometimes also known as pigweed) is another often-overlooked plant that has great potential as a wild food. A prolific grower, lambsquarter is well-suited to Dawson gardens, and does well in many Northern regions. Lambsquarter leaves are delicious raw and are not bitter like many other edible foraged leaves. Suzanne reports that she loves the taste, and they are her new favourite foraged leaf to eat raw. Sometimes called "northern spinach," the leaves can also be cooked and used as a spinach substitute in stir fries or baked dishes like lasagna. The leaves keep well in the refrigerator for a couple of days, or for the long term can be dried or frozen and stored for later use in sauces, soups, or stews. Lambsquarter is rich in Vitamins A and C, so the dried leaves can be a great source of these vitamins in wintertime. One cautionary note: lambsquarter absorbs pollutants so avoid harvesting near roads or industrial areas.
Here is a follow-up on Louise Piché's ginger that she planted earlier in the winter from a piece of ginger root from the grocery store. It is still alive and well and certainly growing — it is now 4 ft tall!
Photos by Suzanne Crocker. Louise's success with growing ginger from ginger root in Dawson has inspired her to try the same thing with a piece of tumeric root. It successfully sprouted, and is now growing beautifully. Will keep you posted how it does.
Photos by Suzanne Crocker. Have you had success re-growing a plant not typical in the north? Share it with us.
One of the leaders in Northern food sustainability, Jackie Milne, the Founder and President of the Northern Farm Training Institute, was in Ottawa last Friday to receive the Meritorious Service Decoration from the Governor General. With global warming affecting traditional hunting grounds, Jackie saw a need to increase access to fresh produce in Canada's northern communities. She established the NFTI in Hay River, NWT to teach the local population about sustainable, environmentally sound farming practices that would supplement traditional diets. Since 2013, the institute has trained nearly 100 farmers from across the north, with Indigenous students making up more than half of the program's graduates. The Meritorious Service Decorations were established by Queen Elizabeth II to recognize the extraordinary people who make Canada proud. Their acts are often innovative, set an example or model for others to follow, or respond to a particular challenge faced by a community. The best candidates are those who inspire others through their motivation to find solutions to specific and pressing needs or provide an important service to their community or country.
Chickweed, another common garden invader, is also an edible wild plant. Before you pull it from your garden, take some scissors and harvest as much as you can. Cooked chickweed tastes just like swiss chard! Suzanne learned the hard way that it is better to harvest it for eating by cutting it with scissors, so you don't have to painstakingly wash out the garden soil that gets trapped in the roots. After you harvest it, then go ahead and pull the roots from your garden. Cooked, chickweed can be eaten on its own or added to stews, soups, or pastas, or used as a replacement for spinach in other recipes. It can also be used to supplement basil in pesto. Chickweed can also be eaten fresh as a salad green, or instead of sprouts in a sandwich or in dips. And it can be juiced (like nettle) and frozen in ice cube trays or it can be blanched and frozen (like nettle) for a shot of green vitamins in smoothies, soups, and stews during the winter. Chickweed is rich in vitamins C and A as well as the minerals calcium, iron, magnesium, manganese, niacin, phosphorus, potassium and zinc. Not that you will, but apparently, if eaten in excess, it can lead to diarrhea, and pregnant women should avoid the juice and just eat small amounts. > See a recipe for Chickweed and Herb Fritatas
Louise Piché, one of Dawson's great home gardeners, has success growing asparagus in the north and she generously shared some of her first asparagus harvest with Suzanne. It was the freshest asparagus Suzanne has ever tasted – delicious!
Louise's secret? Check out Louise Piché's Seed Guide. In the case of asparagus, buy roots, not seeds. Plant the roots in spring in 1⁄2 dirt and 1⁄2 sand. The harvest will be in the second year. Harvest by cutting from June till mid July, and then stop cutting.
Tr'ondëk Hwëch'in elder Victor Henry has taught Suzanne to see with new eyes.
Victor generously agreed to show Suzanne and ethnobotanist Leigh Joseph how to harvest wild rhubarb around Dawson. It seems like Victor can spot wild rhubarb a mile away! In the process, Suzanne also learned to look at her environment in a new way. She can now spot these plants easily (maybe not quite a mile away) and since has noticed wild rhubarb in many of her foraging locations — even in her own yard!
When Victor was a kid living at Moosehide (just down river from Dawson) he and his friends used to pick wild rhubarb and then sneak some sugar from the house to dip it in.
Victor suggests picking wild rhubarb before it flowers, when the stalks are young (late May to early June around Dawson), not hollow, and when they are juicy when cut and squeezed. Peel back the leaves and eat wild rhubarb fresh, or chop it and freeze it for later.
You can use wild rhubarb the same way you use domestic rhubarb. Tr'ondëk Hwëch'in elder Angie Joseph-Rear, especially loves wild rhubarb relish with moose meat. You can find some great recipes for rhubarb stalks (wild or domestic) at the University of Alaska in Fairbanks website.
The young leaves can be eaten as well, either raw or cooked. (Note: only wild rhubarb leaves should be eaten, as domestic rhubarb leaves contain too much oxalic acid and are not edible.) To store the leaves, blanche and freeze them using a similar technique as with stinging nettle.
Pelly River Ranch is the the oldest, continuously working farm in the Yukon territory, located 10 kilometres up the Pelly River from its confluence with the Yukon River. Dale and Sue Bradley are the second generation of Bradleys to run the Pelly River Ranch, and the Bradley family are the fifth in a series of owners dating as far back as 1901, when Edward Menard bought 20 acres on the Pelly River and brought in farmer George Grenier as his partner. The farm changed owners through the years until 1954 when Dale Bradley's uncles Hugh and Dick Bradley bought the place from the Wilkenson family. Like their family before them, Dale and Sue and their son Ken run a mixed farm, which means they engage in several agricultural practices. They raise chickens and beef cattle, mostly Hereford and Angus, have a big vegetable garden, and they raise hay to feed their cattle. The Bradleys sell their eggs, chickens and beef to customers in Dawson, Faro and especially Whitehorse. In addition, they supply local markets with a range of root vegetables like potatoes, carrots, rutabaga and parsnips. Pelly River Ranch mantains a herd of about 50 cattle, which they feed with their farm grown hay as well as fresh forage, from grasses to rose leaves to young fireweed, a feed that gives the beef a wild, natural flavour that Bradley appreciates. In the year 2000, the Yukon Agriculture Branch presented the Bradley family with the "Farmer of the Century Award" for their nearly 50 years of agricultural work at the Pelly River Ranch.
Suzanne's greenhouse is planted and the tomatoes and cucumbers are growing well — along with an early crop of radishes and baby spinach, which were seeded in the greenhouse in mid-April, when the greenhouse was still unheated. They are ready for harvest!
The tomatoes were started indoors on Feb. 25th and transplanted to the greenhouse on May 8th, where they were heated at night with the wood stove. The cucumbers were started too early on Mar. 15th and transplanted to the greenhouse on May 8th, but they appear to be adjusting well.
One of the things Suzanne and her family really love eating is popcorn with butter and nutritional yeast. She's hoping they'll still be able to indulge their craving during the year of eating only local foods, thanks to Grant Dowdell and Karen Digby. Grant's Island is located on the Yukon River about 10 km upriver from Dawson. It has a microclimate unique to the Klondike area that has previously allowed Grant and Karen to grow sweet corn outdoors – something that is usually very difficult to do this far North. This year, they are experimenting growing Tom Thumb popcorn for Suzanne, since this variety takes only 60 days to reach maturity. If it works out Suzanne may have some popcorn for the upcoming year after all. She will certainly have butter. Next she'll have to look for local options for toppings as there will be no salt and no nutritional yeast available. Any suggestions for locally available popcorn toppings for Suzanne and Family? If so, let us know.
Wild rose flowers are out in abundance around Dawson City. Suzanne and Tess have been gently grazing as they walk through the forest. Two delicacies are wild rose petals and lungwort (blue bell) flowers, which are lightly perfumed with a touch of sweet. Spruce tips (late May) provided the citrus candy of the forest.
Blue bells (lungwort flowers) and Wild Rose petals are two edible delicacies for foragers. Photos by Suzanne Crocker. Wild rose petals can be eaten fresh, used as a garnish, steeped as a tea, or sun-steeped for rose-flavoured water. They can also be dried for storage through the year. Recently Suzanne has learned they can also be frozen. Remember to leave a few petals on each flower you pick so that they continue to attract bees.
If you know of any tips/recipes for eating rose petals that only include ingredients local to Dawson, let Suzanne know through firstweeatproject@gmail.com
Join the Northern Food Network for its third FREE webinar. This installment is on Growing Food and Community in the Northwest Territories. It takes place Monday 19 June from 10-11:30 a.m. PST (1-2:30 EST). The webinar will feature presentations by:
- Ray Solotki and team, Inuvik Community Greenhouse, Inuvik, NWT
- Kim Rapati, Northern Farm Training Institute, Hay River, NWT
During the webinar there will also be updates on the recently launched consultation process for a National Food Policy, and duscussion on opportunities to highlight northern perspectives in that process.
To register for the webinar, click here.
The Northern Food Network (NFN) is co-hosted by the Arctic Institute of Community-Based Research (AICBR) and Food Secure Canada (FSC) as a space for people working in and interested in northern food security to share, learn about best practices across the North and advance collective action on food security.
AICBR and FSC are facilitating bi-monthly webinars and teleconferences with focused presentations and discussion around 4 core themes: environment, health, agriculture, and food security.
Suzanne's preparations for her year of eating local suffered a setback this week as the lowest temperatures in 35 years descended on Dawson, bringing three days of frost . Microclimates abound in the Klondike, so depending on their location the severity of damage to gardens and farms varied, with the town only mildly affected, while outlying areas saw temperatures as low as -4.7°C.
Where frost did occur, even some plants that were covered suffered — especially brassicas (plants like cauliflower and broccoli) and beans. Many of those who suffered losses were veteran growers, who had taken precautions to try to mitigate the frost damage.
Klondike Valley Nursery in Rock Creek, where they are adapting fruit tress to the north, was especially hard hit. They lost their haskap berry crop as well as their early apples, even those that were in shelters with kerosene heaters. Only the apple trees that were in greenhouses heated with wood stoves made it through. Lucy's Plants and Vegetables in Henderson Corner has a sprinkler system that is thermostat controlled and turns on automatically when the temperature hits zero. The sprinkler system and the row covers saved the day. There was still some frost damage to early peas and early potatoes, but hopefully they will recover. The rhubarb was frozen hard, but there's still time in the season for them to bring out new shoots. Kokopellie Farms in Sunnydale irrigated their plants and put them under row cover but still suffered frost damage to some of their cauliflower, broccoli, lettuce and early potatoes. Fortunately for Suzanne's hopes of getting some grains, their winter rye is doing well.
Growers have always been at the mercy of the weather, but occurrences like this one underscore the challenges of gardening and farming in the north. Northern growers have developed techniques for weathering frost, including irrigating well before and during the frost, covering crops, and moving what one can into heated shelters and greenhouses. Do you have other ways of dealing with frost or some lessons to share with us? Let us know.
Suzanne's inaugural episode on Yu-Kon Grow It.
Spruce tips will become one of Suzanne and family's candy during their year of eating local. Miche Genest has a wonderful recipe for making Candied Spruce Tips using homemade Spruce Tip Syrup in The Boreal Feast, A Culinary Journey Through the North by Harbour Publishing. And Miche has generously allowed us to share her recipe. However, Suzanne probably will not have access to sugar to make the syrup, so Suzanne has adapted Miche's recipe and combined coniferous with deciduous trees to make Candied Spruce Tips in Birch Syrup. They are more 'birchy' than the original recipe, but still quite delicious. (And, according to 11-year-old Tess, addictive!) Before you worry about using precious birch syrup to candy spruce tips, remember, you can keep re-using the birch syrup for batch after batch. The birch syrup gradually takes on a more sprucey taste with every batch. > See the original and modified recipes for Candied Spruce Tips 
Leigh Joseph and Suzanne Crocker enjoy Spruce Tip Spritzers.
Your foraging adventures not only can help you stock your pantry with wild goodies, but they could also get you a delicious free lunch! The North Woods Cookshop and Lunchbox, a Dawson City based catering company, is looking for generous foragers to share a bit of their spruce tip loot with them. For every four cups of spruce tips you bring them, they will treat you to a free lunch at their amazing new food truck, located in the lot next to the Westminster Hotel. They have great plans for those spruce tips, including delicious syrups for their homemade sodas, as well as the spice mixes, rubs and gourmet salts they are known for. Hurry up before the picking season ends, and remember to spread your harvest out over many trees to keep them healthy and strong. Georgia and Allie will thank you!
A vertical agriculture facility is in the planning stages with the goal of having it built in Carcross this fall. This innovative project will be the first of its kind in the Yukon. Tami Grantham, Natural Resources Coordinator with the Carcross-Tagish First Nation, says: "What attracted us to this technology is the ability to grow greens year-round. It's a goal and a mission for the government of Carcross-Tagish First Nation to become food-secure." Construction would be managed through a new corporation created as a partnership between the Carcross-Tagish First Nation and Northstar Agriculture of which the First Nation will be 51 per cent owner. The system will recirculate water from a fish tank through a vegetable grow bed. Nutrients from the fish waste feed the plants, and the plants filter the water to keep the fish healthy. In normal aquaculture, excretions from the animals being raised can accumulate in the water, increasing toxicity. In an aquaponic system, water from an aquaculture system is fed to a hydroponic system where the by-products are broken down by bacteria into nitrates, which are utilized by the plants as nutrients, and the water is then recirculated back to the aquaculture system. The vertical part of this type of farming will be in the form of stacked layers that could be up to 10 meters high, in order to maximize production, contained in a warehouse-style space. Not only would this mean a possibility for fresh local produce and lower food prices in the community, but also the promise of food security, as this system allows year-round growing of vegetables in a sustainable way. The fish raised would be Tilapia, which is common in farming systems. Vegetables grown would include kale, spinach, and perhaps even strawberries and other vine crops.
According to Environment Canada, the next three days will see the chance of frost in the Dawson City area. This is much later in the month than even the most pessimistic of local planting advice that Suzanne had to consider when planting her garden. While this particular frost warning is a local issue — and even in Dawson, temperatures and exposure to frost will vary based on altitude, terrain. and proximity to water — it highlights a point about sub-arctic/arctic growing, and the quest for Food Security North of 60. Our colder climate brings its own set of challenges and risks. Suzanne will be busy the next few nights trying to protect the plants in her garden by covering them with row cover and sheets. John Lenart at the Klondike Valley Nursery will be putting kerosene heaters in his greenhouses to keep the precious Dawson apple trees with sensitive blossoms warm during the next few nights. Lucy Vogt at Lucy's Plants and Veggies will be irrigating her fields to help keep the frost away from her growing produce. Lucy has a sprinkler system attached to a thermostat. The sprinkler system automatically turns on when temperatures drop below freezing. Fingers crossed that Dawson gardens and farms will make it through the next three nights unscathed!
Some advice and a recipe for cooking nettle from Leigh Joseph. Nettle is one of the most versatile edible plants that can be foraged, but it stings if you touch it with bare skin, so pick it and handle it fresh with gloves and tongs. Cut it at the base, as both the stem and leaves are edible. Choose plants that are not yet starting to flower – plants between 6 inches and one foot tall. The good news is that once nettle is dried, cooked, frozen or juiced, the stinging properties disappear.
- Click here for tips on how to freeze stinging nettle
- Click here for a recipe for Nettle Juice
Photo by Lee Glazier.
Recipe by Leigh Joseph
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While dandelions are the bane of gardeners who are cultivating a lawn, the flowers from this plant — one of nature's most prolific growers — are a blessing for those foraging for wild food. The flower is a sun-lover, opening when the sun is out and closing up when it gets dark or cloudy. The flowers should be picked when they're in full blossom, and the petals should be removed immediately after gathering before the flower heads start to close up. Dandelion flowers can be used in variety of ways, including the well-known dandelion wine. They can be eaten raw in salads, or used for stir-fries, baking, or sauces.
Suzanne talks about the targets and techniques — and urgency — of foraging, as well as giving an update on her growing activities.
Photo by Suzanne Crocker
Sebastian Jones in West Dawson is growing quinoa to share with Suzanne … if it goes to seed. Last year it almost did. This year, Sebastian started it earlier, so fingers crossed.
Continue reading "Suzanne's Keen for Some Quinoa"
An avid gardener and inventor, 82-year-old Chris Bartsch claims tomatoes like to keep their feet warm. He says raising the temperature of the soil will work for all Yukon vegetables too. With that in mind he is working on a DIY solar collector for warming the soil and increasing food production in Yukon.
It's a time awaited by many northerners … but not without some trepidation. When to start planting an outdoor garden.
Continue reading "Planting Suzanne's Garden … With Fingers Crossed
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Photo by Tess Crocker.
Right now Suzanne is feeling more like a "green horn" than a "green thumb." Normally, sunflower seeds from the Mammoth Russian Sunflower are know for growing huge 8- to 14-inch heads, packed with seeds. Suzanne was hopeful that she could get them to grow in Dawson with enough time to go to seed. Facing a year without nuts, sunflower seeds were her hope for a local seed. And, in theory, if one grew enough perhaps some oil?
Continue reading "Suzanne's Sad, Sad Sunflowers"
Miche Genest here. A reminder: This winter I experimented with making homemade rhubarb vinegar using only products available in the Yukon — that is, wild low bush cranberries, frozen rhubarb from my back yard in downtown Whitehorse, tap water and Yukon Birch Syrup made by Berwyn Larsen and Sylvia Frisch on the banks of the McQuesten River. The catalyst for the experiment was to provide a home-grown vinegar for Suzanne, who is about to embark on her year of eating only the foods she can source in or around Dawson. What to do about salad dressing? (The oil is a whole other topic.) No balsamic for her! Apple cider vinegar is the obvious solution, but Suzanne's supply of apples from horticulturist John Lenart will be limited, and their primary role to provide fresh fruit for the family. So I turned to locally-available fruit, starting with rhubarb and low bush cranberries. The first attempt failed but the second time appears to have succeeded. Now that the fresh rhubarb is coming, I'll continue to experiment and see if it makes a difference. Suzanne is experimenting too. Watch for updates, and in the meantime, click here for the recipe. I tested the vinegar with a pH strip and it had a PH of 3. In taste comparisons with commercial apple cider vinegar the apple cider won in terms of both flavour and sharpness. However, I'm delighted with the rhubarb vinegar in salad dressings. It provides the necessary acid. It does its job.
by Miche Genest
Ingredients
- 1 cup (250 mL) rhubarb, washed and chopped, at room temperature (I used frozen, but the fresh stuff is coming up now)
- 3 or 4 juniper berries (for the yeast on their skin)
- ¼ cup (60 mL) Uncle Berwyn's Pure Yukon Birch Syrup, at room temperature
- 4 cups (1L) water at room temperature – if tap water, let stand for a couple of hours in order for the chlorine to evaporate
Preparation Place the rhubarb in a bowl deep enough to allow vigorous stirring and wide enough to give maximum exposure to air. A 2L mixing bowl will do the trick. Dissolve the birch syrup in the water and pour over the rhubarb. Stir vigorously and cover with cheesecloth secured by an elastic or string. For the next week stir vigorously every 2 to 3 hours. After a few days, the mixture should start to bubble in small, fizzy bubbles that gather around the rim of the bowl. You might see white yeast gathering on the surface. Don't worry about the yeast, it's not a bad thing, however more vigorous stirring may be called for. If mould starts to form, spoon it off. (I tasted the vinegar every second day. At first it tasted like birch syrup. After three days or so it took on a sharpness that eventually became both sharp and sour.) After a week to 10 days, strain the mixture and discard the rhubarb. Return the strained liquid to the cleaned bowl or a screw top jar. Cover with cheesecloth. Continue to stir or shake vigorously (put the lid on the jar before shaking, and take it off again afterwards) for three or four days. Taste your vinegar. If you are happy with the sharpness and sourness, stop the show! Cover the jar and put the vinegar in the fridge. I was happy with mine after 2 weeks, though in Wild Fermentation Sandor Katz says fermentation generally takes 3 to 4.
Spruce tips are a versatile ingredient in a variety of dishes and can be frozen for use throughout the year. Photos by Cathie Archbould. At this time of year throughout the North the spruce trees are starting to put on their new growth. The dark green of the existing branches is highlighted by the bright green of new tips. These emerging spruce tips are a delicious and versatile wild food. Spruce tips have a distinct taste. It's light and citrusy and with slight resin-like flavour. You can just eat them as they are or add them to smoothies and salads. Dried tips can be used for a soothing tea, or add chopped tips to drinking water and let it sit for an hour or so while the water absorbs all the goodness. They're also great for seasoning dishes like soups or stews, and work well with both sweet and savoury recipes. They can be pickled, candied, turned into oils, vinegars, jellies and syrups, and used as a herb. Craft brewers also often use spruce tips for flavour in their beers. Dry them off and store them in the freezer for use throughout the year. Spruce tips are high in Vitamin C — another reason to store them for use during wintertime. They also contain carotenoids, and are rich in minerals such as potassium and magnesium. You'll know the spruce tips are ready to pick when they are bright green with a small brown husk at the end. Knock off the husk before using. Remember that this is the tree's new growth, so pick sparingly from any single tree before moving on. It's a good idea to pick a good distance from any roadway to make sure they're free of airborne toxins.
Photo by Leigh Joseph,
Stinging nettle (Urtica dioica) is a nutritious spring green that has many uses, and once identified, may become a staple for your spring foraging. This plant is a perennial and grows as tall as 5-8 feet at maturity. The stem is usually less than 1 cm in diameter and the coarsely saw-toothed leaves are lance shaped to oval and have a pointed tip and a heart shaped base. The leaves are found growing in opposite pairs along the stalk. Stinging nettle is found growing in rich, moist soil along streams, rivers, meadows and open forest. This plant thrives in disturbed habitats such as village sites, roadsides and barnyards. The leaves and stem have hairs that contain formic acid and can cause a stinging reaction when they come in contact with the skin — hence its name; many people opt to wear gloves when harvesting. Cooking or drying destroys the stinging properties, including drying nettles for tea, sautéeing, steaming, or baking.
Photo by Leigh Joseph.
Stinging nettles are best harvested for eating when the young shoots are less than a foot tall and still have a purple tinge to the leaves. They are at their most tender then. They can continue to be harvested beyond this height but they do get more fibrous as they grow and eventually will be too tough to eat. Do not harvest nettles after they have flowered as they develop gritty particles that irritate the urinary tract. These nettles are rich in vitamins A and C as well as in minerals including calcium, potassium, magnesium and iron. They are a delicious alternative to any recipe that calls for spinach and can be added to soups and stir-fry's for added nutrition and vibrant color. The leaves can also be dried and used to make a healthy and hearty tea. Stinging nettle can be used as a bath to help with rheumatism and the mature plant can be processed to make strong cordage. Many coastal First Nations, including Squamish, used this cordage to make strong fish nets and fishing line. -Post by Leigh Joseph
Lungwort (commonly known as blue bell) appears around Dawson City in mid-May. The young leaves and flower buds can be eaten raw or added to salad or even steamed or added to soups and stews. The buds are quite tasty (although Suzanne always feels a bit guilty eating them before they have a chance to flower). Important rule of thumb:In general, blue and purple flowering plants are NOT edible. Lungwort is the exception. Don't eat lupine or delphinium or Jacob's ladder which are also starting to appear around the same time (but the leaves look very different from lupin).
Lupin. Lungwort is the only blue-flowering plant you should eat.Photos by Suzanne Crocker.
On a recent episode of Yu-Kon Grow It on CBC Yukon's A New Day with Sandi Coleman, she looked at the newest happenings at the Tr'ondëk Hwëch'in Teaching Farm near Dawson City. The First Nation's teaching farm is expanding this year. Dexter MacRae, TH's Dir. of Human Resources, Education, and Training gave an update on what's planned this season, including the farm's first livestock, a new greenhouse, berries, apples, and expanded enrolment.
byMichele Genest, The Boreal Gourmet
I've kept this salad as simple as possible, reflecting the scantiness of the spring pantry, but the basic recipe can serve as the starting point for several variations. Feel free to add whatever else you've got on hand from last year's bounty–grated carrots or beets, sautéed potatoes, toasted sunflower seeds. I used new dandelions from my backyard, last year's onion from my sister's garden on Vancouver Island, and last year's garlic from a farmer in Atlin, BC. Suzanne isn't going to have a lot of oil in her pantry come May 2018, so here I've opted to use ghee instead, because she will have access to a cow. Ghee is a great substitute for olive oil. And, a bonus: somehow this salad needed no added salt. Wilted Dandelion Salad with Crispy Onions and Garlic
4 cups (1L) of washed dandelion leaves, roughly chopped 3 cloves garlic 1 small red onion 3 Tbsp (45 mL) ghee, divided 6 Tbsp (90 mL) rhubarb vinegar 1 tsp (5 mL) Uncle Berwyn's Pure Yukon Birch Syrup
Have the dandelions ready in a salad bowl. Cut garlic in half lengthwise and slice into thin lengths. Do the same with the onion. Melt 2 tablespoons of ghee in a frying pan over medium heat. Add onions and cook until brown and crispy, about 8 to 10 minutes. Remove with a slotted spoon, drain on paper towel and reserve. Reduce heat to medium low and add garlic to the pan. Watching carefully that it doesn't burn, cook garlic until golden brown and crisp. Remove with a slotted spoon, drain on paper towel and reserve. Melt the third tablespoon of ghee in the pan. Once it has melted, whisk in the vinegar all at once (stand back, it could spatter a bit), followed by the birch syrup. Allow to bubble for about one minute, remove from heat and pour over the dandelions greens. Toss in onions and garlic and serve at once. Makes 4 servings.
Up North, we love it when patches of fireweed take over our landscape, after all, it is The Yukon's official flower. But did you know you can eat it too? Suzanne is enjoying having this first fresh vegetables of the season in her diet. Continue reading "Fireweed Shoots – The First Vegetable of Spring!"
Claus Vogel is growing celery from celery! This is a great way to get more veggie from the bottom of a veggie that you would usually cut off anyway. Take the base from a stalk of celery, rinse it off, and put it in a shallow cup of warm water on a window sill. Change the water daily and keep an eye on it to see if any regrowth begins. You'll see remarkable results in days and if you want, you can transplant the celery outdoors and have a great harvest at the end of the growing season.
Apparently this also works with romaine lettuce and green onions, and veggies similar to celery like fennel and celeriac. Louise Piché was successful at re-growing ginger from a piece of store bought ginger root, and some adventurous people have even re-grown pineapples from the tops!
Anyone else had any success with re-growing veggies?
The first Fireweed Market of the season opened Thursday at Shipyards Park in Whitehorse on a beautiful sunny day—let's hope Thursdays stay sunny for the rest of the summer! A small but mighty crowd of farmers, vendors and enthusiastic customers were there, reconnecting after the long winter, sharing gardening tales, buying bedding plants, and snacking on kettle popcorn or samosas. Buskers busked, little kids chased each other through the stalls and the occasional dog was spied eyeing up the snackers and hoping for a dropped pakora.
Supplies of produce were limited, as always at the beginning of the season, but Bart Bounds and Kate Mechan of Elemental Farms had swaths of starts for sale. (Bart said recently, "My ultimate dream is to get everyone in the Yukon growing their own vegetables and I grow the seeds.")
Local cook and author Michele Genest came home with starts of beets, cabbage and kale from Elemental Farms, (she's not a gardener, but this year, in solidarity with Suzanne, she's determined to succeed) a dozen eggs (the blue ones are so beautiful) from Michael Ballon, and an order for two chickens and two turkeys from Grizzly Valley Farms. All in all, she reports, a most satisfying day.
It won't be long before markets open in Dawson, Mayo and Haines Junction. Here's to a great growing and eating season!
In this episode of Yu-Kon Grow It on CBC North's A New Day with Host Sandi Coleman, Suzanne discussed her search for natural sweeteners, as well as the challenges around finding a locally-sourced vinegar.
Birch sap makes a delicious drink fresh from the trees – refreshing water taste with only a hint of sweetness – but packed full of minerals. Birch sap contains natural carbohydrates, organic acids, fruit acids, potassium, calcium, phosphorus, magnesium, manganese, zinc, sodium, iron and copper, vitamins B (group) and vitamin C. It is said to have diuretic and detoxifying effects on the body, and it has been used as a folk remedy for many ailments in Europe and Asia for hundreds of years. But birch sap needs to be consumed right away – it doesn't last more than 24 hours even in the fridge. Sylvia Frisch, however, tried pressure canning the birch sap and storing it in her root cellar and it preserved very well and tastes great!
Also, Sylvia Frisch took advantage of the natural yeasts in birch sap to try and make vinegar. She bottled fresh birch sap last year and added a few raisins or black currents in each bottle and stored them in her root cellar. Suzanne and Sylvia cracked one open last week at Birch Camp and it was a delicious light white vinegar. They have bottled some fresh birch sap with local low bush cranberries this year and will see if they have equal success. Will keep you posted! Suzanne talked about her search for locally-sourced vinegar on a recent episode of Yu-Kon Grow It on CBC North's A New Day with host Sandi Coleman.
Photo by Suzanne Crocker
David McBurney's honey bees have survived the winter!
Bees have been successfully overwintered in southern Yukon, but it has been trickier to achieve in the Dawson area due to big temperature fluctuations in March/April, when it can be +20C in the afternoon heat of the sun and -20C at night. David and the bee's success this winter means Suzanne should be able to add a bit of honey to her local diet for this upcoming year.
Suzanne recently talked about sweeteners, as well as her search for vinegar, on a recent episode of Yu-Kon Grow It on CBC North's A New Day with host Sandi Coleman.
Are you aware of other honey bees that have been successfully overwintered in Dawson or in areas further North? Let us know.
Suzanne's main sweetener for her year of eating local will be birch syrup from Berwyn Larson and Sylvia Frisch's birch camp not far from Dawson. The sap has been running well and Suzanne is starting her year with a 12-litre bucket of delicious Uncle Berwyn's Yukon Birch Syrup .
Suzanne recently talked about her experience at the camp on Yu-Kon Grow It on CBC North's A New Day with host Sandi Coleman.
Louise Piché, home gardener in Rock Creek, has great success growing onions. She stores them in a cardboard box in a cool corner of her house and they last all winter. Here are what remains in May – still firm and looking good. Her secret to storage is to let them dry very well on newspaper in the greenhouse before boxing them up for the winter.
Download Louise Piché's Seed Guide. Louise is well-known as a wonderful gardener in Dawson, and a frequent prize winner at the Discovery Days Horticultural Fair in Dawson City, Yukon.
You may remember an earlier post where we mentioned Riley Brennan's success growing an early crop of spinach in an unheated greenhouse in Dawson and France Benoit's similar success with an early crop of Asian greens. Suzanne tried planting spinach seeds this year in mid-April in her unheated greenhouse and they have sprouted. Hopefully they'll provide a crop of baby spinach by the beginning of June!
Located 200 km north of the Arctic Circle in the Mackenzie Delta, Inuvik is at the end of the Dempster Highway that runs from Dawson City. It is also home to the Inuvik Community Greenhouse, which bills itself as North America's most northerly greenhouse. 
The project has come a long way since its germination almost twenty years ago. Today it has grown to a marvelous maturity, and according to the Community Garden Society of Inuvik (CGSI), which runs the facility, it is the only Community Greenhouse of its kind in the world. CGSI is a not-for-profit organization formed in November of 1998. With the help and support of Aurora College, they began by converting a decommissioned building (the former Grollier Hall Arena), into a community greenhouse as a focal point for community development. The objective was to utilize the space to allow for the production of a variety of crops in an area where fresh, economical produce is often unavailable. Based upon the success to date, they believe the Inuvik Community Greenhouse can serve as an effective model for other northern communities. The greenhouse consists of two major areas: raised community garden plots on the main floor and a commercial greenhouse on the second floor. Garden plots are available to residents of Inuvik, and are also sponsored for elders, group homes, children's groups, the mentally disabled, and other local charities. A 4000 square foot commercial greenhouse produces bedding plants and hydroponic vegetables to cover operation and management costs. Today, the greenhouse holds 174 full-size plots. Each full plot is approximately 8 ft. by 4 ft. The rental fee per full plot is $50 per plot. Each member pays a $25 membership fee per year and completes 15 volunteer hours. The greenhouse is naturally heated through the summer by the 24 hour sunlight. The typical greenhouse season lasts from late May to the end of September. Members are able to grow anything they like, and with the 24hour sunlight, anything is possible! Greens such as spinach, chard, and lettuce grow very well, and many members get multiple crops each year. Tomatoes, carrots, peas, herbs, strawberries, rhubarb, zucchini, and squash are among the common crops. Flowers abound, and rarer crops include flax, cucumbers, raspberries, Asian greens, roses, kohlrabi, and watermelons!
Know of an innovative northern greenhouse project?
Tell us about it!
One of the great treats of spring in the Southern Yukon is fresh whitefish from the Yukon end of Atlin Lake. The local fisherman lays a net underneath the ice anytime from late March to early May, and sells his catch under the name Great Northern Fish Company. The season is short and the yield small, but on a good day he can take out 75 fish, each one about weighing about two kilos. This year, on a blazing, blue-sky morning, Michelle Genest's husband went out to Atlin Lake to help with the harvest. He came home in the late afternoon with 10 kilos of beautiful pinky-white filets wrapped in 10 500-gram packages. (The harvesting, fileting and packaging all happen on the same day, and the guts feed the eagles and the ravens.) 
Michelle and her husband cooked a batch that night, in the simplest way imaginable: dipped in egg and flour and fried in butter. Glorious. Atlin Lake whitefish (Coregonus clupeaformis) cooks up firm and tender and is so delicate in flavour you have to pay attention. The reward for that attention is the flavour of lake, sky, and a sparkling spring day on the Yukon end of Atlin Lake in late April or early May. It doesn't get much better.
Our local fisherman already has a full roster of customers, but for information on how and where to catch your own whitefish in the Yukon, visit http://www.env.gov.yk.ca/hunting-fishing-trapping/wherefish.php.
Another great pemmican recipe! This "Traditional Raspberry Pemmican" recipe comes from the show and blog "Wild Kitchen". Wild Kitchen is a project based in the Canadian sub-arctic about people who harvest wild food. 100% of the cast and crew are from the Northwest Territories and they work with what is available on the land to prepare nutritious recipes with a distinct wild flavor. You can watch Wild Kitchen episodes here and on their website you can find their awesome recipes.
Suzanne is looking for ways to keep her ever-hungry 17-year-old son, Sam, full next year. Sam suggested that pemmican might be a reasonable locally-sourced snack food that will help him get through the year, especially since he spends lots of time doing physical activity. After all, Canada was practically built on pemmican. Trading posts would seek this high-protein and high-energy food from the natives, and it was used to sustain the voyageurs, especially in winter, as they traveled long distances. Mary Jane Moses of Old Crow shared some of her ch'itsuh (pemmican) with Suzanne. Click here for a couple of classic pemmican recipes: Have a recipe for pemmican for Suzanne to try? Please share here.
In a beautiful article by Up Here Magazine, France Benoit opens the gate to her home and farm "Le Refuge", which she has lovingly built and tended to for the past 25 years. On this property, by the shores of Madeline Lake in Yellowknife, France grows a variety of vegetables to feed herself as well as to sell in the local farmer's market, of which she is a founding member. France has been kind enough to share many growing and homesteading tips with Suzanne, which we have featured on FWE, and her creative and smart solutions for northern greenhouses keep us inspired. Thanks, France!
The Caribou cookbook has arrived! Learn how to use all parts of the caribou. Traditional recipes such as ch'itsuh (pemmican), head cheese, and Caribou Bone Broth combined with new recipes such as Caribou Wonton Soup and Mushroom and Caribou Brain Ravioli.
Continue reading "Vadzaih: Cooking Caribou from Antler to Hoof"
On April 21 and 22 Vuntut Gwich'in citizens, conservationists, scientists, members of the public and families got together to celebrate the Porcupine Caribou Herd with two days of presentations, films, panel discussions, kids' activities, and caribou tastings at the Beringia Centre in Whitehorse. The event was hosted by Yukon Conservation Society (YCS), Vuntut Gwich'in First Nation (VGFN) and the Porcupine Caribou Management Board (PCMB), all of whom have a keen interest in the health of the herd. There was lots to celebrate. The herd is robust and growing in size. The relationship between northern indigenous peoples and the caribou that sustains them is respectful and strong. Harvest management strategies and hunter education programs are helping to ensure the herd continues to thrive. But there's bad news, too. Of 15 barren ground caribou herds the Porcupine herd is one of only two that are known to be increasing. The others have decreased alarmingly in recent years. Barren ground caribou have been listed as threatened in Canada. And the Porcupine herd's calving grounds in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge are once again under threat from oil and gas exploration. VGFN and their First Nations and Inuvialuit neighbours, conservationists, scientists and concerned citizens are working together to ensure protection of the herd, and Porcupine Caribou: Celebrate and learn about the herd was part of that effort. To watch the proceedings from the Porcupine Herd celebration event, visit yukonconservation.org.
Listen to the "Yu-kon Grow It" episode in which Sandi Coleman talked to authors Kelly Milner, Miche Genest, and Cathie Archbould about their new cookbook: "Vadzaih: Cooking Caribou from Antler to Hoof."
J.B. MacKinnon, the award-winning independent journalist and author whose works include The 100-Mile Diet, a bestseller that helped catalyze the local foods movement, will be speaking and showing slides this week in the territory as part of the 2017 Yukon Writers' Festival. The Festival is produced by Yukon Public Libraries in partnership with the Canada Council for the Arts. All events are free and open to the public. MacKinnon's Yukon schedule is as follows: Monday 1 May 7 p.m. – 8 p.m. Dawson Library Tuesday 2 May 1:30 – 2:30 p.m. Pelly Crossing School (students only) 7:30 – 8:30 p.m. Faro Library Wednesday 3 May 7:00 – 9:00 p.m. Kwanlin Dun Cultural Centre, Whitehorse 15-minute reading along with other Festival authors plus reception Thursday 4 May 7:00 – 8:00 p.m.Teslin Library From vanished bison herds to collapsing fish stocks, the natural world as we know it is a shadow of what it used to be. In his talk and slideshow, bestselling author J.B. MacKinnon revisits a time when grizzlies roamed the Canadian prairies, wolves howled in England, and ten times more whales swam in the sea. He calls for an "age of rewilding," in which we rebuild a wilder world everywhere—from the city to the backcountry, and also in ourselves. 
J.B. MacKinnon's latest book, The Once and Future World, was a national bestseller and won the international Green Prize for Sustainable Literature. Other works include the seminal local-food book The 100-Mile Diet (with Alisa Smith), and Dead Man in Paradise, which won the Charles Taylor Prize for Literary Nonfiction. J.B. also writes in the field of interactive documentaries, most notably for the NFB's Bear 71, which premiered at Sundance. As a journalist, he appears in both major outlets such as The New Yorker and National Geographic and vanguard publications like Adbusters. J.B. is a rock climber, mountain biker, snowboarder, and—yes—a birdwatcher. He lives in Vancouver.
In this episode of Yu-kon Grow It, Sandi Coleman interviews Brian Lendrum and Susan Ross, who have been goat farming outside of Whitehorse for decades and producing delicious goat cheese. Pioneers in the dairy business around Whitehorse, Lendrum and his wife found that their area around Lake Laberge had perfect conditions for raising goats, with rolling hills and lots of different vegetation for the goats to enjoy. On a regular basis, they would produce about 30 litres of milk a day, which translates to around 3 to 4 kg of cheese. Every week, they would take around 10 kg of their freshly made goat cheese to the local market, and sometimes sell out within the hour. They also experimented with goat milk yoghurt and sold bottled goat milk. Continue reading "Yu-kon Grow It – Brian Lendrum: Goat farming pioneer"
One way to have celery year round from the garden is to grow celeriac root. Weird looking but quite flavorful, celeriac root is edible raw or cooked, and tastes similar to the stalks of common celery. It grows well in the North, keeps well in cold storage all winter, and apparently can have a shelf life of approximately six to eight months if stored properly. You can serve it roasted, stewed, blanched, or mashed, or added to your favorite stews or casseroles. Peel it and chop it and use it in place of fresh celery in cooking. Excellent combined with potatoes when cooking mashed potatoes!
On April 18th, Dawson City based e thnobotanist Leigh Josephhosted a community information session at the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre . It was a great chance for Dawsonites to learn about the area's traditional plant foods and medicines, as well as an opportunity to take part in the conversation.
Tonight, April 11th, is the date of this year's Pink Moon, and everyone is talking about it on social media. But what makes the Moon pink on this particular date? Sorry to disappoint you, but turns out the Pink Moon isn't actually of a rosy hue. The title "Pink Moon" is credited to Native American tribes, many of them practiced the custom of naming every Full Moon according to the cycles of the year (like Cold Moon in December or Harvest Moon in September). In the case of this moon, the "pink" comes from the wild ground phlox that rapidly blooms in the springtime. The different full moons were a way of tracking the seasons ahead, and you can still find this knowledge in the Farmer's Almanac. Continue reading "Tickled Pink – How April's Full Moon is special for growing"
Miche here. About five days into this second round of vinegar experiments, a thought occurred to me—low bush cranberries keep forever in the fridge. That's because–oh yeah—I remember this–they are high in benzoic acid, a naturally occurring preservative. Are low bush cranberries, then, a good choice for making vinegar? Well, maybe not. I called Sheila Alexandrovitch, who has a homestead far down the Annie Lake Road 30 kilometres southwest of Whitehorse and asked if she'd ever fermented low bush cranberries. (Sheila is a locally famous for her fermentation knowledge. Her caveat: "I don't know the science, I just know what works.") She said, "Oh no. Low bush cranberries actually stop the fermentation process." Aha! Continue reading "Low Bush Cranberry Vinegar Becomes Low Bush Cranberry Refresher"
Another tasty, although not so pretty vegetable that grows well in the Yukon is the root called salsify. Don't let the hairy dark exterior intimidate you. Peel it, and it tastes similar to a very sweet parsnip, and you can eat it raw or you can cook it as you would cook most root vegetables.
Salsify might not be easily found in the average grocery store, but it actually grows wild in many places in the world, especially the Americas.
But not everything is under the ground: the flowers from the salsify root are gorgeous to look at, and also edible! The shoots can be used like asparagus, either raw or cooked, and the flowers can be added to salads.
by Suzanne Crocker
Kohlrabi is not a vegetable you will often find in the grocery store. However, it is a root vegetable that grows well in the Yukon.
It doesn't look so inviting from the outside, but slice into it and it is tender and delicious – raw or cooked. Suzanne's husband, Gerard, discovered that it slices into crunchy and fresh tasting crackers quite easily!
Suzanne tried some sliced fresh local kohlrabi crackers with a delicious cream cheese and chum salmon caviar topping, with a sprinkling of dill – all ingredients local to Dawson City, Yukon! Not only tasty and healthy, but also a beautiful looking snack!
Upside down growing is a creative and simple solution for space limitations when growing vegetables inside a greenhouse. France Benoit, from Yellowknife NWT grows her determinate (bush) tomatoes upside down.
Continue reading "Expand the Growing Space in Your Greenhouse: Turn it Upside Down!"
Louise Piché is experimenting growing ginger this year – by planting a piece of ginger root from the grocery store. So far it's doing well!
Did you know you can re-grow other vegetables from what you buy in the grocery store? Apparently, you can re-grow celery, romaine lettuce and even herbs like mint and basil. All it takes is a little patience! Have you re-grown any store bought veggies at home? How did it go?
Take advantage of your greenhouse in April and May, before you plant your tomatoes and cucumbers, to give you an early crop of spinach or Asian greens! Riley Brennan, of Dawson City, direct seeds spinach in her greenhouse as soon as the soil thaws in April. She leaves the greenhouse unheated and the seedlings don't require any covering. By the time she goes to plant her greenhouse proper in late May, she has a crop of baby spinach to harvest. Continue reading "Early Leafy Greens in a Cold April Greenhouse?"
Les Kutny, from Inuvik, overwinters and breeds his own chickens and rabbits. He also sells eggs year round from the gate as well as from the Inuvik Community Greenhouse in the summer. Continue reading "Successful Overwintering and Breeding at 68 Degrees North in Inuvik, NWT!"
Next weekend, Dawsonites will have a chance to participate in two amazing workshops! Seedy Saturdays will be held on Saturday March 25th at the Recreation Centre, and it will include presentations by Karen Digby and Grant Dowdell about northern gardening and by Scott Henderson about mushroom cultivation. The following day on Sunday the 26th, there will be a Birch Syrup workshop in which participants will meet at the Rec Centre and then go hunting for Birch sap. There are limited spaces on both, so make sure you sign up soon! 
If there is something exotic you wish to grow in the North, ask Louise Piché of Rock Creek, Dawson City, Yukon. Louise is a well known gardener in Dawson and a frequent ribbon winner at Dawson's annual Discovery Days Horticultural Fair. She loves experimenting with new and colorful varieties. She has successfully grown peanuts and ground cherries (aka golden berries) as well as asparagus, giant pumpkins and buckwheat. Louise has generously shared her 'tried and true' cultivars that grow well in Rock Creek, which you can view on our seed page. This year she is experimenting with ginger, turmeric, artichokes and pink potatoes. We will keep you posted! Continue reading "Peanuts and Ground Cherries Growing in the North!"
Northern Food Network hosted their first bi-monthly webinar onMonday, February 27th, and it featured Dawsonite Dexter MacRae fromTr'ondëk Hwëch'in Teaching and Working Farm, as well as Kukik Baker and her team, from Arviat Wellness in Arviat, Nunavut. Continue reading "Check out the 1st Webinar of the Northern Food Network"
Suzanne Crocker loves nuts. She really loves them. So how is she going to get by without nuts for a whole year? Easy–She'll eat seeds instead! Sunflower seeds, Styrian pumpkin seeds. She's recruited a couple of farmers to grow the pumpkins, and she's ordered up some Russian sunflower seeds to plant in her own garden. Both varieties are high-yield; in fact Styrian pumpkins are grown for their seeds, not their flesh. The question is, will the Dawson growing season be long enough for the seeds to mature? We don't know. But here are a couple of recipes Suzanne might use, should she be successful. Call them aspirational. Oh. But the olive oil might be a problem…not so many olive trees in Dawson… Here are two delicious recipes containing seeds, Sunflower Seed Soup and New Potatoes in Wild Onion and Pumpkin Seed Pesto from The Boreal Feast. Enjoy!
There is still time to attend the 4th Annual Yukon Community Gardeners Gathering March 14-15, in Whitehorse!
Great news! The CBC morning radio show "A New Day" hosted by Sandi Coleman on CBC Yukon, has started a new regular column called "Yu-kon Grow It", which will air every other Wednesday morning between 7 and 7:30 am. On this segment, Sandi will check in with Suzanne about her "First we Eat: Food Security North of 60" project, as well as featuring other Yukoners involved in local food issues such as Miche Genest and other guests. Sandi Coleman will next check in with Suzanne on Wednesday March 8th, between 7.00 and 7.30 am on CBC Radio Yukon. Don't forget to tune in! You can listen to the first interview with Suzanne and Elyn Jones here,
A new addition to our tips and recipes page, the Marinated Maktaaq Salad from Arviat, Nunavut, makes use of local maktaaq and wild flowers. Continue reading "Marinated Maktaaq Salad from Arviat, Nunavut"
Suzanne, new to the world of sourdough baking, has been experimenting with sourdough bread using store-bought rye flour (before she uses Otto's precious rye and barley flour from Kokopellie Farm, in Sunnydale). She has also added Yukon's own Uncle Berwyn's birch syrup and water.No salt! Continue reading "Sourdough Adventures"
Suzanne is thrilled to be able to have some locally grown flour for her year of eating local, thanks to Otto and Conny at Kokopellie Farm in Sunnydale, Dawson, Yukon. 
Otto's Kokopellie Farm rye and barley flour bags Continue reading "Barley and Rye Flour, Grown and Milled in Dawson"
If you are interested in issues of Northern Food Security, consider signing up for webinars with the Northern Food Network. Their First Webinar is taking place Monday, Feb 27 from 10-11 am. It will featureDexter MacRae & Darren Bullen, from Tr'ondëk Hwëch'in Teaching and Working Farm and Shirley Tagalik and team, from Arviat Wellness and Arviat Greenhouse. The Northern Food Network (NFN) is co-hosted by the Arctic Institute of Community-Based Research (AICBR) and Food Secure Canada (FSC) as a space for people working in and interested in northern food security to share, learn about best practices across the North and advance collective action on food security. Sign up here for this great opportunity.
When you live in a fly-in community in the North, shipping by plane can be very expensive, especially for heavy items such as soil and fertilizer. The people behind the community greenhouse in Arviat, Nunavut, have taken on the very important issue of food security by devising a strategy to grow their own produce. And one of the biggest obstacles they have found is that the local soil lacks nutrients. Commercial soil works fine, but it is costly and it needs to be flown in, which impacts the sustainability of the project.
Continue reading "Local Fertilizer in Arviat, Nunavut"
Many northern Canadian communities do not have the luxury of the rich soil found in southern Yukon. This is the case for the fly-in community of Arviat, (population 2,800) – the second largest community in Nunavut.
In 2014 Arviat built a greenhouse beside the school to see if they could grow their own vegetables with local soil and local fertilizer. And they have been very successful! Continue reading "Arviat Goes Green"
It is a wonderful thing that our farmers have the ability to overwinter and breed livestock in the North!
Piglets, Calves, Kids and Chicks are a Spring ritual at Aurora Mountain Farm in Whitehorse. Aurora Mountain produces certified organic chicken, eggs, hay and vegetables (including garlic, yum!) available seasonally from their farm. They also offer delectable wild crafted preserves, jams & mustard, and even handmade goat milk soap! Continue reading "More Baby Animals!"
Yup! Suzanne has been munching on sweet & crunchy carrots from Kokopellie Farm all January. "They taste like they are freshly picked only even sweeter!" offers Suzanne. Otto Muehlbach, whose farm is in Sunnydale (Dawson), has designed a large root cellar to store carrots, potatoes, cabbage, beets, and other root veggies all winter long. The trick seems to be 2-4 degrees C and keeping the humidity and condensation low. If you can find a way to get to Sunnydale, Otto's fresh root vegetables are sold from his house on Saturdays between 2 and 5 pm as long as it is warmer than -30C. It is definitely worth the trek!
Introducing Lily's calf and Cleo's kids – born today, Feb 9th, at the Sadlier's Klondike Valley Creamery in Rock Creek, Dawson, Yukon. Successful overwintering and breeding of livestock in the Klondike! Thank you Jen and Becky for welcoming Suzanne and Tess to witness the births. Stay tuned Dawson – Jen's delicious local cheeses will be coming to you later this year or next!
You bet. Suzanne was treated to a crunchy and delicious local apple of John Lenart's on the shortest day of the year, December 21st.
John in Rock Creek has been perfecting apple varieties that can store well throughout the winter in his root cellar.
After close to 40 years of supplying fresh local produce to Dawson City, Yukon, Grant Dowdell, a legend in local growing, is retiring.
As his retirement gift to the community, Grant is generously sharing some of his tremendous farming knowledge accumulated over 40 years of growing vegetables in the Klondike: Grant and Karen's 'tried and true' seed varieties as well as their planting and harvesting schedule.
Let us know your 'tried and true' produce seed varieties that grow well in your area. Continue reading "Grant Dowdell Shares His Best Seed Varieties"
Suzanne has never had any luck growing spinach in Dawson… Continue reading "Solving the Trouble With Spinach in Dawson"
This is the word on the street in Dawson City, Yukon … Continue reading "Start Your Tomatoes By Valentines Day!"
Hey Northerners, Suzanne needs to replace sugar. Continue reading "Natural Sugar North of 60?"
First We Eaters! Homemade flax seed crackers, homemade pumpkin butter and homemade cranberry chutney. Food for thought: can we grow enough Styrian pumpkins to support a home-grown pumpkin butter and pumpkin oil industry? Why not? – Miche Genest
First We Eat would like to introduce you to the amazing folks who are part of the online launch team: Continue reading "Introducing the First We Eat Team!"
100% Yukon vinegar:
Lowbush cranberries, rhubarb, Uncle Berwyn's Pure Yukon Birch Syrup, water. Will it work? Will Suzanne's family like it? Stay tuned, northern cooks and eaters!
Suzanne talks about the First We Eat project with CBC North's Dave White! Listen to the full interview below:
Welcome Northerners! Suzanne will use her one-year challenge to start a public conversation about food self-sufficiency with communities across the North. Through social media and this website, First We Eat wants to collaborate with people and organizations that can help Suzanne's journey by sharing knowledge, both traditional and innovative, on eating local North of 60 – not just in Dawson, but all across the North. Continue reading "Suzanne has challenged herself to spend one year eating only food local to Dawson City, Yukon – to create a public conversation about food self-sufficiency with communities across the North."
Feeding Chickens Yogurt Until Something Bad Happens - Save the Squirrels Initiative
Source: https://firstweeat.ca/author/suzanne/
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