year of living awesomely

I can not think of a year in recent memory that has begun with such a glum national mood as 2009. It was as if everyone collectively decided that the end of 2008 was so disheartening (I'm looking at you, economy) that we might as well resign ourselves to this year being even worse. Time to hunker down, hole up, and stick it out. Let's call it the "Year of the Fallout Shelter."

Now, what surprised me was that a lot of writers didn't necessarily take the same tack. While there have certainly been a fair amount of dire predictions for restaurants and shops closing in the coming year, a lot of critics seem like they took it upon themselves to argue against their own apocalyptic visions and implore readers to think about the impact of their dollars.

Portland Mercury's Not Invited Back 2009 list featured a rant against "status dressing" that offered this positive upswing:

Taking its cue from a time when purchases were made bearing the long term in mind, and quality took precedence over mass-marketing and instant gratification, even the fashion world is adopting a more serious approach. And with manufacturing jobs in your country, and your city, directly affecting the quality of your own life, you might find yourself more inclined, when you do spend, to put your money back into the hands of your neighbors.

That same issue interviewed local designers on their advice for the new year, to which Moth Love owner Gretchen Jones responded that 2009 should focus on:

Simplicity in design/function/production. Inflated outsourcing of overly available goods versus handmade, independent, and SLOW (made-to-order) fashion. Approach design uniquely. Be savvy in your selections and who you support. Yours is mine, is ours, is mine. This is the time to refine.

There it was - another plea for carefully-considered shopping. Over the next few days, I caught notice of similar sentiments in a lot of New Year's articles and not just on fashion. Food critics implored their readers to patronize local restaurants more in the coming year and Carrie Brownstein, over on Monitor Mix, resolved to better her concert-going, paying more money for worthwhile bands and avoiding free shows.

But of all the articles and ideas I've collected, the one that keeps resonating for me comes from last November, though it perfectly primed me for everything I later read. Bruce Sterling, on the Worldchanging blog, called for a dramatically redefined relationship with our stuff. (To really get into it, read past some of his first thoughts on global living to the second-half, when he starts talking about the "hairshirt green" mentality.) Sure, there is some geeky multi-tool evangelism in there, but these ideas are really rich:

You need to re-think your relationship to material possessions in terms of things that occupy your time. The things that are physically closest to you. Time and space.

Do not "economize." Please. That is not the point. The economy is clearly insane. Even its champions are terrified by it now. It's melting the North Pole. So "economization" is not your friend. Cheapness can be value-less. Voluntary simplicity is, furthermore, boring. Less can become too much work.

Read the whole damn thing. Seriously. It's simple and encouraging advice:
-Only own things that improve your life in some way (you can set those terms).
-Buy fewer, nicer items from which you'll get more use.
-Live better.

Even though his general idea is familiar, Sterling brings to it a new emphasis on quality of life. Women's magazines have been preaching a similar ethos for years (how to style one dress for five looks), but always with the focus being on frugality. The "voluntary simplicity" movement has also argued a related concept, but all too often, as Sterling points out, it's quickly been pushed to the extremes of "buy nothing" day, which doesn't work towards any improvement of a system, just its refutation. Where, then, is the room for deliberate, positive action?

So, before this post becomes a bibliography of all of the things that have been bouncing around my brain recently, I'm going to (try to) lay out my own little synthesis of all of these New Year's predictions and exhortations: the P & A economic stimulus plan!

It comes down to this: take Sterling's idea, but extend the quality of life concept to your community. Make your purchases from businesses that make good neighbors. Choose products that contribute to a better world. Easy.

Really, this shouldn't be difficult to adapt to this idea. You already make these decisions about the kind of world you want to live in all the time when you make purchases. For example - do you want to live in the kind of world where you don't stink? Then you buy deodorant. See how simple this will be?

First off, this is going to mean some serious spring (February?) cleaning and editing. We'll clear out the things we never use and put them under the scrutiny of a 17-year old at Buffalo Exchange to see if we can make a few bucks back on them. Anything we can't sell is going to Goodwill.

Now I'm not advocating for going on a shopping spree to single-handedly kick-start the economy, but I am saying that purchases are inevitable and they need to be considered. For us, this might mean that when we replace our computer, we do it at a local shop. If we're needing new threads? We'll make fewer, smarter purchases from better boutiques and stop wasting our time with places that sell serialized fashion. And when we're hungry (which we'll inevitably and frequently be), we'll make sure we're eating at restaurants we love and continuing our farmer's market boosterism. Skip IKEA. Forget Target. Go vintage and handmade and locally-owned. The trouble will surely come with the basics - how many small office supply stores are in business any longer; is there even a place to buy socks and underwear that isn't in a mall? It will be a year of searching these places out.

2008 shaped up to be the "year of doing it for ourselves" - preserving, baking, stitching, cooking, and making of all sorts. Now, those practices have become so ingrained in our routine that it's difficult to remember how we passed our time before them. They certainly won't be going anywhere, but for 2009, let's get over the worn-out idea of a "year of living simply" and make this fun: a year of living awesomely.

feel those tingles?

If that photo doesn't make you well up with tears of pride, then take a look at the newly polished Whitehouse.gov and this video:


It's official.
Welcome to the "Goosebumps Presidency."

the alaska of the tropics, part two (big island)

P:

So, Alaska. I mean, Hawaii. I mean ... We (inevitably) got a little long-winded in our post about the first island we visited, which meant that I didn't get to explaining the title. Well, guess what? The title only gains more clarity on the Big Island.

As we drove along the edge of Kailua on our last day on Oahu, I suddenly had an insight (!) that Hawaii was a lot like somewhere I'd been before: Alaska. Maybe it's their isolation from the continental 48. Maybe it's that both states tendered prominent political candidates this year. Maybe it's their similar climates. Wait, scratch that - it's actually hard to put my finger on what exactly gave me that idea. But there are some similarities between the two states that are worth pointing out:

-a disenfranchised native population that's a tourist-draw (totem poles and luaus)
-incredible natural beauty
-rich and hearty local cuisine (moose? plate lunch?)
-senior citizens on tour buses (and cruise ships)
-blue tarps (seven out of ten homes in both states have a plastic tarp covering some sort of junk in the front yard - it's an empirical fact)

Granted, a place like Waikiki is a far cry from "The Last Frontier" to the North, but we did an admirable job of avoiding the touristy resorts and sticking to a little more of an off-the-beaten-path trip, making my comparison a bit more understandable. In the end, Alaska and Hawaii boast their own quirky cultures, where people lead lives unique from anywhere else in the states. I mean, where else would A have run off first thing in the morning in her pajamas to pick giant, tropical fruit from the top of a fence off of a neighbor's tree? Yeah, it probably wouldn't have been Alaska, but my point remains: Alaska = Hawaii.

A:

We had papaya trees in our front yard. Having arrived at our rental in the middle of the night, I first glimpsed the trees when I awoke the next morning. I picked the first papaya right off of our back lanai, but it was a small, under-ripe specimen and I knew it must be only the beginning. Thus, I set off to explore the rest of our acreage, and came back with two enormous, deliciously ripe papaya.

I don't know what came over me, really - it was as if my true, animal nature came bursting out of me and I had to hunt and gather. So, I hunted the best papayas (which just so happened to be right beyond our fence on neighboring land)...and once I found them, I gathered. Below, you will see the fruits of my labor.


Papaya is particularly good eaten cold, but we were so excited to try the fresh-picked fruit that we sliced one right open. The perfume was intoxicating, almost overwhelming.
Perfectly ripe and seductively sweet, I can safely say that I have never in my life tasted a better papaya. We devoured the fruit in a matter of minutes, and I was hungry for more.

As we drove into Kona later that morning, I noticed a sign for the South Kona Fruit Stand and immediately requested a detour. Though the smoothie bar and cafe were closed, the stand had plenty of exotic fruits for sale, most grown organically next door. Struck with the idea that I probably would not return to a tropical island in the forseeable future, I loaded up on everything in sight - local Ka'u oranges, Rangpur limes, butter pear avocados, mangos, organic estate-grown coffee, abiu, and haupia/lilikoi (coconut pudding with passionfruit). The pudding was a nice, mid-morning snack, as all of the fruit was a day or two from ripeness. The abiu - small, yellow fruit with a translucent flesh that has the texture of lychee and the sweet, rich flavor of vanilla pudding - were the most unlike any other fruit I've tried. Our bags bulging with treats, we trekked off to find snorkeling gear for P's introduction to the sport.

P:

As the storm clouds gathered closer to shore, we suited up for my inaugural foray out snorkeling. Even though it may make me a weenie, I'm not a big fan of swimming in lakes - the feeling of plants and fish brushing past me in the murky waters just gives me the jeeblies. So, to put it mildly, I was withholding judgment on snorkeling. It remained to be seen whether I'd be better with non-pool swimming if I could see with whom I was sharing the waters, or if it was best left to my imagination.

We'd been steered towards a sheltered bay that boasted a lava rock shoreline and a historic park: Pu'uhonua o Honaunau. The waves slapped me against rocks as I fumbled with my flippers, before I made an ungainly plunge out into the waters. Holy. Crap. That is one strange, claustrophobic feeling to be breathing underwater, through a tube, with your eyes wide open. But wow, did I see some cool fish: puffer fish, trumpetfish and too many butterfly fish to count. At about the same time as I reached my limit for swimming with the fishes, a torrential thunderstorm broke over the coast. I'd just climbed out of the waters, but A (a true lover of the sort of quiet time that snorkeling affords) was drifting further and further out, oblivious to the weather. She did eventually look up from her aquatic reverie to realize we were calling her back to shore.


In October, we read a feature in Gourmet magazine about 20 great American restaurants from when the magazine was founded that are still going strong. Among them was the Manago Hotel, in Captain Cook, Hawaii, not far from where we'd been snorkeling. We'd called ahead that day to make a reservation, since the place still operates on plantation hours, meaning you need to be in by 7:30 pm to be served. The hotel dining room was not nearly as stately as that phrase makes it sound, but it was awesomely kitschy and probably hasn't changed since the day it opened. On the wood-paneled walls, a felt letter board menu listed the entrees and while almost everyone at the table ordered some local fish, I took the article advice and ordered the house special: a gravy-drenched pork chop.

Everyone at a table shared the family-style side sides, which came out with a pot of genmaicha tea before the rest of the meal. Sugary-sweet black-eyed peas, pasta salad, steamed vegetables and lots of white rice - island food circa 1950. With liberal dosings of soy sauce, we devoured most of the plates before our main courses even arrived. My pork chop was pretty delicious, covered as it was with a brown gravy and pan-seared on the bone, but A's choice of opelu, a less-fishy mackerel, caught all of our notice as the best-tasting fish at the table.

On our way back to our house that evening, we made a short detour to the southernmost bar in the US, Shaka Restaurant in Na'alehu. I don't mean to be a spoil sport, but they are resting on a tenuous claim - they're at least a few miles from the very southern tip of Hawaii. If someone wanted to be a huge jerk, that crown is there for the taking. Other than that, there's not much else to say on that front other than that my beer did taste very southern.

A:

Our third and final day on the Big Island was volcano day. After a breakfast of cold papaya, linguisa, and toast with jaboticaba jam (grapes that grow out of the trunks of trees - my brother's find at the fruit stand), we set out for a black sand beach. Punalu'u beach is known for the presence of endangered sea turtles, that often drift onto dry land to sunbathe on the warm sand. We were lucky enough to see three while we were there - surrounded, of course, by tourists trying to get there picture taken with the turtles. It always astounds me when people blatantly ignore both posted rules and common sense, standing within inches rather than the suggested fifteen feet from the basking animals. I'll admit that I am particularly attentive to rules - perhaps I should be an officer of the law when I grow up? - but, seriously, regardless of regulations, is it that difficult to understand that standing nearly on top of living creatures might distress them in some way? And that maybe if you distress these turtles too much, you might not have a turtle to take your picture with next time around?


Off of my soapbox, and onto lunch. On our way into Volcano National Park, we stopped to grab food in a small town that was rumored to have outstanding malasadas. Unfortunately, the donuts were only available on the weekends, but the rest of the food at the unassuming cafe was surprisingly tasty. I briefly contemplated a hamburger made with local, grass fed beef, but eventually settled on the loco moco with fish. Traditionally consisting of white rice topped with a hamburger patty, a fried egg and brown gravy, ours replaced the patty with a cut of fish. Looking back, I wish I'd gotten the patty, but the meal was still a satisfying way to prepare for a hike through a lava crater.

Kilauae Ika erupted in 1959 and formed a lava pool at the base of the crater. The cooled lava now provides a short, scenic hike that begins and ends in rainforest and allows you to trek across the floor of the crater. We had lots of fun muttering from above about stupid tourists getting too close to the steam vents in the crater, only to head straight for them once we reached the floor. We even took a family photo next to one of them. It's always particularly touching when a family risks severe burns while posing for next year's Christmas photo.


As late afternoon wore on, we drove out to the edge of the park where you could watch eruption meet ocean. Before dusk, the site is impressive enough - as you drive up through the lava fields and hike over cooled lava coils toward the viewing area, a HUGE, billowing steam cloud looms ahead. Every so often, a spray of rocks shoots into the air and the crowd collectively "ooohs". As dusk settles and the sun sets, however, the real show begins. The base of the steam cloud begins to glow red, and the shooting rocks become red sparks that burst into the sky. These were far and away the best New Year's fireworks I have yet to see.

P: That night, with the spoils of a surprisingly good local grocery store and farmer's market, we made up a hodge-podge dinner to celebrate New Year's Eve. Thai fish curry to take advantage of the local produce; hoppin' john for some New Year's fortune. After a long day of volcano hikes, everyone began to crash by 10:30, but not before A could run outside with a coconut, a dull machete and a few glasses of wine in her. Looking back, I can not believe I let her tippsily hack at coconut in the dark, but then again, I was distracted by the sparklers. Between her efforts and her mom's even-more-nerve-wracking chopping, they split the outer husk and set to work boring out a hole for the juice. With the help of a lava rock, they split the fruit for everyone to taste and I remembered that I don't really like fresh coconut all that much. Thanks for your hard work, sweetie! It probably wouldn't have been a good end to the trip to lose her finger in Hawaii.

the alaska of the tropics, part one (oahu)

A -
P was not thrilled that we were headed to Hawaii. From everything he'd heard, people who went to Hawaii spent half their time tanning (as many of you know, we don't really "tan") and the other half golfing (golf? we prefer croquet). Besides, Hawaii over the winter holidays? Isn't it all so very cliche?

All of his skepticism changed when our Hawaiian airlines flight attendants began slipping local words into their presentations, and P realized that words like "mahalo" and "wiki wiki" were incredibly fun to repeat. Even (especially) when they made no sense.

A: Would you like to rent a personal entertainment device for the long flight?
P: mele kalikimaka
A: You don't even know what you're saying
P: mahalo

At least it kept him entertained for the flight.

P -
I'll admit it: I was embarrassed to be headed to Hawaii for the holidays. It felt like the polar (tropical?) opposite of our standard vacations - no grimy city streets; no crumby weather; no urban culture; no long, meandering walks through questionable neighborhoods to find a food cart. I'm not really a "sit-on-the-beach-and-relax" kind of guy. It makes me tense. And seriously, what would we eat? Teriyaki bento?

So, I was surprised at how quickly I embraced the warmth that met us when we got off the plane. It probably had something to do with the sub-arctic weather Portland had gotten over the holidays. Immediately upon landing, I knew Hawaii was completely different from anywhere I'd ever been. The airport corridors were open to the outside weather. Alien-looking plants grew over everything. Vibrant-green, serrated cliffs rose up from the coastal shores. I started to feel as though I could manage a Hawaiian vacation. And we found lunch, which greatly put me at ease.


A month ago, I'd read an article about how Hawaiians were skeptical of their native son, Obama, until they witnessed him tuck into a big plate lunch at a local drive-in. To prove that a skinny, pale Oregonian was ready for the islands, I knew I'd need to try some. Conveniently, L & L Drive Inn was just a few blocks away from our first rental in Kailua. Essentially fast food with a local flavor, L & L offers the building blocks of a standard "plate lunch": protein, two scoops of white rice, and one scoop of macaroni salad. Within seconds of walking in the door, everyone in our entire group had clumsily decided to order the same thing. When our seven cartons of the "Hawaiian Special" were ready, we opened them up and dug in to the lau lau (pork steamed in a taro leaf) and a bastardized version of the luau-favorite kalua pork. Sure, it was probably seasoned with liquid smoke, but I'm not going to lie and tell you I didn't enjoy every mashed-together bite of the macaroni, pork and rice. On our way out, I noticed Spam musubi on the menu, but A held me back from stuffing myself with what is essentially processed meat sushi.

A-
Not that we didn't have Spam later during our trip. To be honest, putting this stuff in writing is making me feel a little ill and more than a little ashamed. But, we were just trying to get closer to our soon-to-be president.

Oddly enough, we were very close to the Obamas during our stay. My father was born in Kailua and the first part of our trip was a family reunion - a homecoming for my grandparents and their children. I had heard, as I'm sure everyone had (come on, who didn't see that picture of our shirtless president elect?) that the Obamas were staying in Kailua. Oahu being an island, and Kailua a small piece of the island, our rental was well under a mile from the Obamas' vacation getaway. I won't pretend that we saw them, but we did see some friendly looking secret service in Hawaiian shirts at one end of the beach we frequented. I wanted to scream, "Obama!!! Shriek!!" but P restrained me. Probably for the best - I would bet the secret service agents were still fairly nimble in flip-flops.

The morning after our arrival, plate lunch still heavy in our bellies, we were greeted with the sweet, slightly greasy smell of malasadas. The malasada is a Portuguese confection - a custardy, craggy donut covered with sugar that is a bit like a dense beignet. You may remember that neither P nor I have a strong love for donuts. These donuts, like those from Donut Plant in NYC, are the exception to the rule. Actually, I think I've come to the realization that I do like donuts - I just don't like crap.


Lest you think we ate only junk food in Hawaii, we did manage to enjoy two very traditional dishes, courtesy of my Hawaiian cousins. Alongside the pizza that had been ordered for our family reunion lunch, one of my cousins had contributed a few tubs of poke - marinated cubes of raw fish, like nigiri doused in tasty sauce - and a few bags of poi, or taro root paste. As a rule, my mainland relatives are not particularly adventurous eaters, but a few of us hovered expectantly over the tubs until they were graciously opened for our tasting pleasure. After running through the line of tubs - poke squid, wasabi tuna, and tuna with limu seaweed - and then trying each once again, it was onto the poi. Having never been to Hawaii, P was a poi neophyte. I have a bit of a soft spot for the slightly sour, purple concoction, but many are put off by its paste-like consistency. P certainly did not turn up his nose, but he admits that it is not something he would run back to try it again. I am holding out for a taste of poi with sugar and cream, as my cousins described. Seriously, how few foods are not better for the addition of those two ingredients?

P-
Despite how we're recounting our trip, it actually didn't revolve around food nearly so much as our typical vacation. Hawaii has a very funny food culture that sort of mashes-up Asian food with American fast food grub. There is a lot of gravy, pork, and rice. Not that any of that is bad, but it didn't give us much to go on. Still, we tried our damnedest to strong arm A's family into indulging our every hunger. For the most part, they gladly went along.

As we left Kailua, we detoured to Island Snow for a cone of shave ice at the Obamas' go-to shop. For a sense of how Obama-crazed the islands are, Island Snow, which doubles as a surf shop, had already reprinted their t-shirts with the 'O' in their name replaced by Obama's election logo.
More patbingsoo than sno-cone, Hawaiian shave ice can come with a scoop of ice cream, adzuki bean topping (sweetened beans found in Asian pastries) and a "sno-cap" drizzle of sweetened condensed-milk. I split mine half-and-half between coconut and lilikoi (passionfruit) and opted for the beans and sno-cap, creating a sugary, brain-freeze of a snack. So good.

After a brief hike up to a lighthouse on the Eastern-most point of O'ahu, we piled back into rental cars with A's family and drove to Honolulu to catch our flight to the big island. Before departing, we took a side trip for a late-afternoon lunch at a Filipino restaurant named Elena's. This place was much more in sync with our usual traveling style: a no-decor, florescent-lit storefront in the light-industrial/strip-mall fringes of the city. Their bathroom policy was stated as, "RESTROOMS IN NEARBY BUS TERMINAL." Classy. But really good. We don't have much experience with Filipino food, but we recently read an article about the cuisine that described it as "the comfort food of Asia," which made it sound worth trying. Owing to a wide range of European influences, Filipino food isn't nearly so spicy or pungent as that of its neighbors and much more reliant on stews and braises.


Enraptured by all of the unfamiliar dishes, we overloaded our table with a little of everything: pinakbet, pork adobo, crispy pork chicharon, banana lumpia, arroz caldo, and a house-special soup called sari-sari. The lumpia, which were little more than apple bananas wrapped in a deep-fried, egg roll wrapper, caused A and I to reconsider our aversion to the fruit. Especially when we dipped them in the ubiquitous seasoned vinegar that accompanied our meals. Even though the arroz caldo I ordered came out too hot to eat (not that I didn't try), I'd wager that it was one of the standouts of the table. A rice porridge of chicken, scallions, and loads of ginger, it was utterly satisfying. I've heard that it's a bad idea to eat mounds of food, particularly greasy food, right before a flight. Fiddlesticks. It worked for us. After all, leftover rice porridge wouldn't have fit in a 3 oz. container for our flight to the Big Island.