61°North

Let Them Eat Naan

Every year during the first weekend of August, the small Kenai Peninsula town of Ninilchik experiences a strange phenomenon. Its fairgrounds and campsites are taken over as thousands of joyous festival-goers descend to strum banjos and chug kombucha. There is an incredible boost in the number of Patagonia sweaters, while the overall ratio between individuals and footwear decreases. Yes, friends, I'm talking about Salmonfest, the three days of fish, love and music that arguably defines the Alaska granola community.

For the past three years I have had the privilege of working in a food booth with my father and another family. We are one of the many food and craft booths that service the Salmonfest community. The array of food booths offer something for every palate—options include artisan gelato, savory jerk chicken and fresh crepes.

 

Our booth, Local Roots, prepares a naan plate topped with basmati rice, daal lentils, mango-rhubarb chutney and masala sauce. We also serve up a curly fry doused in a mild yellow curry gravy (inspired by the British delicacy "chips with curry sauce"). Local Roots isn't just our business name; it's also our motto.

It's operated by family and friends and was built entirely out of recycled materials in our backyard and then decorated by hand (not my hands, we can't all be whizzes with a paint brush). The recipes were all discovered and then cultivated by the proprietor. All of our food is prepared on site with the freshest organic ingredients to cater to the wishes of our consumers.

The majority of the Salmonfest crowd is passionate about the integrity of their food. And rightly so. We are honored to live in such a bountiful state, so why not make the most of it? That being said, your average Salmonfest reveler is willing to give any dish a go. They will gleefully gobble up more exciting meals alongside typical fair food. They treat every part of the experience as it is: an adventure.

Accompanying all these good eats is non-stop music. The three stages located inside the grounds boast Alaska favorites as well as bands from all over the country. During the years I have had the joy of being a part of Salmonfest, the festival has boasted headliners such as Lucinda Williams, Emmylou Harris and, most recently, the Indigo Girls and The Wood Brothers.

It's a unique event in that vendors, musicians and frolickers all end up camping together and the end of the day. The close quarters and shared porta potty experiences cultivate a sense of togetherness that prevails throughout the entire celebration of fish and music.

ADVERTISEMENT

The music isn't the only attraction. Many individuals attend Salmonfest because they care about its purpose: protecting wild Alaska salmon. Environmental advocacy booths are very prominent at the festival. They are operated by knowledgeable young people who fight for the protection of our rivers and streams. At these booths, participants can sign petitions, join outreach programs and gain knowledge about protecting wild salmon. The charitable cause of this event encourages like-minded people to gather and commemorate their love of fish with their ears full of tunes, their bellies full of good food and hearts full of love.

The eccentrically dressed attendees of Salmonfest who balter through the night are a hardy bunch. For the three days the festival took place this year it dumped biblical quantities of water (or Southeast Alaska quantities, take your pick). Nevertheless, ticket holders swarmed the fairground gates every day at midmorning, chomping at the bit for the chance to kick up the dust … er, mud … with their favorite bluegrass bands. And muddy it was! People were soaked to the bone, caked in mud, yet still smiling.

It may be a downpour, but there's beer to drink! Revelers were so enthused by the festivities that they often took it upon themselves to keep the party going until the wee hours of the morning. Tarp shelters were quickly assembled in the communal camping areas to house jam sessions where all were welcome. The sounds of crooning, the crackles of the camp fires and, of course, the pouring rain provided a soundtrack to the night as vendors dreamed of ice bags that would stay frozen and portable credit card readers that would work consistently.

Throughout the event, a cheerful army of volunteers paraded around the grounds making sure everyone was having a good time and, more importantly, staying safe. The volunteers spread straw over muddy paths in an effort to absorb some of the moisture, and helped reunite wandering children with their worried adult counterparts. Stage crews worked quickly to prepare for upcoming bands. Security at the front gate limited shenanigans to those of the legal kind. In short, they provided the backbone of a wonderful event and allowed vendors to tote their wares without conflict.

Speaking from experience, vendors put in long hours. Our days start at 8 a.m. with fights over the portable shower and conclude at 3 a.m. when the last pot is scoured.

At the conclusion of the festival on Sunday night, food booths share any and all leftover food with the volunteers and neighboring vendors. It's a time to swap stories and de-stress after the hectic onslaught of people drifts away.  For me, the entire experience demonstrates what I love best about my home state. We have such a strong and caring community forever resilient in the face of bad weather. Salmonfest combines our love of gathering with our desire to protect our wildlife. It is a time to eat, drink and be merry with those that we love in the place that we love.

This article was first published in 61°North – The Food Issue. Contact the editor, Jamie Gonzales, at jgonzales@alaskadispatch.com

ADVERTISEMENT