Poor man's supper

December 3rd 6:56 pm | Donna Sauraq Erickson

It was a Saturday in October. The sun shone through the window onto the tablecloth, I could see tiny dust particles float in the air. I thought about the people fishing at the point of the village while I sewed. The mouth of the river had frozen solid enough for people to fish for tomcods. It was such fun to drop a line into holes in the ice and jig up and down and feel the tug when a fish is caught. It was more fun visiting with everyone, laughing and telling jokes, or talking about the latest happenings in our little village. My baby slept soundly on a blanket on the floor near me. I sewed on little sealskin boots for him to wear. Waves of drumbeats drifted out of the radio as I listened to KICY. An ancient song from Eskimo dances of my childhood filled the air. My thoughts were interrupted abruptly by the phone ringing. I hurried to it, not wanting to disturb my baby's sleep.

"Ahh...is this Donna?"

Immediately I recognized the voice of a dear friend. "Hi Martha!" I said, surprised.

"I made a Poor Man's Supper, and ahhh...was wondering if you wanted to eat with me." Her voice was shakey from her age. I told her I would be right over.

The air was crisp; I could hear the crunch of snow underneath my feet as I walked. I purposefully blew out my breath to see the smoke and wondered what a poor man's supper was. My baby was snug and warm on my back underneath my parka. I loved packing my babies on my back & remembered as a child putting a bag of sugar underneath my little parka to pretend to pack a baby just like my Mother.

The village buzzed with activity. A snowmachine passed by me with a load of beach wood on a sled.

I stepped into Martha's storm porch, happy to be out of the sharp cold. A knock at the door and immediately the warmth of a wood stove and the smell of boiled tomcods met me.

Martha had her table set. A steaming pot, two bowls with spoons, salt and pepper, and a jar of seal oil.

She was one of my best friends. I often spent hours at her house, listening to her stories of a simpler and harder time of living. I went to her with questions. Questions on sewing or gathering edible greens or just of the old ways. Martha fascinated me with her knowledge and her stories.

I sat briefly on the couch and nursed my baby while Martha waited. She told me that today she was going to teach me how to make an ancient dish called "dingulik," but that would have to wait until we were done eating lunch. She said her grandson Arley had caught tomcods that morning and she motioned with her head toward her kitchen. On the floor was a big metal bowl with a pile of fish in it.

I put my baby in the corner of her couch, and piled pillows around him to prop him up. He sat quietly with a pacifier in his mouth. Martha and I ate our Poor Man's Supper. It tasted so good! I carefully ladled a fish into my bowl with some broth, put a spoonful of seal oil on top and sprinkled some salt and pepper. The white meat gently fell off the bones and the eggs were so yummy and smoothly crunched between my teeth. The broth warmed me. I loved being with Martha.

When we were done I picked up my baby and nursed him, then walked around, patting his back until he was comfortable and fell asleep. The whole time Martha was telling me stories of making dingulik, how the women of the village used to prepare this dish for the beginning of winter when the ice first froze.

We sat on the kitchen floor, the bowl of fish between us. I wondered what we were going to do, and it was so exciting that I wanted to laugh. But I kept that to myself. Martha told me to watch, that she would do one and I would do the rest since I was younger. I was actually fifty years younger than Martha and felt honored that she was teaching me. She picked up a tomcod with her left hand, and with an ulu in her right hand, she gently made a slit underneath the gills on the belly side of the fish.

"Ahhh... you don't want to cut the gall bladder, the green thing, you know... You have to be real gentle, otherwise you'll ruin it." Martha loved to talk and to explain things in detail. That is what I loved about her.

"Ahhh...after that...you take two fingers and gently go inside and you'll feel the big liver. It's real smooth. Find the ends right underneath the gills and all you do is pull."

She pulled out a pinkish colored organ and held it in her hand for me to look at closely. "This is the liver. We need to take all the livers out and boil them."

It wasn't as easy as she said. She watched me as I tried to do as she did.

"We're going to give to Hazel and Helga when we're done. It's real good! You'll like it."

We put all of the tomcod livers in a sauce pot, and all of the eggs we left inside the fish, the rest of the guts were thrown into a empty coffee can for "dog food" for her son's dogs. Martha had me cover the livers in the pot with water and put it on her gas stove. She showed me how to bring it to a boil and simmer for about ten minutes, stirring and telling me a story of how at Christmas time, she used to stay up with a lantern to make all of her children new clothes for Christmas.

When the livers were done, drained and cooled I had to put them into a big bowl and mash them until a very smooth consistency. We added seal oil and a bag of blackberries from her freezer.

"Don't ever lick your hands when you're cooking! Arah when ladies lick their hands! That's how ahhhh...long ago they used to get sick, you know..."

Martha and I sat down and ate some dingulik. I liked the feel. Smooth, and crunchy. I loved the crunch of the blackberries. This dish is a fun one to eat, I thought. I looked at the clock. Surely my husband knew where to find me. I needed to go home and make dinner. I went to the phone and called him.

"Martha wants you to deliver some dingulik to Hazel and Helga..."

We heard a snowmachine outside. I put my baby on my back and said goodbye to Martha and thanked her for teaching me how to make tomcod liver ice cream and for the Poor Man's Supper.

I didn't feel poor at all.

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Poor man's supper