"I just want to say to all the members of Congress, you've been working hard. I wish I could give you all trips to Hawaii, but I figured since -- given our budget crunch we can't do that, that we'd at least bring Hawaii to you." - President Barak Obama

Clone Captain Rex

Another year, another cake. It's not one of my best, but Toshi was thrilled.

We started with an eight inch round triple layer devil's food chocolate cake, joined and frosted with dark chocolate frosting. The sides were cut off to give the helmet shape, and those trimmings placed on top to form the visor and mouthpiece.

The entire cake was then wrapped in fondant, some colored with black and blue food coloring. In our haste to stretch the fondant without tearing, we neglected to include blue trim along the lower edge of the visor. That little touch would have elevated the final cake from okay to pretty cool.

Ah well, there's always next year.

Past cakes:
→ Year two: Pickup truck
→ Year three: Bob the Builder (and his reaction)
→ Year four: Spiderman
→ Year five: Stegosaurus

Get it? There's a little... cream pot.

I have mixed feelings about Cream Pot. On the one hand, the food is genuinely good. On the other, it's one of the pricier breakfast options this side of Sunday brunch. They've clearly put care into the decor... but then I'm clearly not the target demographic. How do I be fair to a good restaurant that isn't quite my cup of tea?

The question was so unexpected (and my brain was so addled) that I had to ask for her to say it again, "what was that?"

"Do you have a food blog?"

"Yeeeeeesss." Stunned pause while I gathered my thoughts. "Hi, I'm Alan..."

The woman introduced herself as Elizabeth, in town from Seattle, and she recognized me from my photo! I have no idea how people do that, but it's not the first time this has happened.

The photo you mentioned of my son is already a couple years old, but here's a new one taken at Easter. Toshi is almost six years old, yet still thinks his dad is the best cook (and food blogger) in the whole world.

Who am I to argue with that?

Aloha!

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.

I'm off-island at the moment, but will be back by the middle of next week with more to share. Malama pono, a hui hou.

I lean in as she speaks, struggling to keep up. Even though my mother-in-law has lived in the United States for more than forty years, her heavy accent still gives trouble even to her own (American-born) children. Reiko, or "Grandma" as she's known in our house, was born and raised in Osaka, Japan. It wasn't until an American GI swept her off her feet that she left home for the first time. Except for brief trips back to visit family, she's lived in the United States ever since.

Can you imagine the kind of love that compels you to leave everything and marry into a foreign culture? She was a proper Japanese girl, and he was an African-American soldier from the South. Despite their differences, they found a common ground that resulted in marriage and three beautiful children.

Crossing cultures required compromises. Over time, Grandma's cooking gradually adapted to suit the tastes of her new husband, combining a bit of both Japan and the South. It wasn't unusual to serve both okonomiyaki and collard greens at the same table. Now that her husband has passed, Grandma has retreated to the comfortable foods she knows best, the tastes of "home."

My wife Junko has been trying for years to get her mama to teach her Japanese cooking. The reply is almost dismissive, "Oh, you know how to make that." Stonewalled. However, since Grandma moved back to Hawaii four years ago, she seems willing, even eager, to teach me all the Japanese dishes she wouldn't share with her own daughter. The last time we swung by her condo for a visit, she thrust paper and pen into my hands, "You write this down. Tataki Kyuri."

The dish is so simple it hardly merits a recipe. Literally, tataki kyuri means "pounded cucumber." Simple, but delicious.

• Japanese cucumber
• salt
• sesame oil

The exact quantities in the recipe are at your discretion.

Trim the ends off the cucumber then roll it under your palms to break up the inside "meat." Don't overdo it though. The cucumber should remain intact. Our goal is to separate and loosen the flesh, releasing the juices and sweetness.

Once the cucumber feels a little mushy, we're ready to move to the next step. Smack the cucumber with a pestle or rolling pin until it begins to break into pieces. Once it does, continue breaking it with your fingers into jawbreaker-sized chunks. Salt lightly and let sit for five minutes.

Remove the cucumber pieces to a bowl, discarding any juices that may have drained. Drizzle lightly with sesame oil and plate it. Really, that's all there is to it. Serve as a small side dish.

• Michelle, The Accidental Scientist has, "an insatiable appetite for eating, drinking and learning everything [she can] about food and wine. Her tips for How to Buy from Whole Foods Without Spending Your Whole Paycheck couldn't come at a better time.
• Ask Natalie Hawaii - As best I can tell from her blog and twitter updates, Natalie's charmed life consists of popping between art exhibits and restaurants, always in the company of good friends. Believe it or not, I was clueless that the Hau Tree Lanai served breakfast until I dined vicariously through Natalie.
• Donna's site, Champuru.net, is part food blog and part baby blog, covering everything from reviews of iconic Oahu diners to journaling the gradual introduction of foods to Baby Champuru's diet. Her kabocha recipe is a classic, but so easy and good.
• Honolulu born and raised Genki Tummy has moved to Illinois for grad school, but still gets back home occasionally.
• Han Not Solo - Good friends Faye and Han share recipes, reminiscences (of Paris), and reviews (from Honolulu). Check out their croissant tour of Honolulu for the best and most authentic pastries.
• Kahakai Kitchen - Deb is, in a word, prolific as she writes about food and cooking in Hawaii. A fan of unusual fruits myself, I appreciated her post, Happiness is a Bowl of Rambutan
• Pizza Blog - Albert knows what he likes. Pizza. Pizza. More pizza. Gotta admire that kind of focus.
• The World Tastes Good - Last but certainly not least, Sapuche travels the globe with a keen eye and appreciation for the cuisines he encounters. See for yourself.

I can remember a time when Hawaii food bloggers could be counted on the tines of a salad fork. This is so much better, always something new to read!

Morning dew on wheatgrass

It's a touch early to plant our little garden out front. When we do it'll be primarily edible; herbs and vegetables except for a zinnia my son grew from seed in his kindergarten class. Until that's all planted and growing, I'll have to be content with wheatgrass^* sprouting in the windowsill.

Wheatgrass is high in chlorophyll, vitamins C and A, and about a billion trace minerals. The trick at home is figuring out how best to extract all that goodness. We don't have a proper juicer, and wheatgrass is too fibrous for a blender or food processor. It gets choked all around the blades.

My solution is to cut a small bunch, give it a quick rinse, then pop it all in my mouth. I chew the wheatgrass like cud, rolling it around into a ball for a good 5-10 minutes or until all the flavor is gone. Do this when the wheatgrass is young--about seven days growth--before it gets too bitter. When done, the remnants go into the trash. It's an acquired taste, but one I've come to appreciate.

Spring is just now underway, but I can have my next crop of wheatgrass by this time next week.

^* I bought my seeds at Whole Foods Kahala, but the exact same ones are available online for about half the price.

And yet I inevitably reach a point during each rainy season--roughly October through March--where I want to say ENOUGH! Enough rain for a second! Please... give us one glorious day of unblemished sunshine before starting again.

Enter limoncello, a lemon liqueur from Southern Italy, most commonly consumed ice cold as an after dinner digestif. On a gray day, limoncello is as close as you can get to the soul of sunshine, in a glass. The bright lemony taste heralds cheery days ahead.

Limoncello, dressed to give away to some lucky friend

There are tons of limoncello recipes online, but I've learned the hard way that this is one case where attention to detail pays off. Small compromises produce an inferior liqueur. Here's what I've learned...

Limoncello
Special equipment: a glass jar, at least 64 fl. oz in size. Paper coffee filters. The patience of Job.

• 15-16 medium organic lemons, well scrubbed to remove any wax
• 2 750ml bottles Everclear grain alcohol
• 4 c. filtered water
• 2 c. sugar

Use only the best lemons you can find. Limoncello requires only the outermost peel, so it's even more important than usual to insist upon organic lemons. Pick each lemon by hand, selecting fruit that feels heavy for its size, with a thick skin and a strong lemon aroma. If it doesn't smell amazing, put it back and pick another.

As mentioned, all we need is the peel from these lemons. Go ahead and make lemonade with the rest after your limoncello is resting.

When peeling the lemons, be fanatical about not getting ANY white pith. Peeling all these lemons takes a while, so I pop a movie in the dvd player and sit down with a bowl of lemons, a cutting board and a freshly honed paring knife. Carefully pare just the outer yellow skin. If you do get pith with the peel, scrape it completely off with the knife blade. Even a trace of pith will make the limoncello bitter. Some people prefer a microplane zester, but I found it harder to make sure there wasn't any pith in the mix.

Put all the peelings into your glass jar then pour in the alcohol.

The first time I made limoncello I used a mid- to low-grade vodka. The quality wasn't a big problem, but the proof was. Use the strongest alcohol you can find, preferably Everclear (190 proof). Not only does the higher proof extract the lemon oils better, but when the final limoncello is diluted with simple syrup, it doesn't get slushy when brought down to freezing temperatures.

Next comes the hardest part: waiting. It takes an excruciatingly long time to extract the essential lemon oils and let them mellow. Cap the jar tightly and put it in a cool, dark location for six to eight weeks. Check in on it every few days to wish it well. Giving the jar a little shake to circulate things, but try your very best not to move prematurely to the next step. Good things come to those that wait.

After six to eight weeks have passed, bring the filtered water to a boil and add sugar. Stir until the sugar dissolves then let cool completely. This is a simple syrup.

Pour the limoncello into a large bowl through a colander to remove the peels. Discard peels. Set a funnel in the top of your now-empty glass jar and place a coffee filter in it. Pour the limoncello back through the filter in small batches. The filter clogs quickly, so you'll probably need to use several to get through the whole batch. Filtering is important not only for removing sediment, but also for attaining a brilliant yellow liqueur.

Pour the simple syrup into the glass jar and swirl it around to mix. Guess what comes next? MORE WAITING. Re-cap the jar and let it rest for another two to three weeks. Longer is better, as the limoncello mellows over time.

When you simply can't stand it any more, you can decant the limoncello into its final bottles. I usually put about half back into one of my original Everclear bottles to keep at home, then the rest goes into smaller, decorative bottles to give away.

To serve, put a bottle in the freezer and forget about it for a few hours. Serve ice cold in a small, small glass. One friend swears by adding a short squirt of fresh lemon juice to each glass, but I've never found the need.

Wasn't that worth the waiting?

Afterword: today as I wrote this, my wish for warm sunshine came true. If it needs to rain again tomorrow, I don't mind anymore.

Hauʻoli Makahiki Hou!

New Year's traditions change over time. As a kid, we'd make a big bowl of popcorn, rent a stack of movies and watch as many as we could before midnight, at which point we'd catch the (rebroadcast) ball drop in Times Square. The next day we'd have a big celebratory meal with extended family.

By the time I reached a legal drinking age, I'd moved across the country from family. New Year's Eve was celebrated with friends, either at nightclubs or over special prix fixe dinners at restaurants. New Year's Day was for sleeping and relaxing.

Now that we live near my mother-in-law, Reiko, our traditions have drifted towards her Japanese tastes. The eve is either spent on a condo rooftop watching the professional displays, or setting off our own fireworks in Pālolo valley. (Is it just me, or were there a lot more illegal aerials this year, many of professional caliber. It looked and sounded like a war zone.)

The next day, we re-convene at Reiko's where she prepares a traditional selection of dishes to welcome the new year. Many of these dishes are unfamiliar, as we only see them once a year, but I've tried to ask questions and do additional research.

Osechi Ryori

Osechi ryori refer to special Japanese dishes prepared for the holidays, and in particular to usher in the new year. No cooking is allowed during the first few days of the new year, so my mother-in-law typically spends most of December 30 and 31 preparing her dazzling assortment, which she then artfully displays in beautiful lacquered Jyubako boxes. We greeted 2009 with a selection of Reiko's finest...

1. tempura - fried asparagus, carrots and eggplant with an accompanying yuzu salt
2. tofu - compressed with mirin(?) I don't know the name for this one.
3. kobu maki - thick konbu seaweed, simmered, rolled and tied with kanpyo. This dish represents happiness.
4. konnyaku - a gel-like tofu
5. sashimi - sliced raw tuna, salmon, hamachi, octopus and squid, along with a personal favorite, salmon roe.
6. shiitake no nimono - shiitake simmered in mirin, dashi and shouu.
7. taro nimono? - I honestly have no idea, but that's my best guess.
8. kuromame - simmered black beans, slightly sweet. A symbol of health.
9. kamaboku - sliced fishcake. The combination of red and white is considered good luck.
10. more fishcake - the specific name escapes me.
11. ozoni - (not pictured) a clear bonito stock with spinach and charred, gooey mochi.
12. sake - (not pictured) Reiko prefers hers warmed.

Other years we've also had inari sushi, chirashisushi, unagi kabayaki and toshikoshi soba.

Serving is informal, with each of us snacking on small plates while we lounge around her condo. She says her family back home in Japan would play games around a low table and sing boisterous karaoke. I've never been a big fan of karaoke, but the rest of this is a tradition we can repeat every year. Gochisosama.

Honolulu Hale Christmas tree

Christmas for us this year is unwrapping in California amidst families, festivities and, of course, much food. Our last few days in Honolulu were crazy busy, but we still found time to swing by Honolulu Hale to view the city Christmas tree before flying out. I never tire of that, and it's even better now that Toshi is old enough to stare at everything with open-jaw wonder.

Mele Kalikimaka a me ka Hauoli Makahiki Hou!

Charcuterie and cheese

Hawaii's first Whole Foods Market opened a few hours ago, and if the next few are like this one, the other supermarkets had better step up their game.

Whole Foods is known for being the pricey gourmet/granola supermarket. Ecologically conscious and epicurean. Continuing the design trend Hawaii has been seeing in the newer Safeways like Kapahulu and Manoa (remodeled), the Whole Foods Market interior features dark floors, wood accents and warm lighting. If they had tables, you'd want to sit with coffee and a good book.

Food-wise, a surprisingly large amount of floorspace is devoted to prepared foods, everything from the standard poke counter, to paninis to a Chinese food counter. Many items are prepared fresh in the store. Sausages are stuffed by the butchers. Coffee is small-batch roasted by Allegro. PIzzas are fired in what looks to be a wood oven.

But what about the prices? I did a quick price comparison of a few staples to see if the "Whole Paycheck" nickname is deserved.

The first thing I notice is that food has become crazy expensive in Hawaii. Holy energy crisis, Batman! Eating costs too much. Beyond the generally high prices everywhere these days, Whole Food's prices for staples are pretty darn close to Foodland; some a bit higher, others lower.

The real reason people come to Whole Foods isn't for the staples though, it's for everything else: the cheese selection, the olive bar, the countless varieties of organic potato chips, the "I'm a conscientious shopper" vibe. And they do it well. Walking down the aisles, everything looks so good. Not good in the sense that you know it must be good for you if you can force this healthy crap down your throat, but good in the sense that you want to eat everything you see. Whole Foods first foray into Hawaii has succeeded at creating a store that carries items I want to buy. Maybe that makes me a cliche, but I'm okay with that.

This is one store I'm happy has opened in my 'hood.

It wasn't until much, much later that I realized those same lavender aromas could be used to perfume food as well, and not just the biffy. Who says you can't teach a new dog old tricks? This recipe is a perfect use for culinary lavender, resulting in elegant cookies that are timeless in their appeal.

• 2 c. flour
• 1/2 c. sugar
• 2 T. dried lavender, finely ground
• 1 c. cold butter
• powdered sugar

Preheat oven to 375. Mix everything but the butter in a medium bowl. Cut the cold butter into chunks and add to the dry ingredients. Using a pastry blender or two knives in a scissors motion, work the butter in until it is evenly distributed and no large chunks remain.

Dump the mix into a medium baking pan. The exact size you choose depends on how thick you like your shortbread, or more practically, what you happen to have in your cupboard. After pressing the mix down with your fingers and smoothing it out, you ideally want a thickness between a quarter and half an inch.

Press the tines of a fork into the flattened shortbread to give it a pretty design. If the fork started pulling up the shortbread, rub flour onto the tines to remove any stickiness before continuing. Bake for 20-25 minutes until lightly golden. Score into square or diamond shapes while still warm, and then cool completely in the pan before removing them. Dust with sifted powdered sugar.

The first time I made this recipe, I made a double batch and had far too many shortbread cookies. To my surprise, they freeze really well and are delicious thawed or crisp and cold. I'd like to think grandma would approve.

The annual birthday cakes continue, this year with a three-dimensional stegosaurus. The earth underneath is marzipan, using whole instead of the traditional blanched almonds to give it texture. I spread it thin over the back of an industrial baking pan, tinted it with green food coloring, then dressed it with marzipan boulders and thai basil foliage.

The cake itself is made from a triple batch of devil's food cake, cooked in bread pans, shaped, then glued together with milk chocolate frosting and skewers. As in past years, the cake was a problem. This time the flavor was good, but the moist texture was unstable. One of the hindquarters kept collapsing.

The scales across the back come from a sea shell chocolate mold. I cut away the shell sides to get the classic stegosaurus wedged scales. Carved away sides became tail spikes. Finally, the eyes are from a candy necklace.

Total prep time: about five hours. Total time for crazed preschoolers to demolish it: less than five minutes.

Past cakes:
→ Year two: Pickup truck
→ Year three: Bob the Builder (and his reaction)
→ Year four: Spiderman