Food Diary: How a 48

Apr 27, 2023

By Bon Appétit Contributor

Welcome to The Receipt, a series documenting how Bon Appétit readers eat and what they spend doing it. Each food diary follows one anonymous reader's week of expenses related to groceries, restaurant meals, coffee runs, and every bite in between. In this time of rising food costs, The Receipt reveals how folks—from different cities, with different incomes, on different schedules—are figuring out their food budgets.

In today's Receipt, a 48-year-old wild salmon fisher living on $30,000 to $80,000 a year hunts, catches, and harvests all of her game, seafood, and wild greens and berries in Cordova, Alaska. Keep reading for her receipts.

What are your pronouns? She/her

What is your occupation? I am part of an independent, small-boat fishing family. We access seafood for the commodity seafood marketplace and directly sell a portion of our catch to individuals.

How old are you? 48, but I identify as a 38-year-old.

What city and state do you live in? Cordova, Alaska

What is your annual salary, if you have one? $30,000 to $80,000. My salary varies greatly based on wild fish runs, and in recent years, market shifts and COVID closures.

How much is one paycheck, after taxes? We receive no paychecks. Our earnings are what's left after expenses on a paid invoice of fish sales.

How often are you paid? (e.g., weekly) Intermittently throughout the summer fishing season. Then we spend down earnings over our winter months, being ever mindful of having enough in the kitty for the costs associated with the start of our fishing season.

How much money do you have in savings? $25,000. The rest is earmarked for other expenses.

What are your approximate fixed monthly expenses beyond food? (i.e., rent, subscriptions, bills)

Do you follow a certain diet or have dietary restrictions? Yes: gluten-free, no tomatoes, no potatoes, no seafood or meat that has been industrially farmed. I can't remember ever buying meat at a grocery store. The main courses of our household's foodscape are self-harvested wild seafood, wild game, wild greens, wild mushrooms, and wild berries. The fish is readily accessible from our local waters, including Copper River salmon, halibut, and shrimp. We hunt big game such as moose and deer and waterfowl such as duck and goose. We field dress and then process and pack these at home, most often flash-freezing, but also canning, smoking, and sausage- and jerky-making.

At the heart of every meal is something that my husband and I participated in carrying from a living, breathing animal to a prime cut, carefully prepared, and revered meal. By junior high, I was giving B+ school reports on the horrors of industrial meat production factories. Mostly nobody cared to hear about it, but this is definitely when my meat protocol was cemented. Ending a life is such an intimate process and I need to feel at peace with the way the kill and processing was carried out to be able to consume another creature.

What are the grocery staples you always buy, if any? In Cordova, the limited selection of vegetables leaves us with yams, zucchini, round onion, green beans, spinach, and mixed salad greens. For fruit, primarily apples. When I visit Anchorage for medical or work trips, I get all the fresh produce and fruit I can carry, focusing on melons, pears, peaches, avocado, asparagus, Kerrygold cheese, nuts, and gluten-free bread.

With Alaska Airlines, I am allowed three free checked bags in the state. That's 150 pounds of food at generally half the expense of items purchased locally. Prices are heavily inflated in our community.

How often in a week do you dine out versus cook at home? In the last six months in Cordova, we took one (1) trip to support a new Mexican food trailer in our town—it was good! We also made a handful of orders for fish and chips from our preferred grocery store.

How often in a week did you dine out while growing up? I was raised on a fishing boat. For special occasions, we had a meal out. Also, when we arrived back in town from fishing, we dined out to ease the onshore workload.

How often in a week did your parents or guardians cook at home? Daily. Mom was the designated kitchen master. I was the interested helper. She insisted on a "sit down at the table together" meal. I’ve absorbed this ethos. When I’m eating, I like to be 100% in the moment, not distracted or multitasking.

I grab my trusty cast-iron skillet from the top of the wood stove in the living room, where it lives in a near-constant state of conditioning with a sheen of oil and is hot to the touch.

5 a.m. I fire up my trusty Sunbeam Hot Shot hot water dispenser, which has kept on ticking for well over a dozen years. I reach into the cabinet for my go-to Freedom Superfoods cacao powder ($14 per pound) and put two beyond-heaping spoonfuls into my cup with the nice round edges, following with a glug of Costco brand maple syrup and a pinch of sea salt I gathered during a dry patch along the coastline. I stir with what would be an annoying and drawn-out scraping sound if my husband wasn't such a deep sleeper.

After adding a trickle of hot water, I add a plat of grass-fed butter that is sized to make any dairy farmer smile. The sheen coats the top of my morning beverage and I think, Oh, yes, this is the cure for a dark, near-freezing morning. Just enough caffeine and fat to put a positive spin on a dark and blustery day. During the summer months, Monday would be a day on the boat for my husband, and I would either go with him or meet him on the docks to receive his catch and ready it for shipment. In October, today is a day of recovery for him and season wrap-up for me.

10 a.m. My go-to breaky routine: I grab my trusty cast-iron skillet from the top of the wood stove in the living room, where it lives in a near-constant state of conditioning with a sheen of oil and is hot to the touch. In the pan goes avocado oil, followed by fine shreds of spinach. In the Ninja toaster oven goes bread slices from the freezer. I add four eggs to my skillet, neatly placed on little heaps of sautéed greens. Once set, I flip the eggs and add a sprinkle of grated Kerrygold cheese that has been lingering in the refrigerator.

I spread the toast with hummus and top each slice with an egg. As luck would have it, I also have an avocado to slice and top with. A friend brought a bag back for me from Anchorage after she flew there for a medical appointment for her kiddo. Finally, I add a peeled mandarin orange to each plate. It looks a little meager, but that's what came out of the kitchen this morning. It’ll do. The egg yolks are a tad firmer than I was aiming for, but mostly it provides the calories I need to feel my synapses fire and truly wake up.

4:30 p.m. I pull duck breasts from the fridge for dinner. Last Saturday, the husband returned from a boat trip to shut down our remote cabin. Yes, we already live in the middle of nowhere and thought it wise to also have a place on an island accessible by boat. So that we can really get away from it all. The husband came back with "travel food" as we call it, or food left over from a round-trip voyage on the boat, including this recently self-harvested waterfowl, my favorite. They were thawed overnight with a super-thin rubdown of Penzeys Chili 3000 ($9.29 for a ½ cup jar), a spice gift from my sister-in-law. If there is a gift headed my way, I always ask that it be edible.

The nice thing about self-harvested meats is that I feel confident about cooking for texture as opposed to safety. I like to cook duck on the medium-rare side. I place the skillet on our propane stove cooktop burner—we do not have access to natural gas. In goes a plop of Kerrygold grass-fed butter, sizzling. I add thin slices of "travel food" onion to turn them translucent and then scoot them onto a plate. Then I add the duck breasts. Our wild duck is on the lean side. I watch as it contracts and firms. A little more butter goes into the pan. Hedging my bets on timing, I add sliced rounds of "travel food" zucchini to the side of the pan, giving them a minute to brown, sliding the translucent onions on top.

I baste the near-finished duck breasts with wild black currant jam. This was gifted to us in exchange for a milk crate of deer meat. I finish it with a liberal squeeze of lemon, as I am flush with limes and lemons after a friend recently returned from Anchorage's Costco with bags of citrus for me. I pull the duck from the pan and allow the juices to settle within. I continue cooking on the zucchini, spreading the rounds into the duck residue to grab more flavor and also help clean the pan.

5:45 p.m. After about 25 minutes of standing at the stove, I plate our simple, hodgepodge meal. Though if we add in hunting and processing time, it took much longer to bring this meal together. The spice-flecked purple glaze atop the duck breasts is complemented by the greens of veggies. I add a dusting of nutritional yeast, which feels like an equal to grated Romano but at a better price point and longer shelf life. To the veggies, I add a drizzle of Nonna Pia's balsamic glaze ($11.79 for 1.5 pounds) for that sweetness my husband and I both enjoy in our savory meals.

I found the mushrooms growing under a hollowed-out hemlock stump while I was changing out the propane tank on our stove. Protected from the harsh rains, they were still in pretty good shape.

7:30 a.m. No time for dillydallying. I plop a black tea into a travel cup and head out the door. I skip breakfast today—instead, I rush-pack a frozen fish order for an unanticipated airport drop-off for later this morning. There are not a lot of flights, so missing this drop-off window would push us a day back.

10 a.m. I consume a Kind bar with the first belly growl, then a Lara bar on the second, and then a Spindrift pink grapefruit sparkling water.

1 p.m. The husband takes charge and heats up deer hot dogs for the first meal of the day. He wraps his in a slice of Oroweat bread and adds Dijon mustard. Mine is decidedly less appetizing: We make use of a corn tortilla to hold my dog and I add a spicy brown mustard. I lament the fact that we are out of sauerkraut. But we’re both glad to have food in our bellies at last.

5:30 p.m. From the "travel food" mix, our self-harvested wild Alaskan halibut is on tonight's must-use-soon menu. This is a super versatile fish with a really clean and pleasing flavor. The meal plan is coming together in my mind: travel halibut, gluten-free pasta, asparagus bought during a recent Anchorage trip for a doctor's appointment, the gifted lemons, freshly picked wild chanterelle mushrooms and some grated Romano to pull it all together. I found the mushrooms growing under a hollowed-out hemlock stump while I was changing out the propane tank on our stove. Protected from the harsh rains, they were still in pretty good shape. It's been a bit of a trying day and a carb-heavy dinner sounds comforting.

While cooking the halibut, I can literally see the color change from translucent to chalk white. I flip it, erring on the side of caution. When cooked with care, halibut is so satisfyingly rich. But it can be dry if overcooked. Breaks my heart when this happens. I do my polka dance at the stove, tending to the halibut with gentle flips.

The whole meal is pretty and tastes good too—I nailed the halibut cook texture. The last of my Costco boxed wine Chardonnay goes into my glass. All this, combined with the fact that I remembered to reserve some pasta cooking liquid before dumping it down the drain, makes me feel like I had a couple of small wins at the end of a difficult day.

Moose steak is my favorite red meat and I think it has such a smooth flavor compared to other game meat.

7:30 a.m. Yesterday sucked, but today is new and shiny. Luckily, I always wake with a clean slate and feel incredibly optimistic at the onset of the day. I start my day with my take on matcha: a heaping teaspoon of Matcha.com's Organic Superior Matcha ($39 for 3 ounces) previously received as a birthday gift from my husband and add in a drizzle of honey from one of the fishermen on our dock float who was learning honey production. Years ago, my husband came home with half a pint of the very tasty and floral light-colored honey. I was so smitten I instructed him to make a purchase to add to the pantry stash. Not being one to underdeliver, husband returned with a 1.25 gallon bucket! It's been four years of consuming this honey among a mix of others and we are almost through it.

Anyhow, I combine the matcha and honey and mix in this nicely bulbous mug that I adore. I bought it at a craft fair a lifetime ago. It was my first time setting up to sell our smoked salmon and directly across from me were the most beautiful ceramic creations, with the potter sitting attentively awaiting a sale. Neither one of us had the correct product for this particular craft fair crowd and it wasn't an auspicious debut for either of us. I made a few small sales. He literally made zero. I spent more than I made in sales at his booth in exchange for a cupboard's worth of ceramic wine goblets and a single mug.

Oh, there I go again. Let me get back on track. The matcha-honey mix gets a slow stream of Hot Shot water and a constant stir to make a decidedly sweet, sacrilegious a.m. drink that I am quite fond of.

11 a.m. I guess our pasta has held us over. It's a late breaky today. I make a pack of our home-prepped breakfast sausage. It's a blend of deer meat that we hunted combined with fatty chunks of meat from a pig a friend of ours raised. We run almost-frozen chunks of the two through our hilariously, mistakenly named "Turbo Froce" (as opposed to Turboforce) meat grinder. We joke that it is a French model named "Frocé." Then I added some McCormick poultry seasoning that arrived into our home from Lord knows where. It really does conjure up the flavor of what breakfast sausage should taste like.

I cook up a bunch of little patties and throw some into the freezer for a future down the road sometime. It's a quick prep session after getting the sausage production over with. I crack four eggs into a pan, utilizing the pork fat. Sprinkle on some quickly torn spinach leaves and give them a flip. Ninja toaster is in action, the timer chimes. Then I add coconut butter and the last scrapings of a lilikoi jam on top. I slice and core an apple and everything lands on our plates nearly in unison. It's a heavy breakfast. In my head, I’m making up for missing out on yesterday's breaky.

6 p.m. I ask my husband what he thinks about grilling on our porch tonight. Last night, I heard a noise and pressed my face to the window with darkness behind it. I couldn't really see anything beyond my reflection until I made out the faint outline of eyes and nose matched up with mine, looking back. A small black bear was standing on his hind legs. I think we were both pretty surprised and appeared to figure it out at the same time. As I jumped back, he lowered and ran off. Good times, just another Tuesday.

The husband asks what we would be grilling. The answer is our self-harvested and -prepared moose round steak. He says it's gotta be on the grill! I agree.

Moose steak is my favorite red meat and I think it has such a smooth flavor compared to other game meat. I prep it with a pinch of sea salt, a single twist of the pepper grinder, and the smallest amount of garlic powder. We heat the grill to a blazing and presumably incorrect grill thermostat temperature of 575 degrees Fahrenheit, and we cook green beans in foil in a five-minute head start. Then the moose steak is cooked five minutes per side. It's not a very thick-cut and is extremely lean. Overcooking is a travesty and to be avoided at all costs.

Feeling very American, we decide on horseradish and A.1. sauce to accompany the steak. It's a simple and hearty meal with very few dishes and we do not have a bear visit during the process. I’d consider this a success.

I’ve volunteered to bring the protein for dinners tonight and tomorrow—I have a pound of a frozen deer burger package for tonight.

6 a.m. We’re both readying our luggage and preparing to visit Anchorage for a few days. I drink half a jug of Odwalla mango juice blend and get a serious sugar high. The husband cashes in on the single remaining deer hot dog from the other day.

6 p.m. At our friend's house where we’re staying, our host says taco fixings are the plan for dinner. We’re informed the onions are special because her girlfriend's dad brought them up from his garden in Washington not long ago. I’ve volunteered to bring the protein for dinners tonight and tomorrow—I have a pound of a frozen deer burger package for tonight.

While my near-favorite part of a taco is the fried corn shell, my husband and I are both a little elated at how fun our host's little box of crispy blue corn tortilla shells looks. There's something so amusing about prepared foods when you’re not usually around them. Our team of four puts together a basic but tasty weeknight taco meal. We warm canned beans and sauté the meat with garlic and cumin. We prep lettuce, tomato, avocado, and the "special" onion.

Turns out we’re compatible cooks, and in only about 15 minutes, we’ve pulled off a nice meal. It's been a long day for all parties and after a leisurely time together at the table, we get the dishes done and say our good nights.

This method results in the silkiest melt-in-your-mouth texture that our region's salmon is so often praised for.

7 a.m. My husband and I are alone in the house when we wake. It's a work day for some and a doctor's appointment day for others. Our hostess is a coffee drinker and she knows me well: Before we came, she told me she had a box of black tea on hand. To my delight, I find it is an Earl Grey.

8 a.m. We have a super simple breaky of sliced apples and hard-boiled eggs. We’re looking forward to eating out.

12 p.m. After quick, back-to-back dental appointments, my husband and I have time before our next appointments to grab sushi at MISO just across the way. I am completely unable to resist the bento plate option. Something visceral and deep is triggered—I loved these little rectangle boxes as a kid. I blurt out the bento box order with sesame chicken entrée to the waitress. It comes with tempura sweet potato and what looks like creepy factory-farmed shrimp accompanied by a California roll and a little tossed green salad. I’m so excited. My husband looks at me, about to say something but deciding not to, and in that instant, I see that I surprised him. He orders several slices of nigiri and salad topped with deep-fried soft shell crab. For drinks, our first choice would be to split the biggest hot sake available, but I’m pretty sure there's some rule about not showing up at medical appointments smelling like booze, so teas it is. I order a green tea and he gets a Thai-style iced tea.

My bento box arrives and, to my delight, it is absolutely everything my inner child was hoping for. My husband's nigiri and soft-shell crab salad are fresh and look picture-perfect. We’re also brought miso soup with a few bits of wakame seaweed and tofu chunks in it. The broth is really pleasing. We let the server know that we just found our new go-to place in Anchorage. We pay our bill and head on our way. ($85 for two, including tip)

5:30 p.m. After a long day of waiting rooms and health forms, we’ve worked up appetites. Tonight has been designated by the hostess as seafood night. Since that's our jam, we’re going all out. I‘ve brought our self-harvested king salmon collars, king salmon fillet portions, and sablefish fillet portions, and we’ve also got a deer backstrap, which I have brought a coffee rub for. And, happy day, I am told the whole Copper River sockeye fillet I brought will be making a trip in a suitcase for my host to eat when she celebrates her mom's birthday. Awesome, I’m never sure if I’m a nutter for bringing so much food with me wherever I go.

I have slow-thawed the king collars and fillet portions overnight in the fridge. I put them on the countertop to come to room temperature. We toss carrots, zucchini, onion, and red cabbage with olive oil and sea salt for the oven. For the fish, I locate the bottom dredges of a rich brown miso paste in our host's fridge. I add some Bragg apple cider vinegar ($17.98 for two 16-ounce bottles), the last of a bottle of powdered ginger, and then a squeeze from a honey bear bottle. This is spooned across the collars and fillet portions. They lie in wait while we roll the deer backstrap in the sweet and spicy coffee dry rub.

In the heaviest skillet, my hostess has me sear the deer meat so it starts cooking. There will be a switcheroo between us mid-stride. The meat gets slid onto the cookie sheet with the veggies for about six minutes while we refill cocktails. The broiler is switched to high and in goes the salmon, collars, and fillet portions. While the collars have less meat on them, they have more bone, cartilage, and fat, which evens the cooking time between the two cuts of the same fish. After five minutes, we pull the fish from the oven and cover it all to rest. This method results in the silkiest melt-in-your-mouth texture that our region's salmon is so often praised for.

We slice the meat. The Instant Pot of quinoa announces it has finished cooking, we put plates plates out, and we guide our hostess and her girlfriend on which cuts of salmon are the richer belly cuts, while also assuring them they can indeed eat all the collars between the two of them. They really get into the rich oily chunks. It feels so nice to share our bounty with those that appreciate it greatly but live a more urban lifestyle. The next day we will be back on the plane again headed to land, without bento boxes, but full of wild game and seafood.