Glacier Quiche

Sleeping on a boat can be heaven. The slow rocking motion seems to slow down your blood and focus your breathing, while the incessant rhythm of waves hitting the steel hull lulls your brain. It is loud enough to occupy your mind, pushing out all unwanted minutia, but soft and even enough to become part of the night.

And so in Fingers Bay we all slept, late late late, oblivious to the eagles' shrieking overhead like demented fishwives. When I woke, the first mate had taken over breakfast duty, creating a quiche with such fluffy insides and crispy outsides I had to share the recipe.

Crustless Quiche

5 eggs
1/8 cup melted butter
1 cup shredded Monterey Jack cheese
1/2 cup cottage cheese
1 chopped jalapeno (optional but recommended)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Combine ingredients in a bowl. Pour into a greased pie plate and sprinkle with paprika. Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes.

Fortified for what must be one of the most unique and beautiful sights in all the world we motored up Reid Inlet to the glacier, which hovered over the bay in the sunlight. It was so immense a trawler next to it looked like an ant on a watermelon. (Way down in the lower right corner...)

We shed layers and bask in the sun, as if we are the glacier's court, though its dirty, melting exterior and lack of icebergs in the water concern us, as King Henry's gout must have troubled his subjects. Is it something that we do to our world that causes these weary glaciers to recede? Can we stop it? In this vast landscape, one feels so unimportant, and yet so potent, at the same time. It is why we travel, to take us out of our lives and illuminate our essence. To remind us we are not our trappings, which are, for the most part, small and unremarkable. It is for our families, and our environment, our world, that we endeavor; those alone will endure.

Guess Who is Coming to Dinner?

My husband makes lovely anniversary plans -- usually at the bucolic local Ashby Inn, in Paris, Virginia, and once, even, in Paris, France. This year trumped: an evening in Glacier Bay National Park, anchored in the South arm of Fingers Bay. We had gotten to the park rather later than we hoped, as the tide flowing out of the strait was so strong we would have used more fuel to putt against the current than prudent. So we hung out on the south side of Lesmeseurier Island, where some humpbacks graced us with a little show, and the otters watched too.

After a brief stop at the ranger station, where we availed ourselves of a fine lunch (salmon cakes, halibut chowder and sweet potato fries, yummmmm) at the beautiful cedar lodge, hiking through the rich, moist forest under the tall hemlock canopy.

Back aboard, we charted a course up to a safe anchorage from which to make our way further into the park, in hopes of making it to a glacier in the morning. The park is vast, and with only 25 pleasure boats given permits to be in at a time, rather empty. We see the occasional tour boat, or research vessel, but mostly, intrepid kayakers, as we sit in our cozy pilot house with cameras and binoculars and charts.

After anchoring, we crack champagne for the occasion -- both getting to Glacier Bay and another year of marriage -- in a bay rimmed with snow-frosted peaks. On shore an adolescent grizzly bear, oblivious to our fete, poked around on the beach looking for an easy meal. For our dinner, I gave a couple of exhausted looking eggplants a curry bath, and they perked up rather nicely.

Eggplant Curry

2 large eggplants, peeled and sliced into 1" rounds. layer in colander, salting each layer, and set aside
1/2 red onion, minced
3 cloves of garlic, minced
1 rib celery
1 teaspoon ginger
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup chicken broth
1 cup water
2 Roma tomatos
2 teaspoons curry powder (McCormick's is fine, a mellow spice is perfect for this dish)
1/2 teaspoon chili powder
1/2 teaspoon cumin

Peel slice and salt eggplants, and set aside.

Mince onion, garlic, celery, ginger and tomatos, assemble ingredients.

Rinse and pat dry eggplant, then cube to 1 inch cubes. Sautee onion and garlic in 1 tablespoon oil, cook until soft but not browning, add celery, ginger and stir to combine. Add spices and cook 3 inutes more so spices release their flavor.

Add eggplant and stir to coat with spice mixture, cook five minutes more. Combine tomatoes then add water and chicken broth. Simmer 40 minutes until eggplant is soft.

Serve over rice with chopped cilantro. (We only had frozen cubes of cilantro, which I stirred in at the last minute, still perfect. Sprinkle with feta if you like. Choose a light red or a rose if you care for wine, not too chilled.

Enjoy.

Humpback sighting

The first sign of a pod of whales  is generally spouts of water, shooting from the sea. Expelled forcefully, they punctuate the landscape, one here, another there, maybe three, or four, a tell-tale count of the number of whales swimming below the surface. If you are close enough you can hear them, a breathy, expectant whoosh.

 If you watch closely, you may see the rounded back and smooth fin turning over in the water, a dark tale, or fluke, as the whale dives down again. They are playful acrobats, light in the water, diving, slapping their tail, or fluke, repeatedly and even breaching, or throwing their entire body above the water and back in again.

It is possible to watch them for hours at a time, waiting for one to show himself again, scanning the landscape to see where they may pop up next. Their flukes are like fingerprints; each whale's is different, be it white markings, the shaping of the pectoral fins, or gauges made by the bangs and bonks which are unavoidable if you are a migrating 79,000 pound whale.

The sea creatures in Alaska were quite obliging with entertainment for most meals -- otters floating by on their backs, cracking clams in their paws and looking to see what we were eating, porpoises dancing across the bow after lunch, daring us to go faster, whales cavorting at anchorage, just when we were enjoying a new cocktail. And so we named it in their honor.

The Humpback

Simple syrup

1/2 part citrus juice (lemon and/or lime)
1/2 part water
1 part sugar
3 inch knob of ginger root, peeled and thinly sliced

For each drink:

1 shot simple syrup
1/2 shot Drambuie
3 shot Mount Gay rum
1 shot lime juice
mint for garnish
ground ginger
sea salt


For the simple syrup: mix ingredients in a sauce pan over medium heat. Bring to a boil and boil for 15 minutes; off the heat and let cool. Puree in a blender then strain through cheesecloth; cool until use.

For the drink: Put ice in a cocktail shaker and pour liquid ingredients in. Take a tumbler and wet the rim with a slice of lime. Mix ground ginger and salt in a saucer, dip tumbler in to rim with the salt and ginger. Pour drink over ice and garnish with mint.

Enjoy!

Breakfast with the eagles

We were lazily watching a tiny, transparent jellyfish float aimlessly through the water. Anyone for breakfast? I asked, even though I was not particularly hungry. It was, however, time for breakfast, having already had coffee/tea, read books and observed jellyfish this morning. The mountains rose from the bay wreathed in snow and bathed in sun. An eagle circled once, twice, then perched and watched us from a tall hemlock.

Hash browns, made from scratch, challenged the Captain, eggs and bacon. Well, I had seen a box of redskins below deck, and the remains of a packet of bacon in the fridge. Eggs and yogurt we kept on the back deck; it was cool enough out there, and saved room in the fridge.

I can do that, I retorted, heading for the galley.

I far prefer grated hash browns, and this is because they stay more moist than cubes of potato. I like the runny yolk to soak the golden potato chards, creating a sumptuous mess. We pinched a bit of rosemary from the on-deck herb window box as an afterthought, a glorious one at that.

Rosemary Hash Browns

4 redskin potatoes, grated
1 shallot, minced
bacon fat or butter
2 sprigs of rosemary, minced
coarse salt and pepper

If you are cooking bacon, do so, and pour off all but 2 Tablespoons of fat. Or, melt two tablespoons of butter in a stovetop skillet.

Saute the shallot in the butter until golden; add half a teaspoon of coarse salt and lightly toss to combine. The salt may sizzle, melting and coating the skillet and shallots.

Add the potatoes and cook, turning occasionally, until golden and fried through. I like to let them cook for a while -- they clump and turn golden almost like patties. When the potatoes are nearly done, add the rosemary and cook through.

Serve with runny eggs and bacon.

The Captain pronounced them excellent. Perhaps you'll concur.

Enjoy!

Alaska, unplugged

We've just returned from Alaska, which is a greater undertaking than I thought it would be. First, there is the sheer distance between here and there, and (which I also underestimated) the effect of the time change, especially on a five-year-old boy. I seriously considered Benadryl.

Second, of which I also had no idea, there is an unbelievable mind space between here and there. I thought the big deal would be living on a boat that long, having an active boy on the water so far from civilization that one small mistake could turn fatal. And that was a constant thought.

But it wasn't the big deal at all. I'm still sorting it, but the soaring eagles, the space between the water and the mountains, the smallness of you -- it makes your heart change. The absence of connected-ness to the outside world, with no cell coverage, no WiFi, no Internet, takes away a level of busyness I wasn't even aware had crept in. As when you all the sudden notice your hair has grown, when they were unavailable I realized how increasingly tied I've become to my electronic devices. Constantly checking these external benchmarks becomes a part of life which hugely detracts from the business of really living. It is so liberating not to have to worry about reading the news, having an opinion about it, making an appointment or keeping one. I realized how much thought time I squander on petty annoyances, even just  wondering why someone hasn't yet called me back. Instead, I read books, looked for whales for hours on end, took the time to really mince the garlic, not just chop it. We sat at table for hours, no one having to go home, check their e-mail or the Yankee score.

And we ate. Boy did we. Salmon the color of Easter tulips. Halibut as thick as a brick. Crab we drew up by the line. The first night at anchor, in a cove called Coot (yes, really), a day's cruise from Juneau, we dropped a "two-beer" crab trap, so called because when my friend bought the trap, the fisherman told her to leave it in, drink two beers, and pull it out. An indeterminate time really, as everyone drinks their beer at a different pace. But after anchoring, we dropped the trap (with a few salmon heads for bait) into the water. The men popped beers; the ladies poured wine (my son now calls it a "half-a-glass-of-wine" crab trap, which would probably make that salty old fisherman roll his eyes).

On the first pull, up came a fine male Dungeness crab, and a baby halibut. We tossed the halibut back after admiring his eyes (both on one side of his head, as they are bottom feeders) and dipped the trap in again. Four pulls, two crab and two halibut later (probably the same halibut, guess he liked salmon), and we had a wonderful addition to our planned dinner. The chicken with lemon-caper sauce got stuffed with crab. And so did we.

Crabby Chicken with Lemon Caper Sauce

1 shallot, finely minced
1 Tablespoon olive oil
1Tablespoon capers
1 Tablespoon lemon juice
zest of one lemon
coarse salt and pepper
1/4 cup sherry
1 cup Pinot Grigio
2 Tablespoons thyme, chopped
1 teaspoon cornstarch
4 chicken breasts
1 lb. crab meat

Saute shallot in oilve oil. Add rest of ingredients and simmer until reduced, about 10 minutes. Take out a few Tablespoons and mix into cornstarch; return to pan and simmer 5 minutes more, until thick and glossy.

Make two diagonal cuts in the chicken breasts to create a small cavity in the top of the meat. Saute crab picked fresh from a shell, or use canned, in butter until opaque. Saute the chicken breasts in olive oil until golden; make sure the internal temperature is adequate for your tastes, at least 165 degrees.

Place chicken on a plate and fill top cavities with crabmeat. Dress with sauce.

Enjoy!

Trifecta Tomato Pie

This should have made it into the last post about the REDCOATS, as the coming of summer tomatoes is as Momentous as cherries, perhaps even more so to me as I do not have to pick them, yet -- mine are still green on the vine. But I go to the farmer's market and buy them from the far more advanced growers who have them in glass houses. In this case, I did not even do that. A friend of mine got up and got the early tomatoes (which you have to do this time of year, as tomatoes are not so plentiful as in August, when the farmers give away flats for sauce rather than trucking them home, but that is getting way ahead of myself).

Back to the pie. This recipe is not gluten-free, though I am going to work on a crust that looks this beautiful and is gluten-free. I ate it anyway, out of the crust, and didn't miss it the crust at all.

This recipe, a thing of beauty, hits the trifecta. First, the obvious:

Second, it is easy. If you do not have home-made pesto call me, as I still have jars of it in the freezer from last summer, which I want to consume before this year's batch so I can reuse the jars. Or, buy the Buitoni brand at the Safeway, which is what my friend did and it was gorgeous.

Third: it is quick. I turned away to listen to the chef's husband tell a funny story about getting old, (even though he is not very old, he is very funny), turned around and she was done.  That is one good party trick they've got going on.

Trifecta Tomato Pie

One pie crust
three or four ripe tomatos
2 balls fresh mozzerella
1 cup pesto
olive oil to drizzle

Put the crust in a 8 inch cake pan, pushing it into the corners and up the sides with your fingers. It does not need to be even, in fact, it is lovely if it is not. Bake at 400 degrees for 4 minutes. Let it cool and then take it out of the pan and set on a tray.

Slice the tomatoes and the mozzarella into 1/2 inch slices. Layer into the shell, brushing with pesto each layer. Spoon pesto on top and drizzle with olive oil. Serve.

Enjoy!

The Redcoats are here!

Memorial day holds different connotations for everyone. Servicemen and their families think about fallen soldiers. If you live in the DC area, it's hard not to miss Rolling Thunder, 400,000 motorcyclists converging on the Pentagon to demonstrate support for POWs.  My extended family in Indiana is consumed by the Indianapolis 500, and several high school graduations. Stores stock shelves with charcoal and franks for summer's first cookouts. Pools open, and America dives in.

Since we bought this place, Memorial Day has become labor day, because in come the cherries. When you see them, flush and red on the tree, it is time to get out the ladder before the birds notice. This year, there were so many that I drove the pickup under the laden boughs and we stood on its roof with bowls like ants at a picnic.

It is like this with live charges. When they call, or ripen, or fall sick, you must answer. I have been trying to talk to a farmer friend, and between her breeding pig, my sick child and picking the cherries, we missed each other for a whole week.

But it is worth it. We sit and talk and pit the cherries, some of us using actual metal cherry pitters, others using tent stakes or lobster scrapers. My 5-year-old counts the pits as they plop into the bowl, proving that he actually can count into the thousands (he quit at 1,229). We eat them until our tummies are sore, then we freeze them on cookie sheets overnight before their final freezer storage in plastic bags.

But first we make dessert. For me that means clafoutis, an eggy, gluten-free, cherry studded flan. Cherry pie, cherry jam, cherry almond sauce on vanilla ice cream. For my husband, it means marinating them in Luxardo for plopping into his perfect Manhattans.

Cherry Clafoutis

adapted from Nigella Lawson

2 teaspoons oil (I use avocado or grapeseed oil, both of which hold up well in high heat, but if you can tolerate vegetable it is a less expensive option)
2 cups cherries, pitted
4 eggs
1/2 cup rice flour
3 Tablespoons sugar
1 1/4 cup milk or sub 1/4 cup cherry juice or kirsch for 1/4 cup milk

Heat oven to 450 degrees. Put oil in a pie plate or copper tarte tatin dish and pop it in while the oven heats. Meanwhile, mix flour and sugar, then whisk in the eggs, one by one, then the milk and other liquid, if using. When the oven reaches 450 degrees, stir the drained cherries into the batter and pour into the hot pan. Return to oven and bake about 20 minutes, or until puffy and golden.

Make this at the last minute and bring it piping hot to the table with some fresh whip cream -- depending on how well you know your dinner guests, you may just need forks. Bet you won't have any leftovers.

Home Made Maraschino Cherries

from the New York Times

1 cup maraschino liqueur
1 pint sour cherries, stemmed and pitted (or substitute one 24-ounce jar sour cherries in light syrup, drained).
Bring maraschino liqueur to a simmer in a small pot. Turn off heat and add cherries. Let mixture cool, then store in a jar in refrigerator for at least 2 days before using, and up to several months, if you can keep them around that long.
Yield: About 1 pint.

Cherry Almond Sauce

3 Tablespoons brown sugar
4 teaspoons cornstarch
1 teaspoon almond extract
1 cup water
1 quart pitted cherries

Stir together in a saucepan over medium heat. Cook and stir until the cherries break down into a sauce, about 30 minutes. Spoon over ice cream, or serve as a side to ham or pork.