San Juan Islands Sailing

First of all, I have to tell you guys this has been the most epic summer of my entire life. Better than slip 'n slides and blackberry picking at eight, better than Latin American living at 16, better than hostel jumping at 20, and (maybe) even better than New York City last year. If you've been following this summer, you know that I spent most of my time leading a youth conservation corp team here in Hawaii and camping in some of the most remote places on the Big Island. To top it all off, I spent the last week of summer break sailing in the San Juan Islands in Washington state.

Some of you may know that we plan to drop everything in the very near future in favor of living on a sail boat. We will probably begin our adventures in the Pacific Northwest so we found a charter boat company that offered a "learn and cruise" trip to get some hands-on sailing experience. Through San Juan Sailing we sailed and lived aboard for a week with another couple and a captain who taught us to sail along the way. I am proud to say I am now a legit sailor. LEGIT. And I didn't even get sick once. For the girl who gets nauseous on a playground swing this is big news.

The sailing course included three written exams and a series of practical "tests" that we practiced at sea. Once you pass all three courses you can charter a boat from San Juan Sailing all on your own.

Most nights we anchored in a sheltered bay of one of the small islands where we could row on shore for a little hiking and beach combing. The water was stand-still calm. The other couple cruising with us got their crabbing license so we were lucky enough to have fresh crab on board a couple times. Meals were cooked and eaten family style and luckily all of us got along very well.

We also spent a night at the marina in Friday Harbor, an adorable little port town with scads of art galleries and teeny cafes. We pounded some oysters and sipped on local beer and just about died when the moon rose out of the purple sunset glow. The water is so clear around there, you can see starfish and all sorts of creatures everywhere.

Every morning we would get geared up and sail to a new anchorage. Being out on the water sailing was two parts challenging and two parts fun. I liked learning about navigation and charting and feeling pretty confident that with some practice I'll get the whole sail trimming thing down, too.

Mainly, I'm looking forward to eating fresh crab, fish, clams and mussels often and with gusto.

I spent a lot of time before this trip worrying about being a total sailor failure and letting my husband down. If it weren't for the confidence boost from leading a group of teenagers through a summer of the hardest physical labor ever, well let's just say that boost was needed.

This vacation will sustain me for a good long while.

I can still taste the oysters.

A Greek Easter Feast

Smoky Slow Cooked Lamb and Traditional Greek Salad

My most memorable Easter was spent on the island of Crete in Greece. Dustin and I were there in 2006  just after getting engaged, upsetting our lives to spend some time in Europe and figure out if marriage was right for us.

We'd rented a tiny studio apartment overlooking the ocean with two wooden twin beds, a hot plate, and a cold water shower. All the other tenants were Greek, including the friend we'd made at the car rental agency who'd found the apartment for us. We spent lazy days cruising the coastline by scooter discovering vibrant red poppy fields, tasting homemade moonshine and wine in the dark back-rooms of grocery stores, and purchasing our daily supply of perfect, sun-warmed tomatoes.

It was spring so the weather was still cool and the tourists were at a minimum. The Easter buzz began two weeks or so before the holiday. Everywhere we went, locals warned us that all businesses would be closed for several days around the holiday and tried to prep us on all the upcoming events. Coming from a background of fuzzy bunnies and egg hunts, we had no context for the festivities that were to come.

Traditional Greek Salad

I don't know the ins and outs of the Catholic religion/Greek orthodoxy, so forgive me if I explain this incorrectly. During the days leading up to Easter, the people will fast. On the eve of the holiday, people gather in the evening, in our case the town center was a small lake, and start to set off fireworks. It was quite pretty to see the reflection of the sparklers in the water as thousands of people gathered around in their Sunday best. As the excitement builds toward midnight, the fireworks become more intense. We were constantly dodging roman candles and M80s at this point, the devilish grins of teenaged boys illuminated by a constant spark.

A religious procession made its way to the lake, led by robed priests and what appeared to be a life-sized figure nailed to a cross. There were prayers and songs and candles held high by all in a moment of silent reflection. And in one fantastic finale, the figure on the cross was floated upright in the middle of the lake and set ablaze. Cheers rang out and firecrackers exploded everywhere. I swear someone threw dynamite into the lake at one point.

It turns out the figure on the cross was Judas, the apostle who betrayed Jesus, whom everyone was happy to burn. We were some of the last people hanging out by the lake after midnight as the local people went to their homes to share a meal and break their fast. The next morning we were invited to our neighbor's apartment for dinner and ate some of the best food of our lives including grilled lamb and fresh bread.

This year, we'd tried to relive some of those memories by hosting a Greek style barbecue on our very different island home. Below you will find recipes for slow-cooked lamb and traditional Greek salad. We also enjoyed spanakopita, tzatziki, and grilled asparagus fresh from our garden as my nephews hunted for eggs in the sand.

Beach egg hunt

I hope you have a delicious, memorable, and special Easter.

Smoky Slow-Cooked Leg of Lamb
serves 10-15

5 lb boneless leg of lamb
5 cloves garlic
1/2 cup fresh rosemary
1/2 cup fresh oregano
juice of 1 lemon
1/2 cup water
olive oil
salt & pepper

In a food processor blend garlic, herbs, and some salt & pepper to form a paste. Cut lamb into large sections about 1 pound each. Rub the lamb with the paste, drizzle with olive oil and allow to marinate for at least 2 hours and up to overnight.

In a slow cooker, add lemon juice and 1/2 cup water. Stack lamb in the slow cooker, sprinkle with more salt & pepper and olive oil and cook on low for just shy of 8 hours. You want the meat to easily pull apart, but not so loose the it fall apart when picked up.

Prepared a charcoal grill with wood chips. Grill the pieces of lamb, drizzled with more oil, for no more than 5 minutes each side so as to impart smoky flavor and form an outer crust, but avoid drying out the meat. If the meat is falling apart (that's ok!) then simply grill it on a piece of foil so it won't fall through the grate.

Serve with tzatziki, on pita bread or make a gravy from the drippings in the slow cooker. Enjoy!


Traditional Greek Salad
serves 10-12

3 cucumbers
5-6 tomatoes
1/2 red onion
1 cup kalamata olives (or other Greek olives if you can find them)
5-6 oz feta cheese (be sure to get the block style and check that it is made with sheep's milk)
fresh oregano or a dried mediterranean herb blend
fresh lemon juice or your favorite vinegar
olive oil
salt & pepper

Cut cucumbers in half lengthwise and chop into 1/2 inch slices. Slice tomatoes so they are a similar thickness to cucumbers. Please in a bowl and sprinkle with salt & pepper.

Layer thinly sliced red onion and olives on top. Slice cheese into 1/4 inch slices and layer on top, sprinkle with herbs and salt & pepper. Drizzle with lemon juice and olive oil when ready to serve. Enjoy!

Why do you love food?

Food. Where do I begin? It starts somewhere between boiling salted water until it was dry just to see what would happen and staring, longingly, for hours at the glossy pages of my mother’s Betty Crocker cookbook. I’d hover around my father, working over our little white enamel gas stove throwing bits of leftover chicken, the last of the cabbage, and squirts of teriyaki sauce into a pot to turn out something comforting for us on a rainy Portland night.

In college, my palate seared after a year of suffering through carbohydrate-sprayed cafeteria lettuce, I managed to cook all my meals in a dorm room, to the marvel of my peers. “How DO you make a bean burrito?” they’d ask. “That chicken smells divine,” they’d cluck. And of course it was far from divine, it was chicken breast in a pan with some salt.

At one point I even pledged to drop-out of university to attend culinary school. But my family, lovers of higher education that they are, didn’t approve. Looking back, I’m still not sure why I’d listened.

Luck flew me to Spain for a semester abroad where a sense of adventure in eating was born. I dove into barnacles, snails, stinky cured pork hanging from the ceiling, curious wines, and a little something called saffron. I visited Greece and fell in love with gyros pita, olive oil, the darkest greens, and foraged herbs. Never had I ever loved a cheese as much as feta. The yogurt, the homemade wine, the lamb, it was all so much and yet never enough. Around and around Europe I went, sampling and tasting, cooing and coveting. My love for global cuisine was bred.

As a real adult I now live on the Big Island of Hawaii, in a whole new world of sub-tropical edible wonders. I’m passionate now about discovering and preserving Hawaiian food culture.

But I feel that I’ve reached a plateau with my culinary skills that can only be continued with a culinary education.  Please help me continue along my path toward great cooking, and this time, I won’t let my family talk me out of it.

*This was my submission to the Food Network Great Food Truck Race scholarship contest in answer to the following prompt: "What cuisines are you passionate about? Explain how a scholarship from The International Culinary Schools at The Art Institutes could help you expand your knowledge of global cuisines." Wish me luck. 

PS: there is still time to enter if you are interested, deadline is 2/28/13.

Dear 2012,

The thing I most want to do in this moment is make a giant list of all the wrong that occurred in the year  of our Lord 2012. I want to wallow in it, highlight it, point out how unfair everything that ever happened in 2012 ever was. I want you to feel sorry for me. I want to feel sorry for myself. For not being skinnier, for not being in my 20s, for not becoming a famous blogger, for never seeming to do the things I really really really want to do. For failing to do everything perfectly, including choosing the right career and keeping an impeccable garden. I realize while writing this that my greatest sin, in my own mind, it not achieving perfection.

Because there's the times that I do those things that I really really really want to do. And those wonderful things get covered up by clouds of self doubt, by some need to tell myself, hey you really ought to have done better. I'm always raining on my own damn parade. Truth is, the failures and unexpected twists that have made up this past year are the very things that have gotten me through it.

This year, I really really really wanted to know what it felt like to live in New York. You know, the glam, the hustle and bustle, the opportunities. So I just did that, went to New York and acted like I lived there for a few weeks. And it worked, I totally felt like I did live there. Nothing glamorous happened save for a dirty martini at sunset atop the Met. Except that everything glamorous did happen including a rained out Shakespeare in the park performance, dollar oysters around every corner, art appreciation lessons from a stranger at the Brooklyn museum, frog legs at Coney Island, matinee ballet amid fur clad seniors, and standing-room only Mets baseball. In New York, the glamour is in the grit.

After visiting Ellis Island, whose museum on American immigration is truly inspirational, I did a quick search on their website just to see if there were any relatives who'd passed through. Without much searching at all, I found a record from 1922 of my grandfather returning to the US from Turkey. The document indicated he was in Constantinople on business.

My grandfather died when my father was small, so I never knew him and neither did he. We knew next to nothing about the man. Maybe because my grandmother was too devastated to talk about him, or maybe because she didn't know him well herself. We will never know. But staring at that computer screen in my friend's studio apartment in Manhattan suddenly brought the man to life. Next to his name on the Ellis Island manifest document was a short description of his trip length and purpose, as well as his date of birth and an address in Brooklyn, New York. Now, we'd known he'd been born somewhere in New York, but we didn't know anything about his childhood or young adult life. For the first time in my life I needed to know everything there was to know about this man.

I stayed up all night and spent the next few days feverishly researching documents and family trees, pouring over census records and Ancestry.com. Meanwhile, my friend helped me find a long-term rental apartment in Brooklyn, steps from Prospect Park. I lugged my possessions up seven flights of the stone, World War II era building and into my new digs on the well-heated top floor apartment with a view of the neighbor's window across the breezeway and my very own rusted fire-escape. This was definitely the ideal New York living I'd been striving for. After settling in a bit, I took a walk to orient myself to the nearest subway stops, grocery stores and outrageously bad coffee shops I would learn to love in the weeks to come. And there it was, under shady sidewalk trees, lined on both sides with iconic brownstones behind wrought-iron fences, Greene Ave. The street my grandfather had listed as his address in 1922.

I laughed at serendipity and hung a left, admiring the homes and tiny flower gardens, looking for #1622. These brownstones are definitely pre-1922, I thought, his house is certainly still standing. As I passed #34 and #35, it occurred to me that 100 degrees was not ideal conditions for such a long walk. It was good enough in that moment to simply walk where he walked, to exist where he existed.

Turns out #1622 no longer stands. But in the weeks that followed, I found much more than an old brownstone. My obsessive family research led me to my grandfather's siblings (who we never knew about) and their children and their children. I looked one of them up in the old-fashioned Yellow Pages and called the number. And she answered. Without much explaining at all she knew who I was and on my very last day in New York I got to meet her, at Grand Central station, amid the definition of hustle and bustle.

Just like that my father, who never had an uncle or aunt or any family at all, had a cousin. And I, who'd imagined my summer wistfully drinking cocktails at jazz bars while writing poetry on napkins, had discovered that I didn't need to know what it was like to live in New York, I was freaking from there.

In the end I ought to have done a lot more than I did in 2012. The year, as a whole, was far from perfect. Exactly where it should be.

Buck It! Summer's Over & I'm Almost 30

I guess it is September already. Summer is officially over, although since we started back to school in the beginning of August, it already feels like a long time ago. Trips were taken, food was eaten, and this summer was, in general, a really good time. I'm so glad Joy and Tracy suggested creating a summer bucket list, it got me super pumped and I'm happy to report that I checked (almost) everything off that list.

As a kid, I always enjoyed having a September birthday. I got all the benefits of having a summer birthday, backyard bbqs or parties in the park, while also celebrating in school. There was something so special about classroom cupcakes and the teacher leading us all in song.

This year, I'd rather crawl in a very dark cave, eat an enormous amount of cake and champagne, and emerge without anyone noticing that I, Gwen Edwards, am 30 years old. And for those that know me, this just isn't right. You see, I'm one of those people that loves a good birthday party, would never pass up a chance to blow out the candles and make another wish. And I won't bore you with the usual cliches, "Oh, I feel so old!", "Geez, I can't believe my 20s are over!" No, you see, that's just not what's bothering me at all.

It's just that, damn, what happened to those 30 years? It's a shock to the system to think, really consider, how many years it's been since I played softball, rode a roller coaster, saw my aunts and uncles, or went fishing. Time. Time. Time. It jut goes and goes and has no feeling at all. It selfishly rolls on and over my 30 birthday wishes, never stopping to ask me how I'm doing, no.

I don't have a problem with getting older. I just have a problem with time. Stop time, please, I need to finish my book, call my best friend, plan better lessons, cook my grandma's chicken and dumplings. I need to travel the world, have kids, start a business, write a book. But time is unmerciful, moving past me everyday without even a word or a smile.

When will it be too late? Time is surely not waiting around for me. I've gotta do those things I need to do, whether time likes it or not. Can I keep up with time? Probably not, but I'll not wait around for time to keep passing me by.

Here's to 30 more.

A Dominican Sweet 16

16 year old me in the Dominican Republic in 1996 with neighbor kids

The best summer of my youth was in 1996. At 16 I had it all; a car, a cute boyfriend, a varsity softball letterman jacket, long, wavy hair with blond highlights. The picture of the American Teenager. And then I was canon-fired across the country to a remote village in the Dominican Republic for 6 weeks.

Although I'd been planning the trip for nearly a year, nothing could have prepared me for adapting to a new culture, speaking a different language, being away from home for the first time and the drastic changes in myself that were to come of it.

Without much thought the previous year, I signed up for a program called Amigos de las Americas, an organization that sends youth into Latin American countries to complete community service projects during the summer months. All I really thought about at that point was that it would be rad to travel to another country and that it would look great on my college applications.

Ranch de la Guardia, Dominican Republic. My summer home in '96.

I was placed with two other girls my age in a town called Rancho de la Guardia, inland from the coast, about 4 miles from the Haitian border. We lived in a little shack next to our host family and quite happily settled in washing our clothes in a bucket, bathing in a waterfall, making midnight trips together to the latrine. Our host mother fed us bread and hot chocolate for dinner almost every night. We thought this was a pretty sweet deal, planting trees and speaking Spanish, no big deal.

But like all things, it got real. Here are a few excerpts from my journal:
"I'm not sure that I'm all for organizations like Amigos. Do these people really need our help? What are we doing here?"
"I'm totally going through culture shock...Sometimes it gets so frustrating to be around a lot of noise that you can't understand."
"We all cried a lot today and pretty much isolated ourselves in our room."
"I can't believe we have two days left. It's totally crazy. I think I might just die, or it will seem like all these people have. I can't bear the thought of leaving, but I can't bear the thought of staying either."

The house we stayed in that summer.

It got real not because we had no running water or TV, but because for the first time in my life, I realized there was more. That there was more than having great hair and perfect shoes, there was a whole world of people out there that had absolutely nothing to do with me. I came out of my teenaged shell and got a glimpse of the bigger picture. After coming home I threw out all my make-up, kept my hair short, and basically hated on all things "material." It took me a long time to reconcile what I'd experienced that summer with my life back home in Oregon. It took me an even longer while to figure out that it was me who'd benefitted from the experience, not necessarily the people I'd gone to "help."

Me (in gray) with my partners Amanda and Nicole and a friend

Nostalgia for this particular summer crept over me recently. I felt the best way to commemorate these feelings was to slow-cook a pot of beans and curl up on the couch with my journal and photo album. I laughed and laughed, flipping through the pages, remembering our neighbor boys whispering "I love you," and "do you like to kiss?" through slats in our door as we fell asleep on our mosquito net covered cots. Our favorite meal was "arroz con habichuelas" or rice and beans. I hope I'm doing the recipe, and this story, justice.

Dominican Rice and Beans
Also featured on Foodie Friends Friday
serves at least 8

1 pound kidney or red beans
1 quart chicken or vegetable stock
1 yellow onion
4 cloves garlic
1 jalapeno
1 TBL cumin
1 tsp chili powder (whatever you like)
salt & pepper
water, as needed
white rice

*I remember this dish being "soupy," as the beans were served separate from the rice. There was a lot of extra liquid in the bean pot, so that's the way I wrote this recipe, just FYI.

In your slow cooker, cover your pound of beans with water and soak over night. Drain and rinse, take the time to sort through them a bit, it's likely you'll find some dirt or rocks.

Add the drained beans back to the slow cooker along with the stock. If the stock doesn't cover the beans, add more water. Remember, we are going for soupy.

Chop your onion, garlic, and jalapeno and add to the pot. Toss in the spices and give it a stir. Watch the salt though as some stocks are saltier than others. It will be pretty spicy, so omit spicy ingredients if necessary. Turn it to low and let it cook overnight, or 8-10 hours.

To serve, spoon beans over hot cooked rice. Enjoy!

31 Birthday Wishes

Last year a post I wrote for my husband's birthday became your favorite post of all time on this blog. It seems we've come a long way in only a year. Dustin turns 31 today and although I could write 1000 reasons to love him, here's just a few.

1. He has been smoke free for exactly one year.
2. He's outfitting our house with new tile flooring. What a stud.
3. While I was away in NYC, he got the African violet I've had for 4 years that has never bloomed to bloom.
4. He buys me lemon verbena soap just because.
5. I was worried he would only eat Hot Pockets and blue box while I was away this summer, but came home to find the freezer full of vegan burritos.
6. He understands the perfect coffee:milk ratio.
7. Blue shirts bring out the most perfect hue to his eyes.
8. He loves our dog Cruiser SO MUCH.

9. When picking me up from the airport, he brings SPAM musubi.
10. He's cute.
11. He read every single candidate's profile before voting in the primary, even the crazies.
12. He'll eat anything I make, even liver.
13. He tells me if my outfit is looking wonky. This is a regular occurrence.
14. That green thumb really comes in handy.
15. "Sandwich" is his favorite food. I can make that!
16. He changes the oil in my car.
17. He never complains.
18. His organizational mastery makes my life much easier. Maybe it will rub off one day.

19. Pesto is his new favorite thing to make.
20. He looks pretty sexy on a motorcycle.
21. He rolls with the punches.
22. He lives life. Life doesn't live him.
23. He (usually) knows what's best for me.
24. He wants the best for me, no matter what.
25. His tan is really something else. Golden skin.
26. People don't mess with him. We call it his "cop face."
27. His wild, teenage "coming of age" stories are really the best that I know of.
28. He's got great skills and is pretty good with a bo staff.
29. No one eats like he does. The speed is impressive.
30. He's mine.
31. But most of all, I love him for being an outstanding, righteous human being.

Happy Birthday honey!

Make Your Own Limoncello

Limoncello has buried itself in the memory part of my brain, right next to dusty days under the hot Greek sun, walking endless straight lines through silvery olive groves, eyes to the ground in search of ancient pieces of pottery. Limoncello also butts right up against memories of Dustin and I, confused lovers on a quest for meaning in a tiny stone apartment, again in Greece.

Like many college grads, I headed off to Europe for a summer trek to celebrate my accomplishments. It would be the trip that sealed my love for solo travel. (Did you know my trip to NYC this summer was solo? A friend pointed out that I never mentioned this in any posts.) My sister happened to be on the island of Crete in Greece helping out on an archaeological project, so of course I headed her way. Their assignment was to survey miles and miles of farmland and open fields and record any pottery that happened to be lying on the ground. Imagine hours of hiking in the hot summer sun, scrutinizing every stone and dirt clod for possible signs of long gone life. It was grueling for them, week after week, sometimes finding nothing. It was joyous for me, handling a cup thousands of years old among the olive trees and screaming cicadas.

We'd head back to homebase, after these hours of surveying, exhausted and covered in reddish brown dust only to collapse around the shared courtyard in the setting sun. Somehow bowls of pasta materialized, along with liters of local wine, and after, rounds and rounds of creamy limoncello.

Limoncello glides right along, in between and in and out of my memories of Greece. After a few tormenting months in Denver, Dustin and I abruptly left the city and boarded a last minute flight to Europe. I couldn't wait to share with him the beauty I'd found the previous summer on Crete. Bouganvillea covered archways, candlelit shrines hidden deep inside caves, rocky hillsides, the wine-dark Mediterranean.

We spent our nights listening to music out of speakers fashioned from earbuds and paper cups, playing Egyptian Rat Screw on our pushed-together twin beds, trying to figure out whether forever was our future. I'd slice up a couple of impossibly red tomatoes, a cucumber, and the richest feta cheese to go with our homemade wine stored in recycled water bottles. And then in went the rounds and rounds of creamy limoncello. Sweet and tangy.

Sipping limoncello brings me right back, to somewhere in between starting a life and avoiding one.

Limoncello (not creamy, sorry!)
adapted from the recipe by Giada de Laurentiis

10 lemons (or 5-6 Hawaii sized lemons, like softballs)
750 ml vodka (1 bottle)
3 1/2 cups water
2 1/2 cups sugar

Peel lemons with a vegetable peeler, reserving rest of the lemon for another use. It helps to peel them in long strips. Using a very sharp paring knife, remove as much of the pith (white part of the peel) as you can. This takes time, but is the key to a good limoncello. Place peels in a container (like a juice pitcher) and allow to steep at room temperature for 4 days.

Heat water and sugar over medium heat in a sauce pan until sugar dissolves. Allow to cool and add sugar water to pitcher. Steep for another 24 hours.

Strain limoncello and discard peels. Bottle and store in the fridge for up to a month. Enjoy!

This recipe is featured on Foodie Friends Friday

5 Reasons to Love Life

Nootropics

1. School is out for summer. Today was the last day for students and teachers in Hawaii and we are loving it. Looking forward to a break full of beach days, New York awesomeness, cooking galore, and with a little luck, some backpacking.

2. Nature brings you down to size. Last weekend I skipped over to Maui for a backpacking adventure with my girl Marie in the crater of Haleakala. There's something about hauling your butt and a heavy pack down into a really old rock formation to gaze at majestic mountain views, gawk at shooting stars, and share nips of whiskey with an awesome friend to bring the best of life to the forefront.

3. Limoncello. Lovely, lemony, liqueur. This drink embodies summer. While visiting my sister at an archaeological dig in Greece, we sipped gallons of the stuff. Except it was creamy, and I have not been able to score it in the states. Did you know there is a Mauicello? I will most definitely forgive it's lack of creaminess. Get on it. I guess this means I'll be making my own creamy limoncello. Recipe to follow(?).

4. Anchovies on pizza. I am a major salt and briny flavors fanatic, and anchovies gives you just that. Putting them on pizza, a little goes a long way, provides a punch of flavor. If you love all things briny, try it.

5. Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes. Friends move away. Jobs are iffy at best. School years end, summers begin. Books close. Windows open. Without changes our lives would be a dreary gray mass of unending time.  Let's embrace change, let's love it even. I love change. There, I said it.

Sustainable Sunday: Breakfast for Mom

Mom lives in Washington. I'm here in Hawaii. If you were here mom, this Sustainable Sunday breakfast would be all yours. Ka'u coffee, papaya, soft-boiled egg. This photo does not give the deep magenta of these maple hibiscus any justice.

My mom always encouraged my natural love for cooking. When I was little, all I ever wanted to do was bake. Armed with a tiny whisk, mini baking pans, and my mom's blue checkered childhood apron, we'd scour the dessert pages of Betty Crocker's cookbook, lingering over the full-color spread of a hopelessly ornate gingerbread house we could only dream of building. I'd usually fixate on a recipe for Bonnie Butter Cake, a triple layer, all butter batter covered with French silk frosting. I did eventually make this cake, but mom knew to steer me toward the more doable cookie section.

Baking with mom taught me a lot. When my little arm grew tired from mixing the batter for chocolate chip cookies, she didn't bail me out. She knew that no lesson on perseverance could be stronger than mixing cold butter with flour and sugar with a fork.  When we accidentally used pancake mix instead of flour in our peanut butter cookies, I learned that mistakes can sometimes be better than what you were aiming for. And boy were those cookies puffy! Things are not always what they seem either, mince meat pie sounded great to me, but when I proudly presented it to those at our Thanksgiving table, no one would touch it except mom and me. It was pretty awful, but that didn't stop her from encouraging me to try new things. I'll never forget the pride of opening the oven door to the glory of my first lemon meringue pie. Who knew egg whites could create such magic?

Most of all, and without knowing it I'm sure, mom taught me that cooking requires a sense of touch. We didn't have a KitchenAid, or a food processor, or even a blender. I have whipped cream with a whisk. And cut in butter with a fork. And kneaded dough with my hands. Now I know how to feel when the pizza dough is ready to rise, or if the biscuits need a drop more water. Working with my hands is what I love about cooking because making food is something you feel, in your hands, in your heart. Thank you mom, for giving me the chance to experiment in the kitchen. Someday I'll make you a Bonnie Butter Cake that looks even better than the picture.

Brought to you by...

This blog comes to you out of creative desire, hunger, and daily inspiration. The ideas shared on this blog definitely do not come out of the center of my brain, they are fed by the wonderful work of those around me, including many of you, the fabulous people who take the time to read these words. Let's get inspired! Below are some of the lovelies that spark my imagination.

Local rangpur limes

1. Locally grown and made food in Hawaii. Every time I go to one of the farmer's markets (usually Keauhou) I want to high five all the farmers and fist pump wildly. I refrain, but only barely. Seriously though, did you know that islanders can now get locally raised pork, beef, veal, lamb and chicken at farmer's markets and stores like KTA? Not to mention the gorgeous eggs, mushrooms, vegetables, fruit, coffee, and chocolate. All of this lovely produce has inspired me to start a little something I call Sustainable Sunday. Click the link to find out what it's all about! And please, please, please do your taste buds a favor and head out to your nearest farmer's market asap, the inspiration is endless.

Farmer's market booty, including Ka'u onion

2. The onion family. Do you know how much I love leeks? Eat leeks. Lots of them. And Maui sweet onions and scallions and the green part of the scallion and shallots. Fresh, local onions are blowing my mind. Onions are totally my current favorite vegetable.

3. The Cannelle et Vanille blog is my internet happy place. I go here for the beautiful photos and food styling. I like to imagine myself wearing a white, gauzy dress and prancing through the fields of one her unreal shots of the Spanish countryside.

Jessica getting her marathon on

4. There's this girl I know, her name is Jessica. She is suuuuuper smart AND she just passed the New York bar exam. The best part is, she's my friend! Congrats Jessica, you inspire the hell out of me.

Me and Rae hiking into the "Third Valley"

5. There's this other girl I know, her name is Rachael (or is it Cindy?) She is soooooo rad BUT she's moving away in only a month. We've been cooking together lately, I'm trying to impart what little kitchen wisdom I have to her before she leaves. She's a total natural cook. I'm inspired by the way this girl lives, she is pure love. Of course I'm sad she is leaving, but even more overjoyed to call this chick my friend.

My kitchen, where it all happens!

6. There are these other people I know, YOU. Yes, you reading this while drinking coffee in your worn-out yoga pants. You always leave nice comments, you make my recipes, you send me pictures of your food. I love you guys. Seriously. Writing this blog has been a sparkling, glowing beacon of light in my life and the fact that you read it means the world to me and inspires me to keep going. Thank you for reading, listening, eating, commenting, being.

Ditch the SPAM: Eating Local in Hawai'i

Most of the food consumed in Hawaii is shipped in from the US mainland and points beyond. It's no secret why goods are so expensive on the islands. Buying and eating local can do a lot of good for the local economy, the environment, our health, and our taste buds (just ask my friend Sybil). I'd like to show just how easy it can be. 

Yesterday I gathered some friends, armloads of goods from the farmer's market, and headed to the beach for a meal made entirely of locally sourced ingredients. My friends at FoodBuzz were kind enough to have selected my proposal for their monthly 24x24 event where 24 food bloggers are chosen to prepare a meal and blog about it in the same 24 hours. I'll also be sharing some recipes at the end of this post. Fun! 

Keauhou Farmer's Market (look at that line for fish!)

This meals begins at the farmer's market. Since you never know exactly what you'll get, our menu evolved as the ingredients were selected. I scored some fresh ono (wahoo), pancetta made by When Pigs Fly Charcuterie, honey, ulu (breadfruit), sweet corn, purple sweet potato, beets, lettuce, green onion, poi, apple bananas, papaya, tomatoes, cucumber, macadamia nuts, cilantro, napa cabbage, ginger, oranges, lemons, and limes. 

At the grocery store, I was able to find some locally made mac nut oil, Maui rum, Kona coffee, grass-fed beef, and wai wai ole ogo (a type of seaweed). Friends had supplied me with avocados from their back yards, coconut milk zipped through a Vitamix, and smoked wild boar. 

After a little chopping, roasting, boiling, whisking, and stirring (with a lot of help from my wonderful assistants) we loaded up our treasures and headed to a favorite beach picnic spot along our lovely Kona coast. The grill flared with banana leaf wrapped fish as the children played in the tide pools and parents gathered around in beach chairs. Dark clouds swarmed the mountains behind us, allowing that dusky light to fill the table. 

We enjoyed plates of ono salad (see recipe below), steamed ulu with fresh coconut milk, a green salad with orange vinaigrette, coffee marinated steak (see recipe below), fruit salad of banana and papaya, grilled sweet potatoes (see recipe below), pink coleslaw, thick poi (cooked and pounded taro root), roasted broccoli salad (see recipe below), smoked wild boar with tomatoes, and sweet corn. 

We washed it all down with cups of cold Kona coffee, lavender lime water, or rum cocktails with honey and lime.  

Another meal in paradise. 

Before you run off, check out some of the recipes we made for this meal below. Eat fresh, eat healthy, eat local!

Ono Salad

serves 4

1 pound ono fillets

1 large, ripe avocado cut into bite sized chunks

2 large tomatoes, chopped 

2 cups wai wai ole ogo (seaweed) torn into small pieces

sea salt 

1 banana leaf, cut into 8"x10" pieces

1 lime

Prepare a hot bbq grill. Sprinkle ono fillets with some sea salt. Wrap the fillets in the banana leaves, leaving the end open, like a cigarette. Place the wrapped fish on the grill, grilling for 1-2 minutes on each side or until just cooked through. Ono dries out easily, so do not overcook. Leaves will burn a little, this is fine. 

Unwrap the fish on a cutting board and allow to cool for a few minutes. Cut the fish into bite sized pieces. 

Gently toss fish, avocado, tomato, and seaweed, with the juice from the lime. Add more sea salt if desired. Enjoy! 

Don's Grilled Sweet Potatoes

This recipe was borrowed from my friend Don Oshita. Such a simple recipe, but I can't get enough!

purple Okinawan sweet potatoes (you decide how many you'll need)

sea salt

Boil a large pot of water. Add sweet potatoes and boil 15-20 minutes depending on size of potatoes. They are done when they can be pierced all the way to the center with a fork. Drain and allow to cool. Cut into 1/3 inch rounds. Season with sea salt. Grill for 2-3 minutes each side, or until potatoes turn bright purple and form a brown crust on the outside. Enjoy!

Grass-fed Steak with Coffee Marinade

serves 4

1 pound grass-fed beef steak (round, flank, or sirloin)

1/2 cup rosemary, chopped

1/2 sage, chopped

sea salt

2 cups brewed Kona coffee

Trim fat from steaks. Please in a baking dish and season with sea salt. Add herbs and coffee (cooled first) to the baking dish, making sure steaks are covered on all sides with the herbs and coffee. Marinate for about 1 hour. 

Discard marinade. Grill steaks to desired doneness and season with sea salt. Allow the steaks to rest at least 5 minutes before slicing. Enjoy!

Roasted Broccoli Salad with Pancetta and Mac Nuts

serves 4-6

2 broccoli crowns and stems cuts into bite sized pieces

2 small beets with greens attached

2 TBL mac nut oil

sea salt

1/4 cup pancetta, chopped

2 green onions, chopped

1/2 cup salted and roasted mac nuts, chopped

Preheat oven to 425. Place broccoli pieces and whole beets (greens removed and reserved) on a baking sheet. Drizzle oil overall and sprinkle with sea salt, toss to coat. Roast broccoli and beets for 15-20 minutes or until broccoli is soft and a little browned. 

While the veggies are roasting, add the pancetta to a pan over medium heat and cook until it releases some of it's liquid fat. Add the onion, white part only, and the greens from the beets. Saute, about 15 minutes, or until the greens have softened. 

When broccoli is done, peel and chop the roasted beets. Toss, broccoli, beets, greens, mac nuts, and remaining green onion. Add more salt if desired. Enjoy!