Three Sisters, Three Tonys

Last weekend I journeyed down to Sisters, Oregon to play among the Ponderosa Pines. And to hustle. Cattle, coffee, life—straight hustled.

Whilst exploring the woods we found a tipi! And watched the sun set below the Three Sisters of the Cascades. And later, skied on a surreal and snowy Mt. Bachelor.

We toured the Caldera Arts Center, located 17 miles West of Sisters in the Deschutes National Forest, and I admired the extremely large gold paper-mâché moose head hanging above a human-sized fireplace. You could roast somebody in that thing! I want. Mr. Moose once hung in Wieden + Kennedy, and I think he would go well above my bed.

Sipped on Stumptown’s recently released Columbia La Piramide roast. Smooth. Stumptown also just released new coffees from Rwanda and Kenya. And the cycle of addiction continues with vim and vigor.

Visited Sisters Coffee Company, which has been roasting coffee locally since 1989. Again, vim, vigor.

On the long drive South I reaffirmed my deep and legitimate love for Tony! Toni! Toné! Pretty much amazing. I can’t sleep at night without your eight by ten by my side. What a band. What a decade.

I am going to Olympic Provisions this week for dinner, and things might get crazy up in there. I have only one thing to say about this impending excursion, and that, my friends, is meat.

Big Island Exotica

Kona Coffee (NYT)

The NYT gets it right in this recent article about exotic foods on the Big Island. Bonnie Tsui even mentions Kealakekua Bay, home to moi. Hot dog! It was neat to learn that abalone is back in business, so to speak. And in addition to Kona, a small operation in Monterey Bay, CA is cultivating the farmed shellfish for California chefs, which you can read about here. Methinks I need another trip home.

The Meadow

Allow me to geek out for a minute. So maybe I love linguistics, okay? If you haven’t read Mark Kurlansky’s Salt: A World History, it’s worth a glance.

The book is full of handy little tidbits. Take, for instance, the fact that Roman soldiers were sometimes paid in salt, which is the origin of the word salary: “In fact, the Latin word sal became the French word solde, meaning pay, which is the origin of the word, soldier.”

Did you know that Romans salted their lettuce, whence comes the word salad? Fascinating.

Drop that into your next cocktail party conversation and bam, you’re suddenly a lot better looking.

Which brings me to The Meadow, a smart little shop in North Portland (Mississippi Avenue) filled to the brim with flowers, chocolate, salt, and wine. Basically, a wonderland of all of my favorite things. Envision me doing  a happy dance complete with jazz hands.

Flowers. My favorite blooms are peonies, ranunculas, and magnolias, in case you want to pick some up for me.

Chocolate. Amedei Toscano Red (from Pisa, Italy) 70% dark chocolate with strawberries, cherries, and raspberries. According to Amedei, “the concept of chocolate fuses black and white, pleasure and transgression, straight lines and curves.” Really? Yeah, okay, I suppose I buy that.

Finishing Salt. This is not your ordinary table salt. When sprinkled lightly atop food, finishing salts up the flavor ante, so to speak. What about dusting margarita rims with Hawaiian guava salt?  The notion is sort of mind blowing.

The Meadow’s descriptive literature hilariously lauds the virtues of finishing salts. I especially love this quote: “This may sound like hyperbole, but sprinkle the parchment fine flakes of Maldon sea salt on home-grown butterleaf lettuce dressed in macerated shallot vinaigrette and you will experience a chlorophyll dynamo of flavor that strums at the very heart of nature.” Did they really just say ‘chlorophyll dynamo’? Yes, yes they did.

Another quote boldly states, “Grind smoked salt on hand-churned ice cream and you will trade your house for an igloo.” Oh, will I? For more, check out their blog, Salt News.

Dylan and Erin handcrafted some funky hot sauce they dubbed Puppy Breath in honor of their new pup. Made with love, aged whiskey, hand-picked apricots, and “a hint of cranberries for that authentic holiday flavor,” this stuff is both literally and figuratively hot like fire. And how! I’m trying to figure out how I can steal score another bottle. Emily picked up this splendid little book for me. It’s my biography! Fancy that.

In other news, I’m getting pumped for the Olympics in Vancouver next month. I’ll be rooting for this guy, cross-country skiing champion Kris Freeman. Why, you ask? I think it might be his jawline?

Home on the Range

Oh Christmas, you crowning pièce de résistance of the year, you. I awoke to the brass horns section of ‘Joy to the World’ and breakfasted upon papaya, French toast, bacon, and Stumptown coffee. My mom is the queen of little touches, hence the mint sprig on the papaya. You see that? Little touch.

I spent a post-breakfast hour prancing to and fro in a handsome Filson jacket and leafing through English coronation memorabilia from Queen Elizabeth’s ascension in 1953. I gave my parents a rather dashing Le Creuset pot. Then, body-surfing, cooking, merriment.

For the grand finale, turkey, plus all the accoutrements: yams + fennel, Swiss chard, cranberry relish, stuffing. And spoon bread. It’s spoonable bread. Beautiful insanity, that is. Dabbled in a tawny port. Popped English crackers and wore the paper crowns.

Life can be taxing. Beautifully taxing.

The Home Front: Vol. II

My day began atop the world’s tallest mountain. I kid you not. We set out at 5:00 am to reach the summit of Mauna Kea, which at 33,476 feet is taller than Mt. Everest. I ought to mention that only 13,796 feet are above sea level, but whatever. Count it.

Hawaii’s relative isolation and lack of light pollution allow for exceptionally clear celestial imaging, and the world’s largest telescopes are housed in the summit’s Keck Observatory.  ‘Twas rad.

On to the good stuff: local consumables.

First stop, Shave Ice, a treat that undoubtedly taunts those of you in cold climes. When in Hawaii, do not refer to these as “snow cones”. You will get beat up. Here we use Japanese azuki beans to sweeten the deal, and flavors like lilikoi (passion fruit), li hing mui (essence of dried plum, just go with it), lychee, and coconut. It’s proper-refreshing after a bodysurfing sesh at MK beach.

Next up, the Crackseed Store, an eclectic shop selling Chinese-influenced snacks–a a variety of preserved and dehydrated fruits–collectively referred to as crackseed or Li Hing Mui. We sampled the pickled mango, dried licorice plum, and candied guava peel. And yes, fine, these things did comprise a food group for me when I was growing up. I was a weird kid.

And finally, the Waimea Farmer’s Market, a gosh darn boon. Farm-fresh produce, lau lau, kim chee, chicken katsu, Kona coffee, saimin, mango chutney, lilikoi butter, sushi and tamales.  At this point in the day, I started to feel ill, having eaten all of the the aforementioned consumables. All in the name of journalism. I am such a giver.