Headin' Back...

Ahi Poke

 Got sidetracked from a place long special to me. Never a good thing. Mostly the blame was simply to making too many right hand turns. (To France, that is.) Well, a good and very determined buddy finally helped me pull my head out of my... distractions, resulting in a sound left en route back to Hawaii. My family having lived there in the 1950's, we'd visit often until my eventual moving to the "windward side" of Oahu in a previous life. Good years were spent on Kailua Bay, the white powder of Lanikai Beach, pouring drinks over the Pali in Honolulu to keep it all going. When a few weeks kicking around Europe turned into a year, the way back got blurred. If living in Hawaii was magical, merely visiting became torture. Departure days arrived like a gut ache. The bread crumbs eventually got lost, more time was spent instead in Paris, Milan, etc.

 That was until a few months ago. Katie and I began on west Maui, my sister Dede's place set outside of Lahaina. Yeah, there were a few too many golf courses and the resorts of Kaanapali seemed to stretch forever, but with Molokai and Lanai just off shore it didn't seem to matter. When restless we'd escape up to Napili Bay, the sight of family holidays back in the day, seemingly unchanged were the simple bungalows and shuffleboard pads laid out long ago. After a day with Molokai at our feet, sea turtles creeping along and dolphins playing just off shore, we'd head to Fish Market Maui down in a line of shops on "the low road" in Honokowai. Strip mall spartan, the fish was none the less pristine, pulled whole , packed on ice from the beds of arriving pickup trucks. One day we strayed to the kalua pig, the smokey shredded meat the focus of the day's "plate lunch". Served with the requisite white rice, but slaw with strips of fresh pineapple replacing the traditional "mac" salad. Having secured fish for the grill, we'd stroll down to an organic market tucked behind the single room, wood slat Lahuiokalani Church(circa 1850). The market was pungent, no frill, and perfect, (Think Berkeley... Santa Cruz... 1970's.), fresh, ripe local produce easily found. Later with dark rum and lime in hand, we'd grill the fish as the sun slid between the two neighboring islands. If the hunger was too strong, we'd ease it with some poke: whatever fish that was on hand-ahi, ono, octopus-tossed raw with nori, green onion, and citrus or soy. So the days went. Not really the lazy, butts-in-sand types, we did a pretty good job of faking it. Neither could remember the last time we blobbed out, and yet we did just that. Oh, we met each sunrise in the water, and spent a good amount of time in it, but... food, beer, and naps all got their fair time as well. Holding tight to the "less is more"credo, we saved Hana, Haleakala, and the rest for the next trip.

Chicken break... Haleiwa

 Eventually the time came for the real Hawaii, an early flight to Oahu and friends. Doesn't matter where you go in the world, local is better. Mark, Robin, and Vaughna(Robin's Mom) made sure from the landing that we were welcome, leis and hugs in abundance. Any initial shock for Katie on decent seeing the industry and clamor of this island was quickly washed away as Mark sped us from the "town" side through a valley deep and dense in growth. Once spat out to the other side, the North Shore visible in the far distance, he skirted the emerald "ribs" of the Koolau range on past Kaneohe to Kailua and eventually to the sliver that is Lanikai. Settling into their "compound",  a discreet balance of Robin's Bali-leaning style and Mark's craftsmen gifts(30+ years a GC), we paid respects to the Mokolua Islands by way of a quick dip. Before long it was on to Buzz's, the thatched hut beacon sitting canal side as it has for... seemingly ever. Margaritas rimmed in li hing mui(Tart, sweet, and salty!) got us started, and seemed to arrive a little to easily. An ample breeze flowed, the sun bleached ocean stretched out across the way, while a steady flow of friends stopped to check in. Mid-day tequila lingered  as we mounted the "beach cruisers", the scented air welcome, as was a sound nap. We woke to the news of of a b-b-q invite, everyone bringing what they had a want for: teriyaki chicken, lomi lomi salmon, roast pig, etc. Mmmmmmm damn! There amidst some three dozen people that treated her like an old friend, my wife got that beautiful taste of Hawaii: warm, welcoming, and real.

The "Moks"

 Island life tends to begin early and finish the same. With the water just down the way, we'd get wet in the morning, then succumb happily to one of the only "house rules": coffees come with Bailey's. Not normally one to drink my sugar(Preferring to eat it.), it quickly became an addictive morning staple.  Add some fruit, maybe a slice of toast, and off you go. Go we did... Hiking up to the WWII "pill boxes" over looking... well, damn near everything; Kayak out to the twin islands; Up to the North Shore before daylight, grabbing hard boiled eggs and great coffee at the old Kalapawai Market(since 1932), filling in what room was left in our bellies with sushi as it was being made in a shop just opening up on the "Kam" Highway near Pupukea. (It was 7:30.) Later that day, browned, tired, and left hungry from the salt water, we tore into chickens roasted whole in a dirt lot in Haleiwa; paper-bagging cold beers. It's not complicated this place, neither the life nor the food. Fish is easy to find, sure, but be it in "country" or outer islands farmers and ranchers are putting out everything from produce to chickens to beef. You want to short cut it, try something like The Habachi in Kailua, a tiny(400 sq. ft.?) spot producing most anything you might want to toss on a grill: fish, marinated meats, kabobs. Pained that my beloved Andy's Drive-In(est. 1957) had closed, the plate lunches we found at Fat Boy's didn't disappoint. (Garlic chicken!) The restaurants over in Honolulu didn't figure in to our plans, and how could they with Mark's daughter Alycia, a very talented local cook is spoiling us (On her day off!!!) with dinner on the lanai. Even after humbling myself paddle boarding at the Kaneohe Bay Yacht Club, the reward of ahi sandwiches and Heinekens seemed a just reward. Sun kissed, well fed, and somehow fit(despite having eaten my body weight in rice), it still hurts to leave this place. But, at least now, I'm sure of the way back.

"Teri" Plate!

Chez Gautier Cooking School: http://www.chez-gautier.com

Repas CG: The Aftermath... March 3

 Had a great meal Sunday! From an early a.m. hunt for blossomed branches to the last bit of "backyard lemon" tart, all fell very well into place. (Not just saying that because both entailed some neighborhood... "foraging".) The only thing to stray off line was the weather which burned off nicely from an early damp chill to a warm Spring afternoon; kept the fire I'd built from getting a match until long after guests had made their way home. Having offered an amuse to guests of the last repas, Katie once again slid in a surprise: black dates filled with fresh, young goat cheese, wrapped in lardon. Love the comment by one guest who stated matter-of-factly, "Doesn't everything taste better wrapped in bacon?!" Yes, yes it does! Short a wine because of this, I fished out an Alsatian pinot blanc from the cupboard, it's light fruit and acid filled in nicely.
 From there, plates of artichoke were passed out, each with their own little "pot" of aioli. (True to one of Katie's mottos, "You can't have enough mayonnaise!") The Meyer lemon used to steam was subtle, as was the mustcadet sur lie that was chosen.  Missing our Suzanne in Charmé, Katie used her as muse to inspire a savory crêpe of braised leeks and escarole with slices of blood orange and toasted hazelnuts. To be fair, Suzanne seldom fusses; a tall stack of crêpes dressed in butter and granulated sugar would suffice. Still, she was in mind and conversation as we tore into these, a 100% roussane from Domaine Alary(11th generation) in the glass. Tamed by a long "bath" of hearty red, the thick and tender short ribs were then stacked atop mounds of fork-mashed parsnips and celery root, whose earthy finish rose from the butter and cream. Chose a Cahors for this, wanting a real chewy, stain-your-teeth Malbec. Dirt, licorice, dark berries! No Argentinian elegance here. Bold and blue went the cheese(St. Agur), along with an... adolescent goat from the Loire. Rounded out just a bit for this with the usual Rhône Valley quartet, led mightily by Grenache. The weather still playing tricks meant tender hearts of romaine instead of the increasingly elusive little gems. (Katie just laughs, "They're in the market when there good and ready.")
 Having shouldered through several versions of the tart during the week(The burden!), must say Sunday's was just right. So fresh were the lemons, the resulting juice was really pronounced. Thus, Katie ended up cutting it a bit with a fold of whipped cream, easing the sharp hit below the ears without taking away from the fruit. Walking out later with guests, the late afternoon sun mocking my fire preparations, saw the first sprouts of green reaching from the rows of radish and carrots planted a few days before. With spinach and chard already well on their way, guess it's about that time. Not long before tables will line the garden.


Chez Gautier Cooking School: http://www.chez-gautier.com