Travel

I was hell-bent on eating poi during my Hawaiian vacation. You know me, always determined to have that authentic experience. Guess what? No luck. The restaurant scene on the Big Island is kind of bleak. The place voted the island's best was resoundingly mediocre. Lilikoi (that's passionfruit) is ubiquitous, except it wasn't in season and overly-sweetened concentrate was being used for everything from cocktails to custards. Just not the same. And why not serve the amazing guavas, mangoes and strawberries that were colossally fresh and delicious? Well, because many Hawaiians, like their fellow mainlanders, have let go of much of their traditional, locally grown food and now rely on processed crap. Poi, a starchy paste made from fermented taro (or sometimes breadfruit), and traditionally eaten with fish was not on any restaurant menu. I didn't see it at any of the markets we visited, either. Foiled! We ended up cooking at home quite a bit since our rentals were equipped with pretty good kitchens and we ate well, mostly thanks to the beautiful farmers market in Hilo.
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Hawaii's Big Island was full of impressively lush vistas like this one. For the first part of our stay, we were on a wonderful private ranch at the island's northern tip, near Hawi. Horses, chickens and a sweet dog roamed the property where our group of six inhabited two separate bungalows. Ours had a hot tub and a resident spider (see below). There were avocado, mango, macadamia, guava and papaya trees and an organic vegetable garden. From our high bed we could look out over blooming violet jacarandas and golden-green meadows to the ocean in the distance. It was heavenly.
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Home again, home again. As much as I love to travel, sometimes I think coming home is the best part. Especially when the transition from balmy Hawaii to balmy New York is so smooth. (Minus the jet lag, of course.) Our trip to the Big Island was extraordinary, and I plan to tell you all about it, but I hit the ground running and have not yet had a chance to sort through all the photos, much less my thoughts. So that's for next week. For now, a few glimpses of spring's first signs—it's arrived fast and furious in these parts—and links to some of my latest discoveries. I'm chomping at the bit to start foraging and have a long list of wild edibles I'm determined to find this season. By the way, I've missed you madly and realize all over again what a wonderful creative and social outlet this blog is for me.
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I awoke very early this morning to a melodious cacophony right outside the bedroom window: scores of red-winged blackbirds! They migrate back at this time of year, arriving as spring's heralds, their brilliant flashes of scarlet so striking against the recent snowfall. It was the perfect cap to an overflowing week that included a trip to the city and another to the Berkshires. Lots of driving, but the white wintry landscape was poetic after so many drab grey weeks. I got infusions of culture and nature in equal measure, including deeply satisfying snuggles with a few newborn lambs. What could be better?
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My sister-in-law, who lives in the 'burbs, mentioned to me the other week that she had ventured into a local Middle Eastern market and been thrilled with what she discovered. Most towns have at least one ethnic market—Korean, Mexican, Greek—serving not only its immigrant community but anyone smart enough to take advantage of its wares. They present a fantastic opportunity to do a little armchair traveling, and to expand your cooking repertoire in the process. When I lived in L.A., I found the most amazing Thai market and, with the help of this extraordinary book, entered a whole new world of fish sauce, palm sugar, wild lime, sticky rice and green papaya. Of course New York City is like one big ethnic market, but when I want Japanese ingredients, I love to take a trip to Mitsuwa. I've mentioned this enormous Japanese superstore before—its aisles of rice, sake and bonito flakes, ramen stalls and red bean confections—but thought I would show you some of my bounty from a recent visit. The store is located in Edgewater, New Jersey, and well worth your time even if all you come away with is an automated rice cooker.
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We've been in Florida since Friday. Palm Beach Gardens. First it rained, and now it's 45 degrees. Need I say more? On the bright side: Some quality time with my lovely in-laws, and the perfect Mai Tai, mixed by G's dad. His secret recipe is pretty close to the 1944 original from Trader Vic's, though I suspect his contains a maverick touch of pineapple juice. (As a point of interest, "Maita'i" is the Tahitian word for "good.") Along with the pupu platter, this tangy and potent cocktail is a fabulous relic of the Tiki culture that was all the rage in the 50s and 60s. Though I'm not sure crab rangoon deserves a comeback, I'm positive the Mai Tai belongs in the pantheon of classics.
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Yes, yes, the hair is mostly grey now. People congratulate me on having a "good" color of grey. But what if it weren't "good"? What if I had a weird, ashy, muddy color? Would I be forced to keep coloring it in order to look "good"? There is often some level of discomfort when I get into these conversations, because inevitably people (read: women) start to question their own commitment to artificial color. I do not judge. I religiously colored my hair for 15 years and, if the inconvenience of spending precious city time in the salon chair were not a factor, I might still be doing it. But the move upstate and all it has engendered do seem to have connected me to a more authentic expression of myself I find gratifying. That said, this post is about a different sort of grey altogether. Read on to find out more, and to check out my latest list of inspiring links.
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TO HELP STOP THE INTERNET CENSORSHIP BILLS, SOPA & PIPA, CONTACT CONGRESS NOW.
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What a week. I'm not one of those people who's constantly posting on Facebook about how much they hate Monday or how excited they are that it's Friday. I don't live for the weekend. But I kind of want this Friday the 13th to be over so I can leave the week behind. Let's just say the highlight was emphatically not spilling tea on my laptop and melting down into what can officially be called an adult tantrum. In the end, thanks to the quick thinking and soothing ministrations of my husband, it all turned out OK. What did I learn? That my laptop IS MY LIFE. (Also, not to have teetering cups of liquid near it...but I've "learned" that before.)What, then, was the week's highlight? I'd have to say it was another great day in the city. Truly, New York City at its best. I've been finding it rather energizing these days. From Howard, above, who sells his collection of foraged driftwood from a tarp near Union Square; to the lovely people at Marni in SoHo, who helped me find the perfect shearling jacket on sale; to the über-talented Lior Lev Sercarz, mixing up radical spice blends in his gallery/atelier on the West Side, the whole place seems to be pulsing with good creative energy.
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On New Year's Eve, just before midnight, we went for a much-needed hike along a country road, four of us and a white dog that showed up like a ghostly spectre against the pitch-black night. We huffed and puffed in the bracing air, our stomachs heavy with brisket, risotto and many flavors of Jeni's ice cream, straight from the source and drizzled with various homemade sauces (salty caramel, bittersweet chocolate, raspberry). It was actually the second hike of the day for G and me. That afternoon, we'd walked deep into the woods as we had our annual chat, reflecting back on the year gone by and discussing our hopes for one ahead. 2011 got a mixed review, mostly due to a certain broken leg that took the better part of 8 months (and counting) to fully heal. We are both committed to getting into fighting shape this winter and planning some physically challenging trips in the coming years, possibly including climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro. But in general we want to simply continue on our paths, doing more of what we love and getting better at it.Here are a few highlights from the year, as I shared it with you in this space we inhabit together. The first is the multi-tasking goddess, above, a new icon for my blog commissioned from illustrator extraordinaire Liselotte Watkins.
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