The KCC challenge for January that the two of us cooked up was this one:
This month’s theme is a celebration– of good health and of new beginnings!
Words and Nosh’s big 3-0 is this month, so we dreamed up a birthday challenge:
What dish (entree, dessert, drink, merienda, whatever!) do you always request,
or wish you could have, for your birthday?

As a twist, how would you modify the dish to make it more healthy? It’s the new
year, after all, and it’s time to get back on track with good eating habits! You
can make your dish vegetarian/vegan, lower fat, dairy-free, low sugar or however
else you want, so long as it’s a little bit healthier for your body and the
planet!

I had every intention of posting earlier, but alas, since it actually was my birthday last week, I’ve been out and about, with no time to even think about cooking! Finally, though, I got it together and whipped up my own take on rellenong bangus (stuffed milkfish) with sauteed kangkong (water spinach), one of my favorite dishes. Not only is it easy to make, healthy, and delicious, but also pretty enough to serve for a special celebration.

Now, you’ll notice first off that the fish I’m using here isn’t bangus at all, nor is the green vegetable kangkong. In keeping with the theme of the month, and with my general outlook on eating and cooking with local, sustainable, and organic ingredients as much as possible, I branched out a bit; I preserved the essence of the Filipino flavors but switched the ingredients up a bit. Moreover, I tried to reduce the oils and sodium as much as possible so the typical post-Filipino meal swelling wouldn’t plague me again!

Between Trader Joe’s, Whole Foods, and the local farmers market, I was able to source all the ingredients for the meal. Though organic is often synonymous with overpriced, by sticking to in-season ingredients and whole fish (instead of fillets), the total check was <$20 to serve 2 people. [The rice, garlic, patis, and shallots were already in my pantry so that doesn't count!]. I’d like to think I honored Ilokano frugality by keeping the cost low!

For the fish stuffing, I mixed up the following:

• 4 cloves garlic (chopped)
• 1 shallot (thinly sliced)
• small handful macadamia nuts (chopped, in lieu of traditional pili nuts)
• 1-2 tbsp. fresh grated ginger
• 1/2 tbsp. patis (fish sauce)
• roughly 1/3 cup cherry tomatoes (coursely chopped)

Then I simply stuffed it into two dressed rainbow trout, along with halved small Mexican limes (kinda calamansi like, though not exactly the same), cilantro, and some green onions. To the outside of the trout, I squeezed some more lime, sprinkled a little sea salt and pepper, and a very light spray of olive oil spray.

I then baked the fish in a 400 degree oven for 20 mins, to make sure it was all cooked through but not dried out.

[An important aside on the fish: I decided to go with rainbow trout over the other whole fish available at Whole Foods not only because it was the most cheaply priced ($6.99/lb. with these two fish coming in just under one lb.) but because farmed rainbow trout is listed as a "best choice" fish by the Seafood Watch Program. That means that it is the most sustainable choice, that commits less environmental and ecological harm than other species and sources of fish. I strongly recommend that you check out Seafood Watch-- they have printable cards and even smartphone apps to help you make better seafood choices when shopping or eating out.]

While the fish was baking, I prepped and cooked the greens, which were actually broccoli rabe and not kangkong. I was actually surprised at how much the rabe reminded me of kangkong in this meal, the flavors went so well with the fish.

For the broccoli rabe, you simply wash and shake out (but not fully dry off)  a large bunch of the rabe, and add to a pan where 3 minced garlic cloves have been sauteed in 1/4 cup of olive oil on med-low heat for about 5 minutes. Sprinkle red pepper flakes, sea salt, and some white pepper to taste and raise heat to med-high. Once temp is up, lower heat to medium and cover pan for about 5 minutes. The rabe should then cook itself down, the excess water from washing helping to steam it a bit. I removed the rabe when it was al dente, but you could cook it down more if you like!

It never happens usually, but somehow both the fish and the veggies cooked at the same time, so they were both perfectly hot and ready to serve in half an hour after I started cooking! With some steamed brown rice, it was a perfect way to end my weekend.

Hope you enjoyed my little cooking adventure, peeps! Will try to post again soon, but no promises…

I think I pretty much stuck true to theme, though played it the easy way out this month, with my not-so-original take on halo-halo! Halo-halo, which means “mix mix” in Tagalog, is basically shave ice with extra tasty goodness in it. And despite the relative ease it takes to make this, I thought it an especially apt dessert dish to fit the challenge, and not just for the colors of the ingredients I chose to make my halo-halo with.

Like the Philippines itself, there are plenty of different colonial influences in halo-halo: the ice and condensed milk (thanks, Amerikkka, for those innovations); flavored jellies, in this case lychee and almond (Chinese); and the most decadent addition, leche flan (a recipe borrowed from our Spanish colonizers and made even better). Despite all these foreign additions, you’ve still got some wonderful indigenous Filipino fruits and legumes which are my favorite part of the halo-halo– the langka (jackfruit), ube jam (pretend it’s blue, for the challenge’s sake!), sweet red mungo (mung beans), and macapuno (young coconut strings). This mix of flavors is probably the most harmonious collaboration you’ll see between these different forces; sadly, the Philippines today hasn’t benefited economically, socially, or politically from their various “benefactors”, despite the propaganda written to the contrary.

After making the flan, which is the longest part of the process and done the night before, assembling the halo-halo is a snap.

1: Shave the ice. Surprisingly fun when you’ve got a home ice shaver like this one. Way better than the tiny Snoopy sno-cone shaver from my childhood.

2. Choose your toppings. (If I had more time and money, I would’ve prepped fresh ingredients but alas… it will have to wait another day.)

3. Drizzle condensed milk on top and voila! Serve and eat quickly before it all melts!

Enjoyed my little educational cooking demo? Well, if you want more Filipino food history from someone far more educated on this topic than I am, do I have a treat for you! Next Sunday, October 2nd, the food historian Felice Santa Maria and noted chef Claude Tayag will be traveling all the way from the Philippines to San Francisco for a free food demo and lecture at the Filipino American International Book Fair. I will definitely be in attendance, and hope to see y’all there!

This place is a real jewel box– tucked away in a strip mall, like all places on Convoy Street, I guess–  OKAN seats a max of 25 people, most of whom are seated around a rectangular bar area where the day’s specials are presented in beautiful earthenware bowls and serving platters. For my birthday this past year, the mister and I were lucky enough to grab seats around the bar– it’s really the way to go to see all the fresh foods of the day, and ogle what the other patrons (mostly Japanese folks, not tourists or puti people) are ordering off the Japanese-language menu (which is way better and more extensive than the English menu, of course!). This time, with our party of four, we were seated at one of the three larger tables in the place, which was still lovely but definitely missing some of the ambience.

The decor inside is warm and inviting, almost like being in someone’s home. The hostesses last weekend, when I went, were in kimonos even– they don’t typically wear them, but it was the 3rd Anniversary celebration weekend for the restaurant, so the outfits were part of the festivities. Enough about the decor though– look at the food!

Wa Dining Okan specializes in small plates, but they offer much more than standard izakaya bar fare. They offer large rice pots, soups, and the like, but I enjoy ordering from the small plates and daily specials, which are always fresh and seasonal. They say they offer “homestyle Japanese cooking,” and I’ll believe them, even if I’ve never eaten in a Japanese person’s home before (anyone wanna invite me over for dinner?). Some of the highlights from this past weekend’s meal (though I’ve never had a dish I didn’t enjoy here) are pictured below.

The scallop sashimi in sea urchin sauce was so delicate and boldly flavored at the same time– it was my first time eating scallops in the raw, and these had such a briney taste, as if they came directly from the sea to the plate. I didn’t try it, but our friend also raved about the leaf beneath the scallops– turned out it was shiso, which I’ve never had before. Good thing they sell it at the Nijiya market, next door to OKAN, in case I ever get the urge to try some at home.

A dish so good we ordered it twice– fried mochi in broth. I’ve never had mochi prepared this way, and it was wonderful. A great contrast in textures, and the broth was beautiful (as are all the broths made here). Pictured behind are skewers of fried beef tongue, which I’ve had before here and always really enjoy. It’s one of the menu items on the Japanese menu– I’m assuming the restaurant doesn’t think average Americans have the palate for it, and sadly they’re probably right.

A menu staple, and done right here– rice balls with salmon. Though seeing the special being brought to the next table– plain rice balls rolled in sea salt and served with broth– did give me some rice ball envy, that’s for sure.

Dinner at Wa Dining OKAN isn’t cheap, but neither is it outrageous, especially for the quality of food you get. For their third anniversary weekend, all small plates were 30% off, and Sapporo drafts were only $2. They seem to have special events quite often– following them on Facebook or Twitter will keep you abreast of what’s happening.

While I bitch about living in San Diego most days, I will say that there are a growing number of restaurants here that are really good– not just good for San Diego, but good for anywhere else. I’d add Wa Dining OKAN to that list, any time.

Wa Dining OKAN
3860 Convoy Street, Suite 110
San Diego, CA 92111
(858) 279-0941

There’s something so simple, so basic about gumbo that it’s easy to forget just how damn long a proper gumbo takes to cook. That delicious cacophony of sausage, chicken, peppers, onions, and okra mixed and simmered in a highly spiced roux and broth– that doesn’t come quick or easy, which I found out the hard way yesterday. If I thought I had made gumbo before, I was dead wrong. This dish is something that takes a whole lotta time and a commitment to being in the kitchen that I wouldn’t recommend to anyone but the most committed (or crazy) of home cooks.

That dark brown color you see there? I’ve never made a gumbo that dark before, and that’s all because I had never made a proper oil roux before, either. This recipe, taken from Donald Link’s incredible Real Cajun cookbook, called for a serious roux, that had extra depth of flavor due to the fact that you fry the chicken for the gumbo in the oil first.

For this first part- you basically fry up your chicken pieces (I used 6 skin- and bone-on chicken legs, seasoned with salt and pepper, dredged in flour) in a cup of oil heated medium-high in a sturdy cast iron pot. Once the chicken is browned (not totally cooked through), remove from oil and set aside.

That’s the easy part. Hopefully you, like me, have the whole day ahead of you and have queued up some good shows on the DVR to listen to; hopefully you, unlike me, have strong wrists and no nagging carpal tunnel or other nerve issues that won’t flare up after making the roux. Because, again, this roux is not playing around. To the cup of oil that’s now warmed at the bottom of your pot, add 3/4 cup flour and start whisking slowly, for a damn long time. Start on medium heat, and incrementally lower the heat as the roux begins to thicken and change colors, until finally the heat is on low and your roux is a deep dark brown, almost black.

I’m sure there are plenty better descriptions of making roux than I’ve offered above– I’ve read quite a few myself over the years– but all I can say is that you won’t ever know how to make a roux until you just do it yourself. Watching it change from a dark to a medium brown back to dark brown again, thickening all the time, became truly hypnotic and helped the hour(!!!) of stirring go by relatively quickly. It’s impossible to have a gumbo with this kind of depth of flavor– no matter how fresh your vegetables or how well-raised your meats– if your roux isn’t done right. Being able to complete this process myself, with my own two hands, was incredibly satisfying, and taught me a few things about my capacities as a cook (and a person) that I hadn’t really thought through before.

For all you wannabe Top Chefs out there, making a roux the long way offers pretty quick reality check– a potent reminder of why we as home cooks are not, and will never be, cut out for a professional kitchen. I wasn’t kidding when I tweeted that my hands were shaking when I finally stopped stirring the roux– they kept on shaking the rest of the afternoon as I finished up the dish and well after. Even as I fantasize of one day going to culinary school and wearing chef whites, I’m pretty sure I won’t be seeing the inside of Momofuku’s kitchen any time soon. I’m just not cut out for the life and the work of cooking full-time.

I am already committed to being a professor, however, and making this roux, and the entire gumbo (which, if you want the full recipe, you’ll have to find in the Real Cajun cookbook that I’ve gushed about many times before) served as a necessary kind of head clearing that I’ve needed for a while now. As I try to write my dissertation– a long, slow-going and often demoralizing process– I can’t help but try to take shortcuts, to find the easy way out of really working through difficult questions that I know I don’t have the answers to, right now. Like making proper gumbo, though, writing and research is a slow process, and to do it right you’ve got to sit with it for a long while, and be ready to commit. If I can commit a day to cooking one dish that will be eaten in a few short days, then I think I should offer the same level of care and work into a written piece with my name attached to it that will exist in perpetuity…. Thanks, Donald Link, for helping me regain sight of that with a simple, not-so-simple gumbo recipe.

This dish I just made today, however, isn’t any of those things. It’s rich, wasn’t sustainably sourced (remember what I said before, about ethnic groceries and organic food?), but damn if it wasn’t incredibly delicious:

I made this dish for this month’s Kulinarya Cooking Club challenge, which called for “white food.” There are few things I love more than fresh Jasmine rice and coconuts, and so this dish was perfect for it. Borrowing liberally from a recipe I saw a long time ago in The Adobo Book, here was my take on shrimp with sawsawang adobong gata (coconut adobo sauce).

The shrimp itself is super easy to prepare. While the recipe called for charcoal-grilled pandan-wrapped shrimp, necessity and time restrictions led me to simply pan-grilling the shrimp with liberal squirts of lemon (no calamansi either, natch).

For the adobo sauce, I basically got these ingredients

and cooked them all up together. First sauteeing the 5 cloves chopped garlic, small piece crushed luyang dilaw (turmeric), and 1 chopped red onion until translucent; then adding 2 chopped sili labuyo, 1/2 tsp bagoong alamang, 1 tbsp turbinado sugar, and a can of coconut cream (the fatty stuff!) and simmering until thick.

I bought about 1 1/2 lbs of prawns and had enough for two generous servings plus leftovers, so this recipe could serve four for a main entree if you added more side dishes. My tummy’s still full from this lunch, and next time I’m in the mood to bust my diet, this dish will definitely be high on the list!

(For more “white challenge” recipes from Kulinarya members, visit their websites linked here!)

This month’s theme, courtesy of Lala, was “decadence” and I immediately knew what I had to try my hand at making: Brazo de Mercedes (translated from Spanish as “Mercedes’s arm”). Don’t worry, there were no body parts involved in the preparation of this decadent dessert, though trying to cook and bake all day on a sprained ankle really was a painful bodily experience.

I didn’t have Brazo de Mercedes very often as a kid– this rich cake, basically a meringue sheet wrapped around yema or an egg custard, was pretty hard to find in the very puti neighborhoods of my youth. When I did come across it, though, I would always have to order it– the fluffy, sticky sweet meringue and the filling which was like a leche flan on steroids was simply too good to resist.

When a friend threw her annual birthday dinner party, and asked us all to bring a food item featuring some kind of citrus, I knew what I had to do: make a Brazo de Mercedes with a twist, adding Meyer lemons to make a filling akin to lemon curd.

Unfortunately, finding Meyer lemons proved to be impossible, but lemons from our home lemon tree and some extra sugar came to the rescue. Everything at first went really well. Our meringue sheet, which dear hubs mixed up in our Kitchenaid, came out beautifully:

And baked up perfectly brown and lovely. Basic meringue recipe (8 egg whites, 1 tsp. cream of tartar, 3/4 cup Caster sugar, 1 tsp. vanilla) on a slightly too-big 12×17 jelly roll plan:

When it came to filling, though, I began to run into some trouble. The “Filipino-American” cookbook I used diverged from the typical Brazo filling, asking for gelatin and whipping cream to be folded into the egg yolk/condensed milk mixture. That, plus the juice from the lemons I added, made this filling soooo runny. Even after cooling down in fridge and waiting for gelatin to set more, it wasn’t doing the trick. My poor Brazo had to be subjected to some plastic surgery to make it to the birthday party intact:

Even if it was a little whole lot uglier than the beautiful Brazos I remember, people still loved it, and I must admit the filling was delish, with the lemon lightening up the yema nicely.

I was going to just brush this sad experiment under the bridge, but then remembered we would have a second chance to make it again– for the Easter brunch we were invited to today. This time around, I turned to the queen of Filipino home cooking: Nora Daza. I followed her instructions to a T, and was feeling much better about this experiment. Sadly, this time too I was destined to have an ugly Brazo de Mercedes. The hubs got a little too over-zealous with the Kitchenaid mixer, and the meringue sheet didn’t rise, and my filling was still too runny, though not as much as before. My poor Brazo was the ugliest desert in the house, but at least she was delicious!

I’m not sure I’ll be trying this recipe again soon– it is a decadent recipe, after all– but if any of you are Brazo de Mercedes pros, please send along your tips! Now that I have these jelly roll plans, I think I want to bring back the old-school Filipino roll cakes of my youth– the mocha roll, buko pandan roll, and DEFINITELY the ube roll. Anyone want to be a taste tester for these upcoming experiments?

THE GOOD

• The change in location from SDSU to City Heights

Last year’s conference was on a college campus, and while it was super convenient, it also felt very remote and removed from, you know, the world outside the ivory tower. Not so this year. Basing the event in the heart of City Height’s business district was fantastic– “home base” was at the Farmer’s Market (more on that later) and other workshops were held at community centers such as a locally-run aquaponics farm, a community garden, a health center, local churches, etc. Spreading out the venue probably meant that some folks got lost, but that’s ok. I think that forcing people ostensibly interested in food justice– many of whom probably have never been nor never intended to go to City Heights before– to walk around a “food desert” composed primarily of working-class people of color is a necessary eye-opener. Did it actually change the dialogue on food justice that day? No, from what I saw (again, more on this below), but it’s perhaps a start to get privileged “foodies” out of their bubble.

• Lunch  and workshops at and about the City Heights Farmer’s Market

On day one, folks were responsible for getting lunch on their own. It being Saturday and the day of the weekly City Heights Farmers Market, it was a perfect opportunity for conference attendees to visit the market and pick up produce or prepared foods from the vendors. One thing I noticed immediately was how small the market was compared to the massive Hillcrest Farmers Market, or even the North Park Farmers Market, one of the newer weekly markets just a mile or two down the road. A workshop I attended the next day facilitated by Fernanda De Campos really clarified for me why this was so– she is one of the organizers responsible for creating and maintaining City Heights Market, and it’s been a struggle just to get permits, permissions, and EBT access, let alone all the work that goes into drumming up vendors and farmers who will commit to a market without a “built-in clientele” (code speak for bougie folks with disposable income) to charge high prices for organic produce. Educating and organizing the community is also something Fernanda and others have been working hard at–  basic education on nutrition and the value of fresh fruits and vegetables over much cheaper processed foods, and then more awareness building on the upsides of organic and local produce. I can only imagine the kind of labor and time this takes, and huge props to Fernanda and the other organizers for taking on this role!

The second day of the event, a vegetarian lunch was provided by conference organizers. Not only was it delicious and good for you, it was also FREE! This day, instead of the usual market vendors, there were tables manned by community food justice groups, non-profits working against hunger, seed-swapping collectives, and socialists and anarchist groups. It was a very positive energy seeing local folks coming together to talk food politics, create sidewalk murals, and just hanging out. It would be nice to see this kind of thing more regularly at all our San Diego farmers markets, but I’ve heard from Fernanda that every 3rd Saturday there will be a Cultivating Food Justice tent at the City Heights Farmers Market, so maybe that’s a start…

• More diverse group of volunteers, planners, speakers, and workshop topics
  

At last year’s conference, from the opening check-in to the keynote closing speech by Raj Patel, I kept looking around the room for people that looked like me, and saw very few that did. From the volunteers to the workshop leaders, I noticed a dearth of under-30s people, and a shockingly low number of people of color in the mix. Not so this year. The average volunteer range must’ve been in the early- to mid-20s, and a good number of those folks were women of color. I don’t know for sure what came first– the planning of the conference or the rise of younger folks of color in the planning committee, but I for one felt a big difference and for the better in the energy and focus of the entire conference.

The issues being addressed, especially in the keynote talks, were issues that really hit home for me, whereas last year I felt alienated by a lot of the talk to “buy green” and “build victory gardens in my front yard” when I’m a) not a home-owner and can’t legally build anything on the property I live on; and 2) can only buy green insofar as I can afford it. This year, unlike last, there were far more workshops on the schedule that addressed questions of structural barriers to access and food equity, food justice projects being taken up by immigrants, refugees, and other communities of color, and on direct production/farming and not just consumption of organic food. There was still plenty of focus on living sustainably and “urban homesteading” (ugh, I hate that term!) but it wasn’t the only focus of the conference to the exclusion of necessary discussions about who gets to live sustainably and who is barred from it.

The keynote speakers this year really hit it out of the park. It was really empowering that both speakers this year were local organizers working in their communities for real change: N. Diane Moss of the People’s Produce Project, a multifaceted community organization working in Southeastern San Diego,  and Bilali Muya, a refugee from Somalia who is a leader in the New Roots Community Farm, an urban farm expressly for refugees in City Heights to sustain themselves and their families. Their talks were invigorating, empowering, and most of all, real. They made the stakes of their work very clear– that food justice is not just for individuals with enough purchasing power to buy green and live sustainably in their hybrid SUVs, but is part of broader systemic change, for entire communities to be able to survive and thrive in the face of economic, political, and cultural barriers to access, education, and livelihood. Don’t get me wrong, I love Raj Patel (his book Stuffed and Starved is a must-read), but this year’s speakers really solidified the need for local solutions to seemingly-insurmountable global issues.

TO BE IMPROVED

• Publicity- where was it?

Once again, this conference is amazing… if you can find it. I didn’t see any promotional materials up in local farmers markets or in the community beforehand, and didn’t even see any love on twitter! Last year’s conference had its own Twitter account and hashtag, but while I searched and searched beforehand, during, and after the event, I still think I was the only person tweeting about this event in real time. I’m hoping it’s because everyone that needed to be there was already there but I’m not so sure about that. The only way I found out about the event was through an email, sent days before, asking prior attendees if they’d like to volunteer this year. I can only hope the organizers did a better job promoting it in the local City Heights community and elsewhere.

• Cancellations and other logistical oversights

I’m kind of anal (no surprise, right?) so I get kind of twitchy if I feel like I’m missing key information. Namely, that registration is ongoing throughout the day, and not just from the 8-9AM timeslot listed both on the website and in the printed program. I almost skipped the event the first day because I thought there wouldn’t be a booth after 9AM to register to get the information about the day’s events, especially since locations for the workshops were not listed online either. Luckily that wasn’t the case, but I wonder how many other people didn’t show because they thought they missed their opportunity.

Also, I know it’s beyond the control of the organizers, but some of the last-minute cancellations really bummed me out. The cancelled workshops were high on my list too as they were on topics explicitly dealing with farmworker conditions and “on-the-ground” projects by people of color. I wonder what could have been done, if anything, to keep these folks from cancelling, or being able to replace them with similar workshops?

• Bad academics who had no business leading workshops

I really respect the work of food justice organizers, even those whose focii are not necessarily my own. I think that the more people the merrier doing this work, and that folks from all backgrounds– from scientists and specialists, to farmers, to blue-collar workers, to students, and so on– have a place in the struggle. BUT. If you are going to hold a panel ostensibly on food trucks, fast food, and Los Angeles, and proceed to give a jargon-y, avant garde performance-y, totally historically ungrounded talk instead, then I say you’re a terrible person who is doing real violence to theory, to Ethnic Studies as an academic field, to food justice organizing, and to communities of color all at once. It’s not even worth getting into the details of this talk except to say that I was probably one of the few people there who’s read the Deleuze, complexity theory, literary theory and Chicana Studies scholarship this academic claimed to base their work in, as well as have had the community organizing experience and food justice politics background to boot… and this talk still didn’t make real sense. The things that one could take away from the talk, moreover, were just plain wrong and could lead to the perpetuation of more violence against immigrants and communities of color. In a word, NO. Also: please never let this person speak at this conference again. Kthanx.

• Finally: why do white folks take up so much space? Are we speaking another language? A meditation.

Throughout the weekend, at different panels and workshops of various topics ranging from victory gardens to refugees in San Diego, there seemed to be the same group of people taking up a lot of room in the Q&A, asking the same three questions. These folks were either really peppy undergraduate students from one of the two large public universities in San Diego or older middle- to middle-upper class white folks wearing similar shades of pale clothing suitable when home gardening. I consistently saw them talking over others, shouting out questions while people of color were politely raising their hands and waiting to speak. Moreover, their questions were not always relevant to the discussion at hand, and in fact seemed to move us, always, towards the same discussions about legality (“how can we legalize these community gardens so everyone can plant a garden?”), procedure (“what is the paperwork process like to make your community garden/farmers market/fruit stand legal?”), and environmental safety (“why doesn’t your community garden/farmers market/fruit stand have organic certification? what kinds of fertilizers/water/planters do you use to keep away bugs without harming the environment?”).  These questions are not necessarily bad but hearing them over and over again really made me realize:

Many white “food justice” activists literally and metaphorically speak another language: that of “environmental sustainability” and not that of “food equity” or “food sovereignty”

I need to write much more about this, but I guess the clearest example of this was in the final workshop I attended, run by the community leaders involved with the New Roots Community Farm. There were three main speakers from different refugee communities who work at the farm– Bob Ou (Cambodian), Hermalinda Figuerroa (Chicana), and Khadija Msame (Somalian)– and a fourth speaker, Amy Lint, who works with the International Rescue Committee and has been instrumental to the continuation of New Roots. Both Hermalinda and Khadija had interpreters as they did not speak English well or at all. Hearing Bob, Hermalinda, and Khadija speak was one of the highlights of the weekend- about what farming has done for themselves and their families; of the challenges they have faced but also of the satisfaction of producing what they need to survive. Khadija especially was so fierce– even in translation, it was clear how passionate she is and about how much she wants to empower the Somalian community in San Diego.

When it came time for the Q&A, however, four older white folks asked all the questions, and they were all about the logistics, legality, and enivronmental sustainability of the farm. Some of these same folks were in earlier panels I had attended on Victory Gardens, and the questions were nearly the same. Not a single question came up dealing with the fact that these farmers are not the middle-class homeowners the green movement paints as “urban homesteaders”; there was no discussion of what makes New Roots Farm different from most other community gardens we see in San Diego— the farmers themselves. The conditions the New Roots Farmers are working in, their stakes in the farm, are so much different because of their positionality, because of their race, class, and nationality– how could this basic fact be so overlooked? Moreover,  the questions were primarily directed at Amy and not to Bob, Hermalinda, and Khadija. Did the audience members think they wouldn’t understand their questions because of the language barrier? Because of the cultural barrier? Because they weren’t trained like Amy has been, or is perceived to have been? Not only was it patronizing, it was infuriating. This kind of interaction happened throughout the conference, but this incident was the icing on top of the proverbial cake. Disappointing, definitely, but it also crystallized for me the need to continue working on food justice issues, and on getting us speaking the same language. Or, at the very least, getting some folks to be silent sometimes, and listen and learn from others.

So much for not writing a huge post– I guess I got carried away. Even with some of the disappointments, this was a fantastic event to attend– I learned so much, especially from the following individuals and groups, who deserve a special shout-out:  The New Roots Community Farm; The City Heights Farmers Market and Fernanda De Campos; N. Diane Moss and The People’s Produce Project; and finally, Lacie Watkins-Bush, whose “Race and Class Deconstruction” workshop I had the privilege of attending last year and who continues to inspire and instruct me in how to teach compassionately yet critically about race, power, and food justice. It’s definitely an educational and eye-opening experience every time, and I hope to see you there next year!

(The photos I took, above, are of farming and agriculture projects started by and for City Heights community members. Even in a food desert do flowers and plants bloom.)

"California Roll" salad with miso-green onion dressing

It’s been surprisingly easy to keep meat-free on Fridays, since even before that I’ve been cutting down on meat consumption, at least when it comes to home cooking. My acquisition of the absolutely fantastic vegan cookbook Appetite for Reduction (so amazing, it deserves its own post with photos!), and my general turn to eating healthier and with less processed foods, coincided perfectly with Lent and so I’ve actually been cooking nearly entirely meat-free meals at home most days of the week. This isn’t the first time I’ve gone nearly meat-free– I have had short but failed stints as a pescetarian, as well as brief intentional periods of total meatless-ness– but in the context of my growing interest in and work around food justice, it definitely feels different this time around, in that I’m reflecting much more on how a meat-free diet has the potential to be an extension of a radical Filipino/American politics of decolonization, but also how it may not, as well.

Besides reveling in the health benefits I’ve reaped from keeping a mostly-veg*an diet, I  have really been trying to sort through my feelings about veg*anism and racial and social justice. I really respect and appreciate the the way that, for some, being vegetarian or vegan is part and parcel of their work in fighting institutionalized ‘isms: species-ism, ableism, racism, classism, sexism/homophobia, etc. As food justice advocates such as the lauded Michael Pollan have written, the general nastiness of the meat industry, not to mention the use of otherwise fertile farming land for cattle farms, is a large contributor to the global food crisis. I don’t know how many yoga seminars I have been to where this fact is illustrated by my veg*an yoga instructors, with varying degrees of graphic details and photos– while I disagree with some of their shock tactic methods of inciting guilt and shame (who knew yoga guilt could be just as bad as Catholic guilt?), I am generally on board with the call to end factory farms, for the sake of both the animals and for the hungry and obese people of the world who are suffering under the current food regime. This kind of veg*an political ethos, I think, has very much informed my recent refraining from preparing red meat at home now, and in my ongoing attempt to cook and eat ethically-sourced and environmentally-sound meat both at home and when eating out (Fish is another story. I need to start using my Seafood Watch app way more!)

But as Breeze Harper and the other bloggers at Vegans of Color have also pointed out, I’m also painfully aware of the outright racist and classist assumptions made by more “mainstream” (aka white) veg*an individuals and organizations in their campaigns for animal rights and so-called food justice. This post in particular really hit home, especially in light of my prior research on the US colonial regime’s display of  Igorot “dog-eating and head-hunting” at the 1904 St. Louis World’s Fair as evidence of Filipino racial savagery, in order to justify American “benevolent assimilation” of the Philippines. I hesitate to identify myself with a veg*an movement that doesn’t question its own internalized racial logic, and that uses the language of “us vs. them” or “enlightened vs. savage” to make its political and moral claims– rather than working for the decolonization and justice of all, these kinds of movements are reserved for the privileged, “enlightened” few who can then deem the rest of us (mostly brown) folk to meat-eating barbarity.

Also– and this is my biggest contention/concern– I’m still not quite sure how a veg*an diet fits in with a Filipino decolonial politics, in terms of the cultural appropriateness of a veg*an diet to Filipino culture. Definitely, I’m down for turning to a more natural diet with less processed, colonially-derived meats like SPAM, and of course want the Filipino people to have control over their food production, distribution, and consumption– that’s the essence of decolonization and the very meaning of food sovereignty, is it not? But wanting/working for those things isn’t the same thing as cutting out meat entirely from the Filipino diet, especially not fish, which historically has been the basis of many in the archipelago’s livelihood. Not to mention, can I really ever let go of the swine? Look at this pork-y deliciousness that is lechon:

(being inappropriate with lechon, September '10)

Perhaps my own gluttony is what keeps me from making a final jump into full veg*an territory– I’ll admit, I’m a weak soul. At the very least, this time has allowed me to more critically self-reflect on the ways I embody and live my politics on a very corporeal scale, and to think not only about why I fight for food sovereignty, racial and social justice, but also about how.

I had a challenging time last night trying to facilitate an educational discussion about food justice in the SD Fil/Am community with some friends of mine that I volunteer with (we are in a progressive Filipino/American high school student mentoring program together). I tried to get us all thinking about ours and our families’ shopping and consumption practices as a gateway to talking about structural barriers to getting affordable, healthy food, but we never seemed to get beyond a discussion of “cultural differences” between Filipino markets like Seafood City versus mainstream shops like Whole Foods, Trader Joe’s or even Von’s. “Cultural differences” became the explanation for why prices are lower and why Filipino folks keep returning to ethnic groceries, and that alone was the answer.

Now, while it’s true that there are things that ethnic grocers can provide many services, products and relationships that puti markets can’t, to claim that a cultural difference alone keeps prices lower and products varied at Seafood City is to ignore the vast structures underlying food production and consumption in the US and around the world. To say that Filipino/Americans just “aren’t used” to buying organic food or even lots of vegetables (organic or not) is to defer a conversation about why our national or cultural diet might be so poor— about why many in our community have limited financial means or access to fresh produce and meats; about the colonial and neo-colonial origins for many of our so-called “unhealthy staple foods” (such as SPAM and sisig); about the linked causes for hunger and obesity in communities of color in the US with the growing international food crises in places like Korea and the Philippines. The conversation wasn’t able to progress to even begin discussing these things, and I self-critique for not being able to facilitate in a way that could get us there.

I guess it was so hard for me to have this discussion about food justice and communities of color without getting into everything— the FDA complicity with corporate ag; the neo-imperialism of land and labor exploitation on Third World plantations (aka the Philippines); white middle class privilege in demanding “good food” at the expense of poor immigrants of color who are being paid below living wage to produce it; and so on. These are all huge topics that at the very least folks should ideally read a little about before we engage in a (BRIEF!) 30 minute educational discussion about it, but in the absence of that, what else could I have done? Lecture? Brought in a news article like the one above as a piece to center our discussion?

Even in a very short news article like the one above, you have so many issues at once intersecting— gentrification, white privilege (and white guilt), different cultural discourses on what qualifies as “healthy food” and “diverse neighborhoods,” and that’s just hitting the surface. Even bringing in these two paragraphs seems overwhelming, when folks are coming from different places and have different viewpoints on all these topics…

Meh. I’m not trying to figure it all out now, just venting/processing a little on this blog. More or less, I’m frustrated with my own inability to translate my “intellectual work” (whatever that means) into real talk, to actually work with the community instead of me continuing to talk “at” them.

I went to Hawai’i for the first time ever as my friend D’s date to a family wedding. It was a rainy week in Honolulu, so we spent more time eating than sunbathing, but I did manage to get in a few scenic runs and enjoy the beach nonetheless. This being a food blog and all, I’ll show you a few highlights of the week’s eats:

Haupia (coconut cream) malasadas from...

We OD’ed on the malasadas from the famed Leonard’s Bakery. While the haupia was a bit too cream-filled for my liking, the plain sugared malasadas were pure dough-y heaven. D’s family loves these malasadas so much that we brought a  whole box to the wedding as an extra snack! I love a family that loves food as much as I do.

Of course we sampled classic Hawaiian fast food fare: moco loco and pork chops with gravy from Rainbow Drive-in, hot and spicy shrimp from Giovanni’s Shrimp Truck on the North Shore…

and lots of shave ice. While we made sure to make our pilgrimage to Matsumoto’s on the North Shore, I actually preferred the extra smooth and creamy shave ice with custard (aka leche flan!) at Waiola Shave Ice back in Honolulu. The folks at Waiola make their syrups in-house, and were sweet enough to serve me and D. even though we arrived a wee bit after closing time:

coconut and mango flavored shave ice

Two experiences stand out from my brief stint in Honolulu. Both very, very different from each other but amazing just the same.

While D. and I stuck to cheap eats most nights, we made an exception to visit Town, a buzzed-about  eatery that’s supposedly “bringing the locavore movement” single-handedly to Oahu. While I’m not sure I buy all that, and was initially skeptical about a place outside the mainland trying to do “American comfort food” with local ingredients, this meal was truly delicious. So good, in fact, that I’ll share with you photos of nearly the entire meal that D. and I shared.

Simple olives, bread, and a huge pat of butter in olive oil. If you can make this exciting, then I know I’m in for a good meal! We were then served an extremely fresh tuna tartare on tiny grit cakes, and a big bowl of mussels in what tasted like a pure butter sauce:

D. and I split our main course too, but the portion size of my half was plenty. This was the most interesting dish of the night- a beef shank in mole sauce, with hominy and greens. A little bit Southern, with a classic Mexican sauce done fancy, but amazingly it didn’t taste out of place in Hawaii.

We closed out with a yummy chocolate pie, featuring pretzels and sea salt as a contrasting twist! Like my favorite compost cookies from Momofuku, but with more chocolate-y goodness.

Can I just say that the lighting at Town is just made for food bloggers? The pinlights over each table highlighted the food perfectly without creating a glare off the white dishes in photos. Why can’t more restaurants design their lighting schemes with us in mind?

After dinner at Town, I wasn’t sure my birthday dinner two nights later could top it. I wasn’t looking for anything fancy- just a good, solid Malaysian meal, something near impossible to find in the mainland US. A quick Yelp search on my phone pointed the way to the Green Door Cafe, and I knew as soon as I called for a reservation that we were in for something unique. The phone call went something like this (I’m speaking in italics):

Hello?
Is this Green Door Cafe?
Yes, hello.
What time are you open until tonight? We’d like to make a reservation for two if possible.
Um…What time did you want to come?
7:30-8?
Ok, I’ll stay open for you then. 7:30. See you! (Click).

I wasn’t sure what we’d walk into after that conversation, but it definitely piqued our interest. A little more internet sleuthing revealed Green Door Cafe to be a one-woman operation, with a tiny capacity of 8 patrons, but it didn’t fully prepare us for actually meeting Betty and dining here.

When we walked in, the place was totally empty, except for Betty who was sitting behind the counter, texting or otherwise playing with her phone. Behind the counter was a tiny space, a make-shift kitchen like I’d only seen in Hong Kong or Manila back alleys- with a fridge, a propane burner, and a huge rice maker making up the bulk of the space. Betty cooks everything to order, with a tiny menu written on a white board, kept small so she can focus on doing those few things well with local ingredients. At her recommendation, we ordered the Singaporean noodles and the day’s special- chicken with oyster mushrooms, since the mushrooms were fresh from the farmer’s market that day. What were you saying about introducing the locavore movement to Honolulu, propietors of Town?

I wish I had better photos of the food (served in plastic take-out containers with the lids ripped off), but it was just so dim in here. But, in this failed photo of me, you can actually get a good look at the kitchen set up at Green Door, which is the most interesting part:

Betty's kitchen

Totally unpretentious, excellent and fresh Nyonya Malaysian food, for a quarter of what we paid for the meal at Town. I couldn’t ask for anything more… only that I wish we had a place like this in SoCal, so I could get my fix without having to try (and fail!) at cooking it myself.

The day after my birthday, our last full day in Honolulu, D. and I went to tea at the Moana Surfrider, where we had stayed the night before in an unexpectedly-upgraded suite with crazy views of Waikiki and Diamond Head:

We got as far as sniffing and choosing our teas and taking gratuitous photos of ourselves when I got a call.

I picked it up, wondering why my cousin, whose call I had missed once already that morning, was trying me again. I mean, we’re close enough, but not that close, y’know? I picked up, and before she spoke I already knew something was really wrong. As she told me that my lolo had passed away just a few hours before, I remember thinking that I wish I hadn’t picked up the call and could just enjoy this tea. Shock set in, I actually sat through the tea service and ate the food, then immediately went to rearrange my flights to leave early from HI and to fly home to be with my family.

I definitely wasn’t expecting to spend the end of my birthday week at a funeral home, and I’m still grieving over my grandfather’s passing, so this post is a bit bittersweet. I’ll always remember this Hawai’i trip, for some wonderful times with friends, but also as the last time I spoke with my lolo on the phone (he called me on my birthday) and as just before the worst week of my life thus far.

2011 is certainly proving to be a mixed bag so far.