Settling In Gently by R.A.Davis

Butter Mochi   Rated: Submitted By:  Lea Photo By:  RoseFalles Prep Time:  15 Minutes Cook Time:  1 Hour Ready In:  3 Hours 15 Minutes Servings:  24 "Butter and coconut milk flavor this sweet, baked, Japanese treat." INGREDIENTS: 3 1/2 cups sweet rice flour (mochiko) 2 1/2 cups white sugar 2 tablespoons baking powder 5 eggs 1 teaspoon coconut extract 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 2 cups milk 1 (14 ounce) can coconut milk 1/2 cup melted butter DIRECTIONS: 1. Preheat an oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Grease a 9x13 inch baking dish. Whisk the rice flour, sugar, and baking powder together in a mixing bowl. 2. Beat the eggs, coconut extract, and vanilla extract in a mixing bowl until the eggs are smooth. Whisk in the milk, coconut milk, and melted butter until incorporated. Stir in the flour mixture a little at a time until no lumps remain; scrape into the prepared baking dish, and smooth the t...

Barbara Kingsolver has a great gardening analogy: feeding a garden only a steady diet of NPK fertilizer is like aliens trying to raise human children on a diet of only peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I laughed when I read that, but also squirmed a bit. I can dump a ton of woodchips on my garden, import handfulls of whippy worms and turn in lovely half-rotted leaf mulch and the garden won't protest. What do you do with a kid who won't eat anything but peanut butter and jelly? Or, in my case, Mac and Cheese, quesadillas, or milk? Years ago I read about a lovely study done in 1939 by Dr. Clara Davis ( this page   and this article give a tidy summary) about giving a group of orphans free food choice and tranforming them into healthy little specimens. The take home message is: give kids a wide range of healthy choices, and they will select the foods most necessary for their particular little bodies, at that time. I found it a wonderfully comforting guiding principle. So I...

It's September. This morning I I flipped the page on the calendar over and shouted to my four year old, "hey! It's a new month! It's September!" This seemed important enough to interrupt her drawing time (detailed vignettes of fancy girls in triangular dresses, backdropped by loop-dee-loop clouds). "Summer is over, now it's Fall." She gasped: "Oh no! So we can't go anywhere?!" I was puzzled. She broke it down for me: "Because it will be cold now?" She ran to the door to look for a library book scene of corn-stalks and pumpkins and scarecrows and maple leaves. Nope, not cold. Light green kukui nut leaves, pale yellow cascades of starfruit like pinatas, hard green mini grapefruits on the trees, bittermelon vines choking the compost bins. But still, Fall. The beginning of the new school year -- that rhythm that pulses throughout a post-school (or pre-school) life. The storing away of summer, reporting on my summer vacation, con...

I have a recurring moment of crisis in the milk aisle. I waver between the ultra-pasteurized organic skim milk, 1.5 gallons for $10-- or rBST-free conventional whole milk, regular-pasteurized, 1 gallon for $5. Skim milk, organic or otherwise, is usually reconstituted from easily-oxidized milk powder. Ultra-pasteurization makes the calcium and vitamin D inaccessible for our bodies. And ultra-pasteurization wrecks the protein structure of milk, so cheeses and yogurts don't set. Skim milk lacks the fats essential to metabolize vitamin D. But whole milk is high calorie, full of dangerous but delicious saturated fats.  Organic milk is produced without pesticides but still generally raised on grain. but without growth hormones and excessive antibiotics. Conventional milk is generally raised on grain and sometimes the animals are overdosed with antibiotics and hormones. And then there's the cost! And the taste! There are too many variables-- the pro and cons list is too long and too c...

Lately I've gotten all caught up in a culture war. Liberal vs. conservative? Life vs. choice? Religion vs. science? No. The controversy I'm all abuzz with is much bigger than that. Each of us confronts it-- not once in our lives, but every morning, noon, and night. And whenever else we're peckish. The issue? Killer carbs vs. deadly protein. I spent the bulk of my teenage years as a vegetarian.  Then I came to appreciate the beauty of grass-fed and free-range meat, not to mention fresh whole milk, ripe cheese, yellow cream. I tasted butter once at the Berkeley farmer's market that was so profoundly delicious, I cried. And buffalo steaks, and steak that tastes like BEEF and chicken that tastes like CHICKEN. Now I'm a big fan of meat, even though I am not blase about the death that is necessary for me to enjoy it. I killed my own chickens once , and it was humbling. Since that's my point of view, I've happily read such fun fact-filled books as, Nourishing T...

I read a lot of parenting books. Lacking a compound of extended family and helpful aunties, bossy how-to books fill in the gaps. They are great-- I especially like Playful Parenting , How to Talk so Kids will Listen , Parenting with Love and Logic , and Simplicity Parenting . But there are some things about Hawaii that make parenting here unique. My friend H. and I call it "Beach Parenting." It comes naturally on this island but would not be difficult to apply anyplace else, if you just "think beach." So, as an experiment in how-to parenting writing, here you go. Your own guide to parenting in paradise. 1. Sand. Get kids dirty. Sand is a miraculous substance-- take a little, it's light. Load a bucket-ful, it's heavy. It can be wet and cold to pour out into gloppy towers, or it can be crisp and hot enough to blister your feet. Put an irate bored child in the sand, and watch her relax. She will get into the zone, time will hold still as she grinds fistful...

So what is there to do in Kohala, the little nubby tip of the Big Island? First, drive up the mountain road listening to the Lilo and Stitch Soundtrack-- Kamehameha Children's chorus and Elvis, baby. Admire the burly cattle in the green pastures, the moth-eaten cactuses, the spindly iron-wood trees, and the odd over-wrought houses with stone lions in the driveways next to the ramshackle lean-tos. Drive down the hill to Hawi, past all the old plantation houses. They could be anywhere-- Waikapu, Maui, or Lihue, Kauai-- tight orderly little gardens of Ti leaves and potted orchids, Japanese-influence high sloping roof, latticed crawlspaces. I can imagine the interiors by conjuring up my husband's grandma's house: the memorial Japanese dolls, the hand-quilted pillows and light quilts, the ironing board draped in ti leaves to weave into leis or wrap around rice balls for a beach picnic. Drive further into Hawi: pass scruffy dusty hippy hang-outs: canvas houses and outdoor kitchen...

On Saturday we braved the $4.75 a gallon gas and drove to Hilo for the day. First stop, the farmers market. For ten dollars I got three bags of sweet smelling and sap-sticky tropical fruit and vegetables: papayas, 5 for a dollar, sweet potatoes, apples bananas as long as your finger and sweet and tender. I asked one farmer for a couple of the thick blunt plantains he had on his table. No, no! He said. Those are for cooking. I know! I insisted. I want them! I'm going to go home and fry them up. He reluctantly handed them over, shaking his head. Crazy lady. The micronesian grandmas push the gawking haoles out of the way and bargain in a shout with all the micronesian farmers. I also got a bunch of narrow light purple Japanese eggplants, and some zucchinis. I was tempted by the tiny light-yellow mangoes and the ice cold "organi" coconuts, and bought some authentic Japanese fish-shaped pancakes, stuffed with Adzuki beans and cream cheese. We went to the zoo and enjoyed the th...

This weekend we went to Maui for the 38th annual Farm and Ag fair. We saw lots of handsome pigs and cows raised up by and auctioned off for the 4-H kids, and enjoyed such culinary marvels as cold greasy pork and peas, and watery cold curry with blackening baby corn in asthma-inducing cumin goop. But those were nicely balanced by delicious crunchy sweet Banana lumpia (think friend spring roll with a banana inside) and awe-(and diabetes)-inspiring friend ice cream, served in a wad as big as a softball. There were acts on the main stage on and off: Uncle Richard, a brilliant Falsetto singer with white mutton-chops, a girl with a guitar covering Sarah Mclaughlan and country hits, and the "Amazing Stupor-Man!", the absolute worst magic act I've ever had the misfortune to endure. The amazing rope-cutting trick ended with a hopeless tangle, the card the kid picked was never found again, the card-repair "hospital" frame fell apart and had to be reassembled, the false bo...

Saturday morning we went to the beach-- a sort of secluded one in a patch of burnt keawe forest and down a broken old trail. It's shallow with a white sandy bottom and plenty of thorny trees to drape your towels on. My little half-fish one-year old charged out into the waves, signing "fishie" and "water" and "wet" and screaming with happiness. She didn't even mind the unusally rough waves-- strong enough to knock me over a couple of times while she stayed safely perched on her daddy. We swam and splashed around-- two giant honu floated right past us, sticking their noses out of the water to take audible sucks of air. When their heads emerge you can see the lenalena yellow ring around their eyes and the green and amber scales on their wise faces. The big exciting waves knocked us all around a bit, we played on the beach (I enjoy writing things like "permanence" and "eternity" in the sand, and watching them get washed away, ha ha...

It's Presidents Day and the place is packed-- a weary fan looks this way and that next to the door. There's a family of seven lined up sweatily by the counter, waiting to catch the waitress's eye. She's wearing belligerent thick black eyeliner, and a tight t-shirt with a picture of a bowl of soup, and the caption "Miso Hot." She shrugs us over to a sticky table, in a maze of mismatched chairs. There's a pair of Hawaiian aunties right next to us, and I eavesdrop and peer at their food before I order. And it's lovely-- thin little strips of yaki-something, and sweet little rolls like gems. They strike up a conversation with a family at the table kitty-corner from us. --Oh-- you folks from Honokaa! You never go work with my brother them? --Oh yeah, over there at the kine. My husband work with your brother Jon Gomes? --No the other Gomes. Milton Gomes. I get a brother Milton and Jack. Not the Ahualoa Gomes. Honokaa. I'm a honokaa girl. --Oh! Me too! -...

Last week I went down Kawaihae Road to buy some eggs. Half way down the hill is the sign: Organa Grown, Hawaiian Fresh Egg Farm, home of Mountain Apple Brand Eggs, and a turn off over a narrow bridge onto a lane shadowed by palm trees. Follow the dirt track around the bend and turn into a nondescript open lot between large warehouse-style buildings. Park and say hello into the open doorway, beside the whiteboad of egg prices and a faded copy of the ten commandments, and you'll be greeted by a member of the family: David Davenport in spattered jeans, his wife or two bright eyed teengaged daughters. David has run this egg farm for 21 years. He took it over from his grandfather. It's still a family affair-- his family works with him producing thousands of eggs for the Big Island brand, Mountain Apple. They also sell flats of eggs directly from their warehouse, which is how I came to be standing in their doorway. But in the next 6 months to a year, they will close down. When I aske...

Here is a snickerdoodles recipe like the one we used to bridge the wide gaps across the lawns all around us: from cooks.com SNICKERDOODLES 2 eggs 2/3 cup oil 2 tsp. vanilla 3/4 cup sugar 2 cups flour, sifted 2 t. baking powder 1/2 tsp. salt 1 tsp cinnamon or 2 tsp grated lemon rind 1/2 cup sugar Heat oven to 400. Beat eggs with fork, stir in oil, vanilla and lemon rind (if using). Blend in 3/4 cup sugar until mixture thickens. Blend flour, baking powder, and salt; add to mixture. Roll into 1 inch balls. Mix 1/2 cup sugar and cinnamon. Roll balls in sugar mixture. Place on baking sheet, criss cross with fork. Place 2 inches apart on ungreased baking sheet. Bake 8-10 minutes. Remove immediately from baking sheet. Variations: You may omit cinnamon and use 2 tsp lemon rind in batter, roll in sugar and bake. Put on your landlord's glass plates and abandon around the neighborhood.

Roy Yamaguchi, the master chef, and inventor of Hawaiian fusion cuisine, has a wonderful chain of restaurants. His Cuisine And we finally had the excuse and the couch-cushion funds to go. We arrived at the King's Shops in Waikoloa right at opening time, and managed to get a table for the two of us and a highchair for our charming baby. We were right away served a white bowl of savory edamame in sesame oil and red sea salt. Who knew edamame could be so glamorous? We endulged and got a couple of mock-tails: a creamy lilikoi "flow" and a bitingly refreshing lilikoi lemonade, with the obligatory sweet pinapple wedge and red cherry on top. We got the dim sum appetizer, which is a beautiful canoe with pairs of lovely morsels: ribs, tangy poke (raw tuna) on a crisp wonton, chicken-long-rice spring rolls (I loved that these are wonderfully crisp and filled with delicous red chinese mystery pork) in a sweet chile sauce. The mains were beautiful: two soft filets of swordfish for DH...

In April 2006, my husband moved to Hawaii to start working for the state. I stayed behind for a month and packed up our apartment in California and sent all of our earthly posessions off with a long-haired Israeli in an dubiously unmarked van. I crossed my fingers that our stuff would make it and not wind up abandoned in some industrial park. My mother-in-law dropped me off at the airport with two overweight roller bags and overloaded backpacks and a guitar and a couple of armfuls of miscellany that hadn't made it into the moving containers. Everyone else in the Hawaii-bound ticket line was cheerful in optomistic shorts and colorful t-shirts-- well primed for their impending vacations and sunburns. A blond dreadlocked guy started chatting up my guitar-- "Is that a bari Uke? No--a mini-Martin?" He said that Puna is the place to go to party, and that he was staying with some friends down there for a couple of months, maybe longer, who knows? On the plane I sat next to a gu...