Balancing carefully atop a ladder, I reach up to grasp a branch laden with clusters of gleaming purple-black orbs. Autumn in Fairbanks is when I revel in another abundant harvest and continue a quest to understand the intriguing complexities of chokecherries in Alaska.
Chokecherries inspire both love and loathing. They are not native to Alaska but were introduced in the 1950s as an attractive ornamental for gardens. They’ve also been planted for erosion control and bird habitat. The two main species are Prunus padus—also known as European bird cherry, which is native to the Eurasian continent—and Prunus virginiana, which is native to parts of North America, including southern Canada, the American Midwest, Southwest, and East Coast. For Indigenous peoples and diverse cultures where chokecherries come from, they are a revered source of traditional food, medicine, and wood. In Alaska, sentiment has shifted in recent years, and they have been reviled and relabeled as an aggressively invasive plant.
Birds gobble up the nutrient-dense cherries and spread the seeds in their droppings. With few natural controls to curb their vigorous growth, chokecherries have been found growing in wild places far beyond their intended manicured locations. In areas of Anchorage, dense thickets of chokecherries outcompete native vegetation that local wildlife like moose and salmon depend on. Similar reports have surfaced in communities along the Railbelt in the Interior, Southcentral, and the Kenai peninsula. Community groups and municipalities have launched major efforts to control chokecherries and mitigate their unintended negative consequences.
Removal is a Herculean task because chokecherries possess a superpower of regeneration. Like Hydra, the fearsome multiheaded beast from Greek mythology, when a limb or the trunk is cut off, new sprouts grow back in its place. “Chokecherries are fire-adapted, so they come back from the roots even if the rest of the plant is damaged,” explained Gino Graziano, an invasive species specialist at the University of Alaska Fairbanks Cooperative Extension Service. “In places with heavy infestations that are widespread, eradication is unlikely, so the goal is to manage and keep it in check.” Because of this plant’s many uses, harvesting chokecherries for food, medicine, and wood can be done in a respectful way that makes full use of the plant while also practicing responsible stewardship of the local ecosystem.
FLOUR FIXATION
Chokecherries first came to my attention over a decade ago in Fairbanks while studying at the university. I met a new friend and fellow graduate student who was from Tuva, a Russian republic in southern Siberia. She loved foraging and generously taught me about harvesting and preparing the fungi and plants we found in the forest. One day, she called. “Come! Let’s go pick up chokecherries,” she urged, excitedly. “In my country, we make cakes from them.”
At first, I was reluctant. I had only seen chokecherry trees in parking lots, sopping up clouds of vehicle exhaust and road dust. The name chokecherry was unappealing and made me question their edibility. Living in a dry cabin without running water, I avoided baking projects. Cake was my least favorite dessert. Yet the dreamy nostalgia in her voice sparked my curiosity and outweighed the excuses.
To make the special food of her homeland, we visited chokecherry trees she found growing in the forest near campus. The speckled silver-gray branches were lush with oval leaves and loaded with shiny purple-black fruit. We gleefully stuffed our bags. Without a dehydrator, I spread my cherries on cookie sheets. They dried after days of monitoring and alternating between low heat in the oven and the warmth of a sunny window.
CRUSHING PITFALLS
Back then, books and pamphlets on Alaska plants yielded very few recipes, mostly for cooking the bitter, astringent fruit into jellies, syrups, and jams. I found little information on using the inconveniently large pits, which are poisonous when raw. Chokecherries share the botanical genus Prunus with other stone fruit, including domesticated cherries, plums, peaches, and apricots. “Stone” refers to the notoriously hard endocarp that protects the precious seed, along with nutritious fats and proteins for its future growth. The pits contain amygdalin. When ingested, our bodies convert this precursor into poisonous hydrocyanic acid, also known as cyanide.
In places where chokecherries originate, people’s long-standing relationships with this plant contributed to generations of collective ancestral knowledge, skills, and strategies. A knowledgeable toolwielding eater must break through the armor and neutralize the poison to retrieve the nourishing treasure inside. Crushing the pit and exposing amygdalin to air and heat denatures it and makes it safe to consume.
This step of transforming dried chokecherries into flour ultimately flummoxed our cake aspirations. In Siberia, commercially processed chokecherry flour was available for purchase in stores. In Alaska, we lacked the knowledge and the equipment to finely grind the mighty pits.
We persevered and experimented with whatever tools we could access. My mortar and pestle for grinding spices was pitifully tiny. A friend’s meat grinder produced large pieces with sharp edges. The chokecherries choked another friend’s hand-crank grain grinder after producing a paltry amount of teeth-cracking grit. It turns out that stone fruit pits are much harder than wheat berries. I scooped the remaining intact dried cherries into a thick glass storage jar, a time capsule containing the kernels of a mystery yet to be solved.
We ran out of ideas, and then we ran out of time. My Tuvan friend graduated and moved away. I drifted away from the cake conundrum. Reminders lingered. I noticed chokecherry trees all around town and trail. Each time I moved cabins, the jar resurfaced briefly among the spices and pantry items before sinking back into the forgotten corners of another kitchen.
THE WORLD OF CHOKECHERRIES
A decade ago, it was difficult even for a voracious researcher to find information about using whole chokecherries. Today, there is an abundance of books, videos, and recipes that include traditional preservation methods from diverse indigenous cultures and communities from the lower 48 states and Canada. These methods include grinding and drying chokecherries into pudding, pemmican, and dried cakes for preservation. Indigenous foods influencers and celebrity chefs including food sovereignty activist Linda Black Elk, chef Lois Ellen Frank, and “The Sioux Chef,” Sean Sherman, are among those who celebrate the traditional and contemporary preparations of this ancient food.
Other uses for chokecherries abound. The inner bark is used as a traditional medicine for a variety of maladies, including respiratory and gastrointestinal ailments. Indigenous and Western scientists are working together to study how the pits can protect against some cancers. Mahleb, or mahlepi, is made from the pits of chokecherry’s relative, Prunus mahaleb, and is a spice used in cuisine from the Middle East, Mediterranean, and Balkan regions. For woodworkers and artists, chokecherry is cherished as a beautiful carving medium.
BREAKTHROUGHS
Years after that first foray, I received an unexpected call from another friend inviting me to harvest chokecherries from her garden. It was a sign to resume the quest for chokecherry cake. We harvested chokecherries together, and I took them home. They sat abandoned on my porch for days while I was busy with other harvesting. On a whim, I ran the mushy cherries through a food mill to separate out the pits. I was delighted to discover a glossy eggplant-colored purée with a remarkable gel-like consistency. The astringency and bitterness of the fruit mellowed out after chilling on the porch. The purée was sweet without being tart. When dried, it made fruit leather with perfect texture. I was so smitten that I welcomed chokecherries to my autumn fruit foraging repertoire. I dried the pits separately and stuffed them in more jars or stashed bagfuls of them in the freezer, to keep those invasive seeds out of the compost pile.
After a few more years, I finally found clues and camaraderie on the Forager Chef website, which features well-researched and beautifully photographed writings by Alan Bergo about a wide range of harvesting, processing, and cooking wild foods. Bergo is a Minnesotan chef and author of The Forager Chef ’s Book of Flora. The website and the book included a wealth of information about processing chokecherries, including tools for a home kitchen, and a recipe for the elusive Siberian bird cherry cake.
I scoured the thrift shops and scored a used electric coffee grinder. I ceremoniously dusted off the thick glass container of dried chokecherries and scooped some in. I used ear protection while they rattled around. Opening the lid, I was thrilled to see tablespoons of coarse chokecherry flour. Later experiments with a friend’s high-powered Vitamix resulted in successfully pulverizing larger quantities of dried chokecherries into flour. Throughout this process, I am grateful to Bergo who encouraged me and responded to my questions. Upon his advice, I also invested in a tamis sieve, which has a mesh fine enough to separate out the hard pieces from the light purplegray powder.
At last, I finally had everything I needed to complete my decade-long quest in a long-awaited homage to my friend from Tuva. With Forager Chef as my guide, I combined the precious chokecherry flour with the other ingredients and inaugurated a springform cake pan gifted from a faraway friend. The aromas of sweet almond, vanilla, and roasted chocolate filled the air as I pulled the glossy purple-brown cake out of the oven and released it from the pan. The simple, longawaited ingredients created a truly extraordinary dessert—an intense blend of fruit, flavor, fat, and protein with a sturdy and smooth texture. The cake was a delicious and nutritious dream come true.
Looking back, this odyssey with chokecherry began with a singular mystery about cake that sprouted into multiple side quests. And despite chokecherries maligned status as invasive in Alaska, my curiosity and respect for this remarkable plant led to learning about countless cultural uses from places all over the world. Another detour branched into understandings of local and statewide efforts in Alaska to promote healthy ecosystem balance. And the ultimate exploration led me back to the beginning, baking the cake and finding other ways to honor the plant by using as much of it as possible. In gratitude to the chokecherries, I appreciate sharing the journey with friends and teachers along the way in harvesting, processing, experimenting, laughing, cooking, and—best of all—exchanging stories and tastes of special foods from places near and far.
OTHER USES FOR CHOKECHERRIES ABOUND.
The inner bark is used as a traditional medicine for a variety of maladies, including respiratory and gastrointestinal ailments. Indigenous and Western scientists are working together to study how the pits can protect against some cancers.
Because of how easily chokecherries spread, it is not advisable to plant them. Harvest from places where they already grow.
For more information on invasive species and control of chokecherries, check out publications and readings at the University of Alaska Fairbanks Cooperative Extension Service and the State of Alaska Division of Forestry program.
