Michael is now employing the “truth hurts so I’ll lie” method to handling new and different foods.

He says “I love it,” meaning “that was vile, but I get in trouble for being brutally honest about how disgusting certain foods are so I’ll say what I think you want to hear so you’ll leave me alone.”

For instance, last week his mom picked up some rice bread for him to try. This was the only bread she could find that didn’t have milk and/or soy in it.

After lovingly crafting a PB&J sandwich from this new bread, she handed it to Michael, who took an exploratory bite.

He made that face: the one that looks like he just licked something he thought was chocolate but it turned out to be a moray eel, but he’s too cool to allow a genuine emotion to spread across his visage.

“Well?” his mom asked, expectantly. “How is it?”

“I love it,” he said, on his fiftieth chew of the one bite, his nose wrinkled ever so slightly while he strained to hold his breath and to keep his tongue from actually contacting the masticated wad, lest he taste it.

“Great!” his mom said. “Finish that up then and we can go on our errands.”

“Uh, I’m done with it. I’ll just save it for later,” he said, putting it down. The “later” of which he speaks is no doubt coincident with the end of the Mayan calendar.

For several weeks now Michael had been pestering me to get Brussels sprouts for him to try. He happily eats broccoli and many other vegetables, so this wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. It’s just that Brussels sprouts are infamous as the nemesis of children’s palettes everywhere, throughout all recorded history. Legends have sprung up over tales of stubborn children sitting for days, staring at their plate of uneaten Brussels sprouts until their parents finally cave in or grow too old to fight.

So for him to actually request them was nothing short of a miracle in my mind. And I couldn’t help but be a little proud, since I actually like them myself.

However, I resisted the first few requests, having previous experience with children and their unusual culinary requests (miniature bananas, edible flowers, Mexican hot chocolate, etc.) that ended up shoved to the back of the refrigerator to become fungal substrates.

On his continued insistence, I eventually broke down and bought some.

I made eight of them. A simple recipe: clean them, boil them in salt water, serve warm.

He was so delighted to pack into this “little cabbage” the way he chows down on the “little trees” of broccoli.

I knew things weren’t going well when I saw him take an exploratory nibble and make that staring-straight-ahead, corners-of-the-mouth-curled-down-slightly sort of chewing face.

“Hmm… not so much?” I said.

“It’s good,” he said, unconvincingly.

“I don’t believe you,” I said, unconvinced.

“I love it,” he said, still chewing the microgram of Brussels sprout he had in his mouth.

“Michael, you don’t need to lie to me. If you love it, eat it all and have more.”

He cut the sprout in half and forked half into his mouth.

He chewed on it for the better part of 45 minutes.

“Well? Do you still love it?”

“Yes,” he said, finally swallowing. “But I’m full.”

“Mmmkay. I’ll eat the other seven,” I said.

“Okay. They’re really good.”

“Maybe we can get more tomorrow!” I said, brightly.

“No, that’s okay,” he said. “We can try something else.”

“But you love it, right?”

“Oh, yes. I love it. Can I have a treat now?”

“I thought you said you were full.”

“Well I am full of Brussels sprouts, but…”

“Yeah. Eat your dinner.”

If nothing else, I do admire his adherence to the maxim: “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say nothin’ at all.”

“Everybodeeeeeee loves the Hukilau,
Where the lau lau is the kau kau
At the big luau!”

Ekomomai!

You all know the song, right? Right? Of course you do. Well, according to this song, the “lau lau” is the food at the luau. Whatever else there is, you gotta have lau lau.

So what is it? It’s basically a variety of meats steamed inside a wrapper of taro leaves. Traditionally, it’s butterfish, chicken and pork. For my foray into this particular little delight, I opted against the butterfish and chose to stick with pork alone. But you could use chicken or fish (or beef, though I doubt it would be as yummy).

First, I hacked up a pork butt roast into little chunks. This was by far the most difficult part of the entire venture, as I worked to section out small chunks of actual meat, when in fact it turns out that pork butt is thickly marbled with fat and connective tissue. I spent quite a bit of time just trying to free the few little pockets of meat from their lard prisons. Next time, I’m using chicken.

I marinated the meat chunks in a blend of teriyaki sauce, pineapple juice, passion fruit syrup, liquid smoke and salt for about two hours.

For each lau lau, I laid out two ti leaves, then four or five taro leaves on top of that. Into the center of this I placed five or six meat chunks, then sprinkled a little shredded coconut on top. Here’s where you can get creative and throw in other things like coconut cream, fruit, onions or whatever you like.

Then I folded up the taro leaves to enclose the meat and wrapped it securely with the ti leaves. If done right, the ti leaves serve as the “foil” wrapper and can be tied up like a parcel. I used actual aluminum foil for those of mine where I failed the ti leaf wrap job, but it’s okay to use string as well (like the kind you truss a tenderloin roast with).

To steam these, I had to find a new piece of hardware: a 20 quart stock pot with a steamer basket built in. Once the water got to boiling I just laid these little meaty leaf bundles inside and let them get cooking for four hours.

The poi was another matter. Poi is taro root that has been steamed and mashed. That’s all.

I took a large taro root, peeled the outside, and diced the meat into 1/2 inch chunks. I steamed the chunks of taro for 25 minutes until they were tender, and then stuck as much of it as I could into a blender with a cup of water. I pressed the “puree” button, and the blender just groaned; it toiled not, neither did it spin. My wife took one look at the non-blending blender and said “That’s not going to work. It’s too much.”

I sort of got that notion myself.

However, since I didn’t have a mortar and pestle like the islanders do, I got a wooden spoon and started smushing it up myself right there in the blender. Eventually I did get it mashed to the point where the blender could take over, but even after repeated whirls through the blender it wasn’t quite the right consistency. I poured the glop out into a glass bowl and used a stick blender to finish the job, which it did nicely.

I seasoned the poi with my turmeric-ginger salt and set it aside for later serving.

I made some white rice and grilled pineapple to go along with everything.

So… the lau laus were excellent! I needn’t have bothered trying so hard to get the fat off the pork, since the cooking time was long enough that it pretty much rendered off anyway. The meat was tender and moist and succulent. The seasoning was just right – a smoky and slightly fruity flavor with the depth and warmth of the taro leaves coming through. I cautioned my kids not to try to eat the ti leaves, just the taro – but of course two of them had to try, and found out why you don’t eat ti leaves. It’s like eating a package of dental floss: nothing but thin, unyielding fibers.

The poi, was… probably exactly as it was supposed to be. Bland, gloppy, paste-like. It reminded me of a blank canvas: a perfect substrate just waiting for artistic expression.

I’ve heard it said that poi is an acquired taste, and I can vouch for that. Not to put it down, though – poi is an excellent starch to go along with the meal, providing a great source of fiber and nutrients without a lot of calories. It’s one of the few foods the body can readily digest even if you’re allergic to everything or are otherwise having trouble keeping food down. Some hospitals use it as resource for keeping people fed if nothing else is working.

My wife said she’d like to see a variety of poi flavors presented at the next feast, served in such a way as to be a condiment for dipping meat, shrimp or vegetables in. Banana poi, passion fruit poi, savory poi… the possibilities are endless with this food. One of my work buddies, my local expert on all things Hawaiian, says he has to put sugar on his poi to make it palatable. Maybe it’s like grits: everyone has their own way of eating it.

Anyway, we’ll definitely be revisiting this little treat.

Next time: Ahi Poke!

In my wild and crazy youth, at about the age of eight or nine, I decided I wanted to make cupcakes. My mother was away (working to keep her little family afloat) and grandma was left to tend to the beasties at home. When questioned, I assured my grandmother that my mother did indeed permit me make cupcakes, and yes of course I knew what I was doing.

Lies. I had neither permission nor knowledge of process. I had a vague idea that flour was involved, eggs, perhaps some milk, maybe some vanilla and sugar, and a few other things that must be close up in the spice rack. By my standard magical thinking, I figured the ingredients would probably know what to do and would get together to make something wonderful even without my guidance.

As you have no doubt guessed, the cupcakes did not come out good. They were stout, dense, doughy, salty, speckled grenades, fit for nothing other than composting or weaponry.

My intentions were good. I wanted something yummy, and I had half of a good idea going on. But good intentions and half a brain are not enough when it comes to things like cooking.

For this weekend’s Polynesian fare, my intention was to produce a delicious marinated chicken dish including coconut and macadamia nuts as a broiler finish. I also wanted to serve taro root and sweet potatoes, as these are staples of the islands as well and would make a great side dish. And for a vegetable I would again turn to taro leaves since that turned out pretty good last time.

Marinating has not always worked well for me. The point with marinating is to introduce some flavor into the target meat. I’ve not had a lot of success with this, particularly with chicken. This time, I wanted to be SURE the meat got some flavor. So, after cutting the chicken breasts into quarters I pounded them with the pokey end of a meat tenderizer. Then, I let them sit in a Ziploc bag with a blend of fresh shredded ginger and fresh-squeezed lime juice, for three hours.

Once marinated, I seared the chicken on both sides and let it simmer in coconut milk for two hours. Finally I topped it with a rum-pineapple sauce, coated it with crushed macadamia nuts and shredded coconut, and broiled it until golden brown.

The result was, unfortunately, rather intense. It was like getting shot in the mouth with a lime bazooka. Flavor infused: check.

The other problem was that I had too many flavors competing for attention. Rather than a symphony I had a cacophony: ginger, lime, coconut, macadamia, rum, pineapple and a couple other assorted notes all screamed at once, with lime out-shouting them all. Lesson learned: tone down the marinade. And stick to just a few key flavors, balanced to be harmonious.

Next time I’ll dilute the marinade by about two thirds, not bother with the initial sear or the coconut milk braise, and will coat with macadamia and coconut before baking in the oven until cooked through. Then after a quick broil for color I’ll introduce a light drizzle of the rum-pineapple topping. If I get it right, it will be a tangy and lightly sweet dish with an interesting texture.

As for the taro root and sweet potatoes: The lesson I learned here is that they do NOT bake well on a metal cookie sheet. The taro interacts with the metal and turns this ugly grey color. Rather than cube them and bake them, better to julienne and pan-fry them in canola oil.

My sincerest thank-yous to my wife and mother-in-law, who were very kind and gentle with their comments. My wife always provides truly constructive criticism, gently and helpfully pointing out where a dish took a wrong turn and proposing a better alternative to seasoning and cooking method. My mother-in-law, after graciously working through the entire meal, said: “Well, at least we won’t get scurvy.” This is true, grandma K.

I’ll probably revisit this dish before the summer is up, making the suggested changes of course.

Okay, so “American Independence Day” AKA “The Fourth Of July” was this last weekend, and tradition demands the grilling of meat over a heat source while standing outside wearing Bermuda shorts, black socks and sandals.

However, I made a commitment to experimentation with Polynesian Culinary Inspiration, and I mean to stick to it. And I don’t wear black socks.

The solution to this apparent dilemma? Cross-cultural foodie fusion!

I decided that what I need to do is to see how I could spice up the old standard hamburger with a Polynesian bite.

So I created a new spice blend out of ingredients from my Polynesian Culinary Pallet:

3 teaspoons sea salt
1 teaspoon turmeric
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon fresh ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon fresh ground white pepper

The other addition is a simple and painfully predictable one: grilled pineapple. But it has to be fresh pineapple! There’s no comparison to canned pineapple. They’re not hard to carve; slice off the top and bottom, then slice downward on all sides to remove the bumpy skin. They sell pineapple corers if you want a quicker job, but I used a long, thin knife to cut out and remove the core. Slice into 1/4 inch rings and grill over high heat for four minutes on a side. Set them aside.

Roll out about a pound of hamburger to about a quarter inch thick sheet and cut it up into 2″ squares, then season with the spice mixture. Grill these for two or three minutes on a side and serve with a ring of grilled pineapple on a toasted slider bun (we like the slider size because you can eat more of them without feeling guilty).

It’s the turmeric and ginger that really bring the island taste to the party. The two spices together, along with the undertones of nutmeg and cinnamon add a sweetness and tang that cannot be described. Coupled with the pineapple, you have a deliciously different burger. They’re best enjoyed in the flickering light of tiki torches and the sweet strains of slack-key guitar music, maybe accompanied by a fruity drink (umbrella optional).

Turmeric, by the way, is widely hailed by many in the health food sciences as a “miracle spice” for its anti-cancer, anti-inflammatory and pro-metabolism properties. I won’t go into a lot of detail here, but suffice it to say that I’m going to find a way to put turmeric in more of my cooking from here on.

It was only after serving these delightful burgers that I had the inspiration of putting Taro and Sweet Potato chips on the side. On one of my recent Polynesian ingredients junkets I discovered these potato chip alternatives along with other Hawaiian foods. Since both taro and sweet potatoes are starchy, tuberous root plants like the regular old American Russet tater, it goes without saying that they can be sliced up and fried the same way – but being staples of the islands, they fit right in with the other Polynesian food groups. And they’re really good; crunchy and salty and a bit spicy. Next time I’ll remember to have these handy.

Oh – and my choice of garb? Blue jeans with a red & white Hawaiian shirt. Once again, a cross-cultural win. Hope everyone had a great fourth!

Today we’re hopping an outrigger and heading down to Tahiti, where we’re going to be cooking up “Chevrettes a la vanilla et coco” (or Shrimp in coconut-vanilla sauce). As a bonus, we’re having ”Poulet Fafa” (or Tahitian Taro Chicken).

Tahiti is famous for its vanilla beans. They’re the most flavorful vanilla beans you can get, in my opinion. But to get them at the grocery store is to pay a steep price: our local markets sell one bean for anywhere from nine to fourteen dollars. Yikes! Buy them online and the price drops dramatically, but you encounter minimum orders and shipping costs, so unless you’re running a restaurant or buying for your extended family, probably best to stick to the local shops. Or do what I did: use Tahitian vanilla extract.

For the shrimp dish I used white shrimp, since they have a fairly versatile flavor base. The part I dislike the most about dealing with shrimp is cleaning and deveining. But once you’ve done a few, it goes quickly. The shrimp are simply pan-seared and seasoned, then set aside to finish in the sauce. The sauce itself is the real magic of this dish, brining the flavors of vanilla, coconut and rum together beautifully. The vanilla bean (or extract) is simmered with about ½ cup of rum (be careful here – all rums are NOT created equal! I used Coruba for its rich, tropical taste. Appleton or Meyers would work okay too) until the liquid is reduced by about half, and then unsweetened coconut cream is added and simmered until the sauce thickens. Add salt and pepper and stir in the shrimp. Simmer for a minute or two and serve.

The recipe recommends serving with sautéed spinach. I was not successful in my sautéing of spinach, and ended up making dark green mush instead of the crispy leaves I was hoping for. My mistake was in not drying the leaves well after washing them. The shrimp and the coconut-vanilla sauce was wonderful: not sweet, but aromatic and tropical; the vanilla was not overpowering but complemented the coconut perfectly. The recipe called for 1 cup of heavy cream as well, but I simply omitted that ingredient as I was not desirous of presenting my wife with another heart attack.

The chicken didn’t turn out as well as I’d have liked. I used medium sized pieces of white meat, pan-seared and seasoned. The taro leaves are the key to this dish. If you can find them, you’re fortunate. There are a few Asian markets out there who carry these, so be on the lookout (spinach will do in a pinch). Taro leaves MUST be treated before using them in any dish! Unless you want a mouth full of fire. Chop them up and simmer them for 40 minutes in saltwater to leech out the incendiary calcium oxalate. Rinse and squeeze dry before introducing into your dish.

I sautéed onions, ginger and garlic for a couple of minutes, then added chicken stock and the pan-seared chicken. After it cooked for a bit I stirred in the taro leaves and seasoned to taste, then finished with about ½ cup of coconut cream.

The chicken itself was rather bland, but the taro leaves in the dish gave it a warmth and depth that I was not expecting. In the future I’ll probably cut the chicken up into smaller pieces and marinate with lime juice and rice wine vinegar before searing. The recipe calls for 2 cups of onions, but I think it would work okay to scale that back to about ½ cup, and maybe introduce a small amount of chili pepper to the dish to give it a kick and some color. That, and I’d probably keep the chicken out of it until the last minute to retain the sear.
The two dishes went well together, each presenting a taste of coconut (prevalent in Tahitian cooking) but offering two different takes on it.

Next time I’ll post pictures. Promise.

E komo mai!

A couple of weeks ago, we embarked on a culinary journey across the Pacific Ocean, upon which we will be sampling new and unheard-of dishes created in sincere Polynesian style. I have selected the alliterative name “Tiki Tuesday” as a venue for disclosure of the success or failure of each weekend’s Polynesian-Style dinner over the course of this summer.

Last weekend’s dinner was a success, in that the food was all edible and my wife and kids enjoyed it.

On the menu:

Kalua Pork
Fried Plantains in savory coconut sauce
Tropical Fruit Salad

A note for my Kosher-observing readers: you may substitute chicken breasts or chuck roast for the pork; it should work about the same.

Now, real Kalua Pork (or “Kalua Pig” as it’s called) is traditionally prepared in an Imu, a makeshift oven that’s basically a pit dug in the sand and filled with rocks that have been heating up in a fire. The pork is wrapped tightly in Ti leaves and Banana leaves, set on the hot rocks and then buried to cook all day. What you end up with is a smoked, pulled-pork kind of dish. It’s amazingly good.

Since I think the homeowner’s association would frown upon my digging up the yard and cooking a pig, I had to figure out another means of cooking my roast. I chose a five pound pork roast, seasoned it with salt, pepper, ginger and allspice, and set it in a smoker for six hours.
This would give it the flavor I wanted. It rested overnight in the refrigerator. The next day I coated it in a mop sauce consisting of apple cider vinegar, sautéed sweet onions, freshly grated ginger and passion fruit syrup. Then I wrapped it in Taro leaves and Ti leaves (Banana leaves are not to be found anywhere in the metro area) and aluminum foil (to hold it together) and set it in a crock pot for ten hours on low, adding a cup of water to make sure it stayed moist.

Ten hours was the perfect cooking time. The result was a tender, moist, smoky and aromatic meat that could be pulled apart with a fork and made into a sandwich (one of my kids ate it this way) or just eaten as is. No sauce required.

The plantains were fairly simple. I chose three green plantains, peeled them (not an easy task) and cut them into ½ inch slices. These I fried up in 2 tbs canola oil, and seasoned with salt, pepper, garlic and paprika. About two minutes per side is enough to give them a nice browning.

I prepared the coconut sauce the same way as last time, only this time I didn’t bother with the corn starch, I used less milk and didn’t let it come to a boil. This kept it from curdling. Also, I added ¼ cup of mango puree and a half teaspoon of orange flower water to give it a tropical, floral note. This worked beautifully. I served the plantains with the coconut sauce. In retrospect I think I had a bit too much salt in the sauce, and the plantains were a bit bland on their own. Maybe they can be marinated.

The fruit salad consisted of pineapple, mango, kiwi and cantaloupe. Mangoes are strange; they have this wedge-shaped pit inside that’s hard to discern from the fruit itself. This makes it difficult to slice up unless you’ve done it a bunch. Practice makes perfect with these things.

For next week, I’m going to head back to cooking chicken, and see if I can amp up the vegetable factor. There are a few other ingredients I’m hoping to find around here: taro root, breadfruit and awapuhi.

A hui hou!

Some time ago I mentioned quinoa as an amazing little protein-packed grain, a virtual powerhouse of nutrition in a simple and versatile package.

It isn’t a grain, technically, because it isn’t the product of a grass plant (like wheat, corn or oats are for example). But it’s treated the same and it can be used just the same.

So it goes that we figured out a way to use it as a breakfast item.

It started simply enough: we like oatmeal for breakfast. It’s got that wonderful oat bran and soluble fiber that’s so heart healthy. But it’s a little boring. How to amp it up? Toast!

That is, toast the oats before you cook them. This brings out a whole different side to oats’ taste profile. Once we tasted the glory of toasted oats, we figured we could toast some quinoa and toss that in as well. Even better!

Adding flax seed meal and walnuts boosted both the nutrition and the flavor by adding Omega-3s and a wonderful nuttiness. And in our house, more nuttiness is a trademark.

This, in my mind, represents the height of morning nutrition:

Toasted Oats and Quinoa Cereal
2 cups pre-washed quinoa
2 cups old-fashioned oats
3/4 cup chopped walnuts
3/4 cup flax seed meal

In a medium-sized frying pan, toast the quinoa over medium heat. I like to do this about 1/2 cup at a time so it’s easier to move around. It will likely pop and jump around like itty-bitty popcorns as it toasts, so watch out for escapees. I use a fry screen to keep their excitement contained. The quinoa should turn from a light tan to a richer brown; don’t let it go too far.

When that’s done, dump it into a large metal bowl.

Toast the oatmeal about 1/2 cup at a time in the same pan. It won’t do anything while it’s toasting other than lie there and burn, so keep it moving. Dump it into the bowl with the quinoa when it’s done.

Pour the flax seed meal and chopped walnuts into the bowl with the quinoa and oats, and stir.

You’re ready to go. Note: This batch yields 24 servings! You can store it in a plastic zip-top baggie for later use.

To prepare two servings:

Bring 1 cup of salted water to a boil
Add 1/2 cup of the toasted quinoa and oats cereal
Reduce to medium low heat, simmer uncovered for 15 minutes.
Let stand, covered, for one minute.

Serve with milk and a smidge of brown sugar or raisins if you like.

Rico!

In 1947, Norwegian explorer Thor Heyerdahl set sail across the pacific in a hand-made raft to prove his hypothesis that the Polynesian islands could have been reached and thus settled by South Americans in pre-Columbian times, using only the kinds of stuff they had available at the time: wood, bamboo, and a whole lot of perseverance.

He made it.

This summer, Michael’s Daddy is attempting to prove that he can learn how to cook true Polynesian dishes using ingredients he can find in and around Portland, Oregon. Without making his family ill or desirous of a merciful end in the process.

Confession time (and by stating this publicly, I become committed to it): I have had this dream of opening a Polynesian-style restaurant for a number of years now, and I need to have a good base of Polynesian recipes to start from.

And by Polynesian recipes, I mean truly South Pacific Islands: Tahiti, Hawaii, Tonga, Samoa, the Cook islands, etc.

I don’t mean Chinese food. Don’t get me wrong: I love Chinese food, but it’s already well represented. And I’m also not talking about Caribbean dishes either; that’s in the Atlantic.

So what is Polynesian food? Good question. There’s not a lot of info on it out there, because it gets muddied by timelines and external influences, such as the Chinese food thing; the Pacific Rim is a big area and after a certain point in world history, things became available to the islands that weren’t available before. Such as Spam. I know Spam is a big thing in Hawaii now, but it didn’t use to be. And in every “Hawaiian” or “Tiki” restaurant I’ve ever been in, the menu has consisted mostly of Chinese food. Again, that’s fine, but it’s not what I’m looking for.

What would the Pacific Islanders have made, traditionally, before they were influenced by outsiders?

What did they have to work with? What were the native plants and animals they could use? And how did they prepare their dishes?

These are the questions I’m going to try to answer this summer, as each week I try out a new recipe, working with ingredients that would have been available to the islanders, and using techniques that are as close as possible to their methods.

Last night was my first real attempt: pork Lau Lau wrapped in Ti leaves, served with a coconut cream sauce and fruit salad.

I was able to find Ti leaves at a local Asian market. I got the coconuts there as well, in hopes they’d be better than the dry, nearly useless ones that are at the local grocery stores.

Preparing coconut cream isn’t hard, but it can get messy. I used a hatchet to knock off the pointy end (the one without the eyes) and pour out the water inside (there are uses for coconut water, but I’m not ready to explore that yet). Cracking open the shell and scraping out the coconut is a bit of a labor, as is peeling the skin off of the meat. I used a food processor to shred the coconut (short on time; didn’t have all day to pound on it with a mortar and pestle) and then put it in the center of a clean cloth over a bowl and poured warm milk on it, then wrapped the cloth up and squeezed out the cream. Takes some muscle. I sauteed some green onions, ginger and basil in a little canola oil, seasoned with salt, stirred in a small amount of corn starch and then added the coconut cream and let that simmer for a while.

The pork I’d prepared earlier, cutting the chops into little 1 inch cubes and marinating in a little lime juice, liquid smoke, salt and water. After searing the chunks on both sides, I wrapped them in the Ti leaves and set that in the oven at 275 degrees for five hours. The idea is that the meat cooks low and slow, with steam as the primary heat conductor to produce a moist, tender, delicious result.

The result was, in fact, neither moist nor tender. Though I’d wrapped the pork up nicely and covered the baking dish tightly with foil, the whole conglomeration ran out of steam (literally) somewhere between 3:00 and 4:00 PM. What we ended up gnawing on for dinner were brittle, charred pork rocks. Covered in coconut cream. And it was delicious. sort of. My family is so very kind to me, smiling and giving me praise while loudly crunching on meaty pumice.

They really enjoyed the pineapple and kiwi fruit salad though.

I haven’t given up on this recipe. I need to do this on a weekend, when I can be home to monitor it throughout the cooking process. And it should probably cook in a dutch oven with a good supply of moisture. Anyway, I’m going to keep at it until I get it right.

Next weekend I’m going to tackle fish. Stay tuned.

My 23 regular readers will no doubt recall that we recently learned that Michael is allergic to both Dairy and Soy products.

Since then, we’ve been keeping a close eye on what little Mr. Mikey eats. And lest we ever let our guard down, Michael himself provides an abundant level of caution, asking whether or not any given food product is disallowed; e.g., hand him a glass of water, and before he takes a sip he’ll ask if it has soy in it. So he knows what to avoid.

While it is probably premature to say with confidence that this dietary shift has completely repaired Michael’s behavior problems, it is safe to say that we’ve noticed a very distinct change in his daily demeanor. The notes that come home from Ms S’s school are far more positive than they have been in weeks past, his patience level has increased quite a bit with everything from sisters to toys to being told “no,” and his disposition has taken a markedly happy turn.

And while we’re relieved to know we’ve nipped a potentially hazardous allergy in the bud and have given Michael’s poor, overworked immune system some much needed relief, our new situation is not entirely joyful.

For now we are faced with overwhelming restrictions.

You may also recall a couple of instances in which I discussed the difficulty we have in putting together Michael’s lunch. Up until recently, our biggest challenge was not having cheese or peanut-based foods as options.

Pfft. A trifle. Now we understand the real meaning of constraints.

I mean, what’s the kid supposed to eat? Where are we supposed to find food for him? Grocery stores cater to the largest percentage of the population, and pay little attention to those unlucky few who suffer from dietary restrictions such as this. Yeah, you can find a lot of gluten-free stuff nowadays, as well as sugar-free and even some non-dairy things like “Rice Dream”. Only, in most cases, the non-Dairy stuff contains soy.
Even things that shouldn’t be dairy or soy contain one or both, to add protein and build up the bulk in foods that would otherwise be flat and non-protein-ish.

In terms of categorization, here’s a rough analysis of what I’ve found at our favorite grocery store:

As we carefully searched the shelves at the store, we discovered that almost down to a one, each of Michael’s most favorite prepared foods were chock full of dairy, soy or both. He just plain old can’t have them any more. All of our former lunch options are gone:

No more Lunchables.

No more Spaghetti-Os.

No more Raviolis.

No more Kid’s Cuisine.

And worst of all, no more Campbell’s Chunky Sirloin Burger Soup!

The utter despair of it all!

Fortunately, over the last year or so we’ve been doing healthy eating in the house of Michael. So we’ll be applying the same strategy to Michael’s lunch menu that we’ve been doing for our dinner menu: making it ourselves, starting with fresh, whole foods that are as close to their raw, natural states as possible:

This is the surest way to avoid both dairy products and soy ingredients. And I’ll begrudgingly admit it dovetails with our healthy eating plan. This is how the plan is forced upon us, keeping us from falling prey to the temptation of serving Froot Loops and Ice Cream for dinner when inspiration fails. The urgency of cooking healthy is a bit greater now.

Over the next few weeks Michael’s mom and I will be scouring the markets for whole foods, and scanning the internet and other venues for recipes of things we can make, things he won’t be allergic to, things he might actually eat and enjoy.

I have no doubt that Michael will be very happy with his lunch from here on out.

We have a diagnosis.

Just to recap a bit, you may recall a situation at Michael’s school in which we were concerned about his behavior and were taking steps to help Michael improve.

One of the things his mom and I talked about with his teachers was the possibility of a food allergy. The medical community is well aware of links between food allergies and behavior problems. This was our first course of action, to determine whether Michael’s spurious aggression had an organic root as opposed to a psychological or pathological one.

A few days ago, Michael’s mommy took him to the doctor for a blood draw (he got a trip to McDonald’s for chicken nuggets out of that). Evidently allergy tests these days are done with a blood draw, rather than the skin scratch test. Long story short, if your blood has antibodies that are hanging around ready to go dukes with a particular allergen, the lab test will ferret it out.

And ferret it out they did. Michael’s blood has two very specific antibodies, in fact.

One of them was for milk (and thus all things dairy).

So, there goes milk on the cereal. And ice cream. And cheese – oh, wait; he hates cheese. No big loss there.

He looooooves chocolate milk, though, so we’re going to have quite a time dealing with that. And what to put on his Wheaties in the morning?

Why, of course! Soy milk, right? Right!

Wrong. That other antibody he was carrying around is the one for all things soy.

Between the two, that clears out about ninety five percent of the processed food market. Have you seen how prevalent soy is in everything? Heck, I thought high-fructose corn syrup was ubiquitous; soy has it beat by a mile.

After getting the report from the doctor, I went to the store to find stuff for Michael that didn’t contain milk or soy.

Turns out, they use soy in everything, to bump up protein content and add bulk as well as coloring, a cooking agent and as a “natural” flavor. Sheesh. Good luck finding anything that doesn’t have either milk, soy or both. Even most brands of rice milk contain soy.

I did find some almond milk that is proudly soy free, and he actually likes it. I also found some hemp milk that’s soy-less, though I feel a little wary of pouring that on his frosted flakes. I’m worried that he might get the munchies at Ms S’s midway through the day, or suggest putting on some Led Zeppelin at music time.

Constructing a proper diet for Michael is going to be a challenge, for sure.

But you gotta do what you gotta do.