I Will Hide Stuff In Your Food

Because I can.

I am the child of Depression-era parents. I am the daughter of a woman who didn't give me more than half a paper napkin until I was almost 40. I remember teasing her "You *do* love me, Mom!" She laughed at other people being cheap, but after she had enough money to offer her guest whole napkins, she still would have a friend over for lunch and the two of them would spend the afternoon cutting paper luncheon napkins in half while they chatted.

The corona virus has us all pretty spooked today. Yesterday we moved my mom out of her living situation temporarily because we don't think a building full of other old people is a safe place for her to live or a safe work environment for her caregivers. The day before that we had a 2+ hour Vortex of Power conference call about all of the covid-19 nonsense and what to do about Mom. What's scary about all of the scenarios you see on tv is that I am the only person in my family that isn't high risk, because I'm the only person under 60.

Tomorrow we have bigsis coming to pick up the mama to take her to their house for two days, at great risk to themselves. Bigsis is 72 and her husband is 85. Scary for them. And I suddenly had the mama for (almost) two days in which she asked me about what was happening many many times, couldn't remember the answer and was indignant when I'd take a deep breath before answering.

So between worrying about food shortages and being annoyed with my person, I didn't feel bad about hulling strawberries for her morning waffle and then serving her the hulls in her evening fritatta. No I did not. I almost went around the property pulling edible weeds and sauteeing them, as well. And I worried that I am eating too much food and not conserving enough.

I hope this coronavirus thing ends soon. But I sense that it will not.

Penguin, But Avoid The Whale

With the National Anthem behind me, I feel a little more able to plan for our trip to Scandinavia, which is in two weeks [edit: two days, since it took me so long to post this]

The idea of traveling started with me reaching out to a guy on Linkedin. I thought he might be the son of my cousin in Norway. He responded immediately, and now I'm in touch with the lovely cousin that I last saw in 1974. I had no immediate thoughts of going to Norway, but the same week, though, I got an invitation to speak in Stockholm. So suddenly I'm going to do three things I really love to do:

1. Communicate about the work I love by means of my boyfriend, Keynote
2. Travel with mrguy
3. See family

I learned about all of this earlier in the year, but aside from keeping in touch with family and occasionally working on the presentation, I hadn't been able to plan much until last week.

And now I'm so doing it. I kept looking for a hook to take us in any direction. This is what makes me happy. Research, finding things we could do, and then doing them or not. I found out that a band called Virkelig is playing at The Garage on the 8th (if their landlord doesn't shut them down). Then something led me to a story about an emperor penguin named Nils Olav III, which led me to a restaurant in Bergen called Pingvinen. They serve whale, which I will try not to order by mistake.
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And now, closer to the day, it's turned into old home week of sorts. The Nordic offices of the forklift company have invited me to come visit in Stockholm. And my cousin in Bergen reached out to our (80-year-old) cousin in Edinburgh, and that cousin is coming over to meet us (and to see her older sister, who is ill). The ill-sister-cousin's-son wants to meet us, and I think there is something else going on. All fabulous. I am blessed beyond belief. I feel like I've inadvertently kicked off a family reunion of sorts. 

Second one within a year.

Dinner With Fambly

I feel like this week I've been making up for months of being homebound or mama tasking. The estate sale, the game, the rock show, and then I did this with the neph. We do a monthly confab, which is one of the high points of the month:

On this outing's menu was strawberry cider and a vichyssoise (using coconut instead of dairy) and some onion rings and some brussels sprouts that I should have read the fine print on (shaved, not whole). Not the best choice. I hope that his innards were not as discombobulated as mine the next day. Maybe my podiatrist was right!

Germany 2017 Post 13

So we parked the car and walked around the side of the building, not exactly knowing what we'd find. We turned the corner to see a courtyard carpeted with cherry blossoms and dotted with cafe tables. We approached the front door and a woman greeted us and asked us if we're there for dinner. mrguy said yes and I bleated "We're lost". She could see my distress, so she looked at her reservations and figured out that she juuust had room for us. Over the next few hours the woman (the owner) doted on us and her son, the chef, gave us directions back to the A-4. Occasionally she'd come by the table and ask "Why are you here from America?" in a bemused sort of way. Explaining that we were coming to spend Easter in Bautzen made it even more perplexing. Who does that?

If you are ever near Dresden, Julius Kost is a true destination. It's housed in the former horse stables of the farm, and it is so cozy. As I said to mrguy, it's like the best of Martha Stewart in the 1980s, but with authenticity and good food.

The amuse. I couldn't even identify the ingredients, except for the pea shoot, but it was delicious.

The specials:

Our visit to Julius Kost settled our nerves for the next few hours of bumper to bumper nighttime traffic to Weissenberg. We vowed to stay on the Autobahn and take no more shortcuts.

Strawberry Tops

This morning I was cutting the tops off some fragrant strawberries given to us by bigsis. The act of hulling strawberries and their delicious smell immediately transported me to the late 1970s when I took my first job, in a restaurant that I will call Diet Restaurant.

Dieting has always been a bit of a thing around here, at least from the time of the physical culture movement of the 1930s. By the 1970s, dieting was such a pop culture phenomenon that my boss, a former refugee from Lebanon, decided to design a restaurant based on dieting. My friend got me a job there as a hostess.

When I wasn't seating customers, I was responsible for maintaining the stocking and appearance of the salad bar. This entailed "rotating" items (adding to the bins in the salad bar, and putting the older stuff on top) and keeping the dressings stirred so they didn't separate (vinaigrettes) or become translucent (creamy dressings). When I wasn't doing that, I was responsible for hulling case after case of strawberries to use on the diet soft serve that served as the base of the sundaes for which the restaurant was famous.

The first time I hulled strawberries, I went to toss out the hulls and got a talking to. It was at this point that I learned the level to which the food preparation at Diet Restaurant involved some sort of trickery. The salad bar was pretty straightforward -- three been salad from a can, fresh vegetables, kidney beans, etc. But everything else on the menu was kinda weird. They cooked the strawberry hulls and added them to the cream of spinach soup. The carrots that were baked into the fettucine alfredo were cooked with a little bottled orange flavoring "because carrots don't taste like anything". When the kale leaves that we used to cover the ice in the salad bar got too wilty-looking, the chef would wash them, chop them, and add them to the minestrone. Can you imagine how cheap a bunch of kale was back then? There's nothing extremely horrifying about these practices, but in the 70s, when everything seemed plentiful (except for gasoline), it seemed a bit shocking. These were economies that even my frugal mom wouldn't employ.

Anyhoo, things were changing in the late 1970s. Roe v Wade happened, and animal rights reached the popular consciousness. These two concepts were combined in a single horrifying menu item: Veal Parmesan. The thinking went like this: veal was delicious but it was the result of mistreatment of animals. Instead, the restaurant used a protein known (on the package) as "fetal beef". Urp.

Sexual freedom was also a big topic in the world, and Diet Restaurant was a hotbed of activity. Word on the street had it that the owner, a super handsome man, had a longstanding relationship with the head waitress. And that she was also in a relationship with his father. This didn't stop her from also pursuing me. One day she grabbed my breast with her hand, and that was the first inkling I had that she was interested. The old guy once pursued me around the restaurant with a fancy dress from the homeland that he wanted to see me in and ...good grief! The manager of the restaurant, who had been in my freshman Latin class in high school, stood back and laughed at the whole thing. Every day. He was no help.

By the end of the summer before college, when I left Diet Restaurant, I had gained 15lbs from the delicious diet sundaes, and one blog post's worth of stories.

Thank you, Diet Restaurant, you taught me many things.

Eldridge Cleaver

Nowhere in the Wikipedia entry for Eldridge Cleaver does it say that he liked a Denver omelet with two English muffins, well done.

That's the kind of essential information readers of mrsguy come to expect ;)

Let's Call Him Dana

Behold this yummy breakfast. I ate it at a place I'll call Dana's with Mr and Mrs Gentry who were visiting back in January.

Dana's is a beloved institution in these parts -- a 6-seat diner with extra seating at card tables out on the street. It sits by the light rail tracks. Long on charm, the walls are decorated by lists of specials on colorful laminated cards.

Dana himself is a grumpy, adorable little old man. One of the cooks may be his grandson. On this occasion the food took forever but the coffee was plentiful and look at this breakfast! Gorgeous.

I wasn't with mrguy on this jaunt, and I really wanted him to have the experience, so we tried to go twice and there was a long line. That's how we ended up at the crepe place down the street, which I like very much now except there are usually lots of kids there.

K. Yesterday was the day. Dana's was open, and we scored two seats at "l" section of the counter. We were in!! So we sat there and nobody made eye contact. Not so much as a hello. No water, no coffee. I think the menu was already there, so we made a selection. Then we waited.

Meanwhile Dana was grumbling at the woman behind the counter, and she was grumbling back at him. She was unkempt, and from our vantage point I could see how filthy this place was. Usually I can make myself unsee those things, but not in this case. As the lady argued with Dana under her breath, she kept shifting her cleaning rag between the counter and the pocket of her apron, where she also kept her money. She tucked a bottle of orange juice underneath her armpit and took it outside to serve from. The other cook had a wad of paper towels stuffed underneath his apron tie in order to keep the sweat from rolling off his neck and onto the grill.

I felt trapped, but couldn't tell what mrguy thought. Maybe he was seeing some local charm in this and wanted to stick it out? He did not. We left, and as we walked out the door Dana made some crack about us.

Then I asked mrguy if we could eat at Subway. I wanted something completely predictable. Besides, I wanted to get there before they ran out of that yoga mat bread!

Keep Away Hate

mrguy and I had a delightful dinner with the Cincinnatans last week. Cack and Blick.

We go way back.

Cackler was the smartest girl in my Medieval Political Theory class at college. If nobody in the room knew the answer to the professor's question, he'd say "Miss Cackler?" and she'd shout out "Free will!" or somesuch. One Friday she jumped a ride with my carpool. We ended up in the Irish bar next to my apartment for a few hours, and our friendship began. I was bridesmaid at her first wedding (which she jovially calls "the mistake") and then she married Blick, a fabulous and younger man who is the world's foremost authority on two different topics, one esoteric and the other less so. Blick gave the convocation at our mr and mrsguy wedding (we don't have a name for it, but for symmetry's sake let's call it "the good idea").

Over the years, Cack and mrguy have reduced their intake of fleshes substantially. Cack doesn't eat pork or fish. Guy doesn't eat chicken, duck, beef or pork. Blick eats everything and cleans our plates. So we eat at this Chinese restaurant when they come to visit, and eat chicken and vegetables. And Blick cleans the plates when we're done. It's really quite a happy arrangement, a ritual that we only get to perform once a year.

I can't exactly recall how this came up, but Cack mentioned this potion that I used to keep in my purse, which was called Keep Away Hate:

I used it for all manner of hate-distancing. If I was having a bad day I'd dab a little on my wrists and see if I could turn the day around. Mainly I used it on Sundays at the restaurant where I worked. I kept it in the coffee station. If a known antichrist was seated in my section, I'd dab a little Keep Away Hate on the underside of his or her coffee cup. It made me feel better. If they really misbehaved I'd put a dab on my finger, and go to their table to ask if everything was o.k., leaving a little blue deposit on their table. Nobody called me on it. Not my boss, who disapproved, nor the other waiters, who borrowed my potion on occasion.

In my defense I will say...nothing. It was a punk-ass thing to do. I probably worked in customer service 5 years too long. But when Cackler reminded me of it and that Keep Away Hate was made by Skippy's of Detroit, I had to laugh. 

Least mystical name ever. 

Skippy's also made the Alleged Black Salt that I sprinkled along my upstairs neighbor's threshold to encourage him to move. Got a bunch of it in my eye somehow and it really stung, no matter how "alleged" it was. In this case I will say something in my defense. My neighbor habitually picked fights with his roommate at 4:30 in the morning and the two of them would heave heavy objects (furniture, flowerpots) at each other while screaming. They had to go.

The black salt worked, but those tenants were replaced by a guy who watched the TV Guide channel at top volume for hours a day. We once played Japanese noise band the Boredoms, and Roadrunner (meep-meep) at top volume in retaliation, but he didn't seem to notice. Nice guy, actually. It's *amazing* how much better life is when you just knock on the door, introduce yourself and explain that the tv is a little too loud.

Today, when researching Keep Away Hate, I discovered that Cack's memory was right: Skippy's of Detroit had actually existed. Here are two guys in front of it back in the day. Now Skippy's is Indio Products, operating out of Commerce California. They sell the usual Santeria supplies as well as next generation stuff such as blue squares, attract customer spray, road opener and the ever popular keep away hate, which is now available as a floor wash.

 Indio Products: when interpersonal communication just isn't your thing.

Lava Rock Supreme pt. 2

It wasn't long after Dr. Biggles' review of Lava Rock Supreme that the restaurant closed.

So began its annoying afterlife.

There comes a time in a man's life when he's retired but still wants a place to go every day. The restaurant closed, but Mr Lava Rock continued to punch in. His one car in his vast parking lot let all of the neighbors know his whereabouts. I often imagined him in the bar, sitting in a recliner, adjusting the rabbit ears to watch Fox News.

The city made him an offer for his property, as it was now blighted, his abandoned Albertsons supermarket offering a lovely tablet for graffiti. Via his nephew, the family mouthpiece, he asked for greater sums of money than the city was able to pay.

The economy crashed. The car stopped parking in the lot. Discarded sofas started appearing on the sidewalk near the dead Albertsons.

Thanks, Mr. Lava Rock and Nephew! This is your legacy.

Signs of hope appeared last week. A Grocery Outlet sign appeared on the abandoned Albertsons.

And today the claw came to bite Lava Rock Supreme down to the ground. I saw it first on Facebook. Sick though I am, I jumped into my car and sped over to talk to the man with the claw. I have always wanted the decorations that festoon the outside of the building. This was the moment to ask for it.

Fingers crossed. Anything that survives the wall coming down tomorrow I can have. He has my phone number, and will call to let me know.

Lava Rock Supreme pt. 1

Oh Lava Rock Supreme.

Today is your last day on Earth.

I can't believe that I never wrote about this place, but then it predated the Observatory...

We'd just bought our house, and started to explore the neighborhood. The closest restaurant to the house was this awesome-looking Mexican restaurant with excellent signage and an edifice completely covered in lava rock boulders. "Gotta go there soon, before it's gone," we said. And we did.

I believe we went on a weeknight, but it wouldn't have mattered. The vast parking lot was always virtually empty. We walked in, past some wrought iron decorations, and into a big dining room. In its day it must have been swinging. The dining room had a giant iron chandelier that looked like it could easily deliver death in an earthquake, and there was a second tier of banquettes that must have been where the fancy people once sat.

Our waitress wore her hair in a beehive, and seemed to have committed herself to going down with the ship. This would be her last job. She patiently served the couple in the booth next to us. He was hard of hearing and she was hard of seeing, and the dining experience wasn't going well. Because there wasn't music or any other ambient noise, the only thing we could hear was their arguments, and the beeping of the microwave in the kitchen.

"This is so bleak!" mrguy said to me. Indeed. Our dinner came out piping hot, and when the waitress warned us not to touch the plates, I looked over to see that the filthy potholders she was using were encrusted with very old refried bean crust. Wowza. We didn't go back.

For a really good time, please read Dr. Biggles' review of his dinner in the bar area.

Palm Springia 2012

Oh, the desert. Why do people go there?

In our case, we went for a professional development thingie, which was quite wonderful.

But we weren't alone. No! Our conference coincided with an event called American Heat, drawing motorcycle enthusiasts from all over the state to sunny PS. Loud. Interesting. Scary.

Three of our meals came from a place called Sherman's Deli. Visiting there reminded me of my days as a diner waitress. Unlike my diner, the food at Sherman's was outstanding. This was our first view, as we picked up breakfast:

I ruined the first photo by getting a reflection of the palm trees and mountain behind me in the shot, then decided that it was kinda awesome.

 

Breakfast was on the go in order to get me to a workshop on time. It turns out that the location for the workshop was not the location of the museum (my bad). But I got to hang out here for a while and watch roadrunners chase each other across the dusty road for a while. A desert experience, yes.

 

The workshop was great, if sweat-inducing. I wielded a HEPA vacuum and brushed dirt off of hand-woven rugs all day. I truly felt I'd earned my dinner later.

In the morning we went back to Sherman's. This is my giant pile of matzobrei.

Turns out that motorcycle gangs like breakfast, too. Groups of men and women, dressed in their regalia, politely waited their turns to be seated at Sherman's, along with groups of cops. Truly a varied crowd. I very badly wanted to know more about the flair on the vests of the motorcycle dudes. The motorcycle club that we saw in the largest numbers was the Mongols.

After breakfast we spent the rest of the day looking at every thrift shop we could find. During the drive I gleaned what I could about Mongol flair, its meaning, and how those patches are earned. Purple wings. Wow. Look it up.

We got back into town and most of the Mongols had left town. I was sad, because I really wanted to put my newfound knowledge to use. The only Mongol we saw that day had very little patch action (a novitiate?), and was sweetly romantic with his girlfriend. Not playing to stereotype.

Later that night we went to a private event at the Sunnylands event center. A modernist paradise, with fun company and yummy dishes. We found what we thought was the quietest table and it turned to be in the direct path between the kitchen and the appetizer tables. Unintended bonus: we got everything as fresh as it could be.

Then we went to the children's museum and pulled the same move inadvertently -- we looked for what we thought was going to be the farthest and quietest table, which then turned out to be front and center for a darling performance of traditional Mexican music and folklorico dance, performed by kids from an after school program. Their pure joy could not have made me happier.

The only other thing worth mentioning is that we were treated to an amazing dinner at Workshop Kitchen and Bar. Amazing, both in the fact that we were dining with super interesting colleagues and that the food was so incredibly tasty. This is one of my best meals ever. Because we were a large party we had some of everything: octopus, octopus salad, an oxtail shepherd's pie that was *insanely* flavorful, olive oil cake, panna cotta, rib-eye, redfish...

We all walked home past a large vintage automobile dealership and told stories about the ones that got away.

Italy 2012: Day 6

Too much talking. Not enough eating.


Just kidding.


We had high hopes for the day, but Jimmy had to work. Time Machine and I wanted to find the record store, but it was too darned hot. For a little bit we sat in the square behind our hotel and people-watched for a while. Darn if we didn't see our modified Louise Brooks from the other night, in a cardigan, dressed like a schoolgirl, with her mom and her grandma. Funny.

Dinner with friends of Jimmy's who came up from Milan and humored us when we wanted to eat at Tiratappi for the third time.


Polpo!

Yummy salami!

and a recitation by our friends of the writings that the Mantovani youth left in my book. PLUS a rigorous researching of what kinds of 60's Italian music I should seek out, since Time Machine and I didn't record shop. Texts were flying from all over Italy as people weighed in on what artists we should listen for. I still haven't had time to check it all out.


They went back to Milan, and we reconvened with a friend at a place next to Bella Napoli. 


Afterward, I did not walk home alone.

Italy 2012: Day 2

In the middle of the night on Day 1, I had insomnia. I was awake, therefore, when a large aftershock occurred. Given that I was sleeping in a centuries-old masonry building in a bed with a GLASS HEADBOARD, I moved to the center of the room, away from masonry and glass. Since I couldn't sleep, I updated the USGS "did you feel it?" questionnaire. The things we do when we can't sleep.

The workday started with some dark brown brew and a teensy piece of pizza.

Then the cute walk to work. In our travels we'd pass by the horse butcher shop. I would not have noticed if it hadn't been pointed out to me. The sign was a beautiful red decal of a horse profile.

The museum was tremendously beautiful. Here was the view as we ventured back from our coffee break:

 

I'm not at liberty to talk about the forklift deinstall, but I got to work with really great people who balanced sweet humor and professionalism in a nice way. My main conservator, Augusto, paints gorgeous abstract expressionist paintings when he's not conserving forklifts.

The coffee shop at the museum, I forgot to mention, sells these:

We ate lunch here in the park every day. The guy who owns the place remembered She Jimmy from the install and doted on her daily.

This first day we noticed a woman at a nearby table having a seizure. Pretty distressing. Her friends helped her and we soon had a full range of local medical emergency folks on hand. Italy seemed oddly together in this regard.

After work She Jimmy, Time Machine, Luton and I went to Tiratappi for dinner. I have reflected on Tiratappi this week and still think that the three meals I ate there were three of the best meals I have ever eaten. If I had to pick a last meal, I couldn't possibly. But a fantasy last week of meals would include one here. Start with a very cold bottle of lambrusco. Continue on with the raw fish and avocado dish below, have the octopus appetizer, any main dish, and finish with the ricotta, orange and chocolate custard.

No evening in Mantova would be complete without a negroni sbagliato at the local bar in the next piazza over. Then back to our yummy, air-conditioned centuries-old rooms.

 

Italy 2012: Travel and Day 1

The weeks leading up to the forklift exhibition install have been gnarly.

A new line of forklifts is about to debut and the company party planning has been in full swing. There have been many, even daily, rehearsals for the Hammerslag Singers a capella group. Our Hawaiian band has been rehearsing for a gig in the late summer with a hula halau. I've been in non-stop meetings lately. The girl band has been rehearsing for Slagapalooza. It's too much.

Sun: Grand Mamoo sleepover

Mon: Hawaiian language class on day of anniversary

Tue: Lady band

Wed: Hawaiian band

Thur: Too tired to celebrate our anniversary. Where are my priorities?

Fri: Flop on sofa

Sat: Rehearse with hula halau. Get dressy. Go to forklift party. Perform. Take first bus home

Sun: Flop on sofa. Pack. Get on plane. Golden State to Frankfurt > Verona> Mantova

We flew United. I would like to point out that they collect a fair amount of money but the ride was janky. The seats were difficult to operate and didn't fit my body. The food was really sad. I expect that in economy and totally go with it. I expect more when I'm in business class. Usually my fave part of the flight.

Frankfurt airport was vast. It took 5 minutes for the bus to get us from our terminal to the very modest plane. Although we got off to a bad start when the lavatory door sprung open during takeoff and I, in the first seat, had a front row view, the rest of the trip was fabulous. Love you, Lufthansa. Had one of the best plane meals ever, for this teensy flight. Can it please be asparagus season when we come back at the end of the week? White asparagus with strawberry puree and sesame mayonnaise. Asparagus mousse. Asparagus in aspic. It was insanely delicious and gorgeous.

 

Verona airport is so small that only three planes were there. Nobody stamped my passport. I entered a whole different country and didn't get a stamp? That seems odd.

Once in Mantova, we stopped by the restaurant that serves as the HQ for our hotel. Piazza delle Erbe, our home base for the week, was a lovely cobblestone courtyard with outdoor seating for various restaurants.

My room was fabulous. You could have roller skated in it. And dig the Panton chairs! 

 

We kept moving and went to dinner at a place with frescoed walls and ceilings. Some of our offerings were curry chicken, this prosciutto volcano

pigtails (aka taralli) 

and my interesting fish that was mixed with a relish that could have been made out of cactus.

Then to bed.

And up again for a few hours. Didn't get my sleep cycle set until later in the week.

The Kiwi Has Landed

metaphorically. Kiwis are flightless, so that isn't technically possible, which is a long-winded way of saying that we had a delightful visit with our Kiwi friend last night.

It was a bit of a pop quiz -- an early email announcing his arrival that happened to find us at home on a weekend with a clear schedule. Whew. He manages a pop band that is having a fair amount of success, and they were playing at the large venue. Seems like a fun ride, but a little tiring for someone who has a young family waiting 18 hours away from here.

Occasionally you have a friend who you can just pick up with after long stretches of time, and he's one of those friends. He was part of a flock of Kiwis who were sent by our original Kiwi, the Marxist. The Marxist started sending his other musician friends over to stay with us, and last night's Kiwi and his then-girlfriend were two of them. For about two years, there, we had hot and cold running New Zealand visitors. It was so much fun. We paid them all a visit one glorious month in 1993, and had many adventures. We have mostly kept up with last night's Kiwi. I have a better blog name for him, but it would reveal his real name :(

Occasionally he'll come through town with a band. The last time, we showed up around sound check time and the bartender tried to shoo us away, telling us in a really patronizing tone what a sound check is. Dude. I had my first sound check when you were tickling Elmo, o.k.? And I'm still gigging.

Anyway, this time we popped over after sound check and had perhaps our most civilized dinner to date -- at a nice restaurant in the city. Our Kiwi friend had the Coq au Vin and proclaimed it delicious...

If you can sublimate your senses until you get to a restaurant, the city is a nice place. Especially on a warm April night like last night. After dinner we deposited him at the door of the large venue, and hope to hear of the further adventures of the band on the rise.

Hawaii 2012, Day 4: Poistravaganza

This was one of the best ideas I'd ever cooked up.

First I decided that it would be fun to take a tour of the Taro Brand Poi Factory. When an email to them returned no reply, I looked for other poi-centric ideas. My search on the Intertubes brought me to the Johnny Appleseed of poi. We'll call him Johnny. I contacted him and he and his business partner, Rain, cooked up a day for us.

Rain picked us up at our hotel at 7. We ate banana pancakes and fruit at the park, then headed to the Windward side. 

 We met Johnny and Uncle Johnny at a native Hawaiian plant nursery, got an introduction to native species and picked out some plants to plant later on at the house. Unfortunately the moon was wrong for planting. The moon advocated relaxing, which was the opposite of what we were about to do, but whatever.

At the nursery I also met a dog.

 

We headed for the kalo patch, a little ways away. We changed into different shoes and walked up the hill. Somewhere near a Board of Water Supply station sits a very old set of kalo terraces that these guys are rebuilding. They were getting close, when the storms of last month ruined the water supply. Our part of giving back to the project involved helping restore the water flow by moving large rocks out of the way. For a few hours. In the heat and mud. I had a surprisingly good time, while also covering myself in mud and wielding a pick axe. After a while I got to the point where I couldn't lift anything else that was in the way. I was pau.

The before picture met with misfortune, which means that this after picture isn't quite as exciting as I'd hoped.

They decided it was time for lunch. We stopped by the fish pond on the way, to see where boards were soaking for a few weeks before being carved into papa ku'i'ai (poi pounding boards). Then on to the house.

The pressure cookers were steaming two different things: one had laulau and the other had kalo. It smelled heavenly. First, poi.

Mrguy and I sat on either end of a two-person papa ku'i'ai making pa'i'ai for a few hours. The most important thing is cleanliness. Cross-contamination is easy and I had to start from the beginning several times. They have special ionized water there that helps with the cleanliness. We learned how to clean our kalo, pound (good technique is more difficult than it seems) and go through the various steps to making it acceptable. All the while we talked about culture, legislation related to poi, what kinds of documents and legal services are available in the Hawaiian language (not many) and many other things. Our heads were swimming with all of this.

Toward the end of pounding poi, you add a little water and knead. The starch of kalo has begun to release its sugars and it takes on the color and sheen of Silly Putty. My pounding arm was really sore for a few days. Surprisingly, my back and knees felt great the next day.

After pounding we ate laulau and played a few tunes for our hosts. Rain took us home with our pa'i'ai vacu-sealed in bags. Nobody looked twice when I carried it on the plane with me.

You'd think that we would just crawl into bed after that, but we went to a Japanese soup restaurant instead. I wasn't sure I could hold chopsticks after our workout that day, but we made it fine. You'd think we'd walk out when we saw that ordering involved a flow chart, but we didn't. 

I'd  never seen nabe cooked over a flame in what looked like a coffee filter before (not that I'm an expert). 

It did catch on fire a little bit at the end.

 

After our day's excitement it was time for bed :)

Hawaii 2012, Day 3

Sunday was another great day. We drove out to Waimanalo to meet up with a colleague who had just retired, and to deliver a package that I'd carried on the plane for him. I guess we never drive out on the windward side on a weekend because I was struck by the fact that I'd never seen so many hand made signs enticing people to stop by for homemade food, flowers, coconut water. I really wanted to pull over for some smoked fish, but we had places to be.

We met up with our friend in front of the Akebono statue in Waimanalo. He took us to a new farm, close to the Ko'olaus, where we met up with the young folks running it.

Its an amazing piece of property, with loads of different fruit trees and exotics. It was fun to hear about their plans and work, while chewing on cinnamon bark and . They've done an amazing amount of work in a short amount of time.

We saw these cute toads sitting in post holes on the property.

Then we went to Sweet Home Waimanalo and had some yummy vegan food. Or at least I did! A fake meatloaf sandwich. What's not to like? If you're in the area, I highly recommend this place.

The ladies we met last trip at the Nene Goose Bakery had recommended Big Country, a bar in Waimanalo, for local music. We stopped in on the way out of town to see what the deal is. The deal is that tourists must not go there very often because it was if the needle slipped off the record when I walked in. It looked like a cool place, but sadly we had to make a choice between staying at Big Country or going to see Led Kaapana that night. We decided to go see Led.

He was amazing, as usual. Warmed up by playing a full set over the sound of the radio. Then he played his set at the usual time. Funny. His sister accompanied him this time, and there were dancers who sometimes did their hula on top of the bar.

The highlight, though, was meeting a nice family from St. Louis who were huge Ledheads.  By the end of the night we'd given them our recommendations for things to do and to see on the rest of their trip. We had a nice time chatting with them, and that was really the first time we'd met people along the way on a trip.

We said good night and went on our way.

Chinese New Year At The Symphony

 

Then:

and:

 

O.K., the mushroom stew looks like dookey, but it was heaven. And the dozen oysters that came before were super yummy, as well. 

Count this as one of my places to be in the future.