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Saturday, November 01, 2014         

The Little Foodie Premium

Sometimes I regret my offer to bake for a friend's birthday. I've had several friends forgo the traditional cake in favor of pie. While I do love a layer cake, I can muster up great pies: pecan, pumpkin, lemon meringue, French silk or any number of creamy, fattening pies.

My daughter knows that in our family, food is an expression of love. The other night I made a stew, and she praised the meal between each spoonful. Her proclamations were almost comical, with long sighs as if she was experiencing new levels of flavor.

As a child, I ate sheets of teriyaki-flavored nori by the dozens. Green flecks lived in my teeth. I'd try to get non-Japanese friends to eat some, but I think they assumed I was crazy to eat stuff that was considered fish food.

If California strawberries that stay in California are as good as residents claim, mangoes in Hawaii definitely rival that legend. The sweet and perfectly tender varieties grown on our island seem to dwarf those that are shipped in, still green and well packaged.

Last December, just before the holidays, we were eagerly awaiting our first batch of lilikoi from the tangled vine all along our chain-link fence.

In my culinary journeys I've come across a number of foods that elicit a "love it or hate it" response. For me these are usually items I don't find a bit offensive.

My son will eat carrots. People say to focus on the positive when it comes to parenting, so I am trying not to say that my son won't eat any vegetable of any color except carrots.

These days, we rarely encounter our food outside of four walls. At the grocery store, fruits are always in season, and vegetables have barely a scratch on them.

My husband and I disagree on the necessity of balancing the five tastes: bitter, salty, sweet, sour and umami. This is the guy that says he's going off sugar and then justifies eating frosted Pop Tarts because they're "not dessert."

Cauliflower has come a long way since its days as a steamed vegetable covered in thick, viscous and suspiciously yellow cheese sauce. I wasn't ahead of the trend in accepting cauliflower at my dinner table.


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