Love Your Microbes, Kiss Your Dog

One of the suspects in my mystery novel, A Matter of Taste, is a sort of “microbe crusader,” who lectures my sleuth regarding the human gut’s need for a wide spectrum of bacteria to be healthy. The character is not surprisingly a product of my own beliefs, which—though falling short of the over-the-top proselytizing engaged in by the murder suspect in the book—do include advocating for a reduction of the use of antibiotics in our culture, as well as an increase in the consumption of bacterial-rich foods such as kimchee and yogurt.

So I was therefore quite pleased to see Michael Pollan’s newest contribution to the New York Times Magazine, entitled “Some of My Best Friends Are Germs” (5/18/13).

I always love Pollan’s articles, which tend to look at issues from a first-person perspective, thereby making what could be rather dry subjects more personal and immediate. (In the article “Power Steer,” which first brought him to my attention, for instance—a piece later expanded to become The Omnivore’s Dilemma—he purchased a calf and then followed its progress from field to packing-house.)

Pulled Pork Tacos

Pigs were first brought to Hawai’i by the original Polynesian settlers some 1600 years ago, and folks here still do love their pork. Among the popular dishes one is apt to see on local menus are kalua pork, laulau, Spam musubi, fried pork chops, char siu pork, Portuguese sausage... Well, you get the idea. As my friend Nancy likes to say, “Oink, oink!”

the “best pork chops” we had last week at the Manago Hotel in Kona, 

with their sides of rice, tofu, onions and macaroni salad

Figuring it would be well-received by my guests, I therefore decided to serve pulled-pork tacos at our recent lanai-warming party. (Being a good Santa Cruz gal, though, I also provided a pot of vegetarian beans).

This is an great party menu, because the pork and beans can be made the day before (and are, in fact, better if they are made in advance), and then on the day of the event, all you have to do is cut and chop the toppings and set up the buffet.

A Five Hundred Year Smear Campaign

The big news in Britain a few months back was the unearthing in a Leicester car park of the remains of Richard the Third, who was killed at the nearby Battle of Bosworth Field in 1485.

If you were to ask the proverbial man on the street what he knew about this English king, he’d likely say, “Nothing” (at least here in the States). But if he did have anything to say about Richard, it would likely be that he was a hunchback, that he killed his nephews (the famous “princes in the Tower”), or that he was an all-around bad guy.

Well, it turns out that at least one of these things can now be laid to rest as being true: Richard III was indeed a hunchback, since the skeleton unearthed in Leicester shows clear signs of scoliosis, or curvature of the spine.

As for the other things? Well, though never proved to be true, they are still what people believe about the king, over 500 years after his death. This is primarily the fault of Shakespeare, whose play is what most folks think of when they think of Richard III. The problem, however, is that Shakespeare got his version of Richard’s life from Sir Thomas More, who was writing during the reign of Richard’s rival and successor, Henry VII.

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.