June 09, 2006
News from Another Land
Sometimes, I just need to read the news from back home. The things that make the front page on the Honolulu Star Bulletin are news blips from an entirely different world.
Yesterday's headline story covered the fate of the Akaka Bill in the Senate with a side story reporting some Native Hawaiian resistance staged on the steps of Iolani Palace. Did anyone else even realize that a bill that would grant Native Hawaiians the same status as Native Americans was in the Senate right now? In the sports section, news about the NBA finals are nestled about the main feature article on local girl Michelle Wie's LPGA Championship run. But my favorite piece -- a news story that captures the quintessentially different nature of life in the middle of the Pacific -- is this tale of shipwreck, rescue, and hero worship.
It's an insular world, sure... but it's a fun one.
Posted by elissa at 12:24 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
February 23, 2006
gifts for the gods
Sometimes, I like to read the online version of my hometown paper, The Honolulu Star Bulletin. Sometimes, the stories that I read remind me that my little island in the Pacific is still a world apart from the rest of her sister states. Take, for example, this article on the recent desecration of a couple of altars.
When I stop to think about it, the disparity of the religious atmospheres in Honolulu and in Chattanooga still takes me aback. I grew up seeing rocks wrapped in ti leaves as gifts to the gods. The tangerines, rice cakes, (unopened) beer cans, and even jars of baby food at graveyards were unremarkable, even expected. Attending funerals or memorial services for extended family at Buddhist temples was a part of life. On the street, I was more likely to meet a nominal Buddhist or a practicing pantheist than a Christian.
It's difficult to explain the lasting impact of growing up in a Christian home while still in the midst of a culture that tended to dismiss my faith as "white" or "western"...and antithetical to our island life. It is still a little strange to be here, now, in the "Bible belt." I still do a double take when I see small piles of rocks in parks or front yards. It takes a second to remember that those are probably the results of children's games or a landscaping effort...not an ahu lele to the gods.
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January 03, 2006
When the Beach is a Spectator Sport
No, we didn't hit the slopes in Hawaii.
Winter brings hefty swells to the North Shore. Twenty-five foot faces are a relatively common -- but still noteworthy and fondly-witnessed -- occasion. The day after Christmas, Noel, my brothers, and I piled into the minivan and drove up through central Oahu, between the Koolau and Waianae ranges, past the old pineapple and cane fields, and up the two-lane road that borders the coastline. We arrived at Waimea Bay by 9, but we were tardy amateurs compared to the rope of photographers, surfers, and area residents that lined the road leading down and past the bay. Some were peering through cameras with 18 inch-long lenses perched on sturdy tripods, looking like incongruous astronomers who had trained their telescopes on the sea.
Continue reading "When the Beach is a Spectator Sport"
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December 22, 2005
"Home" is a Dot in the Pacific Ocean
We surprised my mom last night by showing up here. Don't get too jealous. Since it's winter, the weather will only be like this.
My internal thermometer has already readjusted itself to be "cold" on a 70degree night, my place in the kitchen of local fare has been re-established, and my ability to speak proper English is slipping away.
'Kay, pau fo' now, yeah? We talk moah bumbye.
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October 24, 2005
Confession: I Hold Sumo Dear to My Heart
A recent article in the Times combined two dearly cherished things (food and sumo) and reanimated my inexplicable delight in this odd and ancient sport.
Wait, I take that back. It's not inexplicable.
Growing up, sumo was a *big deal* (pun unavoidably intended). The large Japanese population in Hawaii and the success of a string of Hawaii-bred wrestlers, combined to form the perfect atmosphere for sumo to be taken quite seriously indeed. So it had a touch of the bizarre: men with rolling, flopping stomachs, drooping pectorals, and corpulent thighs, wearing nothing but a top knot and an elaborate thong, lunging at each other with fearsome momentum. We knew that. But our island hearts still warmed towards these ponderous giants. Highlights from sumo tournaments slipped into the local sportscast between baseball and football results. Recaps or human interest stories were a regular sports page feature. We even had Hawaiian music superstars like Bruddah Iz (Kamakawiwo'ole) writing tribute songs to our local sumo wrestlers, Konishiki, Akebono, and Musashimaru.
The Hawaii-bred sumotori were both the "us" and the "other." Those jiggling biceps could partly be at least partly attributed to Zippy's incredibly fattening curry and chicken katsu. But, on an island filled primarily with petite citizens of Filipino, Korean, Chinese, and Japanese ancestry, their generous girth set them apart. Their distinguishing size was almost mesmerizing. Then, too, even though they themselves were not Japanese, they somehow connected the Japanese-American and traditional Japanese experiences for us. Even when each of the wrestlers became Japanese citizens, Hawaii still stubbornly claimed them as their own. They were local boys who "made good" by succeeding in another nation and culture's sport.
And, sometimes, I miss it. Mawashi loinclothes and all.
Posted by elissa at 05:17 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
October 10, 2005
The Intrepid Fashion Explorer Discovers...The Sweater!
I broke personal fashion ground today.
This is my fifth year of living at a latitude where a sweater is actually necessary from October to March. Those of you who have grown up with cycling, seasonal closets may not realize just how difficult this climate adjustment is on one's personal sense of style. When your entire fashion life thus far has been one of matching t-shirts with shorts and swimsuits with slippers, moving to a cooler climate presents a host of wardrobe crises.
First, there's the mystery of layering. Weather-wizened friends strongly advise piling on a tank-top, shirt, sweater, scarf, and coat in tight succession. But layering also means that the number of articles needing to be matched or otherwise coordinated increases exponentially. Sure, this could be easily solved by either "not caring" or only wearing shades of a single color, but I live in perpetual dread of looking like either an Olsen twin or an Old Navy twinset spokesperson.
Secondly, tripling the amount of clothes one wears at any given moment significantly alters one's silhouette. An inch and a half overall coating of wool and fleece will hide and create curves in all the inappropriate places. Suddenly, my conception of the human form merged with my knowledge of a bag of jet puffed marshmallows. Disconcerting? Yes.
Finally: covered shoes. My freshman year of college, I obstinately resisted wearing anything other than open toe slippers or sandals until temperatures literally dipped below freezing. My rationale was, quite simply, that I would rather have unconstricted (albeit numb) toes than warm, confined ones. Even after I caved and succumbed to the shoe-wearing culture my troubles were far from over. I realized that I completely lacked any kind of aesthetic for closed-toe footwear. Were pointy toe shoes chic or witchy? Did those mules look too nurse-like? Will sparkles be too trendy in two months?
All that to say that, today, I wore a sweater over a button-down shirt for the first time in my life. Fall, I welcome you with an open closet.
Posted by elissa at 08:52 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
September 05, 2005
The Life Aquatic or at Least Saline
As I walked through the doors of the Tennessee Aquarium's Ocean Journey building with the rest of the Weichbrodt clan, the air conditioner blasted a familiar scent towards me. No, not fish poop. Salt.
The ocean -- even from a distance -- was never a mono-sensory experience. The splashing, churning rumble or lazy, repetitive slapping would build in volume as you walked across the increasingly sandy grass, past a low lava rock wall, and finally sinking into the white billows of sand. The beach front cottage where we honeymooned was full of the ocean announcing its constant arrival and departure, covering car motors, children's voices, and wandering chickens in its foaming.
You could smell it, too. Kona winds, wafting warm and sticky from the southeast, brought the ocean's smell inland. The combination of a rising temperature and olfactory suggestion practically demanded that you retire to the beach immediately. Once there, your nose and eyes would sting with each wind, not harshly, but as a pungent reminder of where you were.
Of course, you could also taste it. Powdery salt grains gathered from your lips taste different than Morton's iodized salt or even the residue left behind by a french fry or potato chip. (Try not to spoil my euphoric paean by reminding me that the vast array of bacteria and decomposing sealife probably contribute to this unique flavor.)
I miss its constant presence. It's still strange to be in an elevated place -- in a skyscraper or on the mountain -- and not be able to glimpse some ocean in at least one direction. While a student at Covenant, there were many times when I would glance off the bluff, half expecting to see the blue ridges rippling towards me in even sets.
I grew up in Hawaii, and aquariums make me homesick.
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August 19, 2005
Friday Food: Korean Kim Chee Meatballs
I love these. This is one of my mom's signature potluck dishes back home and one of my favorites to make when we have company.
Korean Meatballs
1 1/4 lbs ground beef
1/3 c shoyu
2 1/2 tsp sesame oil
1/2 c green onion
3/4 c chopped kim chee (and it's available at Wal-Mart now!)
1 Tbs garlic
4 1/2 Tbs flour
2 1/2 Tbs sugar
1 egg
Mix together and shape into meatballs. Bake 350 degrees about 20-30 minutes. Turn and bake another 15 minutes or until done.
(You can line a 9 x 13 inch pan or cookie sheet and place a cookie rack on the pan. Place meatballs on the rack to bake.)
This is great with sticky rice and a lettuce-cilantro-mandarin-oranges-plus-oil-and-vinegar-dressing salad.
Posted by elissa at 09:46 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
July 27, 2005
The only time that "fo" can function as an infinitive
NPR had a fun audio postcard today about "pidgin," the unofficial official language of Hawaii locals. Hawaii's "pidgin" is technically a "creole," a language whose vocabulary is largely drawn from other languages but has its own syntax. Because of it's mash-up origins, pidgin is often snubbed as a corrupt form of English, a sure sign of uneducated, "country" folk. But pidgin can't be sub-standard English because it isn't English; it is a distinct language with consistent rules for grammar and pronunciation.
Most people in Hawaii can speak and understand both Standard American English and Hawaiian Pidgin and switch seamlessly between each as the situation demands. It's a wonderful thing to have our Samoan tree trimmers come to the door and hear my usually grammatically-correct mother slide into sentences like, "Cut dem shorta, yeah?" or "You guys need one glass of watta?"
She's not being lazy; she's just trying to be understood.
(Bonus: a spoken pidgin dictionary online)
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July 22, 2005
Friday Food: Kim Chee Meatballs
Kim Chee Meatballs
An Asian twist to an Italian dish.
1 1/4 lbs ground beef
1/3 c shoyu (soy sauce)
2 1/2 tsp sesame oil
1/2 c green onion
3/4 c chopped kim chee (Korean pickled, spicy cabbage)
1 Tbs garlic
4 1/2 Tbs flour
2 1/2 Tbs sugar
1 egg
Mix together and shape into meatballs. Bake 350 degrees about 20-30 minutes. Turn and bake another 15 minutes or until done. (You can line a 9 x 13 inch pan or cookie sheet and place a cookie rack on the pan. Place meatballs on the rack to bake.)
Serve with white sticky rice and a lettuce, cilantro, and crispy won ton strip salad.
Posted by elissa at 02:12 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
July 15, 2005
Friday Food: Dragon Noodles
This spicy noodle recipe is especially dedicated to Becky.
Dragon Noodles
Serves 2-3 as a main course, 4-6 as a side dish
1/4 cup sesame oil (you can use vegetable oil if you must, but sesame tastes better)
1 tsp red pepper flakes
1 tsp chili powder
1/4 tsp powdered ginger
1 1/2 Tbsp lemon juice
2 1/2 Tbsp Japanese rice vinegar (or white vinegar in a pinch)
2 1/2 Tbsp soy sauce
2 1/2 Tbsp sugar
1 tsp grated lemon rind (optional)
2 Tbsp toasted sesame seeds
1/2 cup thinly sliced green onion
1/2 lb somen noodles or angel hair pasta, cooked al dente and drained
Directions:
- In a small bowl, whisk together the oil, red pepper, chili, ginger, lemon juice, vinegar, soy sauce, and sugar.
- Place the cooked, drained noodles into a large bowl and pour some of the sauce on them. Toss the noodles with your fingers to separate them and coat them in the sauce. Let the noodles sit for ten minutes.
- Taste the noodles. If they seem too dry, add more sauce and toss again.
- Add the lemon rind, sesame seeds, and green onions. Toss well.
- The noodles can be refrigerated, tightly sealed, for up to a day.
* To make this meal more substantial, grill some chicken with lemon pepper, chop it up, and serve on top of the noodles.
Posted by elissa at 09:49 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
July 07, 2005
The Old Fashioned Way
Dryers had no place in my childhood. In our little Kapahulu apartment none of the renters had dryers. Everyone hung their clothes down the lines that stretched from end to end like electric wires. When my family moved to our home out in Hawaii Kai, we were fascinated by the cream-colored companion to the washer. But Dad quickly installed clotheslines in the carport running parallel to our two cars, and we ducked t-shirts and towels as we crawled into the family van.
In fact, we only used the dryer once: to dry a sopping wet bedspread. The resulting electric bill easily convinced us that the dryer was little more than an extra countertop which, if humored, would liberally squander energy.
In college, the dryer confronted me again. Everyone else was doing it; they tossed in dryer sheets, cleaned filters, and turned knobs with knowledgeable grace. But when I tried it, my jeans and shirts -- which had hitherto never tumbled in such heat -- neatly shortened themselves when I already had no length to spare. Thus embittered, I quickly bought a wooden drying rack, saving quarters and clothes by hanging my laundry in my dorm room.
This past winter, my first wifely winter on the mainland, the dryer unexpectedly became my bosom friend by providing extra heat in a drafty house. I knew that hanging clothes outside was a ridiculous impossibility, but I still felt twinges of guilt over my traitorous indulgence.
Back in Hawaii, the dryer still sits there, vacant, less of a budget concern and more a matter of preference. Hanging laundry is my mother's favorite chore. She says there's relaxation to be found in the rhythm of sorting and pinning in long, swaying rows.
I'm learning that domestic joy again, this summer, and feeling closer to home because of it.
(Plus, I'm getting bonus wife points for keeping the electric bill down.)
Posted by elissa at 06:42 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
June 24, 2005
Friday Food: Ramen Noodles For Company Dinner
Yep, you don't have to cook those 10 cents bags of ramen noodles according to the directions on the package...
Fried Ramen Noodles
(Makes enough for 2 as a main meal or 4 as a side dish)
3 packages ramen noodles
1 cup + a little extra water
1 large carrot
1/2 a small onion
2 stalks celery
2 green onions
* You can also use snow peas, broccoli, peppers, or other vegetables
A wok, a large frying pan, or, if you must, a large, shallow-ish pot.
- Break up the ramen noodles. I like to break them into quarters while they're still in the package and then split the layer apart with a butter knife. Set aside.
- Chop the carrots, celery, and onion. Heat the oil in the wok and then stir fry the vegetables briskly until cooked through. Transfer the vegetables to your serving dish and set aside.
- Heat the water in the wok and mix in one of the ramen seasoning packets. Once the water starts to bubble, add in all the broken noodles. Using a pasta spoon, stir the noodles as they soften and pull apart.
- Continue stirring and add more water if it seems necessary. The noodles should be al dente, not mushy. This usually takes three to five minutes.
- Once the noodles are separated and pliable, add the vegetables back into the wok and heat through. Garnish with green onion.
Optional: to make this a little more substantial, you can also stir-fry chicken or beef before hand and throw that in the mix as well. Leftover Chinese or Thai takeout also works just fine.
Posted by elissa at 04:40 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
Confession: there's a 20lb bag of rice and a 1 gallon container of soy sauce in my kitchen
Even more than the beaches, Hawaii ex-pats miss their food.
"Local food." Local food is not the same as "Hawaiian food." It is not something with pineapple on it. It is not organically-grown natural produce.
When uttered by someone who grew up in Hawaii, those words conjure up a world of plate lunches, crackseed, spam, and lavish potlucks. Sure, sushi is Japanese, manapua is Chinese, and laulau is Hawaiian, but they're still all "local food." It's a designation that covers a multitude of ethnic foods and their resulting combinations, a cultural hodgepodge impossible to distill into completely separate categories.
Let's consider, for example, the "plate lunch." My pet theory is that the "plate lunch" emerged when a Japanese wife realized that the diminutive, artfully arranged bento (boxed lunch) did not have enough food to satisfy her larger, Chinese-Hawaiian husband. Today's plate lunch is similar to a bento on cross-cultural steroids. Arriving in a partitioned styrofoam carryout box, it consists of three main components: the meat, the side, and rice. The meat is a heaping serving of anything from Chinese sweet sour pork to Korean barbecue ribs or Filipino chicken adobo. The side is macaroni salad, an inexplicable cultural anomaly that has nonetheless become an iconic part of the plate lunch. Finally, there's the rice: two exceedingly generous scoops of sticky white rice. The plate lunch has no discernible ethnicity. It's just "local."
Local food emerged from a blended community and continues to fuction as a kind of cultural glue. The test of acceptance for a mainland visitor is whether or not he will try the poke (raw, seasoned fish) that we offer him. For those of us who went to school on the mainland, homesickness was battled by eating bowls of rice and nori (dried seaweed) or digging into a stash of dried fruit or candy sprinkled with li hing mui (Chinese five spice, salt, and sugar). When I meet another displaced local, the conversation inevitably drifts to the foods that we miss. And you'll understand, then, if I find the mainland potlucks (read: casserole row) a little disheartening.
That said, Fridays will be my self-indulgent day to revisit my culinary roots and encourage Chattanoogans to find that neglected and often understocked "Asian" section in their grocery store. And I promise I won't include any recipes where spam *must* be used.
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