#TheYearOfBelief | #TYBAkutuq

Making Akutuq: Subsistence as Gourmet Labor and Relational Knowledge

🌿 From the Land: Learning Through Labor

Cana here. This week in Kotzebue, I found myself making akutuq for the first time. Not just eating it, like I did growing up—but actually learning how to make it. It was for my aunt’s funeral, and my Auntie Freida was our guide.

The week had already shifted—plans to present at Arctic Encounters were cancelled after our matriarch passed, and I was home instead with family. But those changes made space for something meaningful: the chance to help, to learn, to connect through subsistence.

Michael, my husband, is non-Native and from Idaho. He shredded moose fat that we melted down with seal oil to whip into the akutuq base. I boiled siifish, a fatty white fish, with my niece Ashley. We squeezed out every drop of water by hand, then baked it at low heat to dry it fully.

Meanwhile, Auntie Freida and I gathered berries from our family’s freezers and from friends: aqpiks (salmonberries), asiavik (blueberries), kimmigñaq (cranberries), and kavlaq (crowberries). We whipped the moose and seal fat into a thick, fluffy cream—it took over an hour and a half of careful beating. Then we folded in the sugar, berries, and dried fish. Finally, we froze it.

Two days of work. A delicacy prepared with care.

And none of us—me, my cousins, or Michael—had made akutuq before. This wasn’t a routine task. It was an act of remembering. Of honoring. Of learning something we want to pass down.

I couldn’t stop thinking about how truly gourmet our subsistence foods are. The seal and moose were harvested and butchered. Each berry handpicked. The fish caught with knowledge passed down. And then the preparation itself—labor-intensive, precise, unforgiving if you rush. All that work, all for a moment of sweetness.

But akutuq isn’t just about taste. It’s about being together. About honoring Elders. About keeping our knowledge alive.

Years ago, I learned the word iñuuniaq—to make a living, not just through work, but through living as Iñupiaq. Through connection, tradition, and effort. And yes, through joy. Learning the word is one thing… this week, I lived it out with family.

🏛️ From the Institutions: Indigenous Foods Are Research Practice

In Our lands tell our stories: Supporting Indigenous co-led research through the Indigenous Foods Knowledges Network, Jäger et al. (2025) highlight how food is not just a cultural expression—it is a knowledge system. Through the preparation, preservation, and sharing of traditional foods, Indigenous communities practice, teach, and protect their values, histories, and ecological insights.

This week’s experience of making akutuq reflects that. It was not just a recipe. It was relational work—intergenerational, labor-intensive, and guided by care. Every step, from sourcing seal and moose fat to hand-drying siifish and mixing local berries, mirrored what Jäger et al. describe: food as a site of Indigenous leadership, memory, and meaning.

Supporting Indigenous research means recognizing these practices not as background or context, but as central methods of inquiry. Food knowledge demands patience, humility, and collaboration. It asks us to listen, to learn through doing, and to respect the depth of expertise embedded in everyday acts of care.

Research that engages with Indigenous communities must be willing to show up in the kitchen, on the tundra, and at the table—not just in meetings or reports. That’s where the real learning begins.

In academic institutions, we often treat food as hospitality and learning as documentation. But for many Arctic communities, food is learning. Participation is knowledge. And that means researchers must understand subsistence not as a cultural footnote, but as a central structure of life and research ethics.

When someone teaches you how to render seal oil, or whip fat until it peaks, or balance moisture content to get the right texture—you are being invited into a knowledge system. You are being trusted to learn by doing, and to carry that knowledge with humility.

In equitable Arctic research, this means we can’t stay in the realm of ideas. We have to recognize labor as learning, effort as expertise, and relationship as data. We have to invest time, ask questions respectfully, and listen when the answer comes through a spoonful of akutuq.

🧭 TYB Framework

• Know Who You Are
  What are the foods or practices that connect you to your family, culture, or community? How do they shape your sense of identity—not just personally, but professionally?
• Do the Next Right Thing (Even Imperfectly)
  Think about a time you were invited to learn something new—especially something outside your comfort zone. Did you show up with patience and humility? What made that learning meaningful?
• Invest in a Community of Support
  Whose knowledge do you rely on when preparing for research? When has your community taught you something that no textbook or seminar could?
• Reinforce Hope with Grit
  Preparing akutuq took two days of labor—and years of passed-down knowledge. What work are you doing that requires perseverance and care? What makes it worth it?

This Week’s Challenge: Join the Labor and Learning

Subsistence knowledge isn’t just something to cite—it’s something to work for. This week, challenge yourself to notice the physical, emotional, and relational labor that makes community knowledge possible.

• Where in your research can you take on more of the hands-on labor?
  Are there moments when you could show up earlier, stay longer, or help with preparation and cleanup—not just data collection or writing? Labor isn’t extra. It’s often where trust begins.

• Who is already doing the subsistence work that supports the knowledge you’re using?
  Think about the Elders, youth, and community members who process foods, care for equipment, preserve stories, or maintain relationships. Have you acknowledged them—not just in your writing, but in your actions?

• How might you step in with respect and willingness, even if you’re new?
  You don’t need to be an expert. You need to be present. Start by asking what help is needed, being teachable, and recognizing that participation is itself a way of honoring the knowledge being shared.

Joining the labor means joining the learning. Post your ideas for first steps in comments, on our EAR Facebook Group, ARCUS’s Connect the Arctic portal!

Remembering Forward

We don’t learn everything from books. Sometimes, we learn it by doing hard work with people who love us.

Respectful research isn’t just about what you know—it’s about how you show up when someone says: “Want to help make akutuq?”