Swedish Potatoes

My dad made these once when I was a kid, and though I now know they’re called Hasselback potatoes—after the Hasselbacken restaurant in Stockholm—our family always just referred to them as “Swedish potatoes.” I think their popularity must have been a part of that whole 1960s rage for all things Scandinavian. (My folks still have the teak furniture they bought back then, and who my age doesn’t have memories of going to those gorge-fest smorgasbord restaurants?)

I remember Dad’s attempt at these potatoes as being underdone, and having made them myself for the first time the other night I can see why. The suckers take a LONG time to cook: These were in a 425º F oven for almost three hours. But, boy, was it worth the wait! (I think that if I use a waxy variety, rather than Russets, next time, they’ll cook faster.)

LAX, Laulau and a New Lanai

A few weeks ago, Robin and I took a trip back to the Mainland. Among other things, we spent a few days in Santa Cruz, and attended her brother’s wedding up in Seattle. After the wedding, Robin returned to Hilo and I headed south to my folks’ house in Santa Monica, so I could come back—with them—to Hilo.

My mom and dad are co-owners of our Hilo home, and try to spend at least a month here each year. Traveling is no longer easy for them, however, so I’ve started accompanying them on their outward bound trips to Hawai‘i (unlike the trip home through the tiny Hilo airport, navigating security at LAX can be a nightmare).

Since they now fly first class, and since the remaining coach seats on this particular flight were almost the same price as first class, I got to sit with them and take my first first-class airplane trip. 

Huzzah! Good time fun!

getting our hot towels before dinner

When Murder Isn’t Fiction

I’ve probably read hundreds of mystery novels over the years. My preference is for the lighter or cozy variety, where the details of the murder are downplayed and the focus of the book is more on characterization and the solving of the case.

Now that I’m writing them myself, one of my jobs is to try to get into the heads of my characters who have a murder come into their lives, in order to accurately portray their reaction to the killing and their emotions. But it’s difficult, because you’re always at a distance from the murder in a mystery. After all, it’s just fiction: no one has really died; no one is truly feeling the void left in their life when a loved one is no longer there.

Though I have had people close to me die, their deaths have all been of so-called “natural” causes, and most were in their old age. I’d never know anyone who was the victim of a murder. Until my friend Beth was shot and killed a week ago Tuesday.

When Elizabeth (Beth) Butler decided to enroll in the police academy, I think most folks were probably a bit surprised. Robin and I certainly were. We’d met Beth when she was a UCSC student, living at Kresge College where Robin worked. Kresge is known for its high percentage of hippies, artsy-fartsy types, and vegans—not your typical spawning ground for a cop. Beth fit this mold in many ways, being a potter, a dancer, a gardener, and a fun-loving gal with a free spirit and wicked sense of humor.

Beth the mom

Nevertheless, she was happy as a Santa Cruz police officer. A community studies major at UCSC, she’d long had the drive to be more involved with the residents of our community. She enjoyed getting to use her Spanish and investigation skills on the job, and loved working in a field where you truly get to help people on a day-to-day basis. During ten years with the force, Beth worked as a patrol officer—both on foot and bicycle—as a hostage negotiator, as an agent with the county drug task force, and eventually as the detective in charge of sex crimes investigations.

A Matter of Taste

No, this isn’t about my mystery novel. Well, okay, maybe it is, a little. I’m currently working on the second in a planned series of mysteries involving the five senses. Taste is the sense in the first book (A Matter of Taste), and smell in the second (Such a Smell of Sulfur).

I’ve often thought about the importance of the five senses to us human beings, and occasionally play the “which sense would I give up if I had to?” game with myself. My decision is always the same: it would be taste that I’d forgo.

What?! I know many of you are thinking. But food and cooking are central to your life, Leslie! True.

The Ten-Hundred Most Used Words

There is a new way of writing, using only the ten hundred most used words. I can’t tell you the full name of this new way of writing because its name uses words that aren’t allowed (which I don’t think is right, to tell you the truth). But if you go here you can read all about it.

This new way of writing—which I learned about from my wife’s brother (go here)—comes from a drawing you can see here.

I’m writing this piece using only the ten hundred allowed words. And I can tell you it takes some thinking, because so many of the words I want to use I can’t. Which makes me think about our mother tongue.

The Perils of Being a Pantser

When I wrote my first mystery, A Matter of Taste, I had pretty much everything outlined. Even if I didn’t have certain plot points actually written down on paper, I at least had most of the story in my head before putting fingers to keyboard. Being new to the genre, I figured it would be best to have all my clues, suspects and red herrings organized and mapped out in advance.

 red, but not a herring

In writing circles, this is called being a “plotter.” The other alternative is a “pantser”—as in seat-of-the-pants—where you just sit down and write without much of an outline.

A New Year, A New Town

Robin and I have been back in our second home, Hilo, Hawai‘i, for three weeks now. We’d been gone since last January, so—given how things grow in this tropical clime—you can imagine the amount of whacking back and weeding we’ve been up to since our arrival.

 the bougainvillea when got back

If you know one thing about Hilo, it’s probably that it rains a lot here. And I mean a lot—some 278 days a year. Since the weather is generally warm and pleasant even when it’s raining, however, it’s best to have a lanai—a covered porch—to hang out in.