Alaska food_porn
Feb. 21st, 2007 08:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
quisletSince my muse seems to be hanging about, I thought I'd try my hand at some food_porn. My suspicion is that she's been cheating on me with another foodie friend's muse. I think I can probably bring myself to forgive her. If only I could get my hands on the video!
When looking for a steak in Anchorage, I highly recommend Sullivan's on 6th. It's in the downtown mall, but before you raise that judgmental eyebrow, remember where Anchorage is. The mall is a pretty cool place around here. I decided to treat myself and went for some classic "meat and potatoes" sans potatoes (but that's another show).
To slake my thirst, I started with a glass of Trumpeter malbec. The nose was deep, promising that throaty Argentine zonda that slaps you in the face and takes your breath away. Unfortunately, it disappointed. This glass was all back end and unremarkable. Sorry,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
crowitch, skip the Trumpeter.
The people of Anchorage are beautiful in a simple and unassuming way. The men are bearded, sporting facial hair that even my beard-bigoted daughter couldn't look down her nose at. Everyone seems comfortable inside their own skin. The dress tonight was casual but classy, a mix of flannel shirts and casual evening wear. In my Thai yellow pinstripe shirt and slacks, I was noticeably overdressed.
The first course was an array of Ketchemak Bay oysters on the halfshell, gloriously gnarled Pacific oysters of irregular shapes and sizes. Most Pacific species of oysters are rugged and rough, looking more like gnarled volcanic rocks than the smooth river stones their Atlantic cousins take after. They were glossy, rich in oyster liquor, tasting simply of ocean, the primal sea. It was fun trying to find a shallow spot on the shell to slurp from, a brief but appreciated serial dance between walrus and a half-dozen partners to whet the appetite.
Salad was a wedge of iceberg lettuce, crisp and clean as new-fallen snow. Atop it was a simple dice of tomato and the caress of handmade bleu cheese dressing, a hint of sweet cream before diving into dense, chewy nuggets of bleu.
A second glass of wine was needed to accompany the main course, so I switched to the house zinfandel. If you're looking for a surprising zin, may I recommend Gnarly Head? It lacks the sassy pepperiness that zinfandel is known for, and is all oak, blackberries, and thyme. It's friendly and playful, themcsuave of wines. I was completely ambushed by the herbal notes, and actually had the waiter bring out some oregano from the kitchen to help narrow down which herb I was tasting. Tony is a good guy, make sure to tip him well.
The main course was filet mignon, medium-rare, perfectly grilled to slight crispiness on the edges, weeping pink in the center. What made this filet special was that it was prepared with a mushroom duxelles: butterflied and stuffed with mushroom pate, grilled and then buried in sauteed mushrooms. Every bite was a bit of crisp, a bit of creamy pink, a bit of smooth earthiness, and a heap of buttery mushrooms. It was simply to die for. Now I know exactly what I'm going to do the next time I fire up my grill.
For dessert, I sit in my hotel room, savoring a salmonberry truffle that was sold to me by a lovely Russian lady from Sakhalin by the name of Eleonara.
Salmonberry: Plump raspberry the color of a pale salmon belly with a delicate, ethereal flavor. They're very rare where I come from, but common in Alaska.
Sakhalin: That contested island between Japan and Russia.
Eleonara: Bottle-red hair on a beautiful, ebullient, forty-something pianist selling chocolates in the Anchorage mall. She laughs like a choir of hand-bells and tells me that she has a cousin who runs two-week cruises from Moscow to St. Petersburg, stopping daily in little towns along the way. Anyone interested in making plans for 2008?
Spo'koinoi 'nochi!
When looking for a steak in Anchorage, I highly recommend Sullivan's on 6th. It's in the downtown mall, but before you raise that judgmental eyebrow, remember where Anchorage is. The mall is a pretty cool place around here. I decided to treat myself and went for some classic "meat and potatoes" sans potatoes (but that's another show).
To slake my thirst, I started with a glass of Trumpeter malbec. The nose was deep, promising that throaty Argentine zonda that slaps you in the face and takes your breath away. Unfortunately, it disappointed. This glass was all back end and unremarkable. Sorry,
crowitch, skip the Trumpeter. The people of Anchorage are beautiful in a simple and unassuming way. The men are bearded, sporting facial hair that even my beard-bigoted daughter couldn't look down her nose at. Everyone seems comfortable inside their own skin. The dress tonight was casual but classy, a mix of flannel shirts and casual evening wear. In my Thai yellow pinstripe shirt and slacks, I was noticeably overdressed.
The first course was an array of Ketchemak Bay oysters on the halfshell, gloriously gnarled Pacific oysters of irregular shapes and sizes. Most Pacific species of oysters are rugged and rough, looking more like gnarled volcanic rocks than the smooth river stones their Atlantic cousins take after. They were glossy, rich in oyster liquor, tasting simply of ocean, the primal sea. It was fun trying to find a shallow spot on the shell to slurp from, a brief but appreciated serial dance between walrus and a half-dozen partners to whet the appetite.
Salad was a wedge of iceberg lettuce, crisp and clean as new-fallen snow. Atop it was a simple dice of tomato and the caress of handmade bleu cheese dressing, a hint of sweet cream before diving into dense, chewy nuggets of bleu.
A second glass of wine was needed to accompany the main course, so I switched to the house zinfandel. If you're looking for a surprising zin, may I recommend Gnarly Head? It lacks the sassy pepperiness that zinfandel is known for, and is all oak, blackberries, and thyme. It's friendly and playful, the
mcsuave of wines. I was completely ambushed by the herbal notes, and actually had the waiter bring out some oregano from the kitchen to help narrow down which herb I was tasting. Tony is a good guy, make sure to tip him well.The main course was filet mignon, medium-rare, perfectly grilled to slight crispiness on the edges, weeping pink in the center. What made this filet special was that it was prepared with a mushroom duxelles: butterflied and stuffed with mushroom pate, grilled and then buried in sauteed mushrooms. Every bite was a bit of crisp, a bit of creamy pink, a bit of smooth earthiness, and a heap of buttery mushrooms. It was simply to die for. Now I know exactly what I'm going to do the next time I fire up my grill.
For dessert, I sit in my hotel room, savoring a salmonberry truffle that was sold to me by a lovely Russian lady from Sakhalin by the name of Eleonara.
Salmonberry: Plump raspberry the color of a pale salmon belly with a delicate, ethereal flavor. They're very rare where I come from, but common in Alaska.
Sakhalin: That contested island between Japan and Russia.
Eleonara: Bottle-red hair on a beautiful, ebullient, forty-something pianist selling chocolates in the Anchorage mall. She laughs like a choir of hand-bells and tells me that she has a cousin who runs two-week cruises from Moscow to St. Petersburg, stopping daily in little towns along the way. Anyone interested in making plans for 2008?
Spo'koinoi 'nochi!
