The Pig and the Lady should really have been called The Pig and the Family.
We came down the mountain from Cloud Rest, a region of Ka‘u where the clouds hang low and a soft rain falls every afternoon. Miguel Meza of Rusty’s Hawaiian Coffee had invited me over for a cup of coffee on the lānai. The first thing I noticed was the scale—a tool of the trade for any serious barista, but Meza’s was snow-white and a dead ringer for an Apple TV. It connected wirelessly to his iPhone, and, as he poured water through the coffee grinds, it displayed and measured—in real time—the volume and rate of water poured. With the app, he could also track the coffee grind size, the water temperature and the brew time, and share it with the online community of coffee aficionados.
I had entered the full-coffee-geek zone.
It’s as if the noodles from Sun Noodle have a life of their own.
In 1982, the first batch emerged from a Kalihi warehouse. Three decades later, Sun Noodle makes enough noodles each week to circle the world at the equator. First, the noodles stretched from Hawaii across the Pacific to Los Angeles, unspooled from there to New York and now are crossing another ocean to entice Europe. Soon, there may be a day when the sun never sets on Sun Noodle.
I love oysters the same way I love the ocean. There’s something romantic and wild about both that I’ve never been able to get enough of.
Early in my life, I decided I never wanted to live away from the ocean. It was after a summer spent in Houston, when I looked out of the 20th-floor lab where I worked and saw only flat land with no water at all. A friend drove me to the ocean after work, to Galveston, an hour away. We watched the moon rise over the water, the first time I realized that the moon rose like the sun. It threw a beam of light all along the still ocean to our feet. We stayed at the beach until sunrise. Despite the romance of it all, we hardly touched. We just sat together, our hands only a few grains of sand apart. Maybe that’s why every ocean moonrise after that feels like longing.
In the bowels of Ala Moana Center, in the employee parking lot where it often floods during winter, is the brick entrance to Vintage Cave, the restaurant that could put fine dining in Honolulu back on the map.
“Isn’t it funny how men can dominate a stereotypically female domain?” says Jennifer Hee, vegan baker at Kale’s Natural Foods. The irony is not lost on many of the women in the culinary field. If, as the adage goes, a woman’s place is in the kitchen, where are the women in the restaurant kitchen?
Read the rest: http://honoluluweekly.com/cover/2011/09/meet-the-chefs/
Two guides to finding local…