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Cooking relaxes me.

The meditative rhythm of the kitchen slowly rolls back the chaos of work. Tweak the seasonings, sear a little hotter this time, maybe spill a little on the floor. The reward is in the smiles as people eat. I begin to unwind.

Yet there are days when even cooking sounds like too much work. You know the ones? Computer crashes, unreasonable people, impossible deadlines and nothing goes right. At the end of it all I want to collapse. It's on those days that I reach for my easiest dinner recipes. Unagi donburi, literally "eel rice bowl," can be prepped in the time it takes to cook up a pot of rice and it requires only common items from a Japanese pantry (soy sauce, dashi, mirin, rice), plus prepackaged eel.

Unagi kabayaki (grilled eel in a sweet sauce) is generally sold frozen in Japanese groceries. I picked up an 8 oz. package for $5 at Marukai and held it in the freezer until I needed a quick and easy meal. It kinda defeats the purpose if you have run out shopping for unagi in order to make "quick" and "easy," so buy a package in advance and just hold onto it.

Traditional unagi donburi consists simply of eel over rice. I like to add egg and scallions to turn this into a one bowl meal. Other variations could add shiitake mushrooms or bamboo root. My son likes green peas in his. Whatever floats your boat -- the whole point of this meal is to restore you.

Unagi Donburi with Egg
Serves 2-3

• cooked rice
• 3/4 c. water
• 2 T. mirin
• 1/4 c. soy sauce
• 2 t. dried dashi soup base
• 1 T. sugar
• 3 scallions, roughly chopped
• 8 oz. package unagi kabayaki
• 2 eggs, very lightly scrambled
• shichimi tōgarashi (optional)

Start your rice cooking. Wait a few minutes, because you don't want to finish the eel before your rice is ready. Now would be a good time to set the table, or depending on how bad the day was, crack open a cold one.

Once the rice is well on its way, heat the water, mirin, soy sauce, dashi, sugar and scallions to a simmer in a small skillet. Any optional variations like mushrooms, bamboo or peas should also be simmered with the stock to ensure they have enough cooking time.

Once the stock begins to boil, add the unagi. Cook 30 seconds, then pour eggs over top and cover with a lid. Cook one minute then serve immediately over rice in large, deep bowls. If there's any sauce left, drizzle that over top. Add a dash of shichimi tōgarashi for heat.

Then you can put your feet up, knowing that even the worst of days can't keep you from eating well.

My parents have been in town all this week. That's bad for quiet blogging time, but good for eating well. This trip they brought with them my mom's legendary recipe for caramel corn.

The correct popcorn is key. Flavorings are out, and microwaved popcorn doesn't seem to hold the caramel in the same way. The best results come from buying a bag of popcorn kernels and popping them in an honest-to-goodness popcorn popper. I've used an air popper with great results (and it can do double duty as a coffee roaster.)

Caramel Corn
Serves: a small party (about 6 quarts worth)
Special equipment: a popcorn popper

• 1 ¼ c. unpopped popcorn kernels, makes ~6 qts cooked
• 1 c. butter
• 2 c. brown sugar
• ½ c. corn syrup (light or dark)
• 1 t. salt
• ½ t. baking soda
• 1 t. vanilla

Cook up your popcorn in a pan or air popper. Once it's done popping, transfer the cooked popcorn to a pan and keep it warm in a 300 degree oven.

Meanwhile, melt margarine in a saucepan. Stir in brown sugar, corn syrup, and salt. Bring to a boil stirring constantly then boil without stirring for 5 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in ½ t. baking soda and 1 t. vanilla. Pour over popped corn mixing well. Turn into 2 large shallow baking pans. Bake in 250 oven for 1 hour stirring every 15 minutes.

Remove from oven and cool. Store in an airtight container.

This preparation is the perfect way to enjoy tomato soup even in the heat of summer. It highlights pure tomato flavors, complementing them with the sweet acidity of limes and a touch of heat. There are times when you can cheat and use tomatoes that aren't fully ripe. This isn't one of them. Use only the very best tomatoes, because that's what will come through in the end.

The fun of this amuse bouche, literally a "mouth amuser," is playing with expectations. The shape imitates the primary ingredient complete with greenery. It looks like a fruit sorbet, yet tastes of tomato. It amuses both mouth and mind at the start of a meal.

Tomato Basil "Soup" in Parmesan Cups
Serves 6 as a very light starter course
Special equipment: an ice cream maker

• 1 lb. tomatoes
• 5-6 basil leaves
• 1/2 c. water
• 1/3 c. sugar
• 1/2 t. salt
• 1/4. t. pepper
• dash cayenne
• juice from one lime
• approximately 1 1/2 c. freshly grated parmesan cheese
• basil leaves for garnish

Bring a large pot of water to a rolling boil and drop in the tomatoes for 20-30 seconds until the skins begin to split. Remove tomatoes from the pot and rinse under cold water until cool enough to peel. Peel and core. Remove seeds and coarsely chop. Puree chopped tomatoes and basil leaves with 1/2 cup water in a blender until smooth.

Pour pureed tomato mixture into a small pot, adding sugar, salt, pepper and cayenne. Simmer for five minutes over medium heat, stirring occasionally. Remove pot from heat and allow to cool to room temperature. Stir in lime juice, then strain the entire mixture through the finest sieve or chinois available. Freeze according to ice cream maker instructions.

While the soup is freezing, grate 1 1/2 cups fresh, moist parmesan cheese. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper and make six equidistant mounds of grated cheese. Gently press the cheese down into flat, three inch rounds. Bake in a 350 degree oven for ten minutes until golden brown. Remove from oven, let cool sixty seconds, then gently transfer each round to an empty muffin tin cup and press down to form a cup shape. They remain pliable for just a few minutes before stiffening. Allow to cool completely.

Scoop the frozen soup with a melon baller and place one scoop in each parmesan cup. Top with basil and serve immediately.

This recipe took second place in the Hamakua Springs Tomato Recipe Contest soups and bisque category.

Tomorrow is (American) Thanksgiving. Every family has their own traditions and trimmings—my brother-in-law whips up a pot of gumbo, for instance—but a big turkey on the table is nearly universal. This recipe for Kālua-style turkey tastes authentic enough, but with the convenience of cooking in an oven.

Falling off the bone.

Oven Kālua Turkey
Serves a small crowd.

• 12-20 lb. turkey (mine is 18 lbs. this time)
• 1/3 c. olive oil
• 2-3 T. coarse sea salt
• 2 t. liquid smoke
• 18 (or so) ti leaves. I didn’t have enough, so used banana leaves as well

Completely thaw turkey, remove necks and gibblets then wash the entire carcass thoroughly inside and out. Line a large roasting pan with about half of the ti leaves, overlapping then slightly so that the pan is completely blanketed. Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Wrapped in leaves

Cover the turkey with the remaining ti leaves. If you can, tuck the leaves under the bird so that it is fully wrapped. If your leaves are young and small like mine, just do your best to overlap and get complete coverage. Cover the roasting pan with a double layer of aluminum foil and crimp the edges tightly so that it is as airtight as reasonably possible. Cook for six hours.

After six long, long hours have elapsed, remove the turkey, uncover, and let cool until it can be handled. The meat should literally be falling off the bone. Shred the meat with two forks then drizzle with pan juices. Serve with rice and a table full of trimmings.

Happy Thanksgiving!

This recipe is so simple it's hardly mentioning, yet it's also the second most popular way to eat kālua pig. The most popular is to sneak little bits as the pig is fresh from the pit (or crockpot).

Besides tasting great, mixing kālua pig with cabbage is a great way to stretch the meat across multiple meals. The first night I serve the pig unadorned. The second night, with cabbage. After that I either freeze the remainder or start using it in salads, quesadillas, etc.

• 2 T. vegetable oil
• 1 head cabbage, thinly sliced
• several cups leftover kālua pig (see recipe)

Heat the oil in a large skillet. When hot, add the sliced cabbage and stir fry for a few minutes until it softens but isn't fully cooked. Stir in the pork along with its juices. Cover and simmer 3-4 minutes until the cabbage is no longer crunchy.

Traditional imu kālua puaʻa involves a big pit filled with burning kiawe wood, red-hot rocks, wet banana stumps, layers of ti leaves and a whole pig. Yes, the result is indescribably delicious, but it's not the kind of meal people turn to at the end of a long workday.

Crock pot kālua pig approximates the imu kālua flavors but with a fraction of the effort. Start this early in the day and just leave it until dinnertime.

• 4-5 lb. pork butt, preferably bone-in
• 1 T. Hawaiian salt
• 1/2 T. liquid smoke
• 3-4 ti leaves
• 1 c. water

The ideal pork butt for this recipe is well-marbled and bone-in for maximum flavor and moisture. Rub the butt with salt, dribble with liquid smoke then wrap it in several layers of ti leaves. Besides helping to steam the meat, ti leaves provide a subtle flavor that shouldn't be skipped. If ti is not available, substitute banana leaves.

Place the wrapped butt in a crock pot and pour the cup of water around it. The water is there primarily to prevent scorching until the meat cooks down enough to render its own juices. Cook on low for at least 5-6 hours but up to all day.

When cooking is complete, remove the butt, reserve juices and discard the leaves. Let the meat rest for a few minutes. When cool enough to handle, shred with two forks. Pour reserved liquid over the shredded meat and serve.

Assuming you have any leftover at the end of the night, kālua pig freezes well.

This post is part of my long-running Hawaiian luau series.

Related:
→ Closer to imu cooking, Pomai makes his kalua pig on the grill.
→ Reid, Kirk and Kristin all provide oven roasted recipes, each slightly different from the others.
→ My kālua pig and cabbage recipe is ideal for any leftovers.
→ Kālua pig is versatile, like in this Kalua Pork Salad with Pineapple Salsa recipe at HawaiiDiner

The only beer supply store in Hawaiʻi, Hawaii Home Brew is closing at the end of the month. They're looking for a buyer to carry on the legacy, but just in case that doesn't happen seamlessly we decided it was time to get in another batch. This recipe, based loosely on tips from the owners of HHB, is just right for the winter: good body and seasonal spices.

Teaching brewing from the ground up is beyond the scope of today. If you've already brewed a batch or two, then this recipe is for you.

Christmas Wheat Ale

• 1 lb. Crystal Malt 10L
• 8 lbs. liquid wheat extract
• 1.5 oz German Hallertauer hops
• zest from 3 oranges
• 1 six inch cinnamon stick
• 1 T. whole coriander seeds
• 1 T. fresh ginger, grated
• 1/2 oz. German Hallertauer hops
• 1 lb. honey
• 2 pkgs. Muntons dry yeast
• 3/4 c. corn sugar

Crush the crystal malt and place in a big pot of cold water. Heat the mixture until just before it boils--don't let it boil yet--then remove the grain with a strainer. After the grains are out, boil the liquid then dump in the wheat extract. Bring to a boil again then start your timer. We want a sixty minute boil.

At the zero minute mark, add 1.5 oz of your hops. At 45 minutes, add all the spices. With five minutes remaining, add the final half ounce of hops. At sixty minutes, remove the mixture from the stove and add the honey. You now have wort.

Pour the wort into your fermenter and top with cold water to five gallons. Once the wort has cooled to 86 degrees, pitch the yeast. Original gravity should be 1.042, as measured by my trusty hydrometer. After the initial fermentation period of 2-3 days, rack to a glass carboy and allow secondary fermentation and settling to continue for another week. Rack back into the fermenter, stir in 3/4 cup corn sugar and bottle.

I may have started this batch too late. The hope is that it'll be fully matured in time to pass around as holiday cheer. We'll see.

The first mango drops, a welcome gift from the tree. It is eaten straight and unadorned, juices running down the chin. Little bits of mango fiber get stuck in your teeth but you don't care. It's that good. The second and third mangoes are shared around with family and friends. Everyone is happy the mangoes have begun.

Then the tree starts raining fruit faster than it can be consumed. A few break upon impact. Others are attacked by ants almost before they roll to a stop. Most are scooped into a pile on the kitchen counter to eat and give away.

Yet even after passing out mangoes left and right, there are still more mangoes. If you let you guard down for even a day or two, the stench of fermenting mangoes overtakes the yard. Clearly, something must be done.

Mango bread to the rescue. It's tasty, easy, freezes well and uses a whack of mangoes at once.

• 2 c. flour
• 2 t. cinnamon
• 2 t. baking soda
• 1 t. baking powder
• 3 eggs
• 1/4 c. butter, melted
• 1/2 c. vegetable oil
• 1 1/2 c. granulated sugar
• 2 1/2 c. fresh mango
• 1/2 c. walnuts, chopped
• 1/2 c. shredded coconut

Preheat oven to 350 degrees and grease two standard 9x5 bread pans.

Sift together flour, cinnamon, baking soda and baking powder in a medium bowl. In a larger bowl, beat together eggs, butter, oil and sugar. Blend the dry ingredients into this.

Mash about half of the mango and roughly dice the remainder. You want a mix of soft mango and decent chunks. Fold the coconut, nuts and all the mango into the bread batter.

Bake for 50 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into the middle comes out clean. Remove from the oven and let cool for about ten minutes. Turn gently onto baking racks and let cool completely.

The beauty of grilled pineapple lies in its simplicity. You've already got coals going for your main course, so adding pineapple to the menu simply means basting a few wedges then throwing them on the grill at the end. The caramelization and smoking cut back pineapple's typical sweetness, making this side dish subtle and complex.

• 1 fresh pineapple
• 3 T. butter
• 2 T. honey
• 1 T. lime juice
• healthy dash of cayenne pepper

Start your coals. While the coals are getting hot, skin and cut the pineapple into wedges. For wedges, stand the pineapple on edge and cut lengthwise. What size wedges? Up to you. Drop the wedges into a sturdy ziplock bag.

Melt the remaining ingredients together in a small saucepan until combined. Allow the syrup to cool briefly so that you don't melt right through bag, then pour them over the pineapple. Mush the wedges around to coat thoroughly. (That part is fun.) Set the bag aside to marinate while you cook your main course.

Throw your steaks, salmon, zucchini or small rodents on the grill to cook. When they're done and removed, scrape the hot grill down to remove any savory bits. I forgot this step last time and my pineapple all tasted vaguely like BBQ pork ribs. Sweet and spicy BBQ is awesome... just not rubbed off on your pineapple.

Lay the pineapple wedges on the grill and cook until they have pretty grill marks, flipping once. Serve alongside the main meal.

Zen Buddhist monks cry, "Katsu!" during martial arts training; literally, "Victorious! (勝つ)" Today, students down a bowl of the sound-alike dish katsudon before a big exam in the hopes that they too will be victorious. Hey, it can't hurt.

Katsudon, named from the marriage of the Japanese words tonkatsu (pork cutlet, 豚カツ) and donburi (rice bowl, 丼), was born in the last century when cooks began using simmered tonkatsu over rice in donburi rice bowl preparations. The result is pure comfort food, combining the salty goodness of deep-fried breaded pork with savory soup and rice.

• 1.5 lbs. pork tenderloin
• salt and pepper
• 1 c. flour
• 3 eggs, beaten with 2. T water
• 2 c. panko
• oil for deep frying
• 2 c. dashi stock
• 5 t. sugar
• 6 T shoyu
• 6 T mirin
• 1 medium onion, sliced thinly
• 6 eggs, beaten
• 1/3 c. cooked green peas
• cooked rice

Place the flour, beaten eggs and panko in three separate, shallow bowls. Dredge each pork cutlet with flour and knock off any excess. Dip the cutlet in egg and then panko. Press the panko crumbs into the cutlet to coat evenly, then place the coated cutlet on a tray. Once you've coated all the cutlets, refrigerate for two hours.

Heat one inch cooking oil to 325 degrees. Cook the cutlets a few minutes on each side until golden brown, removing them to drain on paper towels when done. It's better to cook in small batches than to crowd the cutlets into the pan. They need good oil circulation and steady temp to cook to their best. Congratulations, you now have tonkatsu. Slice the tonkatsu into 3/4 inch strips, but keep the strips aligned as whole cutlets.

While you're letting the cutlets cook, bring your stock ingredients (dashi, sugar, shoyu and mirin) to a simmer in a wide pan. Figure that you'll be laying the cutlets into this pan without overlapping--divide the stock into multiple pans if you need more room. Add sliced onion and simmer a few minutes until tender.

Add the sliced tonkatsu cutlets, lifting them with a wide spatula as whole cutlets and sliding them gently into the stock. Immediately pour the beaten egg over the tonkatsu, onion and stock. Cook just until the egg is nearly solidified. If you cook too long at this stage, the steam while soften the crispy tonkatsu coating.

Divide cooked rice into six large bowls. Top each rice bowl with a cutlet and a portion of the onion, egg and stock mixture. Garnish with the cooked peas and serve immediately. I make no promises that you'll now ace your exam, but at least you'll be well-fed. Katsu!

More info:
→ Oyako Donburi uses chicken instead of tonkatsu.
→ Another katsudon recipe, this one at mmm-yoso!!!
→ The origins of tonkatsu.
→ Katsudon at Wikipedia

Often when I'm in the mood for fish, I head to the market not knowing specifically what I'll buy. Instead, I wait to be inspired by what looks freshest. Yesterday afternoon, Tamashiro's Fish Market had a big catch of some of the prettiest uhu I've seen--almost too pretty to eat.

Almost, but not quite.

Also known as parrotfish, uhu are best known for their tough teeth, used to grind algae off coral reefs. Those nice Waikiki beaches? Uhu are partly to thank. These iridescent beauties produce prodigious amounts of sand from chewing on coral.

Uhu are tender fleshed, with a mildly bitter flavor, suitable for cooking whole, or in the case of larger specimens, filleting. As a point of interest, uhu are also capable of spontaneously changing gender, not that there's anything wrong with that.

I wasn't sure how to cook uhu, but Ben behind the Tamshiro counter recited this recipe from memory. "Get some mayonnaise, onions, lop cheong, tomato. Stuff 'em inside, wrap in foil and bake. No need anything on the outside." His version didn't specify quantities or baking time, but Junko and I improvised.

Before...

...After

Local-style Baked Uhu

• 4-5 lb. whole uhu (parrotfish), gutted and scaled
• salt and pepper
• 3/4 c. mayonnaise
• 2 Roma tomatoes, diced
• 1 medium onions, diced
• 3 lop cheong, sliced

Rinse the ulu thoroughly, inside and out. Pat dry then salt and pepper the skin and cavity. Spread mayonnaise inside and out, then stuff the cavity with the tomatoes, onions and lop cheong. If you have extra stuffing, lay it on top then seal the fish in aluminum foil and bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes to an hour. The fish is done when flesh closest to the spine has just changed from translucent to white. Don't overcook.

To serve, place the whole fish on a platter. Use a large, flat spoon to scoop off portions of the body for each person. Watch out for toothpick-sized bones. When one side of the fish is clean, flip it over and serve the other side.

Some of you reading this article assume fried rice is one of the four main food groups.
If you're one of the fortunate who were weaned from your mother's breast straight to fried rice, you can stop reading now.

I have a few readers out there who have never, ever made fried rice on their own. This post is for you. Fried rice is tasty, practical, affordable and can be whipped up in less than fifteen minutes. A single batch of fried rice can effectively clear your fridge of leftovers. Take that lower produce drawer, dice everything you find, add rice and you've got a meal.

All three recipes below are common variations that start with the same rice base, add accent flavors then finish with soy sauce to taste. Simple, eh? None of the three recipes below specify quantities. Use what you have on hand along with a dash of common sense. I make no claims to authenticity, but who needs authenticity if they taste good.

General tips:

• Use day-old rice. Fresh rice will work in a pinch, but tends to clump.
• Short grain white rice is standard, but I often use brown rice instead. That's probably blasphemous, but when you buy brown rice in 25lb. sacks, you tend to make a lot of brown fried rice.
• A non-stick skillet isn't required, but will bring you happiness. Bigger is better. Curved sides are nice.
• Use just enough oil or butter in the pan to keep things from sticking. Too much and your rice will end oily. Have you noticed that teppanyaki places use a pad of butter for their fried rice? That's because it tastes better. The recipes below allow for either butter or oil.
• Stir fry any meats first. When you add the rice, stir frequently to separate the grains. Add any vegetables just long enough to cook them, then add soy sauce, green onion and/or cilantro right before removing from the heat.
• There isn't a rule of thumb for knowing when the rice is done. Look for most of the excess moisture to cook off, and for some of the grains to be a little crispy. You'll get a feel for it.
• Cook everything over medium heat. Too hot and the rice will scorch and stick. Ask me how I know this.
• Finish with a drizzle of soy sauce (shoyu) and salt/pepper to taste.

Kimchee Fried Rice

• ground beef or pork (not more than a 1/2 cup or so)
• rice
• a generous amount of kimchee - this defines the variation, so be bold
• sesame oil
• sliced green onions

Brown meat in skillet, then add rice. Stir frequently until rice is done. Add the kimchee and continue cooking until the kimchee is hot. Drizzle with sesame oil, and green onions and stir. Finally, season with shoyu, salt and pepper. Kimchee fried rice, known as kimchi bokumbop in Korean, is a common fixture in Hawaiian diners.

Lop Cheong Fried Rice

• lop cheong (Chinese sausage), cubed
• rice
• sliced green onions
• lots of fresh chopped cilantro

Skip adding oil to the pan for this variation; the lop cheong has enough. Saute the sausage for a few minutes, then add the rice. Stir frequently until the rice is done, then add the green onions and cilantro. Season with shoyu, salt and pepper. The sweetness of the sausage plays well with the fresh cilantro.

Fried Rice with Veggies and Egg

• minced garlic
• rice
• green peas (frozen is okay)
• yellow corn (frozen is okay)
• carrots, diced
• egg, scrambled with a drizzle of sesame oil and a few drops shoyu
• sliced green onions

  LIghtly brown the garlic in a little oil then add the rice and cook until the rice is nearly done. Add the vegetables and stir frequently until they are cooked by not yet mushy. Push the rice mixture to the sides of the pan, making an opening in the middle. Add a few drops of oil then pour the scrambled egg into the well and cook until it just begins to solidify. Toss the egg in with the rice and add the green onions. Season with shoyu, salt and pepper.

  Whichever version you make, or something else entirely, the key is to make the most of whatever is laying around in your kitchen and improvise!

Twice a year, at Christmas and Easter, I notice a surge of visitors seeking ham recipes. I'm all too happy to oblige. This recipe is the culmination of my quest to find a truly excellent ham preparation. You can read more about the start of my journey, and the moment of my enlightenment.

Guava-Glazed Ham
Serves an extended family

The ham:

• 20 lb fully cooked bone-in ham
• 2 liter bottle Coke

The glaze:

• 10 oz. jar Hawaiian Kukui guava jam (claims 99% Hawaiian ingredients-- maybe the pectin is imported?)
• 1/2 t. cinnamon
• 1/2 t. cloves
• 1/2 c. pineapple juice
• 1/4 coke stolen from the cooking ham
• healthy dash cayenne. i like a little heat

Cut the tough outer skin from the ham, leaving a thing layer of fat. Put the ham in a roasting pan, pour as much coke around as will fit without spilling over. Tent the ham with aluminum foil and simmer on the stovetop at medium heat for 3 1/2 hours (~10 min per lb).

While the ham cooks, prepare the glaze by mixing together all the ingredients in a saucepan. Simmer over medium low heat until the glaze has reduced by 1/3 to 1/2 then allow to cool thoroughly. Reserve half the glaze to serve alongside the sliced ham.

When the ham is done cooking on the stovetop, transfer it to a 400 degree oven and cook for another 30 minutes, brushing every ten minutes with the glaze. Remove the ham and let it set for 10 minutes before slicing. Reheat reserved glaze and serve with the sliced ham.

Two years ago, I also made an addictive mandarin orange cheesecake for Easter. Read it at your own peril, but don't blame me if you feel irresistibly drawn to baking it for yourself.

Let's assume you've made it to Giovanni's Shrimp Truck, but like me, can't trek to the North Shore every day. What we really need is the secret to making their famous shrimp at home. This recipe is the closest I've come to reproducing shrimp truck mojo from the confines of my own kitchen.

Shrimp Shack Garlic Shrimp
Add a scoop of rice to serve one as a meal.

• 1/4 c. olive oil (sub. butter for extra artery clogging power)
• juice of one lemon
• 2 tablespoons white wine
• 8-10 or more good sized cloves of garlic, minced. You can never have too much.
• 1 T paprika
• a dozen shrimp, the biggest buggers you can find
• sticky plastic tables, stray cats, graffitti (optional)
• lemon wedges (optional)

Sautee everything but the shrimp over medium-low heat until the garlic is a nice golden brown. While shrimp is cooking, spill soda on the plastic table to create authentic stickiness. Crank the sautee heat to turbo and add the shrimp. Keep stirring until the shrimp are just barely done. Remove immediately to prevent them going all rubbery and flavorless.

Serve shrimp over rice, scraping all the little garlic bits onto the rice. By now the stray cats will have been drawn by the aroma and your shrimp truck experience is complete!

No matter where your climate, this simple ice cream using canned lychees brings the taste of the tropics. I've made a fresh version of lychee ice cream before, but this recipe can be made year round.

Lychee Ice Cream
Serves 6-8

• 1 20oz can lychees
• 1 pint heavy cream
• 1/4 cup sugar
• juice from 1/2 lime

Drain the lychees, reserving their syrup. Coarsely chop the lychee then combine all ingredients including the reserved syrup. Freeze according to the directions for your ice cream maker. Simple, eh?

I almost never, ever buy ice cream in the store, but for some reason I'm crazy about making it. A light ice cream or sorbet is often the perfect way to cap a good meal. Here are a few of my past recipes:

→ Caramelized Pineapple Over Ice Cream with Toasted Macadamia Nuts
→ Ginger Pineapple Sorbet
→ Green Tea Ice Cream
→ Lychee Sorbet in Coconut Macadamia Tuiles with Papaya Coulis
→ Orange Mango Sorbet
→ Soursop Sorbet

Goi cuon

Today is the start of the Chinese New Year, and what better way to being the Year of the Boar than by consuming a little pig. In Vietnam, the New Year is known as Tet. After several days or prepatory cleaning and wrapping up last year's loose ends, the start of the new year is celebrated with feasting while visiting family and friends. These spring rolls take prep time but are totally worth the effort.

Goi Cuon
Serves 6-8 as an appetizer

• 1/2 c. water
• 2 T. rice vinegar
• 15 large shrimp, peeled
• 1 T. cooking oil
• 2 cloves of garlic, minced
• 1/2 lb. lean pork, cut into this strips
• 1 T. nuoc mam
• 15 round rice paper wrappers

Choose a selection optional ingredients:

• small package of rice vermicelli, cooked and cooled
• bean sprouts
• fresh mint
• thai basil
• cilantro
• carrot, julienned
• lettuce (any mild variety with a flexible leaf)
• cucumber, cut lengthwise then sliced on an angle
• scallions cut into 2 inch lengths

Bring water and rice vinegar to a boil in a medium skillet. Add the shrimp and cook until done. Remove shrimp, reserving liquid, and reheat the pan over medium high heat. Add the cooking oil and heat until it almost smokes. Add the garlic and stir for ten seconds. Add sliced pork and sear for 2-3 minutes. Add the reserved shrimp liquid and the nuoc mam then simmer for ten minutes. Many recipes simply call for "cooked pork" but simmering it with the liquid infuses much yumminess. When the pork is done, set side to cool.

To assemble, run cold water over 3-4 rice wrappers and lay them on a flat surface. Lay down a lettuce leaf, a pork slice and a shrimp. Top with your preference of ingredients from the optional list then roll snugly, tucking in the loose ends.

Traditionally, goi cuon are served with a complicated peanut sauce, but I like them best with hoisin sauce and crushed peanuts.

As they say in Vietnam, Chuc Mung Nam Moi! Happy New Year!

Two years ago, I shared a fried spring roll recipe for Tet.

Lomi Lomi Salmon

As far back as we have records, Hawaiians have been combining fresh fish with a bit of salt, tomato and onion, massaging (lomi lomi) them together to bring out the flavors. When the first whaler ships brought salted salmon from the Pacific Northwest in the 1830s, it was adopted as a stand-in for local fish. Today, salmon is the most popular choice for this technique and has become a staple at luaus.

Visitors to maʻona sometimes ask questions that merit a a follow-up post. Most recently, "TEA" inquired about the texture of penuche.

Chris and I first met on Molokai just outside Kaunakakai but we continue bump into each other on a regular basis around Honolulu. He's quiet at first, inscrutable, but time and talk story reveal a man of well-formed convictions. Still waters run deep and all that. Best of all, he has a talent from cooking the most amazing meals from just a few, simple ingredients. Chris and his wife Joslyn recently made this garlic chicken for a group of us.

I became an instant addict.

Chris' Garlic Chicken

• 1/4 c. sweet shoyu (thicker than normal soy sauce)
• 1/4 c. Japanese shoyu
• 4 large cloves minced garlic
• 1/4 c. sliced green onion
• 1 c. flour
• boneless chicken thighs or breasts cut into large chunks
• cooking oil

Prepare the sauce by combining the shoyus, sliced green onion and fresh crushed garlic in a small saucepan. Bring the sauce just up to a simmer then remove from heat. This takes the edge off the garlic.

Put flour in ziplock bag and shake the chicken pieces around to coat thoroughly. Fry the chicken in an inch of oil at medium high heat until golden brown. Remove the chicken and drain briefly on paper towels. Give the fried chicken a quick dip in the sauce and pull it back out. If you let it sit even a few seconds in the sauce it'll become soggy. Serve immediately, and try not to eat too many on your way to the table.

Although we haven't had the deadly heatwaves experienced by other parts of the country, Hawaii is unequivocably in the midst of summer. This recipe is refreshing either at the end of a meal or as an afternoon snack.

• 3/4 c. sugar
• 3/4 c. water
• 2 c. fresh squeezed orange juice
• Zest from 1/2 orange
• Juice from 1 lemon
• 1 c. coconut milk
• 2 1/2 c. mango, frozen or fresh
• 1/4 t. ground ginger
• sprig fresh mint (optional)

Heat water and sugar in a small saucepan until sugar dissolves completely, then set aside to cool completely. When cool combine sugar solution with remaining ingredients in a blender and puree until smooth. Freeze according to the instructions that came with your ice cream maker. If you've lost those, just make something up and I'm sure you'll be fine. Garnish with fresh mint if you have it.

Fresh, wild Alaska Salmon is only available for a narrow window each year. If you happen to find some at a price that doesn't involve selling vital organs to raise cash, this recipe is a quick and delicious preparation.

Dengaku is a traditional Japanese technique that consists of coating fish or vegetables in a sweet miso sauce before grilling or broiling. I add ginger into my own version, just because I think ginger and miso pair so well together. Shiro miso, also known as white miso, is a sweeter, light yellow variety popular in summer. Feel free to substitute any miso, as long as you stay away from the saltier red and brown styles.

• 4 T. shiro miso
• 2 T. mirin
• 2 T. dashi stock
• 1 T. freshly minced ginger
• 1 large egg yolk
• 2 lbs. salmon fillets (or steaks)

Place oven rack 4 inches below broiler and pre-heat oven to 400 degrees.

In a small double boiler over medium hear, combine miso, mirin, dashi and ginger. (If, like me, you don't happen to have a large selection of double boilders at your fingertips, just prop a smaller saucepan inside a larger one and place an inch of water in the lower pan.) Add the egg yolk and stir constantly for 5 to 6 minutes until the sauce thickens slightly and takes on a silky texture.

Place salmon fillets skin down on a lightly oiled sheet and bake for about 10 minutes until medium-rare. The middle should still be somewhat translucent. Remove from oven, and turn the oven to broil. Brush the salmon liberally with miso sauce and finish cooking under the broiler until nicely browned. Serve immediately.

Lotus root chips

Long and bulbous, whole lotus root has a smooth--even plain--exterior. Think butternut squash on a diet. Slice into one though, and you'll see the distinctive lacy crosssection. The boring exterior conceals the circular pattern inside that I find so fascinating. The first time I saw them for sale in Chinatown's pedestrian mall I thought, "Hmm, fresh lotus root," and kept walking, never suspecting how thoroughly such a simple ingredient would come to occupy my psyche.

A few weeks later and another visit to the market; a generous pile of lotus root seemed to beckon. (Technically lotus "root" isn't a root but the rhizome of the lotus). "I wonder what I could make with it." It has a mild crunch when fresh that turns savoriness when stewed, but without any decent recipes up my sleeve, I kept walking.

The siren call grew stronger with each trip to the marketplace. Lotus root transitioned from curiosity to obsession. It would catch my eye as I shopped, pulling me over to lift segments, checking their freshness and heft. I started hunting for recipes and daydreaming about lotus root during work. (Boss: that's just a figure of speech. I was working the entire time, not googling or daydreaming. Honest.)

The recipe below is an elaboration of a brief sidebar in a recent Saveur. The chips work well enough on their own, but can be paired with anything from hummus to guacamole. For visual interest, slice up an okinawan sweet potato and a white sweet potato. Cook them in separate batches according to the same directions below then toss together to serve..

• 12-18 inches lotus root, about 3-4 segments
• vegetable oil for frying
• coarse sea salt, or your favorite flavored salt like lemon or kiawe-smoked

Heat 1 inch oil to 300 degrees in a frying pan. While that's coming up to temp, trim rough ends off each lotus root segment and remove out skin with a peeler. Thinly slice the root with a mandoline or the slicing blade of a food processor. I seriously doubt you can slice this thin enough and consistent enough by hand, but you're welcome to try.

Gently slide sliced root into the hot oil and separate with chopsticks or tongs. The temperature will drop to about 250 degrees as the moisture boils off. Once you see the temp climbing back around 280 degrees, remove a chip and taste it for a nice crunch. You don't need the thermometer, but I found it helpful the first time for keeping an eye on progress. Now that I have a feel for how the chips cook in the oil, I might skip the thermometer in the future.

When done, drain the chips on paper towels and salt generously while still warm.

Many have said that chicken long rice is an acquired taste but I have to think they're confusing taste with texture. That first slurp can be disconcerting as it slips playfully down. Then the subtle warmth of chicken, ginger and onion lingers comfortingly. The mild flavors are familiar to most of us, combined in a way that quickly earns our love.

Although it has become a staple of luaus today, chicken long rice is actually a Cantonese contribution, arriving sometime after the first wave of Chinese immigrants to Hawaii in the late 18th century. Since that time it has become a local favorite, making regular appearances at not only luaus, but countless restaurants and plate lunch wagons. A nice benefit of this dish is that it makes a perfect potluck contribution: it's affordable in large quantities, tastes good even when not piping hot and is well-loved.

Traditionally, chicken long rice uses just chicken, onions, noodles and salt. When I'm seeking more variety, I look to Sam Choy's version in Sam Choy: Cooking From the Heart which adds carrot, celery, shiitake mushrooms and onion. This latter preparation makes for a heartier dish, more suitable for use as a main course.

Chicken Long Rice
Serves 12

• 3 lbs. chicken thighs, skin and fat removed
• 1 inch thumb of fresh ginger, peeled and minced
• 4 oz. bean-thread noodles, aka cellophane noodles, aka "long rice"
• 12 dried shiitake mushrooms (optional, non-traditional)
• 1 medium carrot, julienned (optional, non-traditional)
• 2 small stalks celery, sliced very thin (optional, non-traditional)
• 1 small yellow onion, minced (optional, non-traditional)
• 6 green onions, cut into 1 inch lengths
• sea salt, to taste

Prep work
Submerge the chicken and ginger in approximately four cups water and simmer for one hour. Some people prefer to smash the ginger but basically leave it intact. Overlooking their violent tendencies for the moment, I prefer delicate mincing to smashing because more ginger infuses into the broth.

While the chicken simmers, soak shiitake mushrooms and long rice noodles in separate bowls of warm water for at least 20 minutes. After soaking, discard mushroom stems, thinly slice caps and set aside. Cut noodles into three inch lengths with a pair of scissors and set aside. Prep carrots, celery and green onions... set aside.

Remove the chicken, reserving broth, and let cool slightly. Remove chicken bones and discard. Cut the chicken meat into rough cubes and set aside. By now, you should have a small forest of bowls, each brimming with prepped ingredients that have been "set aside." Enough prep, let's assemble.

Assembly
Taste the broth and lightly salt to taste. Bring the broth back to a simmer, add the mushrooms, carrots, celery and onion if you're including them then simmer for five minutes. Add chicken, long rice and green onions. Simmer for 3-4 minutes until the long rice turns translucent. Don't overcook, or you'll end up with gelatinous sludge! Most of the broth will have been absorbed, but you want a little to remain. Chicken long rice is typically served from a bowl or tray that can contain any liquid, but is suitable for scooping generously onto flat plates.

Tokyo, Japan - Sometimes travel doesn't seem worth the trouble. We had just spent hours and hours on a flight, only to be almost turned back from Narita International Airport due to passport problems. Immigration must have felt sympathy for the desperation in our faces, because we were eventually released. The next few hours were spent in a series of bus and taxi rides through the dead of night, Tokyo suburbs sliding by in a weary fog before we finally stepped off one last subway. Half a mile further by foot and we arrived at our friend's tiny apartment, our home base for the next seven days.

The next morning, we awoke to the quiet cooking from the kitchen where Kaoru was preparing a breakfast of oyako donburi for her new houseguests. After the emotional rollercoaster ride at the airport, the meal was just what we needed to sooth our souls.

Literally, o-yako combines words for parent and child, referring to both the chicken and the egg sitting atop a bowl of rice. Donburi describes the porcelain bowl. I didn't learn all this until much later though. At that moment, oyako donburi was the perfect comfort food to welcome us to Japan, warm, soothing and savory.

Oyako Donburi
serves 2

• 6 oz. boneless, skinless chicken breast or thigh, sliced into thin strips
• 1/2 yellow onion, sliced very thin
• 3 shiitake mushrooms (fresh or dried), sliced into 1/4 strips
• 1/2 c. water
• 1 T. dashi no moto
• 2 T. soy sauce
• 2 T. mirin
• 1 T. sugar
• 3 eggs
• 2 c. cooked rice

Start rice cooking. Slice chicken and set aside. If you're using dried shiitake mushrooms, soak them in hot water for five minutes to soften, then discard stems. Slice the mushrooms and onion, then set aside.

Combine water, dashi, soy sauce, mirin and sugar in a skillet and heat until just boiling. Add chicken, mushrooms, and onion. Allow to simmer until the chicken is just barely done, just a few minutes. Beat the eggs and pour them over the chicken mixture. Cover and allow to cook another minute, until the eggs have set.

To serve, place a scoop of rice in an individual bowl. Lay a section of the egg/chicken across the rice then ladle a small amount of broth over the top.

This post is my second for the Virtual Vacation Contest. I had a hard enough time narrowing down to just two recipes. Limiting to only one was out of the question. The previous vacation recipe was for b�nh x�o.

Limu salad is the perfect food for the health conscious, ecosystem-aware gourmet.. Seaweed is high in high in iron and other vitamins while being very low in fat. Plus, every time you eat invasive seaweed, you're consuming an over-abundant resource and helping to curtail its spread. Eat as much as you want, knowing that you're caring for both the coral reefs and your own body. Now doesn't that make you feel all warm and fuzzy?

The key to this salad is the freshness of the ingredients. Seaweed breaks down very quickly, so you'll want to get the very best you can. Go to the ocean yourself and grab an armful. The best edible seaweeds only grow down to a depth of about 20 feet, so you shouldn't have to go too far.

Run--don't walk--back to your prep area. If you trip and fall down, start over, because you'll already have taken too long. I said fresh!

• 1/3 c. soy sauce
• 1/3 c. cider vinegar
• 1 T. Sriracha hot sauce (optional, but tasty)
• 1.5 lbs. Gracilaria salicornia (substitute ogo or limu manauea, but you don't get as much credit for helping the reefs), well-rinsed and coarsely chopped
• 2 tomatoes, diced
• 1 Maui onion, diced
• 1 cucumber, diced

Start a big pot of water boiling. While it is coming up to temp, mix the soy sauce, cider vinegar and hot sauce in a small bowl and set aside. Drop the limu in the boiling water and blanch it for one to two minutes, or until it turns bright green. It'll darken up again when you add the sauce, but the blanching softens the crunch nicely, and the bright green color allows you to easily spot critters that may not have rinsed off.

Toss together the tomatoes, onion, cucumber and tomatoes then pour the sauce mixture over top. Refrigerate for at least 30 minutes. This doesn't count against the freshness countdown, because we're now allowing the flavors to intermingle together in one big lovefest of flavor. If that's not fresh, I don't what else you'd call it.

Enjoy!

This recipe is my attempt to recreate a salad at a recent He`eia Fish Pond work day. If it tastes good, they get the credit. If you hate it, blame me.

I'm certainly not the first person to pair medjool dates with a little honey. Variations on this theme have been around since at least Roman times, when Apicius is reputed to have boiled dates in a mix of honey and rosewater, tinted them with saffron then spread them on trays of briarwood.

The recipe below is far easier to assemble than the ancient version, and adds a local twist by incorporating gingered honey from the Big Island. Not only does it avoid refined sugar, but the bite-sized portions make it easy to stop eating after reasonable amount. Unless you can't stop at one or two. Or six.

• medjool dates
• fresh ricotta - fresh goat cheese works equally well
• almonds, lightly toasted
• Rare Hawaiian Organic White Honey with Organic Ginger - or stir a small portion of freshly grated ginger into the honey of your choice

Slice the dates in half and discard the pits. Stuff each half with cheese, lightly press an almond into the cheese then dribble honey over the top. Serve with a spiced tea for a simple dessert.

Now I have a confession to make: the dates weren't my first attempt for Sugar Low Friday. I had a brilliant idea for an apple tart seasoned with this same gingered honey, but to say that it flopped is an understatement. The apples didn't cook like I'd hoped, the honey got lost and the whole wheat crust tasted like a punishment.

It was bad, truly awful.

I wouldn't subject anyone to that tart, not even my worst enemy. Well... maybe the person that stole my chair off the front porch. You know who you are, and I'm saving a tart slice with your name on it. The dates, however, I'm keeping all for myself.

I thought I was done with the whole cookie plate thang, but then I made a casual comment to my mom that I missed having toffee at Christmas this year. Mom spoke to my Aunt Helene, the designated toffee maker in our clan, and then a few days later I found myself standing over a hot stove with Aunt Helene, learning all about her toffee. This recipe isn't fancy or elegant, but it's a childhood favorite of mine.

Aunt Helene's Toffee

• 1 c. butter
• 1 c. brown sugar
• 1/2 c. chopped pecans or walnuts
• Some, um, chocolate chips. I don't know how many, but less than a standard bag

Lightly grease an 8x8 pan, then sprinkle a tablespoon or two of nuts evenly across the bottom of the pan.

Heat butter and brown sugar in a saucepan over medium heat, until the temperature reaches a soft crack (270 degrees). Helene says this takes 15 minutes. Stir in all except 1-2 tablespoons of the nuts, then pour into the pan. Let the candy rest for one to two minutes, then evenly sprinkle chocolate chips over the surface until most of the toffee is lightly covered. Wait until the chocolate has melted, then smooth with a spatula and sprinkle with reserved nuts. Allow to cool completely before cutting into squares.

An old stand by, caramel corn can be stuffed into festive little bags as gifts alongside a cookie plate. Simple but loved.

Caramel corn

• 1 c. margarine, melted
• 2 c. brown sugar, packed
• 1/2 c. corn syrup
• 1 t. salt
• 1/2 t. baking soda
• 1 t. vanilla
• 8 quarts popped corn, without butter, salt, etc

Preheat oven to 300 degrees. Melt margarine then mix in brown sugar, corn syrup and salt. Bring to a boil over medium heat, stirring constantly. Let cook and gently boil for five minutes without stirring further. Remove from heat and stir in baking soda and vanilla. Pour mixture over pop corn and place in oven. Immediately turn heat down to 250 degrees and bake 1 hour, stirring every 15 minutes.

Rosettes are a Scandinavian treat common around the holidays. Thin batter is deep fried in the shape of delicate snowflakes and stars, then dusted with sugar. You'd think frying process would make these heavy and oily but properly made, each are as light, airy and delightfully crisp.

Rosettes
Special equipment: a rosette iron, pictured below

• 2 eggs
• 1 c. flour
• 1 c. milk
• 1 t. sugar
• 1/4 t. salt
• 1/4 t. baking soda
• 1 can Crisco shortening
• marble sized piece of parrafin wax (in the canning section)
• sugar for dredging

Thoroughly mix eggs, flour, milk, sugar, salt and baking soda. Pour through a strainer to remove any lumps then refrigerate at least 2-3 hours. You don't want any bubbles in the batter, because they'll cause swiss cheese holes in your rosettes.

Heat the shortening and wax over moderate heat to about 370 degrees. You want it hot, but not too hot. You'll know you've got a good temperature, even without a thermometer, when it takes 30-45 seconds for a rosette to turn golden brown.

Warm the rosette iron in the oil then dip halfway down in to the batter. Don't let the batter come over the top side of the iron or you won't be able to get the rosette off in one piece. Pull the iron out of the batter and dip it back a second time. Place the battered iron in the hot oil and hold it there for 10-15 seconds, then lift it slightly to get the rosette to release and float free. Remove cooked rosettes to brown paper and let the oil drain off them. While still warm, dredge each rosette through a bowl of sugar. Store stacked in an airtight container lined with paper towels.

These cookies will be making an appearance on the cookie plates.

Stupid name; great tasting little cookie. My family has been making these at Christmastime for as long as I can remember.

• 1/3 c. butter
• 1/2 c. sugar
• 1 t. lemon peel, grated
• 1 t. vanilla
• 1 egg
• 2 T. milk
• 1 c. flour
• 1/2 t. baking powder
• 1/4 t. baking soda
• 1/4 t. salt
• 1/2 c. raisins, chopped
• 1/2 c. walnuts, chopped
• 2 1/2 c. Wheaties cereal, crushed
• About 20 candied cherries, cut into halves

Cream butter, sugar, lemon peel and vanilla. Mix in egg and milk. Sift together flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt in a separate bowl, then mix into batter. Stir in raisins and nuts. Form small balls of dough using two spoons and coat in crushed Wheaties.

Place on an greased cookie sheet, and top each ball with a cherry, pushing halfway down into the dough. Bake at 400 degrees for 12 minutes. Cool slightly before removing to a wire rack.

These cookies will be making an appearance on the cookie plates.

Basically a peanut butter cookie topped with a Hershey's Kiss, these are particularly popular with kids. But then, what cookie isn't?

Kiss Cookies

• 1 3/4 c. flour
• 1 t. baking soda
• 1/2 t. salt
• 1/2 c. butter
• 1/2 c. creamy peanut butter
• 1/2 c. sugar
• 1/2 c. brown sugar
• 1 egg
• 1 t. vanilla
• 1 bag Hershey Kisses

Sift together dy ingredients. In a separate bowl, cream butter and peanut butter, then mix into dry ingredients. Mix in sugars, then finally mix in egg and vanilla.

Shape into small balls and place on ungreased cookie sheet. Bake at 350 degrees for 10 - 15 minutes. Place a Hershey Kiss on top of each cookie, pressing it in slightly. Return cookies to the oven for another 2 - 5 minutes.

These cookies will be making an appearance on the cookie plates.

As if the Christmas season isn't busy enough already, my wife has decided we're giving plates of Christmas cookies to everyone who has been even a little bit nice to us this year. I actually thought this was a great idea... until we started baking. We've been working at it for days and have only enough cookies to give to half of Honolulu. Do I sound like a scrooge? Baking up holiday cheer is hard work!

We're filling our cookie plates with a mix of vintage family recipes, as well as new discoveries from the recent Virtual Cookie Swap (check out the wrap-up: part one and part two). I'll be posting a couple of the family recipes here so that I have a more permanent record this time and don't have to keep calling home for them. Mom, I'm sorry I'm giving your recipes away to the world, but after this you won't have to keep reciting the same ones to me year after year.

Candy Cane Cookies

Simple, almost kitsch, but people like 'em. I prefer the almond flavoring to the peppermint.

• 1 c. sugar
• 3/4 c. butter, softened
• 2 eggs
• 1 1/2 t. almond or peppermint extract
• 2 1/2 c. flour
• 1 t. baking powder
• 1/2 t. salt
• 1/2 t. red food coloring
• extra sugar for dusting the tops

Mix sugar, butter, eggs and almond (or peppermint) extract. Sift together dry ingredients and add to batter. Divide the dough in half and tint half with the red coloring. Cover and refrigerate at least one hour.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Take one teaspoon of each color and form into four to six inch ropes by rolling them back and forth alongside each other on a floured board. Lightly press the two ropes together and twist. Place on an ungreased cookie sheet and curve the top down to form the hook of the cane.

Bake 7-10 minutes, then dust with sugar while still warm. Let cool completely before removing from the cookie sheet.

These other family recipes will also be sharing the limelight on our cookie plates:
→ Caramel Corn
→ Cherry Winkies
→ Kiss Cookies
→ Frosted Gingerbread Cookies
→ Mandarin Orangettes (not really a family recipe)
→ Penuche
→ Rosettes
→ Spiced Nuts

Spiced nuts. When you're walking through the mall and the fresh aroma of spiced nuts grips you, it can be irresistable. Darla from Messy Cucina recently attempted to recreate those roasted nuts one finds in shopping malls, but they weren't quite what she remembered. I made an attempt of my own, and then gave up and called Mom. Of course she was able to dig into her files and pull out her own recipe for spiced nuts. These may not match your memory of spiced nuts from the mall, but that's because these taste even better.

According to Mom, this recipe originally appeared in the Pet Milk Book, a cookbook whose recipes all featured... wait for it... Pet Evaporated Milk. This was a more common marketing strategy in the earlier half of the twentieth century in which manufacturers issued their own cookbooks to boost sales. The proportions are from the original recipe, but the instructions are mother's.

Spiced Nuts

• 1 c. sugar
• 1/2 t. cinnamon
• 1/3 c. evaporated milk
• 1 1/2 c. pecans (or walnuts, almonds, etc.)
• 1/2 t. vanilla

Mix together the sugar and cinnamon, then add the evaporated milk. Heat to 236 degrees, stirring constantly, or until a few drops form a soft ball when dropped into cold water. Remove from heat.

Add nuts and vanilla. Stir until mixture can no longer be stirred. Turn out on wax paper and separate the nuts into small pieces with the fingers. This'll burn your finger tips, but must be done quickly before the candy fully hardens. They'll cool quickly, and are best eaten within a few days.

There are few dishes at a pā'ina that get people as excited as a big platter of laulau, those savory bundles of pork and fish nestled in taro leaves. We do love our laulau. Part of the excitement comes from a mistaken impression that preparing laulau is a complicated process, and must therefore be saved only for special occasions. That couldn't be further from the truth!. While you won't be assembling laulau every night of the week, they're easy enough that you can make them for more than just birthdays and graduations. The preparation of the inside ingredients is dead simple, and if you can wrap a gift, you can bundle a laulau for steaming.

No good records exist documenting the culinary origins of laulau, but the consensus is that it pre-dates Western contact. Early laulau contained pork and local fish rubbed with salt, wrapped in young taro leaves called lu`au. When the whaling industry arrived in force, they brought salted butterfish with them and it quickly became the "traditional" fish to use in laulau. The meat, fish and lu`au bundles were carefully wrapped in ti leaves then baked in an imu. Contemporary laulau remains essentially unchanged. If you order a Hawaiian plate lunch place, the laulau still contains pork, butterfish and lu`au. Common variations on the theme use chicken in place of pork, omit the butterfish, or add onions and other vegetables. For convenience, most laulau today are steamed on the stovetop rather than in an imu.

The recipe below makes 12 laulau. You can make far fewer of course, but once you setup an assembly line, the difference between making four and twelve is negligible. Leftover laulau (ha! as if...) can be frozen in their entirety and reheated on another day. Finally, laulau is a fantastic communal cooking event. Invite a friend or two over to help assemble!

Laulau
Prep time: less than 30 minutes
Cooking time: 4 hours!
Special equipment: a steamer large enough to easily accomodate a dozen laulau

• about 50 lu`au leaves
• 24 to 30 ti leaves
• 3 lbs. pork shoulder or butt. Don't trim any fat!
• 1.5 lbs. salted butterfish
• 2 T Hawaiian salt

Notes on the ingredients:

• Fresh spinach may be substituted for lu`au leaves, but reduce the cooking time to 90 minutes if you do. The flavor of spinach is similar enough, but not identical to lu`au.
• Banana leaves or even corn husks may be substituted for ti leaves.
• Salted (not smoked) salmon or cod may be used in place of salted butterfish. If all else fails, use fresh butterfish, salmon or cod, but add 1/3 t. extra Hawaiian salt per laulau.
• Kosher salt may be used in place of Hawaiian salt
• On the one hand, please feel free to substitute as needed. On the other hand, it is well worth a little extra effort to stick as close to the traditional preparation as is feasible. If you substitute everything, is it still laulau?

First, start with all your prep work. Wash the ti and lu`au leaves. Prepare your ti leaves, then set them aside. Remove the center stem and fibrous veins from each lu`au leaf. If you have tender, young lu`au, you may be fine leaving the veins intact. Optionally, dice and reserve the lu`au stems to use in the laulau.

Cut the pork into 12 pieces and rub with salt. Cut the fish into 12 pieces. Start heating a large steamer with water in the bottom. At this point, your prep work is done. Easy so far, eh?

Stack four to five lu`au leaves on a flat surface, with leaf tips pointing in different directions. Place a piece of pork in the center of the leaf stack, and then a slice of fish on top. If you've decided to use the reserved lu`au stems, add a tablespoon of diced stems. Fold the lu`au leaf to enclose the bundle, much like you would enclose a burrito or wrap.

You now need to choose a wrapping method, package style or Ho`okupu style. Wrap each laulau bundle in the style of your choosing, then place them in the steamer, stacking if necessary. Make sure to leave spaces between the laulau so that the steam can reach everywhere! Steam for four hours.

I like to present the laulau still wrapped on a large platter and allow the guests to open their own bundles, discarding the outer ti leaves and eating everything else. It's messier at the table to do it this way, but when that first wave of lu`au smell rises from a newly opened laulau, the excitement on people's faces is completely worth it.

Other good articles about laulau:
→ Laulau Legacy The Honolulu Star-Bulletin talks about making laulau, and a few of the possible variations.
→ Laulau 'Onokinegrindz scales his laulau recipe down to serve two.
→ Wow, Lau Lau! Mmm-yoso gets excited when laulau arrives through the mail.
→ For the love of laulau Another Star-Bulletin article about possible laulau variations. Sadly, no recipes included here.

This post is part of my Hawaiian luau series.

Don't be lulled by the simple appearance of these candy squares. Although modest in form, they are the unsung stars of the Christmas plate, quickly devoured while more ornate cookies sit neglected. If smooth were a flavor, it would want to be called penuche (pronounced peh-NOO-chee). This brown sugar fudge melts in your mouth, beating traditional chocolate fudge hands down for richness.

My great-grandmother Nana used to make penuche long, long ago. My only memories of her look suspiciously like faded polaroids. Are those real memories, or remembrances of pictures I've seen? Fortunately for all of us, Nana passed the recipe to my grandmother, who in turn taught my mother. This past week, I called mom and asked her for the recipe. "I don't know if I'll make it this year," she explained. "It takes a lot of stirring, so I need to make it when I've got help around... Everyone loves it though." The tone in her voice tells that she's reconsidering as we speak.

Anecdotal reports date the introduction of penuche to the turn of the 20th century, with a peak in popularity in the 1920's to 1940's. Home candy-making has steadily declined since World War II to the point where few people seem to have heard of it today Oh, if they only knew what they were missing.

Penuche

These directions are nearly verbatim from my mother, and must be followed exactly. While making this batch, I read up on candy making in On Food and Cooking: The Science and Lore of the Kitchen and discovered that every instruction from this family recipe is guided by clear scientific principles all leading towards the smoothest, most predictable penuche.. Who knew the matriarchs in my family were such precise chemists?

• 1 c. brown sugar
• 2 c. granulated sugar
• 12 oz. evaporated milk (1 can)
• 1/8 t. baking soda
• 1 t. vanilla
• 1 c. walnuts or pecans, chopped (optional)

Bring the sugars, milk and baking soda to a boil in a saucepan over medium high heat, stirring constantly. If you let your guard down for even the briefest moment, the penoche notices and promptly scorches. It's obstinate that way.

Continue heating until the temperature reaches 236 degrees on a candy thermometer. If you don't have a candy thermometer, you can heat to a "soft ball." A few drops of candy into a glass of cold water should result in a ball that feels spongy and malleable to the touch. Stir frequently while heating to soft ball, but you don't have to obsess as much as when heating to the initial boil. By my clock, it took 25 minutes of stirring from start to soft ball stage. I can understand my mother's pause-- that's a long time to stir in front of a steaming pot of candy.

Set the saucepan on a wire rack to cool and don't disturb it until the temperature has dropped to 110 degrees, or as my mom described it, "you can barely hold your hand to the bottom of the pan." Stirring it too soon causes a grainier candy. When the candy has cooled enough, beat in the vanilla and nuts. Beat like mad for at least five minutes, or until the mass holds shape. This beating is crucial for the silkyness. Don't beat too long though or the mixture will become too stiff.

Turn the candy out in to a buttered 8x8 pan and press it down with a buttered spatula. Cut into squares when completely cool. Savor.

For more information on the science of making penuche, please see the followup prompted by comments below.

This post was submitted to the Virtual Cookie Swap hosted by The Domestic Goddess and Il Forno.

Photo courtesy of Rubber Slippers in Italy.

I made sweet potato and haupia pie for a friend's housewarming party last night, and it was so popular with everyone that the hostess asked me to share the recipe with her. Seriously, people were threatening each other over this pie, completely bypassing the main dinner to make sure they got a piece. I had no idea people would get so crazy over a pie. I'll share the recipe with you, but use it wisely and only under adult supervision.

"Beer is proof that God loves us, and wants us to be happy." - Benjamin Franklin

True, the theology is a bit questionable, but I've always liked that quote. I think Mr. Franklin was on to something...

After a two year hiatus from making beer, we finally started up a new batch last night. The recipe is straight from the home brewer's bible, an American style ale spiced with ginger for the holidays. Right now, the brew is fermenting away, bubbling merrily through the airlock. Next week sometime, we can bottle. Then comes the worst part: the waiting. An ale like this one needs to sit for at least three to four weeks in bottles before it'll be ready to quaff. Where's the happiness in that?!

It's been raining quite a bit on Oʻahu this past week, and few things put me in the mood for soup faster than damp, cool weather. It's hard to get excited about a boiling broth when the sun is beaming outside, but showers and gray clouds beg for me to make all those soups recipes I've been saving up "for a rainy day."

Back when I used to wait tables, our Chef would often prepare Sopa de Albóndigas as part of the staff meal. He was originally from Mexico and had worked his way up the culinary foodchain through hard work, strong management skills and a solid sense for what people want to eat. I think it was comfort food for him, reminding him of times back home. It became a favorite of us all.

My version of Sopa de Albóndigas uses more tomato than Chef's, but hopefully is similar in other respects. Other renditions I've seen use oregano and basil in place of the mint, but I think the mint/cilantro combo comes closest to the yerba buena that should appear in a truly authentic preparation.

• 1 lb. extra lean ground beef
• 1/2 yellow or white onion, minced
• 3 T. bread crumbs
• 1 t. dried mint
• 1 T. fresh cilantro, minced
• 1/4 t. cumin
• 1/2 t. salt
• 1 egg, beaten
• 2 T. rice, uncooked

• 1 T. olive oil
• 1/2 yellow or white onion, chopped
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 6 c. beef or chicken stock (I used turkey stock b/c I had it in the freezer)
• 28 oz. can whole tomatoes
• 2 carrots, sliced
• 2 zucchini, sliced
• salt to taste
• 1/4 c. chopped cilantro

• sour cream
• cilantro sprigs

Mix the meatball ingredients then form small (1 cm. diameter) meatballs, rolling them between your palms to shape them. Set aside. Meatballs: check!

For the broth, heat the oil in a stock pot over medium heat, then saute the onions and garlic until soft but not brown. Add the stock and bring to a gentle boil. While it gets there, open and drain the can of tomatoes, reserving the liquid. Coarsely chop the tomatoes and set aside.

Now that the stock is boiling, gently add the reserved meatballs and bring back to a simmer. Add the chopped tomatoes and reserved tomato juice. Let that simmer for 15 minutes. While it's doing its thing, slice the carrots and zucchini. After the 15 minutes have elapsed, add the carrots and zucchini and let the soup simmer for another half hour. Add salt to taste. Stir in the chopped cilantro right at the very end.

Serve garnished with a dollop of sour cream and a few sprigs of artfully placed cilantro. Some people also like salsa, but I don't think the soup needs it. This recipe feeds six to eight as a first course, or four to five as a meal. Thanks Chef, wherever you are!

• 1 pineapple
• 1/2 c. butter
• 3/4 c. brown sugar
• 1 c. fresh squeezed orange juice; pastuerized won't cut it this time
• timid dash of cinnamon
• 1/4 c. macadamia nuts, coarsely chopped
• 2-3 T. rum
• decent vanilla ice cream

Obtain a nice pineapple and cut it. It doesn't matter exactly what shape you choose for your pineapple pieces. Some people like wedges, others rings, while I went for chunks because it cooks a bit faster. Set the pineapple aside for sec.

Pick a nice big skillet. You want something that's wide but not deep. The point is to maximize surface area so that we have faster evaporation and therefore caramelization. Melt the butter over medium heat and then mix in the brown sugar and orange juice until the sugar dissolves. Add the cut pineapple pieces and bring to a simmer. Very timidly sprinkle in the cinnamon. We're trying to add depth here without creating an overwhelming cinnamon flavor. Hold the concoction at a simmer for 15 to 20 minutes until it thickens, stirring occasionally.

Meanwhile, chop the nuts and toast them in an oven at 325 degree until golden brown. Watch them closely, because the difference between golden macadamias and charcoal happens fast. Remove the nuts and set them aside.

Remove the skillet from heat and pour the rum over the top of the pineapple mix. At this point you may light the skillet on fire, for effect, or skip to the next step. I like fire and theatrics, but it really isn't needed for this dish.

To serve, scoop vanilla ice cream into bowls, top with the warm pineapple. The pineapple can be quite sweet, so take that into account when scooping. Serve immediately as the ice cream starts to melt. You should have enough for 6-8 people.

The basic idea for this recipe isn't mine, but I've been making it for so long that I no longer remember the source for my original inspiration. At this point, I'm hoping that the technique is general enough as to be considered "common knowledge." Last time I served this, my mainland guests were impressed with their first ever taste of cooked pineapple. Later in the evening, a "local girl" dropped by and literally licked the bowl clean. Loved by all!

Check out this pile of starfruit from the backyard-- they've been falling from the tree by the dozens. We carefully collect each one and set them on the countertop to finish ripening, watching as they turn a happy golden.

I've tried a number of starfruit recipes, but my favorite is the most simple preparation. Slice a starfruit into thick disks and sprinkle with li hing mui powder. Some people eat their starfruit from the outside in like an apple, to more easily avoid the seeds in the center. That's practical for seed-avoidance, but it makes the application of li hing mui more difficult. Just pluck the seeds out with the tip of a knife or spit them out like you're eating watermelon, then enjoy the starfruit while it's still in season.

Green tea has been my favorite ice cream for as long as I can remember. As early as elementary school, a highlight of a sushi dinner was the bright green bowl waiting at meal's end. "There's always room for ice cream!"

Green tea ice cream is so smooooth, and the tannins temper the sweetness compared to other ice creams. It's an ice cream for when you want to feel grown-up and nuanced, regardless of your age.

• 2 c cream
• 2 c. milk
• 3/4 c sugar
• 1/4 c. matcha
• 1/4 t salt
• 4 eggs

Special equipment: an ice cream maker.

Matcha is a green tea powder, traditionally used in Japanese tea ceremonies, that can be found in specialty tea shops and larger Asian groceries. I acquired a small envelope of matcha at L'Epicier in Ala Moana. The proportions in the ingredient list above will give you a fairly aggressive tea flavor for your ice cream. Reduce the the matcha to as little as two tablespoons for a more delicate approach.

The key to this ice cream is patience. Custard style ice creams use eggs to add richness, and must be cooked very gently to prevent clumping. Place all the ingredients in a medium saucepan and heat slowly over medium low heat, stirring constantly, until it begins to thicken. How thick? It will begin to resist the spoon, but still be very liquid. Imagine mixing heavy latex paint-- it shoudl be that thick. Scrape down the sides and bottom as you stir. If you fail to keep the mixture circulating, it will cook unevenly and you'll end up with bits of scrambled egg!

Pour the mixture through a fine mesh strainer into a bowl, especially if a few lumps formed despite your heroic diligence. (I usually get a few small lumps. Shhhh, don't tell.) Cool in the fridge for 2-3 hours, then freeze in an ice cream maker according to manufacturer's instructions.

[This Is My Blog Burning? entry is on the theme tasteTea hosted by A La Cuisine!].

Yes, another sorbet. It may seem that I'm obsessed with sorbets, but I dare you to find a more refreshing dessert than pur�ed fruit, sometimes sweetened, brightened up with splash of citrus, then iced down to chilled bliss.

I dressed this recipe up to entertain out of town guests, but you could easily skip the papaya coulis and the tuiles, serving just the lychee sorbet. If you're going whole hog like I did, place a small scoop or two of sorbet in each tuile and dribble with coulis.

The proportions below are sufficient to sweep eight people off their feet.

Fun to say and easy to make. Soursop works well in a sorbet, where the fruit's characteristic acidity isn't weighed down with milk or cream. The sugar mellows the sourness just the right amount.

• 1 1/2 c. soursop, seeds removed then pureed
• 1 c. cold water
• 1/2 c. sugar
• juice from half a lime

Mix ingredients together then freeze in an ice cream maker according to manufacturer's instructions. Serves 4-6 as a light dessert on a hot summer day. For other variations, try adding several teaspoons fresh ginger and/or 1/4 cup spiced rum.

There was this hole-in-the-wall Japanese restaurant near our old place that served a decent oyako-don and an amazing house salad. The dressing for the latter was so popular that the owners eventually caved to demand and began selling pint containers of the sauce for take out, hold the salad please. This is my attempt to recreate from memory that salad dressing.

Ginger Miso Dressing

• 1 good-size thumb fresh ginger, finely grated
• 2 T. white or yellow miso
• 2 T. rice vinegar
• 1 T. sake
• 1 t. sugar
• 1/2 t. soy sauce

Tubs of miso can be found in the refrigerated section of most Asian and health food stores. Place all ingredients in a plastic container with a tight fitting lid. Shake the hell out of it. Pour over a simple salad of lettuce with sliced tomatoes and cucumbers.

In The French Laundry Cookbook, Thomas Keller describes the goal behind his amuse-guele soups, "Soup is simple. Identify your ingredient, cook it perfectly, and adjust the consistency." The cookbook contains a total of only three soup recipes, but he shares tantalizing hints to how he approaches others. For carrots, he has this to say, "They're a root vegetable, so you glaze them. If you glaze them perfectly, there's your soup--just adjust the consistency with stock or other liquid... One spoonful of carrot soup should deliver the flavor of several carrots." That's not much to go on for a recipe, but it served as my inspiration.

Poke has a fond space reserved for itself in the hearts of most Hawaiians.

Stop. Let's try that pronunciation again because I heard you mentally pronounce poke as the English word "poke." The title and subject of this post is instead the ubiquitous island dish pronounced POH-kay. POH-keh. Say it one more time, POH-keh.

According to the standard Hawaiian dictionary, poke means "to slice, cut crosswise into pieces." That describes the preparation well enough. Poke is usually (but not always!) raw seafood sliced then dressed with sauces or spices. If you're having a hard time imagining what that might be like, imagine a kind of sushi salad. Most commonly, poke is made with 'ahi or aku (both varieties of tuna), octopus, squid, mussels or any of hundreds of other kinds of seafood. People have also used beef, tofu, lamb and just about everything else in dishes they've still called "poke."

I've wanted to try my hand at a curry and chocolate dessert for some time, and this month's Is My Blog Burning theme of My Little Cupcake provided the incentive to finally get off my butt and do something about it. The recipe below is entirely my own, as much as anyone can say that while building upon the techniques and inspirations gleaned from a lifetime of eating cupcakes.

Chocolate Curry Cupcakes

• 1/2 c. all-purpose flour
• 1/2 c. cake flour (use more all-purpose flour if that's what you have)
• 1 c. sugar
• 1/2 t. baking soda
• 1/4 t. salt
• 1/2 cup cocoa powder
• 1 T. curry powder
• dash of cayenne pepper
• 1/2 c. buttermilk
• 1 c. water
• 1 t. vanilla
• 1/2 c. butter, room temperature
• 1 egg

Makes 36 mini cupcakes, or 18 regular cupcakes.

Preheat oven to 375 and lightly grease mini cupcake pans. Sift the dry ingredients together into a large bowl. Mix in the softened butter. Gradually beat in buttermilk and water. Add in the egg and beat until just mixed. Pour into muffin pans and cook for 15-20 minutes for mini cupcakes. Regular sized cupcakes will take slightly longer, but are done when a knife inserted into the middle comes out clean.

Lemongrass Infused Coconut Buttercream Frosting

• 3 stalks fresh lemongrass
• 1/3 c. coconut milk (partial can)^*
• 2 c. powdered sugar, sifted
• 1 c. butter, room temperature
• 1/4 t. salt
• 2 egg whites
• 1 1/2 c. shredded coconut

Peel the toughest outer leaves off the lemongrass and mince the bottom inch of each stalk. Combine the minced lemongrass with the coconut milk in a small sauce pan and heat slowly to a simmer. Turn off the heat and let the coconut and lemongrass mixture steep for 30 minutes before pouring it through a fine strainer. Discard the strained bits of lemongrass.

Just a quick note before we go any further. When the ingredient list says to sift the powdered sugar, I mean it. Seriously. I ignored my own advice and had to toss my first batch of frosting because I couldn't get rid of the lumps during mixing.

Blend the butter and 1 cup of sugar until smooth and creamy, then mix in the coconut milk. In a separate bowl, whip the egg whites to stiff peaks. Slowly mix the last cup of sugar into the egg white mixture and then whip to peaks again. Gently blend together the egg white mixture and the butter mixture.

Frost each cupcake generously then press upside down into a bowl containing the shredded coconut to coat the frosting with coconut.

The Results

You should now have many tiny chocolate cupcake with a tame but noticeable spicy bite, smothered in rich coconut buttercream frosting. They're sweet enough to be unequivocably dessert-ish, but with enough savory curry to raise an eyebrow.

In my house, we have a ritual after each new meal where we ask the cook, "If you were to do this recipe again, what would you change?" This is my first ever attempt at creating a recipe from scratch, so there are a number of minor changes I'd make. First, I think a buttercream frosting might be too rich for this particular cupcake. It's good, but I'm not convinced it makes a perfect pairing. If I were to stick with the buttercream, I'd want to think long and hard about how to bring more coconut and especially lemongrass to the forefront. Those flavors are there, but I'd like them to stand more distinct. I'd also consider tossing handful of chocolate chips into the cupcake batter, just because I love that explosion of pure chocolate flavor. These quibbles are minor though. In general I'm pleased with my cupcakes. In the words of one housemate, "I couldn't wrap my brain around the idea of curry and chocolate. Don't mess with my chocolate! But these are really good. The spice is there, but balanced."

^*Try using the leftover coconut milk to cook a couple cups of rice. Use it in place of some or all of your cooking water, also adding a half cup chopped onion and 1 teaspoon each of tumeric, minced ginger and crushed garlic before cooking the rice.

Walking through the market, I saw the most beautiful beets. They were piled high upon each with their plump burgandy bodies on proud display, cranberry colored stems stretching back to a vibrant green leafy frame. It was settled in an instant; I had to have these beets. The recipe below is based on one that was passed around among the members of our old CSA.

Roasted Beet Salad with Walnuts and Goat Cheese

• 4 medium beets
• 4 cups packed beet greens
• 4 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
• 2 medium shallots, sliced thin
• salt and fresh ground black pepper to taste
• 2 teaspoons balsamic vinegar
• 2 teaspoons red wine vinegar or other interesting vinegar
• 1/2 cup walnuts, toasted in a dry skillet until fragrant
• 4 ounces goat cheese, crumbled--about 3/4 cup

Trim all but the last inch of the stems from the beets. Wash the beets, trim dangling roots and wrap them in aluminum foil. Bake 1 to 1 1/4 hours at 400 degrees, or until a butter knife slides easily through them.

Remove the beets from the oven, open up the foil and let the beets cool until they can be handled comfortably. Be careful now, as the beets are much softer and can be damaged. Rub the warm beets gently with your hands to slip off their skins. Your hands will look like bloody murder, but it rinses right off. Slice the beets into 1/4 inch-thick rounds.

While the beets are roasting, wash the beet greens and let them drip dry. Tear the largest leaves into manageable sizes. If you find you don't have enough greens from your four beets, you may want to supplement with other hearty greens or spinach. I've made this dish both with the beet stems and without, and I prefer it without the stems. Heat 1 T oil in a skillet over medium heat. Add the shallots and saute golden brown and crisp, about 5 minutes. Add the still damp beet greens and saute until wilted. Season with salt and pepper to taste and cool to room temperature.

Place the vinegars in a small bowl and whisk in the remaining 3 T oil until the dressing is smooth. Add salt and pepper to taste then set the dressing aside.

Divide the beet greens among four individual salad plates or arrange one a single large platter as I've done in the photo above. Arrange the beet slices over the greens and drizzle with the dressing. Garnish the salad with toasted walnuts and cheese. Serve immediately, because if you wait the goat cheese will turn pink from absorbed juices.

When I called Peter about a work project, he was over at a friend's house rifling through a strange pantry for anything they could cook up for dinner. "What do you do with brown mustard?" Indian, I replied. "What about coriander?" Indian again. This is one of the tastiest brown-mustard-featuring dishes in my repertoire. Peter, next time you're wondering what to do with brown mustard, make this. As a bonus, it also uses coriander.

• 1 lb potatoes. Idaho will work, but yellow or white hold their shape better
• 2-3 t. brown mustard seeds
• 2 T. vegetable oil
• 2 medium onion, sliced
• 2 cloves crushed garlic
• 2 t. grated fresh ginger
• 1 t. tumeric
• 1 t. chili powder
• 1 1/2 t. ground cumin
• 1/4. t. coriander
• 1/4 t. cinnamon
• 1/4 t. black pepper
• 1/4 t. cardamom
• 1/4 t. ground nutmeg
• 1/2 t. salt
• 1/2 c. water
• 1 c. fresh or frozen peas, fresh preferred
• 2-3 T. chopped fresh mint. Don't bother with dried mint.

Serves six as a side dish, and goes nicely with basmati rice and a nice tandoori or lemon chicken.

Before we get started-- don't get your panties all twisted if you don't have every single spice listed above. All the spices are included for a reason, but as long as you're hitting at least 75% you'll get a good sense for how this dish should taste. The following are non-negotiable though: the brown mustard (duh), garlic, ginger, tumeric and cumin.

Most people peel their potatoes for this dish, but as long as the skins are tender and in good shape I like to leave mine on. Scrub the potatoes well, remove any blemishes and cut into small cubes.

Heat the mustard seeds in a dry skillet over medium heat until they become aromatic and begin to pop. They smell amazingly delicious. Add the garlic, ginger and vegetable oil, sauteeing until the garlic and onion are soft but not brown.

Add all the dry spices and potatoes, stirring just until everything is well coated in yumminess. Pour in the water, cover, and cook about 15 minutes until the potatoes are tender but not mushy. Add the peas, cover again and cook another couple minutes. By this time, the water should be absorbed. If it's not, try removing the cover and cooking a bit longer. Don't cook too long or the potatoes will fall apart. Garnish with mint and serve.

Credit where it's due: I've adapted this recipe from one I originally found in The Essential Asian Cookbook. The cookbook looks like one of those big ones you'd see on the bargain table at your bookstore, but it has great recipes and pretty pictures.

I signed up for an interesting meme called "1000 Recipes," instigated by Santos at the scent of green bananas. Book one came from her (Guam) to me, and after me will head to Reid at 'Ono Kine Grindz, also here in Honolulu, before continuing it's journey by heading down to spiceblog in Australia. Check out the complete mailing list for this book.

These are images of my contribution:

In honor of Valentine's Day, I woke up early to make Junko a batch of pancakes before she left this morning. Sourdough pancakes come out as a cross between a traditional buttermilk pancake and a crepe. They are thinner and lighter than the standard pancake, with an appealing tang that works best with fruit-based toppings.

Sourdough Pancakes

• 1 1/2 c. sourdough starter
• 1 large egg, lightly beaten
• 1 T. sugar or honey
• 1 T. melted butter
• 1/2 t. salt
• 2 T. milk

For the lightest, most tender pancakes, allow all ingredients to rest to room temperature before mixing them all together. I don't understand the science behind it, but starting with cold ingredients leads to a tougher pancake. The batter will be somewhat thinner than you diehard breakfast-makers may be used to-- that's okay. Pour 3 inch pancakes onto a hot (400 degree griddle). Flip when the top begins to firm up. Serve as soon as possible. Makes about 30 small pancakes.

Sourdough is a tricky beast. You need to sneak up on it sideways, taking care but with a dash of reckless abandon. Most breads are made with some variant of baker's yeast, but not soursough. With the latter, you throw a few simple ingredients together in a bowl and leave them open to the world, hoping, no praying, that Saccharomyces exiguus yeast will alight and take hold before anything else more vile can take roost.

In the past, a sourdough starter was the only reliable way to make bread for some people. My sister used to lead tours of the Chilkoot Trail in Alaska, and tells stories of how gold prospectors would carry a dried chunk of sourdough with them, feeding it with fresh water and flour a few days before they wanted to make bread. (More often than not, they didn't have the money for flour for bread. It's the thought that counts, right?) Today, sourdough is still popular, especially in the San Francisco area, a region famous for the distinctive taste of its sourdough.

To make a starter, start with a very clean bowl. We're trying to get avoid bad bacteria, so let's not give them any head start. Mix equal parts water and flour. Two cups of each is a nice amount. Add salt, maybe a 1/2 teaspoon. Cover the bowl loosely with a clean towel and put it aside. Stir once or twice a day to aerate and mix. Within 2-3 days, you will hopefully have a bubbling brew of sourdough starter.

What has happened is that the sourdough yeast, often present on flour grains or in the air, has alit on the flour mixture. The yeast forms a symbiotic relationship with lactobacillus bacteria (also floating around) and begun to feed on the starches in one big eating frenzy. The bubbling is millions upon millions of tiny carbon dioxide burps from satiated yeasts.

Why don't stinky, vile bacteria and yeasts take hold instead? Sometimes they do. My first attempt at a starter several weeks ago went skunky and smelled foul beyond belief. In general though, chemistry is working in your favor. Most wild bacteria in the air feed best on sugars and don't do as well with the starches in a starter. As soon as the good bacteria begin to take hold, they produce lactic and acetic acids as byproducts, making the starter an even less hospitable environ for other bacteria. This lactic acid, the same as can be found in yogurt and buttermilk, is also what gives sourdough it's mild, sour bite. The process also produces small amounts of watery ethanol on the surface of the starter. Gold miners used to drink this foul smelling hooch, but you should stir it back into the starter. Trust me on this one.

One important note: sourdough starters, like small children, need occasional feedings. Once the bubbling has started and you have a nice sour smell wafting up, take a cup of starter out every day and replace it with an equal amount of flour/water mix. If you're not going to use the starter in the near future, put it in the fridge and feed it every week or two instead.

Any questions? In coming posts, I'll cover sourdough recipes as I try them.

In honor of Chinese New Year today, known in Vietnam as Tet, I'm making a batch of Vietnamese egg rolls. Called nem ran in the North and cha gio in the South, these tasty little packages of pork and shrimp are commonly available in markets and are considered one of Vietnam's national dishes. Most families don't make them at home except around special occasions, due to the amount of work involved in hand rolling large quantities.

Cha gio include at a minimum ground pork, crab, dried tree ear, egg and cellophane noodles wrapped in rice paper then deep fried. Other recipes may add whole or chopped shrimp, bean sprouts, spring onions, bell peppers or whatever strikes the cook's imagination.

One of my favorite Vietnamese dishes incorporates cha gio. Bun cha gio is a bowl of rice noodles topped with cha gio, fresh herbs, chopped peanuts and nuoc cham (see below). When served on their own as an appetizer, cha gio are are often accompanied by a plate of xalach dia: fresh lettuce, thai basil, cilantro, bean sprouts and chopped peanuts. One loosely wraps a warm cha gio in lettuce with a selection of the other condiments and then dips the roll into nuoc cham before eating.

Not frightened off yet? Well then this is how they're made.

Cha Gio

• 1 lb. ground pork
• 1/2 lb. cooked crab, imitation is fine
• 2 T. dried tree ears, I was out but substituted shiitake mushroom
• 1 1 1/8 oz. package cellophane noodles
• 1 medium onion, minced
• 1 medium carrot, shredded, rinsed and squeezed dry
• 3 eggs
• 1/2 t. salt
• 1/2 t. pepper
• 30ish triangle rice paper wrappers
• vegetable oil for frying

Soak the tree ears in hot water until soft, about five minutes. Drain and mince. Cover the cellophane noodles in cold water for five minutes until flexible. Drain the noodles, cut with scissors into 1 inch lengths. Mix together the pork, crab, tree ears, onion, carrot, salt, pepper and one of the eggs.

Beat the remaining two eggs in a small bowl. Lay out the rice papers several at a time on a flat surface. Brush both sides with egg, then let them soften for two to three minutes. Place a rounded spoonful of filling in each wrapper, near the curved bottom edge of the triangle. Fold that bottom edge up over the filling to form a snug log shape. Fold the two side corners tightly into the middle and smooth them down. Roll the log towards the remaining triangle point. Set completed rolls aside, but don't let them touch! If they touch together at this stage, it's like super glue.

In a large pan, heat 1/2 inch of oil at medium high until about 350 degrees. I don't have a deep fry themometer, so I put a small drop of water in the oil at the start. When the water crackles, I know we've reached 212 degrees. I then wait a slightly shorter length of time again to approximate 350 degrees. It's imprecise, but good enough. Fry the rolls a dozen at time until golden brown, turning as needed. Drain on paper towels, then serve hot or at room temperature with nuoc cham.

Nuoc Cham

• 1 or 2 small red chiles
• 1/2 c. fish sauce, also known as nuoc mam
• 1/4 c. fresh lime juice (2-3 limes)
• 1 small shredded carrot, rinsed and squeezed dry
• 2 minced cloves of garlic
• 1/2 c. sugar
• 1 1/2 c. warm water
• 2 T. minced cilantro (optional)

Nuoc cham is a very versatile sauce that accompanies almost every Vietnamese dish. It will keep refrigerated for up to a week.

Mix everything together and stir until the sugar dissolves. The cilantro is not a standard ingredient but I'm taking my nuoc cham to Hawaiian language class tonight, where a full xalach dia plate isn't practical. Adding the cilantro into the sauce instead captures some of the same flavor.

If you've actually read all the way through this, you've been amazingly patient. Please drop me a note if you decide to make cha gio and nuoc cham-- I'd like to know how well I described the process.

Chuc Mung Nam Muoi! (Happy New Year!)

This is my favorite way to eat asparagus, bar none. The combination of charring and light seasoning allows enhance the fresh asparagus flavors. The friends for whom I've cooked this unanimously proclaim that it is far superior to any baked or boiled asparagus they've ever had.

To make this recipe, you will need:

• Asparagus
• Olive oil
• Coarse sea salt

If you have an already hot grill, cook the asparagus on it until it begins to blacken in spots. I generally don't have a hot grill, so I sear mine instead. Heat a dry skillet until it smokes then throw in the asparagus. Roll it around some as it starts to sear and char. When it looks like it has seared well, toss in a half cup or so of water and let the steam blanch the spears further. By the time the water has all boiled off again, your asparagus should be tender but not mushy. You want to retain some resistance to the tooth, as overcooked asparagus doesn't taste nearly as good.

Remove the asparagus from the pan. Drizzle with good olive oil and season to taste with sea salt. Go easy with both the olive oil and the sea salt-- you won't need much of either. Serve.

I've always wondered why it is that asparagus has such a profound effect on, how shall I put this delicately, the smell of one's pee. C'mon, you know you've wondered the same thing! Thanks to On Food and Cooking: The Science and Lore of the Kitchen by Harol McGee, we have an answer.

Asparagus has long been notorious for an unusual side effect on those who eat it: it gives a strong odor to their urine. Apparently the body metabolizes a sulfur-containing substance, asparagusic acid, a close chemical relative of the essence of skunk spray called methanethiol. In part because some people claim to be immune to this effect, biochemists have studied this phenomenon in some detail. It now appears that thanks to genetic differences, most but not all people do produce methanethiol after eating asparagus, and more but not all are able to smell it.

There was have it. Odds are that your body turns aspargusic acid into skunk spray, and it is totally worth it.

Candied orange peel and rich, dark chocolate are a match made in heaven. Chocolate and Zucchini gets credit for this particular recipe and inspiration. I've been too intimidated to try chocolates in the past, but Clotilde made it all sound so... approachable.

The work started several weeks ago when I prepared my candied orange peel. The actual recipe can be found here, but here's the short version. Find really good oranges. Seriously, don't try to cut corners on the oranges. If you use tired and desiccated fruit that has spent the last six weeks in semi trailer, it will taste like it. I used Mandarin oranges. Cut the peel into strips, cook in syrup, cool and pack in sugar.

I was expecting a tremendous amount of work for the candied peels, but they weren't difficult. The most time consuming step is to remove as much white pith as possible, while maintaining nice long strips of peel. Once I had my peels nestled in sugar, life interfered and they lay expectantly in my cupboard until this weekend, itching to take a swim in glorious dark chocolate.

The next step was daunting, for lack of proper materials. I have no chocolate dipping fork, no feuille guitare nor any chocolat de couverture. Heck, I don't even have a double boiler. What I lack in equipment, ingredients and class, I attempted to compensate for with dogged determination.

I gently removed the peels from their bed and brushed off as much excess sugar as I could. In hindsight, I should have been more aggressive with my brushing, but I was trying to avoid breaking any of the strips. In place of a true double boiler, I nested two small pots. Into the inner pot, I melted most of a bar of Terra Nostra Organic Dark Chocolate (I couldn't help but nibble) and an entire bar of Lindt Bittersweet Fine Dark Chocolate. Chocolate intended for dipping would have been preferred, but the melted bars worked well enough.

Once the bars melted down, I dropped the peels into their chocolate bath and stirred to coat before laying each peel side-by-side (not touching!) on sheets of parchment paper. I had a couple of minor problems with the dipping. The chocolate clumped slightly as I pulled out each peel. I'm guessing that this is a result of the kind of chocolate I used. The Terra Nostra is 57% cacao, and the Lindt seemed similar. Would a different ratio of cacao to emulsifiershave helped? I also noticed that the chocolate dip became grainy towards the end as granulated sugar sloughed off into the pot. I know to be better about my brushing next time. Neither of these issues were critical, and in no time I had two baking sheets filled to the edges with orangettes, as closely as I could fit them.

The sheets went into the fridge to set the chocolate. After an hour, I sampled a few peels.

Absolutely. Un. Believable.

It starts with a sultry, dark chocolate and then the orange explodes through your mouth before settling down into perfect harmony. Sweet with a hint of bitter, smooth on the outside with a satisfying touch of chew inside. Even though these are terribly rich and decadent, I can't stop eating them.

My dinner guests, if I may say so, were in complete awe when I trotted the Mandarin Orangettes out at the end of our meal. Junko observed, "You should sell these." (I could see her already counting our possible fortunes.) This recipe is a keeper. Thanks, Clotilde!

Sorry, no pictures for this one. I got caught up in the preparation and completely forgot. Make sure you allow sufficient advance time for a complete freeze. With an ice cream maker, allow about an hour. For a freezer preparation, you may need longer. This can be made a day or so in advance, and kept in a tightly sealed freezer container. It's best fresh fresh fresh.

• 1 c. fresh pineapple juice, from pineapple (see notes below)
• 1 1/2 T fresh lemon juice
• 1 1/2 T fresh grated ginger
• 1 1/2 pt. heavy cream
• a few fresh mint sprigs (optional)
• 1/4 c. chopped macadamia nuts (optional)

Get a pineapple and cut it. I wasn't sure the best way to extract juice, so I took about half of the pineapple, put it in a blender until it was a milky puree, and forced that through a fine strainer. Mix everything except the mint and macadamia nuts together in a bowl.

If you have access to an ice cream maker, now is the time to use it. You'll get the smoothest possible texture. Add the mixture to the ice cream maker and follow the manufacturer's instructions. Lick any utensils, because this stuff is tasty!

If you don't have an ice cream maker, you can still make this and people will love it. Place the mixing bowl in the freezer and allow to partially freeze. Stir well, then freeze until solid.

To serve, place a rounded scoop in a bowl and garnish with any combination of the following: mint spring, pineapple triangle, chopped macadamia nuts.

This recipe was inspired by a Sam Choy creation, although mine has a concentration of flavors I prefer. The next time I make this sorbet, I'd like to try lightly toasting the nuts in an oven, to give more visual contrast with the sorbet.

Serves 8.