UNALAKLEET -- I loved walking into her kitchen with whitefish or sheefish boiling on the stove. She'd set the cooled, cooked fish on the table and we'd begin peeling off the skin and pulling the bones. We'd squeeze the white meat, and streams of cloudy liquid would drain into the bowl holding the bones. We'd shake and squeeze with just our hands until nothing dripped. The meat without moisture would hit the pan and we'd crumble it until fluffy.
My hands would get so itchy from handling the fish. But I still wanted to help, and I would until the itch was excruciating. Sometimes Dad would help and sometimes Mom squeezed it all. In the end, the meat looked so pure, clean and beautiful.
Mom would grab her big, stainless-steel bowl. Every woman I knew had one. She'd seat herself at the kitchen table and plop handfuls of shortening into the bowl, never measuring, just knowing. She'd begin whipping the shortening with her hand. She'd whip and whip until it was glossy and smooth and then ask me to pour in some sugar. I loved sugar, and I relished my job. I'd grab the canister, the tin measuring cup and add cupfuls at a time.
"OK, Laur, add some more," she'd say, continuously whipping. "Go ahead," she'd say, for more. She'd whip and whip until the sugar was glistening in the creamy goodness.
Then she'd ask for fish. I'd grab handfuls and sprinkle the flakey fish into the bowl while she whipped. She was so tiny in her apron.
"More, Laur," so I'd grab more and place it in the bowl. Whipping, whipping. So rhythmic. I can hear the glopping sounds of the fatty mixture, sounds telling me I'm loved and the sounds of a woman loving what she's doing. She'd incorporate all the whitefish, take a short rest and smile at me. I'd place my finger in the bowl and take a taste of the fluff, happy Mom was nice. Delight spreading through my belly, I'd take another. Smiling, Mom would grab the berries. Frozen blueberries and thawed salmonberries she picked with Gram, Dad or her girlfriends. She'd quickly mix those in with her hand and I'd grab a bowl.
Now and then, I'll find myself standing at the kitchen table, squeezing whitefish or sheefish with a cheesecloth. I've found it easier than by hand, and I'm sure Mom would crack a comment. I've whipped healthier varieties of fat, using caribou and even coconut oil. Instead of whipping in my largest bowl, I again take the easier route, using my high-speed mixer. Caribou fat is my favorite, and the coconut oil flat-out does not work. It doesn't lend the velvet cream an akuutaq lover looks for, but instead hardens. I've had the #akuucandybar idea, but I believe the market to be limited. And, yes, I hashtagged that. You never know.
A few years ago, my 7-year-old niece Lena was with me while I was making akuutaq for my Grandpa Ralph's 91st birthday. After adding some ingredients in the stand-up mixer, I put a little shortening in a bowl in front of our baby and told her to whip it. She did. While she was whipping, I added some sugar. She continued, so I added the fish. She was chatting and smiling and working so hard. I was so proud of her. She whipped until the mixture was just right and she added salmonberries. She gave a Cool Whip container filled with her akuutaq to Grandpa Ralph that day -- just like my mom used to. It was the most delicious akuutaq I'd ever tasted.
My mother, Lena, would have been proud.
Laureli Ivanoff lives in Nome, where she's raising her two children, Joe and Sidney. They eat a lot of fish and are very proud of their yorkipoo named Pushkin.