One of the great things about having family visit is that you get invited to eat at restaurants. The other day, we went to one of Becky's and my favorites: Shokudo on Kapiolani Blvd., adjacent to the Ala Moana Shopping Center. Roy's is fancier, and Hiroshi Eurasian Tapas may ultimately be the best tasting of all, but for delicious flavors, variety, and reasonable prices, Shokudo is a hard combination to beat when looking for Japanese fusion cooking.
One of the things you might notice is that some aspects of Korean cuisine are present at Shokudo. You find this in the Shrimp with Garlic Rice, which is finished at your table in a stone pot, the same kind used to make dolsot bibimbap (there is a version of that on the menu as well). It produces a delicious essence to the rice, especially if you let the rice sizzle in the pot for awhile, and you get the delicious, dark roasted, nutty flavor in the rice Koreans call kosohae.
The sushi offerings are both traditional and non-traditional. My favorite is the spicy ahi on crispy rice topped with the most wonderful condiment ever: pickled jalapeno peppers, which I am guessing are sliced and simmered in shoyu and vinegar. You can ask for them on the side, and my nephew and I shared three of them. I can't get enough of them!
Something that doesn't sound like much is the tofu salad, but it is really very good. The tofu is homemade, is silky soft, and is seasoned perfectly.
Unusual is the unusually good mochi gratin: cubes of mochi topped with cheese and baked until it all melts into a mass of deliciousness not unlike baked brie.
Another nod to Korean cuisine is the Morioka cold noodles, Shokudo's take on naeng myun (more about that dish in a couple of weeks). The noodles are nice and chewy, and are served in a clear tangy broth with scallions, kim chee, and bean sprouts.
Just about everything is good at Shokudo. The french fries are among the best fries in Hawaii, seasoned with ume (Japanese plum) salt, which sounds strange but it works. The karaage chicken and tempura calamari are also winners.
The best known dessert is called honey toast: super thick toast cut into cubes, drizzled with honey and usually served a la mode. I really am not sure why it's so popular, because it is by far the most ordinary thing on the menu. Far better is baked banana (the restaurant's version of the classic Bananas Foster): a banana sliced lengthwise in a caramel sauce and flamed. Ice cream is served on the side.
Good news for those of you who live in Southern California: there is now a location in Arcadia and one in Irvine. The California restaurants are called Tokyo Table, but the menu is pretty much the same.
We were a three generation table for dinner and everyone enjoyed it immensely. I think you will, too.
Grace and aloha,
Tom
P. S. For those who may have some interest in religion, but are hesitant because of some unanswered questions, I would recommend checking out videos featuring Rob Bell, an amazing communicator and pastor from Michigan. He has a unique gift of making Christianity and faith understandable and compelling, even if you are a skeptic. If I had to pick one to start off with, I would pick the video called "Everything Is Spiritual, " in which Bell takes the story of Genesis, quantum physics, and somehow puts it altogether to use scientific theory to make the existence of God plausible. You can get it through online merchants such as Amazon.com or Christian bookstores. It is incredible stuff.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Friday, August 21, 2009
The Willows - at a bargain price
The Willows Restaurant was a beautiful garden restaurant first opened in 1944. There were "grass shack" type eating areas and lush gardens. The first time I went there in the '80s, the highlight of the night were the roving Hawaiian musicians.
By this time, however, the place seemed to be kind of run down and the food was, quite literally, forgettable. I could not give you the faintest hint of what I ate. Not surprisingly, the restaurant closed down in 1993. Six years later, under new management, the restaurant re-opened with significant upgrades, both in decor and food. It became the standard by which all other Hawaiian oriented buffets were compared. All the food that you would expect to find at a luau was there - poi, kalua pig, laualau, lomi lomi salmon, chicken long rice, poke - plus local and buffet favorites like crab, barbecue chicken with teriyaki, multi-ethnic salad bar, carving station, and a table filled with desserts, such as pies (such as macadamia nut cream pie), cakes (especially haupia cake), and frozen yogurt. There also were Japanese dishes such as sushi, tempura and a soba bar where you can make your own noodle bowl.
The Willows is celebrating its ten year anniversary since re-opening. Becky's sister's family is visiting, so we all went to the Willows last night. For the month of August (and according to the waitress, perhaps even longer), there is a special tenth anniversary price: $24.95, which is $10 dollars below the regular price. This is definitely a good deal. You figure that at a conventional sit-down restaurant, the cheapest appetizer, entree, and dessert combination would equal or exceed $25. Throw in all you can eat, and it is a bargain.
An approximately 30% reduction in price, however, comes at a different kind of price. Becky and I independently thought the buffet was smaller, maybe by as much as 30%. The Japanese food was mostly gone (there was some nigiri sushi), and a lot of other items weren't there. The dessert table, while still good, didn't have as much as before (notably absent: Ted's Bakery chocolate haupia pie). The haupia cake was the best selection that evening.
But the all you can eat ahi limu poke (which I could get back my dinner price on that alone) was still there, the Hawaiian food in general was still good, and there's plenty to eat. Of special note: the server we had could not have been more friendly, attentive, or accommodating.
It's still a great deal, and the food is still good, and we're very grateful to have been hosted by Becky's sister's family, but it was a tick under the experience of previous visits over the last ten years. I would still recommend it at $25 per person, but not at $35, unless they restore the items omitted.
Grace and aloha,
Tom
P. S. "Hawaii Aloha" is a standard way to end occasions in Hawaii. Here's a link to a YouTube video of the song featuring Bruddah Iz (the late Israel Kamakawiwo'ole, whose version of "Over the Rainbow" has become nearly as beloved as Judy Garland's): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C_17vGYa81s
What many people don't know is that the words to "Hawaii Aloha" were written by the Rev. Lorenzo Lyons, a Congregational Church pastor, and that the tune was originally written for the Christian hymn "I Left It All with Jesus," composed by James McGranahan. King Kamehameha IV liked the hymn-tune so much that he commissioned Rev. Lyons to write the new words.
When "Hawaii Aloha" is sung, it is customary to hold hands during the singing and raise them at the end of the last chorus. At our church, we sing "Hawaii Aloha" on the first Sunday of the month when we have Holy Communion, a fitting symbol of the community always formed by the Grace of Christ.
By this time, however, the place seemed to be kind of run down and the food was, quite literally, forgettable. I could not give you the faintest hint of what I ate. Not surprisingly, the restaurant closed down in 1993. Six years later, under new management, the restaurant re-opened with significant upgrades, both in decor and food. It became the standard by which all other Hawaiian oriented buffets were compared. All the food that you would expect to find at a luau was there - poi, kalua pig, laualau, lomi lomi salmon, chicken long rice, poke - plus local and buffet favorites like crab, barbecue chicken with teriyaki, multi-ethnic salad bar, carving station, and a table filled with desserts, such as pies (such as macadamia nut cream pie), cakes (especially haupia cake), and frozen yogurt. There also were Japanese dishes such as sushi, tempura and a soba bar where you can make your own noodle bowl.
The Willows is celebrating its ten year anniversary since re-opening. Becky's sister's family is visiting, so we all went to the Willows last night. For the month of August (and according to the waitress, perhaps even longer), there is a special tenth anniversary price: $24.95, which is $10 dollars below the regular price. This is definitely a good deal. You figure that at a conventional sit-down restaurant, the cheapest appetizer, entree, and dessert combination would equal or exceed $25. Throw in all you can eat, and it is a bargain.
An approximately 30% reduction in price, however, comes at a different kind of price. Becky and I independently thought the buffet was smaller, maybe by as much as 30%. The Japanese food was mostly gone (there was some nigiri sushi), and a lot of other items weren't there. The dessert table, while still good, didn't have as much as before (notably absent: Ted's Bakery chocolate haupia pie). The haupia cake was the best selection that evening.
But the all you can eat ahi limu poke (which I could get back my dinner price on that alone) was still there, the Hawaiian food in general was still good, and there's plenty to eat. Of special note: the server we had could not have been more friendly, attentive, or accommodating.
It's still a great deal, and the food is still good, and we're very grateful to have been hosted by Becky's sister's family, but it was a tick under the experience of previous visits over the last ten years. I would still recommend it at $25 per person, but not at $35, unless they restore the items omitted.
Grace and aloha,
Tom
P. S. "Hawaii Aloha" is a standard way to end occasions in Hawaii. Here's a link to a YouTube video of the song featuring Bruddah Iz (the late Israel Kamakawiwo'ole, whose version of "Over the Rainbow" has become nearly as beloved as Judy Garland's): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C_17vGYa81s
What many people don't know is that the words to "Hawaii Aloha" were written by the Rev. Lorenzo Lyons, a Congregational Church pastor, and that the tune was originally written for the Christian hymn "I Left It All with Jesus," composed by James McGranahan. King Kamehameha IV liked the hymn-tune so much that he commissioned Rev. Lyons to write the new words.
When "Hawaii Aloha" is sung, it is customary to hold hands during the singing and raise them at the end of the last chorus. At our church, we sing "Hawaii Aloha" on the first Sunday of the month when we have Holy Communion, a fitting symbol of the community always formed by the Grace of Christ.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Ja Jang Myun and Cold Noodles
I wasn't going to post quite so soon, but this morning I got a surprise call from the Rev. Dr. Woong-Min Kim, who is my boss, and the District Superintendent for the Hawaii area of the United Methodist Church. We have a very close relationship, as he was the last and best associate pastor serving under my dad (The Rev. Dr. Young Yong Choi) at the Robertson Korean United Methodist Church in Los Angeles (now LAKUMC). Rev. Kim's son, Stephen Kim, is the pastor of the West Los Angeles UMC, where many of the congregants I used to pastor now attend. There's a beautiful symmetry there.
Anyway, Rev. Kim took me to The Mandarin, a restaurant whose address is 725 Kapiolani Blvd., unit C123 in Honolulu, but don't bother looking for it on Kapiolani. The restaurant faces Cooke Street, and the parking is off of Kawaiahao, and you can access the restaurant from the parking lot.
Ja Jang Myun (the Korean pronunciation) is a Chinese dish (Cha Jiang Mein is the Chinese pronunciation) that has been adapted for Korean palates, as many Chinese, fleeing Communist China, settled in Korea and opened restaurants. Korean style Chinese food is a whole cuisine unto itself; it is neither completely Chinese or completely Korean, but it is, of course, completely delicious. The word "myun" or "mein" means noodles. According to Wikipedia, Ja Jang means "fried sauce." The more purely Chinese style of this dish really resembles spaghetti with meat sauce. I just can't help feeling that Marco Polo tasted this when visiting Kubla Khan, thought it was great and brought it to Italy, where it was adapted for Italian palates into versions like the rich and sumptuous Pasta Bolognese.
The version designed for Korean palates is more of a black bean sauce with onions and a small amount of meat, or with squid, sea cucumber, and shrimp. The numerous fans of Korean soap operas (many of whom are not Korean) know it as "black noodles," and I have accompanied friends wanting to try what they've been watching for a long time and not able to taste.
The Ja Jang Myun at The Mandarin is good, with wonderfully chewy, beautiful noodles. The sauce was a little milder than what I'm used to, but it was okay. I'm not a big fan of sea cucumbers, so I didn't want the seafood based sauce. Those more adventurous or more used to those ingredients might enjoy it more than the regular sauce.
Rev. Kim suggested that we share two main dishes. The second was simply called Cold Noodles. The same great noodles served in a cool sauce that I'm guessing had rice vinegar, a small amount of chili pepper, soy sauce, and something that gave it a slight nutty flavor, which I think was sesame paste. The bowl was topped with char siu (Chinese BBQ pork), matchstick cucumbers, carrots, and sliced omelet-like eggs. These were excellent and the highlight of the meal.
The service was attentive and friendly. The decor was nothing fancy, but clean and pleasant. I would recommend this restaurant and this combination.
Grace and aloha,
Tom
P. S. Somehow, the omelet-like eggs that make their way to many Asian dishes remind me of my dad. For the first several years of my life, I never saw him in the kitchen. But when I was about 12 or so, my mother got into a car accident, was bedridden for awhile and couldn't cook. My dad cooked for us meals like hotdogs boiled in instant ramen broth and then the noodles were added - a complete meal in a bowl.
Then one day, he made what he called his version of Egg Foo Yung. It was the first "from scratch" meal I had seen him make. I asked what the recipe was. He said nonchalantly, "Eggs, bean sprouts, a little Lawry [Seasoned] Salt. It was pretty good. I was impressed that my dad could pull something off like that.
For some reason, I always remember him saying "a little Lawry Salt." It was the secret ingredient that gave the dish flavor. There was something so endearing about the those few little words and the way my dad said them.
Much later on, when I was in seminary in New Haven, Connecticut, my dad became very ill with Valley Fever, which is a lung infection caused by airborne spores that proliferated in Camarillo farmlands, which were near where my dad and mom lived. There was even a thought that he might die.
I called him one December day, just before finals. He heard my voice and he said, "Tom!! I love you." At age 24, it was the first time I had ever heard him say those words. I had definitely felt that my dad loved me, and he was more affectionate than most Korean dads I knew, but he had never said those words. There was something powerful and amazing to actually hear them.
In the Gospel of John, the writer talks about the Word becoming flesh, which refers to Christ. The description of the embodiment of God and the ultimate expression of grace - unconditional love - is as a word. A word is expressed and it is gone. And yet, it lingers, it remains, it is treasured.
"A little Lawry salt," "Tom! I love you," mere words which were uttered in the past, but will be etched in my mind and heart forever, even as the grace of Christ is.
Anyway, Rev. Kim took me to The Mandarin, a restaurant whose address is 725 Kapiolani Blvd., unit C123 in Honolulu, but don't bother looking for it on Kapiolani. The restaurant faces Cooke Street, and the parking is off of Kawaiahao, and you can access the restaurant from the parking lot.
Ja Jang Myun (the Korean pronunciation) is a Chinese dish (Cha Jiang Mein is the Chinese pronunciation) that has been adapted for Korean palates, as many Chinese, fleeing Communist China, settled in Korea and opened restaurants. Korean style Chinese food is a whole cuisine unto itself; it is neither completely Chinese or completely Korean, but it is, of course, completely delicious. The word "myun" or "mein" means noodles. According to Wikipedia, Ja Jang means "fried sauce." The more purely Chinese style of this dish really resembles spaghetti with meat sauce. I just can't help feeling that Marco Polo tasted this when visiting Kubla Khan, thought it was great and brought it to Italy, where it was adapted for Italian palates into versions like the rich and sumptuous Pasta Bolognese.
The version designed for Korean palates is more of a black bean sauce with onions and a small amount of meat, or with squid, sea cucumber, and shrimp. The numerous fans of Korean soap operas (many of whom are not Korean) know it as "black noodles," and I have accompanied friends wanting to try what they've been watching for a long time and not able to taste.
The Ja Jang Myun at The Mandarin is good, with wonderfully chewy, beautiful noodles. The sauce was a little milder than what I'm used to, but it was okay. I'm not a big fan of sea cucumbers, so I didn't want the seafood based sauce. Those more adventurous or more used to those ingredients might enjoy it more than the regular sauce.
Rev. Kim suggested that we share two main dishes. The second was simply called Cold Noodles. The same great noodles served in a cool sauce that I'm guessing had rice vinegar, a small amount of chili pepper, soy sauce, and something that gave it a slight nutty flavor, which I think was sesame paste. The bowl was topped with char siu (Chinese BBQ pork), matchstick cucumbers, carrots, and sliced omelet-like eggs. These were excellent and the highlight of the meal.
The service was attentive and friendly. The decor was nothing fancy, but clean and pleasant. I would recommend this restaurant and this combination.
Grace and aloha,
Tom
P. S. Somehow, the omelet-like eggs that make their way to many Asian dishes remind me of my dad. For the first several years of my life, I never saw him in the kitchen. But when I was about 12 or so, my mother got into a car accident, was bedridden for awhile and couldn't cook. My dad cooked for us meals like hotdogs boiled in instant ramen broth and then the noodles were added - a complete meal in a bowl.
Then one day, he made what he called his version of Egg Foo Yung. It was the first "from scratch" meal I had seen him make. I asked what the recipe was. He said nonchalantly, "Eggs, bean sprouts, a little Lawry [Seasoned] Salt. It was pretty good. I was impressed that my dad could pull something off like that.
For some reason, I always remember him saying "a little Lawry Salt." It was the secret ingredient that gave the dish flavor. There was something so endearing about the those few little words and the way my dad said them.
Much later on, when I was in seminary in New Haven, Connecticut, my dad became very ill with Valley Fever, which is a lung infection caused by airborne spores that proliferated in Camarillo farmlands, which were near where my dad and mom lived. There was even a thought that he might die.
I called him one December day, just before finals. He heard my voice and he said, "Tom!! I love you." At age 24, it was the first time I had ever heard him say those words. I had definitely felt that my dad loved me, and he was more affectionate than most Korean dads I knew, but he had never said those words. There was something powerful and amazing to actually hear them.
In the Gospel of John, the writer talks about the Word becoming flesh, which refers to Christ. The description of the embodiment of God and the ultimate expression of grace - unconditional love - is as a word. A word is expressed and it is gone. And yet, it lingers, it remains, it is treasured.
"A little Lawry salt," "Tom! I love you," mere words which were uttered in the past, but will be etched in my mind and heart forever, even as the grace of Christ is.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Sushi and Kimbap
Our Seekers group at church is having "make your own sushi" night this evening. So it's time to talk about one of the world's great culinary creations, plus something similar and closer to my roots.
Sushi begins and ends with short grain rice that has been seasoned with rice vinegar. Then the rice is shaped in the chef's hands and topped with delicately sliced or formed morsels, usually seafood. Ahi tuna (maguro), halibut (hirame), shrimp (ebi), ikura (salmon eggs) are just a few examples of this type of sushi, called nigiri. Often, a bit of wasabi (green "horseradish") is added.
When sushi is rolled in sheets of nori (thin, black, and seasoned sheets of seaweed), it is called maki sushi. When placed inside elliptically shaped pockets of light brown tofu skin, it is called inari sushi. Growing up in Los Angeles, my third generation Japanese American (sansei) friends irreverently called maki sushi "tires," and inari sushi "footballs." My wife Becky calls inari "elbow skin."
Spicy tuna is more of an American phenomenon, and some sushi chefs will refuse to make it. It is, however, delicious and a favorite of mine.
Cooked sushi is becoming popular. There is a hybrid version called broiled sushi, which takes imitation crab, mayonnaise, mushrooms, and other ingredients, placed over sushi rice and broiled. It is served by taking a sheet of Korean style nori (the kind you can often get from Costco in the little packs, with the sheets maybe 1/6 the size of a regular sheet) and spreading the broiled ingredients on it.
This brings us to kimbap, which literally means "seaweed rice." Where sushi usually contains seafood, the kimbap I'm most familiar with has seasoned and cooked beef, seasoned spinach, slivered egg (kind of like an omelette) and daikon or moo in Korean, all rolled with a sheet of kim, or Korean style nori and sliced. It's very hearty and makes an excellent appetizer or even a full meal in itself.
Where's the best sushi in Hawaii? The contenders would include Yanagi Sushi, which has long been a standard for high quality sushi. California Beach Rock N' Sushi is very untraditional, but very good. I would have to say that Yohei Restaurant, however, has the best tasting sushi I've had in a long time.
I have never been there, mostly because I don't have the money it takes, but Sushi Sasabune is supposed to be the best in Hawaii. I have eaten at the Los Angeles location - thanks to Carolina barbecue lover Linda Quarles - and it was fabulous. No menus, no requests, just trust the chef to make you an incredible sushi meal...and it was.
But the greatest sushi experience of my life would have to be at Morimoto Restaurant in Philadelphia. Yes, THAT Morimoto, Iron Chef in Japan and America. My sister and brother-in-law were kind and generous enough to treat me to a meal there. I was fortunate enough to have Morimoto working the sushi bar that night, and as one of the courses of my meal he made four very small pieces of sushi: hirame, hamachi (yellowtail), salmon, and the ultimate: toro (fatty tuna). All were sublime, especially the toro. It's just fish on rice, but somehow, the ultra freshness of the fish, the perfect seasoning of the rice, the exactness of the portions, resulted in something quite ethereal. It was the epitome of how utterly simple food can be the most delicious of all.
Grace and aloha,
Tom
P. S. Far less sophisticated and gourmet was the kimbap my mother used to make. As a poor pastor's family, we had to come up with creative ways to eat cheaply but well. During the toughest years (to my family; I thought they were among the best years of my life), we had kimbap, but it wasn't made with the beef, spinach, eggs, and moo. My mom would layer rice on a sheet of kim, then pour a line of soy sauce, a line of sesame oil, and a line of roasted sesame seed salt (gae sogum), roll it up and and slice it. As a young boy, it was the most delicious thing - again utterly simple. The deliciousness of it lingered so strong with me that even when we could afford the fancier ingredients, I still wanted Mom's simple kimbap.
Maybe it was the love that my mother put into it that made it so special. I always felt very special growing up. My father was a pastor, and my mother had been seminary trained. They instilled a strong sense of faith in me. It led me one day to being called to the ministry. The day after I was ordained, my parents took me for a walk and explained that when my mom was pregnant with me, they had prayed for a boy (they already had two daughters), and that this boy would grow up to become a pastor and serve God as they had. That was why my Korean name Sungsoo means "Holy Chosen." They didn't tell me until the day after my ordination, so they wouldn't unduly influence me. It would have to be a pure calling from God. And it was. They never said a thing about it, but the way they always demonstrated God's grace to me, the way they brought me up in the church, the way my mom might not have the best ingredients, except a mother's love, but was still able to make some of the most delicious food in my memory - all of this continues to affirm my journey with God. I believe we are called, maybe not to ordained ministry, but we are called to first experience the deliciousness of the utter simplicity of God's unconditional love, and then share it with others.
Sushi begins and ends with short grain rice that has been seasoned with rice vinegar. Then the rice is shaped in the chef's hands and topped with delicately sliced or formed morsels, usually seafood. Ahi tuna (maguro), halibut (hirame), shrimp (ebi), ikura (salmon eggs) are just a few examples of this type of sushi, called nigiri. Often, a bit of wasabi (green "horseradish") is added.
When sushi is rolled in sheets of nori (thin, black, and seasoned sheets of seaweed), it is called maki sushi. When placed inside elliptically shaped pockets of light brown tofu skin, it is called inari sushi. Growing up in Los Angeles, my third generation Japanese American (sansei) friends irreverently called maki sushi "tires," and inari sushi "footballs." My wife Becky calls inari "elbow skin."
Spicy tuna is more of an American phenomenon, and some sushi chefs will refuse to make it. It is, however, delicious and a favorite of mine.
Cooked sushi is becoming popular. There is a hybrid version called broiled sushi, which takes imitation crab, mayonnaise, mushrooms, and other ingredients, placed over sushi rice and broiled. It is served by taking a sheet of Korean style nori (the kind you can often get from Costco in the little packs, with the sheets maybe 1/6 the size of a regular sheet) and spreading the broiled ingredients on it.
This brings us to kimbap, which literally means "seaweed rice." Where sushi usually contains seafood, the kimbap I'm most familiar with has seasoned and cooked beef, seasoned spinach, slivered egg (kind of like an omelette) and daikon or moo in Korean, all rolled with a sheet of kim, or Korean style nori and sliced. It's very hearty and makes an excellent appetizer or even a full meal in itself.
Where's the best sushi in Hawaii? The contenders would include Yanagi Sushi, which has long been a standard for high quality sushi. California Beach Rock N' Sushi is very untraditional, but very good. I would have to say that Yohei Restaurant, however, has the best tasting sushi I've had in a long time.
I have never been there, mostly because I don't have the money it takes, but Sushi Sasabune is supposed to be the best in Hawaii. I have eaten at the Los Angeles location - thanks to Carolina barbecue lover Linda Quarles - and it was fabulous. No menus, no requests, just trust the chef to make you an incredible sushi meal...and it was.
But the greatest sushi experience of my life would have to be at Morimoto Restaurant in Philadelphia. Yes, THAT Morimoto, Iron Chef in Japan and America. My sister and brother-in-law were kind and generous enough to treat me to a meal there. I was fortunate enough to have Morimoto working the sushi bar that night, and as one of the courses of my meal he made four very small pieces of sushi: hirame, hamachi (yellowtail), salmon, and the ultimate: toro (fatty tuna). All were sublime, especially the toro. It's just fish on rice, but somehow, the ultra freshness of the fish, the perfect seasoning of the rice, the exactness of the portions, resulted in something quite ethereal. It was the epitome of how utterly simple food can be the most delicious of all.
Grace and aloha,
Tom
P. S. Far less sophisticated and gourmet was the kimbap my mother used to make. As a poor pastor's family, we had to come up with creative ways to eat cheaply but well. During the toughest years (to my family; I thought they were among the best years of my life), we had kimbap, but it wasn't made with the beef, spinach, eggs, and moo. My mom would layer rice on a sheet of kim, then pour a line of soy sauce, a line of sesame oil, and a line of roasted sesame seed salt (gae sogum), roll it up and and slice it. As a young boy, it was the most delicious thing - again utterly simple. The deliciousness of it lingered so strong with me that even when we could afford the fancier ingredients, I still wanted Mom's simple kimbap.
Maybe it was the love that my mother put into it that made it so special. I always felt very special growing up. My father was a pastor, and my mother had been seminary trained. They instilled a strong sense of faith in me. It led me one day to being called to the ministry. The day after I was ordained, my parents took me for a walk and explained that when my mom was pregnant with me, they had prayed for a boy (they already had two daughters), and that this boy would grow up to become a pastor and serve God as they had. That was why my Korean name Sungsoo means "Holy Chosen." They didn't tell me until the day after my ordination, so they wouldn't unduly influence me. It would have to be a pure calling from God. And it was. They never said a thing about it, but the way they always demonstrated God's grace to me, the way they brought me up in the church, the way my mom might not have the best ingredients, except a mother's love, but was still able to make some of the most delicious food in my memory - all of this continues to affirm my journey with God. I believe we are called, maybe not to ordained ministry, but we are called to first experience the deliciousness of the utter simplicity of God's unconditional love, and then share it with others.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Of Figs, Farmer's Markets, and Lemongrass Tofu
After a week of cholesterol rich food in Nashville, I thought I might go a little easy on the meat and fat this week. A trip to Costco resulted in the purchase of some nectarines and to my delight, figs. I have long loved figs, in dried form, and most definitely, fresh. Figs are a big California thing, but I hadn't seen many in Hawaii.
In my trip to Los Angeles in June, I decided to check out the world famous Santa Monica Farmer's Market. My favorite podcast is KCRW's Good Food Podcast. It is hosted by Evan Kleiman, the chef-owner of Angeli Cafe, one of the first of the fresh new style Italian restaurants that popped up in the 80's. Every week, her show featured a visit to the Santa Monica Farmer's market by reporter Laura Avery (whose unmistakable voice I heard talking on a cellphone during my trip to the market).
There were some great peaches (white flesh or Babcock), a medley of berries in primary colors (yellow and red raspberries plus blueberries), and some fresh figs, which I hadn't had in years. Figs, when they are good, burst with flavor, and in Italy are often served with prosciutto, giving that deeply satisfying salty/sweet combination.
So when Costco had California figs, I grabbed a container full of them. They have actually been pretty good, and I learned a little bit about how to select them. These had various stages of green to purple. Basically, the more complete the purple color is on the skin, the sweeter the fig.
With figs for breakfast on Monday, I then decided I might have something vegetarian for lunch, which is unheard of for me. I went to the Kailua branch of Bale, a chain of Vietnamese restaurants. I usually have lemongrass chicken, which features that flavoring which resembles a mix of scallions and wood (which is what the texture will be like if you try ate lemongrass) so aptly named because of the earthy, citrus-y qualities. The great thing about tofu is that it absorbs the flavors of whatever you're cooking with it (which is why it tastes so terrible in many vegetarian dishes because I find the seasoning in much vegetarian cooking to be very bland, thus resulting in bland tasting tofu). In this case, the sweet/savory/spicy/acidic flavors were delicious and thought that this was a dish I could happily eat again and again.
I will now add Bale as an option when trying to figure out where to eat with a group of vegetarians mixed with carnivores (which happened often with a previous associate pastor Krista Givens, now ironically living in Germany as a missionary, which has one of the most meat dominated cuisines I've had). Italian has always been my standby, because a vegetarian (even vegan) has many delicious options: pasta simply cooked in a marinara sauce or maybe just olive oil and garlic (which we have at home often and is a favorite of one of my girls). But lemongrass tofu or vegetarian pho are great options.
Grace and aloha,
Tom
P. S. Figs figure prominently in the Bible. After eating of the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil (the fruit is never named in scripture, it is only later presumed to be various types of fruit, apples and classically, the quince, which is a very ugly looking fruit), they took to covering their nakedness (their shame and embarrassment) with fig leaves. They leave the Garden of Eden, being denied the opportunity to eat the fruit from the tree of life, thus being "fruitless."
Later, in the New Testament, we find Jesus cursing a fig tree with no figs: a tree that is "fruitless." Perhaps this is an allusion to the Adam and Eve story, that when we are "fruitless" in our spiritual pursuits, it recalls the sadness God feels when we aren't ready for the grace of God or go the wrong way. Perhaps this relates also to when fruit isn't quite ready or ripe...the taste of it isn't very good. Maybe that's why faith is not very satisfying to many, because we haven't taken the time to let our faith mature and ripen to the right time.
Conversely, the eating of the fruit of the fig tree at full ripeness and sweetness gives us a metaphor of the sweetness of a fully explored, fully ripe relationship with Christ.
In my trip to Los Angeles in June, I decided to check out the world famous Santa Monica Farmer's Market. My favorite podcast is KCRW's Good Food Podcast. It is hosted by Evan Kleiman, the chef-owner of Angeli Cafe, one of the first of the fresh new style Italian restaurants that popped up in the 80's. Every week, her show featured a visit to the Santa Monica Farmer's market by reporter Laura Avery (whose unmistakable voice I heard talking on a cellphone during my trip to the market).
There were some great peaches (white flesh or Babcock), a medley of berries in primary colors (yellow and red raspberries plus blueberries), and some fresh figs, which I hadn't had in years. Figs, when they are good, burst with flavor, and in Italy are often served with prosciutto, giving that deeply satisfying salty/sweet combination.
So when Costco had California figs, I grabbed a container full of them. They have actually been pretty good, and I learned a little bit about how to select them. These had various stages of green to purple. Basically, the more complete the purple color is on the skin, the sweeter the fig.
With figs for breakfast on Monday, I then decided I might have something vegetarian for lunch, which is unheard of for me. I went to the Kailua branch of Bale, a chain of Vietnamese restaurants. I usually have lemongrass chicken, which features that flavoring which resembles a mix of scallions and wood (which is what the texture will be like if you try ate lemongrass) so aptly named because of the earthy, citrus-y qualities. The great thing about tofu is that it absorbs the flavors of whatever you're cooking with it (which is why it tastes so terrible in many vegetarian dishes because I find the seasoning in much vegetarian cooking to be very bland, thus resulting in bland tasting tofu). In this case, the sweet/savory/spicy/acidic flavors were delicious and thought that this was a dish I could happily eat again and again.
I will now add Bale as an option when trying to figure out where to eat with a group of vegetarians mixed with carnivores (which happened often with a previous associate pastor Krista Givens, now ironically living in Germany as a missionary, which has one of the most meat dominated cuisines I've had). Italian has always been my standby, because a vegetarian (even vegan) has many delicious options: pasta simply cooked in a marinara sauce or maybe just olive oil and garlic (which we have at home often and is a favorite of one of my girls). But lemongrass tofu or vegetarian pho are great options.
Grace and aloha,
Tom
P. S. Figs figure prominently in the Bible. After eating of the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil (the fruit is never named in scripture, it is only later presumed to be various types of fruit, apples and classically, the quince, which is a very ugly looking fruit), they took to covering their nakedness (their shame and embarrassment) with fig leaves. They leave the Garden of Eden, being denied the opportunity to eat the fruit from the tree of life, thus being "fruitless."
Later, in the New Testament, we find Jesus cursing a fig tree with no figs: a tree that is "fruitless." Perhaps this is an allusion to the Adam and Eve story, that when we are "fruitless" in our spiritual pursuits, it recalls the sadness God feels when we aren't ready for the grace of God or go the wrong way. Perhaps this relates also to when fruit isn't quite ready or ripe...the taste of it isn't very good. Maybe that's why faith is not very satisfying to many, because we haven't taken the time to let our faith mature and ripen to the right time.
Conversely, the eating of the fruit of the fig tree at full ripeness and sweetness gives us a metaphor of the sweetness of a fully explored, fully ripe relationship with Christ.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Julie and Julia - a Cinematic Feast
So after I had that sumptuous feast at the Loveless Cafe in Nashville (did I mention that the fried chicken and biscuits were divine?), I went to see the film "Julie & Julia," starring Meryl Streep as Julia Child and Amy Adams as the 30 year old Julie Powell, looking for meaning in life and finds it by cooking - in one year - all 524 recipes in Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking.
Let me say that I almost always fall asleep in films, no matter how good they are. Not this time. I was charmed, tickled, and heartwarmed throughout "Julie & Julia." It is an utterly captivating film, seamlessly moving back and forth between Julie's and Julia's lives. Streep's performance channels Child in a way that is astonishing. At times you mix up the real Julia with Meryl. You would expect Adams to be blown away by Streep, but she holds her own quite nicely, as does the underrated but always outstanding Stanley Tucci as Julia's husband, Paul Child.
The only minor flaw was that it became a bit too obvious at times that Streep was assisted by platforms, booster seats, and super high heels to appear as tall as the real Julia Child.
The film's main point is the need in life to have passion and meaning in whatever you are doing, and to pursue it relentlessly.
Of course, this film now takes its place at the very top of the pantheon of great movies about food, right up there with Ang Lee's "Eat Drink Man Woman," the two remakes in different cultures, "Soul Food," and "Tortilla Soup," with all three using food as a metaphor for love.
"Babette's Feast" deserves mention, because of its wonderful theme of food as metaphor for God's grace: wonderful, without cost, and transformational for the receiver; costly, daunting, and a labor of love on the part of the giver.
Some would probably name "My Dinner Andre," but I haven't seen it, and I am no longer as much into arthouse films as before. Maybe others can give their opinion.
To go from the sublime to the ridiculous, perhaps the two most memorable food preparation scenes to me are Clemenza making spaghetti for the mafia soldiers in "The Godfather," and Paulie in "Goodfellas" shaving garlic slices with a razor blade so the garlic would liquefy in a pan with a little olive oil, and the other mafiosi making spaghetti sauce (beef, pork, and veal for the meatballs, but you've got to have the pork because that's the flavor), and steak ("Medium rare...ah...an aristocrat!").
Grace and aloha,
Tom
P. S. This season's semifinal show of The Next Food Network Star featured the three semifinalists watching an advance screening of "Julie & Julia," and creating a gourmet meal for chefs.
Melissa D'Arabian, the eventual winner, uttered some of the most profound words I've heard in a long time, let alone from a reality food show. She came out in front of the chefs and said that she had heard recently that one should not be afraid of failure; that one should be afraid of success in the wrong thing. After sharing that she had achieved corporate-world success, her mind was full, but her soul was undernourished. This led her to her passion for cooking and seeking the position with the Food Network. She quoted Julia Child's now famous "Don't be afraid!" And then she said, "So I'm standing before you, not afraid. I may fail, but I'm failing at the right thing."
I have to admit that as a pastor, I have long feared failure. Every Sunday has the possibility of failure. The task of bringing a message of faith in God through Christ grows more daunting in a world that seems to regard faith matters with greater and increasing disinterest. But yet I continue. Why? What Melissa said really hit a chord (I admit that I shed a few tears for one of the rare times in my life). I may fail, but I realize I will be failing at the right thing. The grace of God in Christ is an amazing thing - not what you mostly see in the media - and is even more satisfying than any food I've ever blogged about, and still worth talking about.
Let me say that I almost always fall asleep in films, no matter how good they are. Not this time. I was charmed, tickled, and heartwarmed throughout "Julie & Julia." It is an utterly captivating film, seamlessly moving back and forth between Julie's and Julia's lives. Streep's performance channels Child in a way that is astonishing. At times you mix up the real Julia with Meryl. You would expect Adams to be blown away by Streep, but she holds her own quite nicely, as does the underrated but always outstanding Stanley Tucci as Julia's husband, Paul Child.
The only minor flaw was that it became a bit too obvious at times that Streep was assisted by platforms, booster seats, and super high heels to appear as tall as the real Julia Child.
The film's main point is the need in life to have passion and meaning in whatever you are doing, and to pursue it relentlessly.
Of course, this film now takes its place at the very top of the pantheon of great movies about food, right up there with Ang Lee's "Eat Drink Man Woman," the two remakes in different cultures, "Soul Food," and "Tortilla Soup," with all three using food as a metaphor for love.
"Babette's Feast" deserves mention, because of its wonderful theme of food as metaphor for God's grace: wonderful, without cost, and transformational for the receiver; costly, daunting, and a labor of love on the part of the giver.
Some would probably name "My Dinner Andre," but I haven't seen it, and I am no longer as much into arthouse films as before. Maybe others can give their opinion.
To go from the sublime to the ridiculous, perhaps the two most memorable food preparation scenes to me are Clemenza making spaghetti for the mafia soldiers in "The Godfather," and Paulie in "Goodfellas" shaving garlic slices with a razor blade so the garlic would liquefy in a pan with a little olive oil, and the other mafiosi making spaghetti sauce (beef, pork, and veal for the meatballs, but you've got to have the pork because that's the flavor), and steak ("Medium rare...ah...an aristocrat!").
Grace and aloha,
Tom
P. S. This season's semifinal show of The Next Food Network Star featured the three semifinalists watching an advance screening of "Julie & Julia," and creating a gourmet meal for chefs.
Melissa D'Arabian, the eventual winner, uttered some of the most profound words I've heard in a long time, let alone from a reality food show. She came out in front of the chefs and said that she had heard recently that one should not be afraid of failure; that one should be afraid of success in the wrong thing. After sharing that she had achieved corporate-world success, her mind was full, but her soul was undernourished. This led her to her passion for cooking and seeking the position with the Food Network. She quoted Julia Child's now famous "Don't be afraid!" And then she said, "So I'm standing before you, not afraid. I may fail, but I'm failing at the right thing."
I have to admit that as a pastor, I have long feared failure. Every Sunday has the possibility of failure. The task of bringing a message of faith in God through Christ grows more daunting in a world that seems to regard faith matters with greater and increasing disinterest. But yet I continue. Why? What Melissa said really hit a chord (I admit that I shed a few tears for one of the rare times in my life). I may fail, but I realize I will be failing at the right thing. The grace of God in Christ is an amazing thing - not what you mostly see in the media - and is even more satisfying than any food I've ever blogged about, and still worth talking about.
Friday, August 14, 2009
The Best Fried Chicken - The Loveless Cafe, Nashville, TN
For my last full day in Nashville, after my meeting was over, I went down to the legendary Loveless Cafe. Now, one of the standard meals in these parts is Meat and Three, one meat, three vegetables. It seems that I've been more like Three Meats and Three. At Jack's, I had ribs, pulled pork, and brisket plus Beans, Mac and Cheese, and cornbread.
At Loveless, I had another three meats: fried chicken, fried catfish, and country ham plus fried okra, grits, and turnip greens. I also had some of Loveless's famous biscuits.
Often, when a restaurant has a great recommendation and reviews, I find it somewhat disappointing. Not in this case. So far, this is the best fried chicken I have ever had. Yes, Hawaii people, Zippy's fried chicken is very good, but the chicken at Loveless is ethereal: a thin, light but crispy crust, perfectly seasoned; underneath is plump, tender, juicy meat that is simply amazing.
The country ham was good, especially when I cut a piece and put it between one of the fabulous biscuits. The fried catfish was excellent.
As for the sides: the grits made me realize why Pastor Mike and his wife Cris didn't say much when I said I liked the grits at Denny's in Kaneohe. The grits at Loveless were so much better: stone ground and impeccably cooked. Fried okra is something that many people outside of the South haven't eaten. It is a wonderful vegetable when cooked properly, as these were: batter fried, crispy on the outside and tender and flavorful on the inside. The turnip greens were good, although they are my least favorite type of greens: I would rate collard greens and kale above them, and mustard greens are my favorite of all. Somehow, mustard greens remind me of Korean kim chee jigae, which is cabbage kim chee that is long simmered with "side meat," just like greens.
A bit of amusement and proof that there is a connection between the South and Hawaii (the most southen state in the Union): I looked at the middle of my plate and thought I was back home. There was something that looked just like andagi, the Okinawan deep fried doughnut (more like a doughnut hole). After a few seconds, I realized that this was a hush puppy, which are morsels of cornmeal that are deep friend. Hush puppies are savory (andagi are sweet), with a bit of onion inside - deee-licious! The name supposedly comes from the aroma of hush puppies frying, which drove pet dogs crazy. The cook would toss one to a dog, and say, "Hush, puppy!"
The other connection was when I thought the turnip greens were a little bland. I poured on them a condiment called Bruce's Tabasco Peppers in Vinegar, which was a bottle jammed with peppers and vinegar. It reminded me very much of Hawaiian chili pepper water.
I was too full to order dessert, but I did go to the Loveless Country Store, and sampled something called Piggy Popcorn: popcorn glazed with maple syrup and tossed with - yes, indeed - bacon! Extraordinary!
An incredible meal that ended a great week in Nashville.
Grace and aloha,
Tom
P. S. My reason for being in Nashville was for the Study on Ministry for the United Methodist Church. One of the highlights was a meditation given by one of our study members, Holger Eschmann. He shared from Isaiah 49:16 - "See, I [God] have inscribed you on the palms of my hands; your walls are continually before me." Inscribed is a word that is not used so much anymore. Holger explained that in studying the word, an alternate meaning is "tattooed." This means that God has tattooed us on the palms of His hands. There is a sense of permanence to a tattoo - it's always there. That speaks volumes about the love God has for us. We may forget, but God never forgets.
At Loveless, I had another three meats: fried chicken, fried catfish, and country ham plus fried okra, grits, and turnip greens. I also had some of Loveless's famous biscuits.
Often, when a restaurant has a great recommendation and reviews, I find it somewhat disappointing. Not in this case. So far, this is the best fried chicken I have ever had. Yes, Hawaii people, Zippy's fried chicken is very good, but the chicken at Loveless is ethereal: a thin, light but crispy crust, perfectly seasoned; underneath is plump, tender, juicy meat that is simply amazing.
The country ham was good, especially when I cut a piece and put it between one of the fabulous biscuits. The fried catfish was excellent.
As for the sides: the grits made me realize why Pastor Mike and his wife Cris didn't say much when I said I liked the grits at Denny's in Kaneohe. The grits at Loveless were so much better: stone ground and impeccably cooked. Fried okra is something that many people outside of the South haven't eaten. It is a wonderful vegetable when cooked properly, as these were: batter fried, crispy on the outside and tender and flavorful on the inside. The turnip greens were good, although they are my least favorite type of greens: I would rate collard greens and kale above them, and mustard greens are my favorite of all. Somehow, mustard greens remind me of Korean kim chee jigae, which is cabbage kim chee that is long simmered with "side meat," just like greens.
A bit of amusement and proof that there is a connection between the South and Hawaii (the most southen state in the Union): I looked at the middle of my plate and thought I was back home. There was something that looked just like andagi, the Okinawan deep fried doughnut (more like a doughnut hole). After a few seconds, I realized that this was a hush puppy, which are morsels of cornmeal that are deep friend. Hush puppies are savory (andagi are sweet), with a bit of onion inside - deee-licious! The name supposedly comes from the aroma of hush puppies frying, which drove pet dogs crazy. The cook would toss one to a dog, and say, "Hush, puppy!"
The other connection was when I thought the turnip greens were a little bland. I poured on them a condiment called Bruce's Tabasco Peppers in Vinegar, which was a bottle jammed with peppers and vinegar. It reminded me very much of Hawaiian chili pepper water.
I was too full to order dessert, but I did go to the Loveless Country Store, and sampled something called Piggy Popcorn: popcorn glazed with maple syrup and tossed with - yes, indeed - bacon! Extraordinary!
An incredible meal that ended a great week in Nashville.
Grace and aloha,
Tom
P. S. My reason for being in Nashville was for the Study on Ministry for the United Methodist Church. One of the highlights was a meditation given by one of our study members, Holger Eschmann. He shared from Isaiah 49:16 - "See, I [God] have inscribed you on the palms of my hands; your walls are continually before me." Inscribed is a word that is not used so much anymore. Holger explained that in studying the word, an alternate meaning is "tattooed." This means that God has tattooed us on the palms of His hands. There is a sense of permanence to a tattoo - it's always there. That speaks volumes about the love God has for us. We may forget, but God never forgets.
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