Laboring on Labor Day

Being in the restaurant business almost my whole life I've always thought of Labor Day as an ironical joke. Quite a few of the people who really labor for a living are rarely off that day. In fact, for us, it's one of the busiest days of the year. Once again we are reminded that to be in this business is to be working when everyone else is playing.

Thankfully we have an awesome group of people who crank right through it all with smiles on their faces.

We are so grateful to our crew who make it all look so easy...and delicious!

Foraging For A Conscience

I originally wrote this and submitted it to McSweeneys Internet Tendency's column contest. I didn't win, but I still thought it was worth sharing...

Grass island 

Foraging is in. Actually, as long as we have been eating, it’s always been in. We just never really called it that. Anytime we go to the store for a quart of soy milk or dial up for a pizza to go, we are foraging. Only now, in this world of the culinary hyper-aware, the word and all it implies has taken on a whole new meaning. Restaurants don’t just have procurement managers, they have FORAGERS. Some, like Noma in Denmark or Faviken in Sweden take it to the extreme by actually foraging in the wild for what goes on the plates in their restaurants. There is no olive oil in their kitchens. The subject takes on a whole new tone with the heightened interest people have in the food they eat. The other a day at work I had my head deep into a sink full of dishes when I overheard a customer ask if the figs in the tarts were local. I unleashed my best sarcastic comment about the fact that if figs could grow here in southcentral Alaska, this area would have a lot more people in it. I then I realized she was asking if they had been purchased locally, if so, she was going to go get some. She was, in a word, foraging. I sheepishly turned back to my dirty sheet pans, snarking to myself over how people have trained me to be defensive about the provenance of the food I serve. In a busy professional kitchen, foraging is an almost constant concern. What, where, when, how much...the decisions are never ending. In civilian life we make the same choices on a small scale every day without even really being conscious of it. Scientists say that the foraging behavior of animals changes according to the environment in which the animal lives. The more food available, the pickier they become. People around here tell stories of fishing on the rivers and seeing the bears pull a fish from the water and just bite out the belly, throw it aside and go catch another. Strewn all around them are fish with just the middles gone. Of course, that is when the fish are plentiful. If they were scarce, that bear would be dissecting the fish, leaving very little behind. So it goes with our current state of food affairs. Never before has food been so plentiful and so cheap, we can afford to buy the best and let the rest go to waste while the poor inner city communities struggle to provide the raw materials for nutritious food that is cheaper to buy than a bucket of commercially fried chicken.  
I thought about all this as I struck out on my first foraging adventure of the season which found me in my yard harvesting the pesky and very hardy Stinging Nettle. My boots, moist with early summer rain, sink into the soggy, spongy ground. The smell of wet earth and ocean breathe hope in the air that winter is indeed over. Unlike the rest of the US, winter in Alaska did not want to let up its icy grip. The spring here was chilly and because of that, things are just starting to green up. My husband says that he always comes home from that first halibut fishing trip of the spring to find a whole new landscape in bloom. This year that did not happen until the second or third trip. Finally, though, the nettles came in and I headed down to the bottom of the yard where the patch grows best and I cut away, harvesting the top few sets of leaves. Every once in a while the stingers find a chink in my armor, leaving me with little itchy welts on the part of my wrist where my gloves and jacket fail to overlap. I persevere and pretty soon the laundry basket is full.Inside to the waiting pot of boiling water to blanch the sting out them so they can be ground into pesto and put into jars for the winter pantry. When I wrote a short piece to share about the pesto making process, my friend and editor Jenny suggested I leave out the part about foraging, her assumption being most people would just buy them at the farmers market. Oh, you are mistaken I told her...people want to know everything these days. Especially if it involves food  and where it come from. Now, my nettle pesto has a noble intent, but it is in no way completely local. The parmesan comes from italy and the nuts are from california (seriously). The olive oil I used to think comes from italy could, in fact be from anywhere and probably isn’t even olive oil, according to an article I just read. Local foraging has its limitations in the land of the midnight sun. Which reminds me of a story that the native elders tell about a couple of warring eskimo tribes living long ago in our area. There is a small island off the coast called Grass Island. It is just what its name implies, an island of grass and rock. When one tribe was under siege from a neighboring power they set their women and children on the island to protect them. They had to survive by lowering themselves down to pick the mussels off the rocks at low tide and eating the wild plants that grew there. These days foraging here is a little less difficult, but with the pressures of locally driven dining we have had to dig deep to find those precious mussels on the rocks of the current supply chain in the form of locally grown tomatoes. This is not a problem unique to the wilds of Alaska. The wilds of NYC serve up just as much of a challenge to find a ripe tomato with pedigree, or a tomato at all that hasn’t been turned into ketchup for all those french fries. Like the eskimo women on the island, the people who live there are forced to eat what is available, their ‘rocks’ a rickety fire escape with a few vegetables in pots, their grass a meager rooftop garden. If only we thought as much about what they are eating as we do about what we are. Then the tides truly would turn.

The summer of crazy....

"If you would like to order, the line forms in front of the case and goes out that way. If you want to pay, stand over here in this line. Thank You!" This was the mantra heard over and over this summer as we tried our best to manage the clammering hoards of hungry people that queued up hoping for a hot coffee, a hot ham danish and a the momentary attention of a hot barista. It has been, in a word, epic. You would think that we are standing back reveling in our successes, but mostly Sharon and I look at each other and think, surely there is somewhere else these people can go? When we give voice to those thoughts the reaction is generally, no...not if you want fast good food in a place that makes you want to pull up a seat and hang around a while. We've also been lucky to ride on the coattails of some good press Homer has gotten lately with TWO articles in the Washington Post, this one on finding a man in Alaska had us rolling on the floor with their mention of the bakery as a lesbian hangout and this one on traveling with kids and also this great piece by Doug Brown in the Denver Post. It made us realize there is a lot of love out there for what we do, which sort of helps when we get emails like the one we got the other day. It was from someone who told us that they had a lovely sticky bun but that their mocha was cold and though they were disappointed they would not sue (what?!). It's true what they say, when you put yourself out there you are opening up the path for good and for, well, Crazy!  

Sometimes you just have to grab a cup of soup and a sandwich and go sit out on the porch...that is if you can find room.

Why we love our egg farmers...

Thanks, Liam! 

(Not) just for the halibut

my fisherman in his 'office' 

When I moved to Homer (Halibut Capital of the World!) 27 years ago, I had never heard of halibut before. People come here from all over to fish for this coveted flat bottom fish. I was clueless to this, growing up in Michigan we ate lake fish, the only alaskan thing that came close to my plate was the king crab we splurged on for special occasions. Hanging out here that first summer, I quickly learned more about this than I ever could have imagined. Back in those days, halibut was harvested in a series of derby-style openings in spring and fall. The dates were set the season before according to the best tides with no adjustments for weather, so when the day came it was a free for all. Whoever could make the best of all the variables would prevail and those that didn't lost gear, their chance for needed spring income and sometimes their lives. All the gory, stinky details would be hashed out at the Salty Dawg for days afterward. Working at the end of the spit at Lands End Resort, I had a front row seat to every opening, it was so exciting to stand on the porch watching the boats race out of the harbor and to see who came back first with a full hold. If the boat was riding low, you could guess they'd gotten their fish. My romance with a deckhand only heightened the sense of excitement for me. Watching for the boat he fished on, I could tell if it was the F/V Anna Lane by the sound of the engines. When I spotted them I would run down to the beach as they motored by, it was all very romantical. These days, the fishery has been rationalized and halibut has it's own season, the boats can fish their quota when the weather and the tides are favorable. It is a better system for the fisherman and the fish, though with quite a bit less drama. As it happened, I married my fisherman and while I no longer run to the beach when the boat rounds the corner, it's still exciting when he comes home with the spoils of his efforts. Usually their catch is bought by a processor who offloads the fish to one big buyer, so there is no chance for me to score a bit for the bakery, but this trip they sold to one of our favorite fish purveyors (Thank You, Heather and Angelina the The Auction Block) and they were able to save me a fish! So, for the first time ever I am serving the fish my husband caught.
It's locavore dining at it's very best:

Halibut pinwheels with herb stuffing, wrapped with proscuitto and served over isreali cous cous
with lemon ginger buerre blanc and basil caviar

For more locavore love, the Homer Farmers Market starts this week!

a buttload of buttercream...

Spherifyingly Delicious

tonight's amuse bouche...cucumber around coconut rice
with miso sauce, fresh coriander and ginger spheres

This week's Dinner Special: White King Salmon fire roasted with a ginger and red miso glaze
served on a bed of orange braised chard and topped with ginger caviar

Stop Pebble Mine!

A compelling argument, but will the people who have the power really listen? 

Anticipating an explosion of color...

Right now Homer feels a little black and white highlighted with shades of gray. The snow lying in some places still untouched glows white and sparkly on these sunny days. Then there is the ice that has been sprayed with black sand lining the road ways with 4 feet high walls that become studies of abstract sculpture as they melt giving relief to the gray of the sky. Our black and white world bleeds over into our moods as the political and social spectrum shows but two shades, continuing to divide us. The walls of the chasm growing an ever thickening skin that common sense can no longer penetrate. As long as we can blame others for our troubles we do not have to face our own shortcomings. But there is hope, like the spring sun shining in the windows showing us how dirty they are making us want to wash them, looking into ourselves to see clearly the truth behind our feelings is like spring cleaning for the soul. Once we are cleansed and our eyes are truly opened, suddenly we can see all the colors, the nuance of differences is so varied we must be conscious of how alike we all are, because for certain we contain more similarities that differences. We all must breathe and sleep and eat...and love.

Out of hibernation!

Things are starting to sprout up around here! The new spring dinner menu is out and we are cooking away Wednesday thru Saturdays 6-9 pm. Even though is isn't very springlike outside, the enclosed porch is extremely inviting on these long evenings where the sun doesn't set until 8 pm.

The snow still continues to fall, but not nearly as much as we had at the beginning of the new year. We all but lost track of the garden furniture in what is close to being the snowiest winter in recorded history for this area.

I know, snow in Alaska...what's the big deal? You would think we'd be used to it. 

You would think, but still the storms shut us down a few times. The whole town was on blizzard alert.  People were stuck everywhere. Things got a little crazy between the dark and the cold and the winter storm warnings. Thankfully we had our warm bakery, lots of good company and as always some awesome tunes to carry us through...which brings me to:

 A little musical interlude!

The first time I saw Haven Multz Mathews play drums was at a middle school talent show. He was in 8th grade and I remember thinking that his mom (my good friend Kari) must be glad he found something like that to put all of his crazy energy into. When he came asking for a job a year later, I thought perhaps we could benefit from some of that energy, too. Over the years he worked for us, we enjoyed drum solos on stainless and sprayer harmonies. It was like cooking in the middle of a production of stomp. In fact one year, we had four other drummers working for us, not to mention a couple of guitarists and singer/songwriters disguised as bakers. THAT was a very musical summer. Sadly, Haven had to go and grow up on us and like most teens from a small town, he had to break away. Turns out you can take the boy out of Alaska, but you'll have a hard time taking Alaska out of the boy. Lucky for us, a few more of our Homer musicians all ended up in the same place. And their band, Animal Eyes is taking the Portland area by storm with their funky mix of rock, folk and punk and a little glockenspiel thrown in for good measure. They have an infectious energy at their live shows, as you can see from the video below. (shot and mixed by the talented photog, Joshua Veldstra...also from H-town...boo-ya!) 

Their first Cd came out this past fall and they have been touring the west side of the U.S. all winter to promote it. Looks like these hardworking boys are headed for the big time and we couldn't be happier for them. Word is they'll be in Alaska this June and we are excited to welcome them home, even if only for a minute!

Buy their Cd "Found in the Forest" at Bandcamp

Another bakery music phenom: Ben Gerhards aka Berta will be releasing his long awaited CD in two weeks online. Check out his blend of french pop and rock right now on Sound CLoud and at Reverbnation...give a listen and be amazed!

this dude also makes one hell of a sandwich!

And last but not least, if you're in Homer this weekend and looking for entertainment. Homer High will be performing Steven Sondheim's musical "Into the Woods". (Look for my daughter, the cute tree on stage left.) Check out the show times on the poster below. 

Have a great weekend everyone!

View from the baking table- 10:30 am 12/29/12

A moment of sun between the storms!

Sunrises and Sunsets, when we get to see them, are a highlight of these dark days. 

Bearing witness from our warm bakery with this view out our window, we feel especially lucky. 

And as the sun sets on an old year and rises on a New Year, 

We wish everyone a peaceful 2012 that is full of Love and Light!

"In the depth of winter I found within me an invincible summer"

-Albert Camus

Spreading Holiday Joy

Nothing brightens up these dark winter days so much as the smiles we see everyday when people stumble in out of the wind and cold into our warm and bright bakery with it's amazing smells and colorful array of festive treats. It is one of the times of year we are especially grateful for our job and the satisfaction that it brings. The family of people who have been using our services to round out their celebrations is very loyal, we have been around long enough to become a part of their own family traditions, it is a responsibility we have learned to take very seriously. As in any small town, when things don't go so well, even if folks don't directly call the store to complain, for certain it will come up the next time we are in line at the grocery store! To stem these embarrassing moments, we have become quite good at assessing our limits and working within them at as high a level possible. We count and recount the orders, like Santa checking his list...we must be extra sure we have what we need and then try to make a little extra just in case. That method has seemed to work pretty well in recent years, and as long as I remember to put sugar in the pumpkin pie...we are good to go! Once, about 10 years ago, I had the most amazing homer grown pumpkins for Thanksgiving pies...I roasted them to golden perfection, pulled out the slimy seeds and mixed the golden flesh into a rich spicy filling. the pies were truly beautiful and I sent each and every one of them off with pride. The friday after, I went to work still basking in the glow of a job well done when a man walks in with a bakery box and all but throws it at me across the counter. "This is the worst pie I have ever tasted...you ruined our holiday dinner!" All the blood drained from my face as I'm certain he got the response he was looking for. My head was swimming, what could have gone wrong? I gave him a fast refund with a bewildered, but sincere apology and turned my attention to the pie...the minute it hit my tongue I knew what I had done. In my excitement over the great pumpkin I completely forgot the sugar! It wasn't horrible, like he said...it was spicy and custardy but definitely not sweet. I immediately ran down the list of who had bought those pies and contacted each one apologizing and arranging refunds...I swallowed a huge portion of my pride that day, it took quite a while to digest! Now, I've learned my lesson and I take a little taste of every single thing I make. I think that makes me a better cook, or at least a more consistent one.

 Which is very important when your job is spreading joy. 

Have a wonderful Holiday!

Holiday Cookies 2011 and the answer to the question: "Mommy, where do cookies come from?"

After such a traumatic fall we are all ready to focus on something a little more fun and with the winter holiday season upon us, cookie making is just the ticket. It's hard to be sad looking at the smiles of the little kids that come through the shop, pressing their face to the glass display case with all the beautiful cookies lined up.
Most of us have, tucked into that warm cozy place in our minds, a happy memory attached to holiday cookies, whether it's standing on a chair, curling our tongue around the spines of the beater from the mixer as our grandmother bakes them or we are leaving the cookies and milk out for Santa. Cookies gives us that immediate sweet satisfaction while connecting us to a time, a place, an emotion. Little do we realize when we are gathered together making cookies to share for the holidays that we are expanding on a tradition that is more than 600 years old. Cookies themselves have been around as long as people have manipulated their food. Beginning, no doubt, as a type of cracker pressed together, made to travel. And travel they did, on through time, eventually sweetened and refined with more advanced milling technology which produced finer flours and sugars.
The earliest decorated holiday cookie can be traced back to the 1400's. The swiss made 'springerle' was a dry buttery dough that was pressed into molds or rolled with intricately carved rolling pins to produce beautifully detailed imprints on the cookies. These fancy treats moved quickly into the heart of European holiday celebrations, in Latvia in the year 1510 the 1st Christmas tree was believed to have been decorated with cookies. Because cookies traveled so well, they became quite well traveled, stacked in tins, wrapped in brown paper boxes clutched under arms or tucked into baskets, a perfect gift of food from one home to another. Through these edible gifts, they shared a bit of their lives. There were cookies in the duffels of those first immigrants coming across the sea to settle the wild new world. Their recipes for those cookies scribbled into tattered journals or burned on their brains.

gingerbread man!

Holiday cookies hit the shores of north america in the 1600, thanks to the Dutch who called their little treats 'koekje'...which was morphed into 'cookie' by the relatively new americans. And while that innocent little cookie may look like a simple sweet confection, it's production over the years has been fraught with politics and controversy.
On through the 17th and 18th centuries in Europe, baking as a profession was very strictly regulated through official guilds. As with any trade, it took long hard years working through the ranks of apprentice, journeyman and master baker, each level documented and recorded by the bakers guild. What they were allowed to make and the supplies they were allotted were also tightly controlled. With the finest ingredients saved for royalty and the rich.  Many bakers fled to the new world to escape those rigid laws, bringing with them their rich holiday baking traditions. Still they were hemmed in by available ingredients and had to adapt their formulas to work in the 'new world'.
Another big influence on the American cookie scene came about when importing laws changed in the 1800's, along with more efficient shipping routes this led to a flooding of the US market of, among other things, cookie cutters. German made metal cutters with their fancy designs suddenly transformed the American tradition of holiday cookie making to what has become a national obsession.

green tea shortbread dipped in white chocolate

 And obsessed we are! Well, here at the bakery anyway. We clear the top rack of the big display case and line up trays and trays of delicious colorful cookies. 

It is a bit overwhelming, both for the purchaser ("Oh I just can't decide! Maybe I should get another pound.") and the producer ("what do you mean we need more coconut macaroons...I just made those yesterday!"), but overall it is a frenzy we are all embracing. The promise of delight that each of these sweet treats provides brightens even the dreariest day. And here there is something for everyone...soft and elegant chocolate-almond kisses, refined lavender or green tea shortbread and, yes coconut macaroons for those with a serious sweet tooth.

Look for some of our favorite holiday cookie recipes over on the recipe blog

If you need even more cookie inspiration, my friend Emilia over at ruhlman.com wrote a great post where she shares some family memories and a couple of special cookie recipes.

the most popular of all: coconut macaroons!

Want to buy some of our cookies? Come on down to the bakery (...sorry, no mail orders)
Cookies are $10 a pound and our selection includes about 20 different kinds. The official list is over at twosistersbakery.net  Call (907)235-2280 to order ahead

A time to be thankful for time....

Abbey and Ryan look so happy in this photo.
RIP Ryan, we wish we had gotten to meet you!

I was 12 on November 10th 1975 when the Edmond Fitzgerald sank in the frigid waters of Lake Superior. When the song came out the following year I became obsessed with the wreck. Living in Michigan and making regular trips 'up north' gave it all such an element of tragic excitement. These were the waters that took those men and standing on the shore as the waves crashed on the rocks, you felt the power and the smallness of yourself all at the same time. Driving by the mariners church in Detroit where they rang the bell 29 times for each of the men on the ship, I remember welling up with tears at the thought of their loved ones listening to those bells. Now that I am grown up, living in a place that rivals the fierce majesty of that great lake and being married to a fisherman who has had to be out in stormy weather, let's just say I don't talk about shipwrecks very much anymore. When the November wind blows, we hunker down. Light the fire a little earlier in the big oven and thank our lucky stars to be working in such a warm cozy place and hope against hope that our friends and loved ones out on the water stay safe.
Dancing around the edges of loss makes you hyper aware of how fragile our time here can be. We go through the days conjuring joy, but always aware that the next tragedy is just around the corner. Such a moment occurred two weeks ago when our dear baker Abbey received the news her little brother was killed suddenly. Rachael and Jill immediately ran to her side, and everyone pitched in to cover shifts making us glad for the tight knit nature of our crew. We put out a jar for donations to help ease her travel. It was full when we poured the crumpled bills and hastily written notes from friends into her pockets and then Jill put her ever so carefully on the plane to her family in New Mexico. They will have a long road of recovery in the days ahead and we wish them all the love in the world to help get through it. As all those who have suffered loss in such a tragic way know, time is the only salve for such deep, deep sorrow. All the while we struggle to find words to sooth, to somehow make it right again. As it would happen, my friend Tom Bodett performed in Burlington, Vermont recently and his excellent personal story sheds a little light on our struggles with family, loss and what it's like to die. (Listen to it here click on the download button...it is the featured on The Moth.)

So we go into this holiday season with wounded hearts but grateful for the tasks at hand to keep us busy. The one constant in our lives is there is always bread to knead, people to feed, and today especially, pies to bake.  To our friends and family near and far we encourage you all to celebrate the one thing we should all be thankful for...time.
Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!

Scary Treats and good eats!

Things got a little spooky around here this past week. You could find yourself dipping a severed finger into your tea or sucking on an eyeball along with that chocolate mousse. 

Things have settled down a bit and we are getting some spots of sun in along with all the snow that came our way on Halloween. Even a tray of mushrooms is elevated to high art in this light. 

Once they are chopped up they are transformed into another work of art. 

Rockfish Pasta with roasted mushrooms and kale with capers in a mustard cream sauce tossed with housemade pasta. Now THAT'S what's for dinner.

(Dinners run Wednesday thru Saturday 6-9 pm)