Tonight, I went down to ask our neighbors if they could babysit the cats while we go to Maui. All evening, there had been this tantalizing smell through the neighborhood of grilling meat, shoyu and sugar. When I got to our neighbor's house, there it was, Molokai venison grilling on the hibachi. The neighbor's friendly and beautiful cat was sitting in patient anticipation, watching the action. Our neighbor was in his beach chair, tending the fire.

Immediately, he insisted on giving us some venison. I handed over some mac nut cookies (not a fair trade; those cookies need work!).

Of course, they consented to take care of the kitties. And I took the venison to my husband who, like me, made um-um-so-good noises. He gets meat and rice for lunch tomorrow. I think I'll go have another piece when I finish this.

This part of Hawaii life — depending on each other, giving to each other, the easy flow of goodwill. It means so much right now. I've long lived a more Mainland-style life, where you don't really depend on others. If you need something done, you pay for it to be done by strangers. But since we moved to Kalihi, things have changed, we have become a part of the fabric of a community; we loan things, we give things, we take care of things for each other. We know each other's pets and children and siblings and even parents. We go to each other's weddings and funerals and New Year's Eve parties.

The lady across the street (there's ALWAYS a lady across the street) keeps track of everything and if I need to know why the trash wasn't picked up or what's going on with our neighbor who is ill, I go to her. She fills me in on the latest. Her husband is an awesome cook with an outdoor kitchen special built for him. He won't let me do a story about him; it's killing me.

With all that is difficult and painful in life, these moments are so sweet. Friendly people. Good food. Comforting pet friends. I wish these all for you.

the tough get baking...

At least, that's the way it is with me. As things at The Advertiser disintegrate (or at least change radically), I've been baking almond cookies and coconut-chocolate cookies and peanut butter cookies and, this weekend, an old recipe for butter-mac nut icebox cookies.

Haven't made icebox cookies in forever; maybe since high school. They're the ones where you make the dough, roll it into logs, refrigerate it until solid, then cut it into slices and bake.

I was puzzled by this recipe: no leavening — no eggs, no baking soda or baking powder. How would it come out?

Answer: taste very good, texture very odd.

This particular recipe, from a very old Maui collection, is composed of butter, cake flour, confectioners' sugar, vanilla, salt, finely chopped mac nuts. The dough is a cream cheese-textured batter.  Very light and white. Handles well, though.

My baking muse had advised me to wrap the dough in waxed paper (not plastic wrap) and that worked very well. Forming it into perfectly round rolls took some light-handed rolling. I would like to try some way to cut these into interesting shapes; go to do more research.

The thing about icebox cookies is, they do not spread or change in size at all in baking. Whatever you put on the pan is what you're going to get so it's important to cut them very evenly. (Not my best thing, I must admit.)

In the end, I liked the mac nut flavor but my husband said "Kinda dry, more butter." I'm not sure his baking advice is particularly sound but I agree these cookies could be a bit more moist, less crumbly (they shed crumbs all over when you bite into them). Sorry no pictures; camera still in the hospital.

Anybody got a good icebox cookie recipe to share? Or any tips? My next cookbook is going to be about baking, Island-style, and I'd love some ideas.

Hope you are well and happy,

Wanda

What a day!

My digital camera died in the middle of an assignment. When I got home, I lost connectivity for a while and had to talk to a technician in India (very nice, very patient man). Finally got hooked up again.

So this will be a short blog (Oh, I just mistyped glob...isn't that a better word for a blog...it's just a glob of what comes out of your mind)...but just to say I made this KICKIN' meal the other night. I had the following: a large, thick pork tenderloin in the freezer, a buncha Asian ingredients, some green onions, some sake...I made this kind of pork nabemono thing that had my husband making the happy noise.

Nothing much to it: Pork tenderloin; brown in oil in large, heavy pot; pour in half cup brown sugar, half cup shoyu (soy sauce, to you Mainland readers), half cup sake, enough chicken or other broth to cover, a couple teaspoons minced garlic, a 2-inch piece peeled, sliced ginger. Bring to boil. Cover. Turn down heat. Cook on low simmer. Watch. Add broth as needed. Serve with hot rice.

OOOOOOishi!! (Delicious, as the Japanese would say it.)  Sorry no pictures but camera dead.

Keep on cookin'!

PS I forgot!!!! I also added chunks of kabocha pumpkin (unpeeled, just roughly cut) and 2-inch lengths of the wonderful Ho Farms Chinese long beans (like green beans, only thinner and as long as your arm). These I added well into the cooking, when the pork was near-done, about 40 minutes. For convenience, and to allow more flavor to penetrate the meat, I pulled the pork loin out about the same time and cut it into thick slices and returned it to the sauce. By doing this, I risked the meat drying out (tenderloin doesn't have much fat) but because there was enough fat and sugary moistening broth, the meat retained a moist texture. We're on the second night of eating this and it stood up well to reheating. The kabocha just melts into the sauce and the beans almost melt away, too, but they just add to the melange of flavors.

Now to try and solve my camera problem...and see what else I can cook up.

I had an orgy this weekend. Well, not an orgy orgy. A reading and cooking orgy.

Generally, I don't read food books in my free time — feels too much like work. But lately, I've been doing so. The other night, I picked up a book I've owned for a long time but never read, Julia Child's "My Life in France" (written with Alex Prudhomme and first published in 2007).

It is the story of the years that Child spent in France in the late 1940s through the 1980s, at first living there full-time while her husband, Paul, when he worked for the U.S. government, and then dividing their time between the U.S. and their beloved little country home, "the Peech," La Pitchoune in Provence.

It was like reading about my sister. The things that concerned her while she worked on "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" with her friends Louisette Bertholle and Simone "Simca" Beck"  are the same things that concern me as I work on my cookbooks. Please understand, I'm not comparing myself to the greatness of Julia Child but anyone who has written a work like this has shared experiences that are life-forming. The thing that came home to me in this reading was an essential fact that I could relate to: the challenges of  testing recipes in one context when the were born in another context and would be used in yet another.

I write a lot about old Island recipes, invented at a time when the ingredients were different and the cooking techniques foreign to our current-day kitchens. She was testing recipes in a French kitchen, recipe developed by French chefs in professional kitchens, but she was working in tiny Parisian apartments and she was writing for people who would be producing those dishes in American kitchens, with American ingredients. She took this very, very seriously; she understood that the differences mattered and would affect the outcome as these American cooks tried to re-create a French milieu. She cared about her readers; she would never just let a detail go, she would pursue the answers — the differences in French chickens and French flour and French vegetables — to almost ridiculous lengths. I've done this, too. It's a delicious form of insanity.

She also struggled with the problems of working jointly on a project. Things were not always smooth between the the three women. This, too, I have experienced, particularly in the production process of the actual book: I create this thing that I think is my perfect baby and then editors and copy editors and designers and creative directors and photographers get involved and all of a sudden this isn't just my baby — it's ours —and it's not so perfect at all. Like Julia, I have had moments of wanting to throw the baby out with the bathwater.

Everyone in my generation of food writers has a Julia Child story. I interviewed her once, listened to her talk in a panel discussion another time, ate dinner at banquets where she was present. But my favorite Julia story isn't really about me: It's about a former boss of mine and about Child's amazingly unassuming self.

Sitting in the office of our mid-size daily newspaper in Northwest Washington state one day, my editor, who was herself not chopped liver, no one to be trifled with and no one to hesitate in pursuit of a story, decided that she needed to talk to Julia Child. I have no memory of what the story was or what question she wanted to ask. But, through her labyrithine series of sources, she found the number for Child's home in Cambridge, Mass. Of course, she assumed it was an office number that would be answered by the third flunky from the left and if she was lucky she might reach Julia in a few days of call-backs. I happened to be looking over at her when the connection was made: She dialed, the number went through, a voice came over the phone and my boss' face went through amazing changes. Suddenly, she blurted out, "Julia??!!??"

Julia Child had answered the phone. They had a satisfactory conversation. The question — whatever it was — was answered and my boss got off the phone. She turned to me. I was, at this point, sitting there gaping. And she said, "I just talked to Julia Child!" I couldn't talk.  We just sat there.

So the other night, after having spent the better part of Friday and Saturday immersed in her world, I took out my copy of "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" and read perhaps the most basic recipe in the book. And then I roasted a chicken. I had, by some miracle, found a wonderfully plump chicken at Foodland Liliha. I rubbed it gently with butter, salt and pepper, trussed it with cotton string, eased it into the oven, watched over it for the better part of an hour. And served it, suffused with love, to my husband. Tonight we're having the leftovers in a veloute — a white sauce made with chicken broth.

And I have channeled Julia. Bless her. At a time when I needed to remember what I love so much about this business, she helped me to remember. And that chicken, which was (if I may say so) perfect, confirmed it.

Cheese stuffed rolls— an indulgence!

I’m bad. Very bad.
You know those columns where they show you how to cut the fat and calories from recipes, to make them more helpful? I always have a strong impulse to try the original recipe, the one with the fat in it.
At a previous newspaper where I worked, I used to run a column that offered you the original recipe and then the healthier version. I always tried the original.
Recently, our own Recipe Doctor introduced a recipe of which I’d never heard, but which was at one time a standard in some school systems, such as in California. It’s called, for reasons I’ve not been able to discover, a Zombie — a yeast roll stuffed with cheese.
The original recipe involved white flour, yeast, salt half a cup of sugar and a quarter-cup of sugar. The usual cheese is a processed type, similar to Velveeta.
Recipe Doctor Elaine Magee “healthed” it up with part whole wheat flour and much less fat. I went online and found a couple of versions. Decided to use the semi-better one: less fat, but still white flour and a little bit of sugar.
So the other night, when I was grasping for dinner idea after having spent the day expecting a tidal wave, I decided to make the rolls using some Laughing Cow cheese; half a wedge for each.
It was a pretty easy recipe, designed originally for a bread machine, but I don’t have one so I faked it.
Combine in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the dough hook: 3 cups all-purpose or bread flour, 3 tablespoons sugar, 1 1/2 teaspoon salt, 3 tablespoons softened or melted  butter, 2 tablespoons powdered milk (optional), 2 tablespoons yeast (dry active or instant), 1 1/2 cup awarm or cold water not hot). (I had some whey left from draining yogurt so used that.)
Mix until the dough clumps together and leaves the sides of the bowl. Lightly flour a counter, knead briefly and allow to rise to twice its bulk.
Divide dough into 12-16 pieces. On a lightly floured board, roll each piece of dough into a round, flatten into a disc, fill with cheese piece and pinch up to form a sealed ball.
Spray one or two baking sheets with butter spray and place balls a few inches apart on each. Spray with butter spray and cover lightly with plastic wrap. Allow to rise 1-2 hours until doubled in bulk. Bake at 350 degrees for 12-15 minutes.
Delicious! Perfect for lunch or a snack.