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Posts Tagged ‘Hawaii’

Ice cream, Lycee Agricole, Moorea

Three glorious scoops, rapidly melting in the South Seas shade.

I’ve turned a lot of corners and had my eyes pop at what I saw, I’ve felt meh about going somewhere only to get knocked out, never saw that coming, I’ll always remember this. These are some of my most exciting food discoveries. A brief chronicle, presented in the hopes that 2016 has plenty more…for the both of us.

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Mo’orea, a tiny island off the coast of Tahiti, was one such corner and one such pop. We’d read about the Lycee Agricole, the farm school, on the island. The students there make homemade ice cream and sorbet from local produce. One day we turned off the main road to a low little cluster of buildings and pulled over. The soursop and the citron sorbets were gorgeous. But the above picture…I wish it could do justice to the quality of the ice cream. Three scoops: banana, vanilla…and gardenia. Locally grown. Or wild, for all I know. It was one of the most exquisite experiences of my life. At the end of a narrow, dusty road on a sandy rock in the middle of the Pacific, I ate flowers.

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Farther north, on Kauai and Maui, I ate lots of mahi and ice cream* and enjoyed every bite. But it’s practically a given, stamped on your plane ticket and all, that you’ll come across great mahi and ice cream (along with sea turtles and a luau every Tuesday night at your hotel). What you don’t expect to come across are pastures filled with cows. We learned Maui of all places has a thriving cattle ranch industry: All of that juicy green grass gets transformed into, I’m told, absolutely righteous steaks and hamburgers. I was in shock; if you blinked, you’d think you were in Wyoming.

Turtle, Kauai

I can’t find my cow pictures and we didn’t do a luau, so here’s a sea turtle.

I grew up slurping nectar from honeysuckle blossoms every spring at the ball field with my sister and our neighbors. A couple of years ago I wondered if I could make something edible with the nectar, as the Lycee students on Mo’orea did with gardenias. Found a recipe for honeysuckle simple syrup, and it was like what Tim Leary said acid was like. Not the flipping-out part, but the opening-your-brain-to-an-entirely-new-universe part. I mixed the syrup into vodka, I sold some to a local bartender, I drenched warm homemade pound cake in it. And soon I’m going to try it out in homemade marshmallows. Why not? And while I’m at it, why not flavor them with the other things I pick: quince, beach plum (they’ll be lavender!), wild mint, persimmons? Tim would be so proud.

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Honeysuckle and its progeny.

I have a cookbook, nearly 50 years old, of English recipes. It’s commonplace to roll one’s eyes at British Isle food, but I’ve never been able to because it tastes as good as it does. Traditional English Christmas cake, Irish fruitcake, Toad-in-the-Hole, and many more recipes later, I found Scotch Woodcock. It sounded pretty good. I was wrong. Anchovies and paste, very softly scrambled eggs, and buttered toast—so simple yet so out-of-the-bloody-park luxurious that I actually started laughing at the first bite. Recommended when you’re a little deprived and disheartened. Winter can do that to you.

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Open face and open mouth.

For my birthday in 2012 my brother and sister-in-law took me to Ben’s Best in Queens, NY, for real Jewish delicatessen. I ordered chicken noodle soup. The big surprise here was the nonchalant way they brought me a bowl that was clearly intended for a full-grown bull mastiff. I brought home leftovers and ate them for lunch for four days.

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For last: this is something I dream of eating all year. They’re so good I almost dream of eating them while I’m in fact eating them. I don’t even have a proper picture of them because I eat them too quickly to grab my camera first. Fried squash blossoms. I made them on a whim in 2013 and was almost overcome by how lovely and delicate they were. Never expected quite that level of good. Stuffed or unstuffed, half burned or delicately browned, that’s enough, I have to stop thinking about them because it’s only January.

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*Lappert’s. Holy cow, go. It’s only sold on the islands, and believe me, I tried to get them to ship it here to the states. Coconut cream. That’s the one!

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Last week I asked you all what foods define you, what foods speak to you at your core. A reader asked me about food while traveling, and whether I have any favorite go-tos. As a matter of fact, I do. Don’t laugh—it’s peanut butter and jelly.*

No, I don’t live on it; any of you who have read my past posts on Scotland or Tahiti or the Caribbean know I make a point to stuff my pie hole with whatever foods are celebrated wherever I go. Dinners I eat out. But for the occasional breakfast, when I don’t want to spring for an $11 hotel waffle? Lunches, when I’m so far from the nearest village that the only food option is to climb a muddy hill and tackle a Highland cow?

Highland cows

Faster than I look, punk.

No, it’s PBJ, and here’s why.

1) It’s accessible pretty much anywhere.

2) It’s cheap as old chips.

3) It assembles in seconds.**

4) It lives happily in the backpack for a few hours without refrigeration.

5) The protein gets me down the long, empty roads. Or moors. Or jungles.

6) In the sandwich I make a point to use jam or fruits particular to the locale—currant jam in Scotland, guava jelly*** in the Caribbean, papaya jelly in the Tahitian islands, fresh bananas in Hawaii.

Eating PBJ in general defines me as someone who has no interest in pretension. Eating it as a traveler, it shows how much I love local flavors and trying something new. It also says a lot for efficiency: Packing a sandwich before leaving the hotel for the day means I’m not restricted to how far I can go in a morning. I’ve been to many locales that are remote, to say the least. Who wants to fret over whether I’ll be near an eatery come lunchtime? Packing a pbj opens up the world a bit more, lets me travel by the force of my curiosity rather than by the (admittedly formidable) force of my stomach. No worries; come dinnertime, the stomach takes over again. This is me we’re talking about.

And when I’m home? It still makes a good breakfast, it still gets me through the morning, and I still use local jam or fruits whenever I can, which rocks. Yesterday, though, when I was in mourning for the loss of strawberries that WOULD be in season had there not been a double deluge this past week, I used a whole wheat wrap from Trader’s Joe’s, all-natural chunky Crazy Richard’s peanut butter, and local honey.

Sweet.

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Just shy of two weeks to submit your recipes to me for my project—your regional, homespun recipes, me cooking and gobbling and writing about them. I’m excited—keep them coming!

*You are SO laughing.

**You don’t even really need a knife to spread the goo. Once I used the handle of my toothbrush as a knife when I didn’t have one. Worked fine.

***And I tried to take the rest of the jelly and peanut butter home with me in my carry-on (I don’t check bags), only to find out the TSA considers them both liquids. I had to chuck them. Jelly I can sort of see. But peanut butter is a liquid?

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