renton road

This is my favorite tree on the island, outside of the banyans at Iolani Palace or the tabletop tree at Iliahi that ate my kites. I like to imagine how long its been here and how the community has transformed around it. Trees like this have history in their trunks, their own stories to tell.

The tree sits on Renton Road, a half-abandoned, half-regentrified strip of land that was once a bustling plantation community. Mongoose dart in and out of desiccated weeds, blond against the sky. Fallen fruit rot on the red earth surrounding the vacated plantation manager’s mansion, where new jalousies wait on old shutters to be replaced. Storks chase the twittering birds around, and I pass through as often as I can, on my way to White Plains Beach at Barbers Point. I came here as a kid as my stepdad grew up in a tiny house beneath a generous mango tree beyond the bridge. We went to the bon dances, sidestepped fire ants and ate shave ice with azuki beans.

This is the first roll of film I’ve shot in three years or more. It was the wrong film (400 ISO) in the wrong lighting (blinding) with the wrong camera (a hand-me-down SLR with a busted lens), but I liked the heaviness of the camera in my hands, choosing my focus, and listening to the film advance. My photojournalism professor said the difference between an amateur and a professional is the waste basket, but I’m showing you everything anyway.

a taste of home

My other home, that is. The one where I pay the rent and cook my own meals. For days, we’ve been eating leftovers from the funeral reception, not to mention the luncheon following the burial. I’m a homebody, and likewise my body warms to homemade food. So I couldn’t take another bite of microwaved pork guisantes or greasy cake noodle. I wanted to take the reigns in the kitchen for once in many days. I wanted comfort and balance and control. I wanted tofu.

Tofu may not be the most revered of culinary delights in America. I’m not so sure it’s the lack of flavor as much as the absence of meat on the plate. I eat a lot of tofu because it’s easier to cook than meat. No defrosting. No skinning and deboning and risking salmonella poisoning or strange cow madness. Tofu’s silky and, when fresh, stunning in its simplicity. It absorbs flavor, takes on different forms, and stands in for its heavier protein counterparts gracefully. It’s like that shipshape girl on Heroes, but forgiving.

So here’s what I cooked in my childhood kitchen. It’s a dish that never fails to satisfy my palate, so good that I’ve committed it to memory. Inspired by Jack Bishop’s wonderful A Year in a Vegetarian Kitchen.

Hoisin Glazed Tofu

1 block firm-ish tofu
Oil
2 T Hoisin
1-2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2-1 T ginger, minced
2/3 cup chicken/veg broth
Sesame seeds (optional, I just like the way they look)
1 stalk green onion, white and green parts, chopped

-Press tofu (I balance a few heavy bowls on the drained tofu in its container for about 15 min), drain excess water. Cut into eighths width-wise.
-Fry tofu 5 min on each side or until golden brown and crisp.
-Mix hoisin, garlic, ginger and broth together. Add to pan, and let it reduce until the tofu has absorbed the flavor and a thick sauce remains. Should take just a few minutes.
-Sprinkle with sesame seeds and green onion.

Serve with rice and green stuff. Broccoli would be nice, or some gailan with dried shiitake mushrooms would add some bitterness and earthiness to the sweet flavor of the hoisin.

the silver lining

It’s still Hawaii.