After running a marathon, taking the bus back to my bed and breakfast, and then bussing it back to downtown Anchorage, I was a little tired. And hungry. Definitely hungry. My sight-seeing flight had been canceled three times, so that freed up a little extra money for a good dinner. Back at the bed and breakfast I confirmed what I already knew from a restaurant guide - the Crow's Nest atop the Captain Cook Hotel was the place for the needed cuisine. I had spent a lot of time in the lobby of the hotel over my previous two days in Anchorage, waiting to see if my sight-seeing flights would ever be a go, but I still managed to get on the wrong elevator. After getting on the right one, I sat down to a breathtaking view of downtown Anchorage and the surrounding mountains.

John McPhee, in his book Coming into the Country, contrasted Anchorage with Alaska's capital - Juneau, as follows

"Almost all Americans would recognize Anchorage, because Anchorage is that part of any city where the city has burst its seams and extruded Colonel Sanders. Anchorage is sometimes excused in the name of pioneering. Build now, civilize later. But Anchorage is not a frontier town. It is virtually unrelated to its environment. It has come in on the wind, an American spore. A large cookie cutter brought down on El Paso could lift something like Anchorage into the air. Anchorage is the northern rim of trenton, the center of Oxnard, the ocean-blind precincts of Daytona Beach. it is condensed, instant Albuquerque."

In a way, I agree with McPhee. I had a dinner atop the deck of the Snow Goose restaurant, overlooking Cook's Inlet. It reminded me of eating dinner out on the patio of Hennesey's pub in Dana Point, California - pricey bar food, lot's of beer on tap, couples paying more attention to their cell phones instead of their children. Anchorage proper has fast food, parks, civic center, street fairs, chic art galleries, video rental shops, and cleverly named bars. It has a lot in common with other American cities in the lower 48.

But when in Anchorage you are in Alaska. At the Snow Goose I was getting a sun burn at 8:30pm in the middle of June. The sun would be setting around midnight, and the full moon would keep the country-side well-lit for the rest of the daily cycle. Moose, those big brawny hoofed creatures, can occasionally be seen galloping within yards of the airport terminal. Building has occured in the face of an abundance of land, so there is plenty of space between the fast food restaurants and the video rental parlors, in contrast to most cities I know. I didn't visit Juneau or Fairbanks, so perhaps there is more of Alaska's spirit to be found there, but I knew I was not in Kansas. Or Albuquerque.

So as I sat atop the Crow's Nest, I saw the mountains that ring Anchorage. I saw a small squall create a rainbow to the east. I saw a flock of seaplanes rising and descending towards the inlet. Then I saw Dane, my waiter, approach.

It was time to decide on dinner. Except there was no decision. I had eaten a magnificent prixe fixe dinner at the Acqua restaurant in the Bellagio Hotel in Las Vegas. A tastings menu, it consisted of 5 seafood-based dishes. I still remember the main course - seared ahi topped with fois gras. At the time I was with a group celebrated to lady's birthdays. Actually birthday, since they were born on the same day and only hours apart. We had elected to do without the wine portion of the tasting. But tonight, as part of the menu at the Crow's Nest was a tasting menu, with a different wine for each course as an option. I had just run a marathon, and I had a few extra dollars in my pocket. No choice whatsoever.

Everyone in the restaurant received an entree (that's an appetizer, or "entry", for European-tinged restaurants). It was a wonton with a bit of seared ahi on top. My first course was a stack of tomatos and artichokes infused with thyme oil on a cracker. The wine was a Savignon Blanc from the Russian River Valley. Randall, the sommelier ("wine steward"), was very generous with his pour. I had nearly 2/3 of a glass. I knew there might be trouble, since I tend to fall asleep after two glasses. But my metabolism was high after the 26-and-some mile run, so I pressed onwards.

The second course was a quarter of a small fois gras club sandwich. The food was stacked high, but still a manageable portion. But then came another large pour of wine, this time of a Gerwurztraminer from the Alsace region of France. I made sure to tell Randall that I had just been to Mulhouse, and he made sure to tell me he goes to France every year.

The next course was a claw from an Alaskan king crab, with peas and carrots. Still a nice petite portion. But it was taking me a while to get through the Gerwurztraminer. I love the wine, I'm just starting to feel the effects of drinking a glass and a half of white wine like it was Gatorade. I let Dane know to take his time with the next course, while I worked through the remaining Alsatian, and then started on the Chardonnay from Merryvale.

The next course was the main one. When Randall had first gone over his selections of wine for each course, I had asked him if I could switch a couple. I had been on a real kick for Syrarh (or Shiraz), and the red he had chosen for the main course - a Cabernet Franc - was where I would have placed a Syrah. So I got a glass of Syrah with my mustard-seed crusted venison with seared rougie fois gras. And this is where I started to really slow down. I big glass of full-bodied red wine. Oh boy. And there was still some left when the venison was gone. Oh boy. Two courses to go. My body had run 26 miles. I finished the race. But dinner?

The next course was a prune tart with cinnamon and some sort of soft white cheese. The wine was an Italian wine that was a little sweet, but with a fairly high acid content. (I can't read my notes to figure out what was the name of the winery - I had consumed the equivalent of about 3 generous glasses of wine at this point.) Good with the cheese. But after the Syrah, and with such a large pour, I could not finish it. I was done. No dessert - the prune tart was good enough for a dessert. No port wine (another substitution of mine). I told Randall and Dane that I was finished. Conquered the marathon, but stopped short on the dinner. Good gluttony in Anchorage.