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| My submission to Food Fads of 2014: Congee Brunch - Photo by Wasabi Prime |
Showing posts with label spam. Show all posts
Showing posts with label spam. Show all posts
Monday, January 27, 2014
Mixed Plate: The Wrath of Congee
Yo, all my Asian brothahs and sistahs from other mistahs -- are you ready to rumble?? Tiger Moms everywhere are ready to judge meals all over the world, and cast tired looks and furrowed eyebrows across tables at what's going to be served up for CNY! Chinese tradition would dictate you're busy fretting away over a traditional Lunar New Year meal coming up at the end of January, where we say farewell to the Year of the Snake and howdy to the Year of the Horse for 2014. It's a big deal, and it's an important time to gather with loved ones and welcome the new year properly, but I also get that it's stressful like any other holiday fraught with family and drama. I say... to hell with tradition -- invite all your non-judgy friends over, who love you just the way you are, not how many hours of piano practice you shirked as a kid, and serve up the new hotness that I am naming as the Next Big/Annoying Food Trend for 2014: Congee Brunch.
Monday, June 10, 2013
FoodTrek: My Pidgin Kitchen
In Hawaii they speak a form of Pidgin English, which is basically a language mish-mash of the different cultures that make up the islands today. There are Native Hawaiian words, Japanese, Chinese, etc., all tossed together with English and smashed together... well, like a big loaf of Spam. And that's just what the food culture in Hawaii is like, a mish-mash of different cuisines that all manage to work well on the plate, even Spam. Especially when it's in fried rice.
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| Sweet chili chicken with Spam fried rice - ono kine grindz! - Photo by Wasabi Prime |
Monday, April 15, 2013
UnRecipe: It's Gettin' Real With the KEEN-wah
Quinoa. It's one of those words where you look at it for a long time and wonder how the hell its pronunciation ever came to be. If you currently live or have ever lived in Washington State, you'll be familiar with this stare-too-long-and-the-word-is-just-wrong phenomena, given our wealth of pronunciation-conundrums like Puyallup (pew-allup), Sequim (squim), and Issaquah (issa-quah, but say it fast, the emphasis is on the first syllable). I actually think the pronunciation of quinoa would make for a great rap name, because Keen-Wah, would sound pretty cool and about as superstar as the actual whole grain itself. Kanye, introducing Keen-Wah, throw your hands in the air and say YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
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| Fried rice made with quinoa and brown rice - SUPAHSTAAAAAAAAH - Photo by Wasabi Prime |
Monday, April 26, 2010
UnRecipe: Fried Rice is Nice
Like most grand schemes, this one came together late one night after a couple of vodkas on the rocks while staring blankly into my parents' refrigerator. What, you think Steve Jobs doesn't do this, pondering the mysteries of the refrigerator light? My mother always cooks a couple of dishes for the week and gets a take-out lunch once or twice, so the refrigerator is always filled with leftovers of varying portions and provenance. My dad is hell-bent on never letting a single bite of food go to waste, so there are plates with little bits of things on every shelf of the fridge. Granted, the concept of Hawaii-style fried rice isn't new, but it was a direct result of a long stare into their refrigerator abyss.
A single slice of Spam, one kalbi rib, a few slices of char-siu, random bits from a take-out bento, and cold rice. The brain cells not yet euthanized from the night's cocktails managed to fire off the notion to make fried rice out of all the random stuff. Staying at my parents' house, I hadn't cooked in a few days, was feeling antsy, so I set my mind to get cookin'. I love cold rice for no other reason that this is the only useful way to take advantage of it. It will never be resurrected to the perfect, gluten-sticky consistency of it being freshly scooped from the rice cooker, and the benefit of the fridge-stale chill is that it gives the fried rice a good toothy bite. The next time you have that lone take-out box of white rice from the Chinese restaurant the night before, chop up whatever leftovers you have in the fridge, add a scrambled egg, some soy sauce, and mix with the rice -- you'll never want to order fried rice from a restaurant again because you'll realize how ridiculously simple (and cheap) it is.
I don't often get to cook for my parents, much less my mom. When I stay with family, she always insists on doing everything because, well, it's Mom. That's what they do and that's why Moms are the best. Plus, it was a nice thing to not only cook something for my dad, but to see that he enjoyed it. He has particular tastes, he likes what he likes, and while he knows I do this "cooking internet thing," I don't think he fully realized that I can indeed put a meal together without setting the house on fire or causing global nuclear meltdown. Way to go, Wasabi! Or who knows, maybe he was just being kind and thought the fried rice sucked. But again, it's our parents -- we can never truly disappoint them when they see we've made an effort. Even if it meant getting drunk and rummaging through the fridge.
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| Hawaii-style Fried Rice, as Conceptualized via Vodka Goggles - Photo by Wasabi Prime |
A single slice of Spam, one kalbi rib, a few slices of char-siu, random bits from a take-out bento, and cold rice. The brain cells not yet euthanized from the night's cocktails managed to fire off the notion to make fried rice out of all the random stuff. Staying at my parents' house, I hadn't cooked in a few days, was feeling antsy, so I set my mind to get cookin'. I love cold rice for no other reason that this is the only useful way to take advantage of it. It will never be resurrected to the perfect, gluten-sticky consistency of it being freshly scooped from the rice cooker, and the benefit of the fridge-stale chill is that it gives the fried rice a good toothy bite. The next time you have that lone take-out box of white rice from the Chinese restaurant the night before, chop up whatever leftovers you have in the fridge, add a scrambled egg, some soy sauce, and mix with the rice -- you'll never want to order fried rice from a restaurant again because you'll realize how ridiculously simple (and cheap) it is.
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| Leftovers get all Voltron and form a single robo-meal of deliciousness - Photo by Wasabi Prime |
I don't often get to cook for my parents, much less my mom. When I stay with family, she always insists on doing everything because, well, it's Mom. That's what they do and that's why Moms are the best. Plus, it was a nice thing to not only cook something for my dad, but to see that he enjoyed it. He has particular tastes, he likes what he likes, and while he knows I do this "cooking internet thing," I don't think he fully realized that I can indeed put a meal together without setting the house on fire or causing global nuclear meltdown. Way to go, Wasabi! Or who knows, maybe he was just being kind and thought the fried rice sucked. But again, it's our parents -- we can never truly disappoint them when they see we've made an effort. Even if it meant getting drunk and rummaging through the fridge.
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| Making fried rice, plus pink fish cakes that clearly live in a Barbie World - Photos by Wasabi Prime |
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
OMG a Recipe: Aloha Plenty Bread Pudding and a Short Break from Blogging
Consider this an Out of Office Reply for the next two weeks: the time has come for the Prime to take a short break and visit family in Hawaii for a spell (I know, rough life, no?). I will be taking a blogging hiatus from the 9th-18th, but will be back in fightin' form in time for the Foodportunity Event in Seattle on the 22nd -- so looking forward to seeing so many of you again, and meeting new foodies!
As for this short hiatus, I will be bringing my camera and hope to post periodic travel notes via Twitter, so feel free to follow my journey via @WasabiPrime. I'll be visiting my dear Mama and Papa Wasabi in Hilo, on the Big Island, aka, ground zero for the most thankfully uneventful recent tsunami warning (whew!). Am hoping to capture a Slippahz-and-Spam-Musubi kind of visit, versus the sandy beaches and fruity drink experience, as my memories of this place are very personal and rather om-nommy. To celebrate this vision of a down-home tropical paradise, I leave you with an Aloha Plenty Bread Pudding, with Spam and Portuguese Sausage.
This is by no means a traditional local dish, but it combines a lot of local favorites that I thought would go well together: Portuguese sausage (linguica), King's Hawaiian sweet bread, scallions, and the champagne of mystery meats, Spam (insert Dramatic Chipmunk music here). Or as my mother calls it, Spare Parts, All Meat. I know that's not what Hormel's original intent was, but damn it all if my mom's version isn't funnier.
I wasn't sure if the sweetness of the bread would add too much of a sugary flavor, but once it's toasted and then cooked as a savory pudding, the other flavors reign supreme over any lingering sweetness from the bread. I used the pre-packaged rolls because that seems to be more prevalent than the old-school round loaves of King's Hawaiian. It's a delicious bread to eat on its own, with just a bit of softened butter on a slice of its spongey, soft brioche-like texture. I remember many mornings just having a giant slice of sweet bread and a bit of margarine over it, because I was too impatient to wait for the butter to become spreadable. Because of its soft, moist texture, for a bread pudding, it's good to perform the extra step of toasting the cubes of bread first so that it can absorb the liquid custard that will eventually bind all the ingredients together. The resulting savory bread pudding is a hearty slice of Island delight that reflects the unique mix of cultures and unfussy food resourcefulness that is very much a part of Hawaiian life.
If you want to read some previous posts about my last trip to Da Islands, you can read a two-part Mixed Plate post, titled Ono Kine Hawaii:
Green Acres (pt 1)
Island Grindz is da Bes' Kinez (pt 2)
I also created a twist on the popular Hawaiian pizza, using dried spiced pineapple and Black Forest ham, even though I got razzed by family saying "yo, I'm sick of foods with pineapple thrown on it and 'Hawaiian' slapped on the name." Razz all you want - the pizza was ono. Read Fantasy Island Pizza >>
If you're looking to be foodie-gangstah, go ahead and make up a platter of Spam Musubi. I made up a batch to celebrate Hawaii's 50th anniversary for statehood, with little flags! Don't knock it till you try it -- it's onolicious to the tenth power. And your blood sugar will absolutely freak out from all the white rice. Read Statehood Spam Musubi Post >>
Aloha Plenty Bread Pudding
1 package of King's Hawaiian sweet bread/dinner rolls (12 oz), torn/cut into cubes
1 can of Spam, cubed into small pieces
1 package of Portuguese sausage/linguica, sliced into small pieces
2 green onions, chopped finely
2 eggs
1 1/2 cups milk
Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Place cubes of sweet bread onto a baking sheet and toast lightly in the oven for 10-15 minutes, or until slightly browned and most of the moisture removed.They should feel like large croutons.
Take a large skillet and place on burner set to medium-high heat. Cook down the slices and cubes of Spam and Portuguese sausage until they are browned. Remove and discard extra oil if desired. Toss the cooked meat and toasted bread cubes in a bowl until incorporated.
Lightly whisk two eggs with the milk in a small bowl. Drizzle over the bread and meat mixture, tossing ingredients until the bread has soaked up the milk and egg custard. Add the green onions and mix until incorporated. Lightly grease a casserole dish with butter or oil, and pour mixture in, spreading evenly along the bottom. Place dish into the preheated oven still at 350 degrees and bake for 20-25 minutes or until the custard has set and the top is browned.
Let bread pudding rest for a few minutes after removing from the oven, slice pieces and serve. Optional, sprinkle with toasted/crushed macadamia nuts and a drizzle of Tabasco sauce for onolicious fun.
Will blog-atcha soon! Mahalo Plenty!
As for this short hiatus, I will be bringing my camera and hope to post periodic travel notes via Twitter, so feel free to follow my journey via @WasabiPrime. I'll be visiting my dear Mama and Papa Wasabi in Hilo, on the Big Island, aka, ground zero for the most thankfully uneventful recent tsunami warning (whew!). Am hoping to capture a Slippahz-and-Spam-Musubi kind of visit, versus the sandy beaches and fruity drink experience, as my memories of this place are very personal and rather om-nommy. To celebrate this vision of a down-home tropical paradise, I leave you with an Aloha Plenty Bread Pudding, with Spam and Portuguese Sausage.
 |
| Hoh, dis buggaz stay ono kine to da max! - Photo by Wasabi Prime |
This is by no means a traditional local dish, but it combines a lot of local favorites that I thought would go well together: Portuguese sausage (linguica), King's Hawaiian sweet bread, scallions, and the champagne of mystery meats, Spam (insert Dramatic Chipmunk music here). Or as my mother calls it, Spare Parts, All Meat. I know that's not what Hormel's original intent was, but damn it all if my mom's version isn't funnier.
I wasn't sure if the sweetness of the bread would add too much of a sugary flavor, but once it's toasted and then cooked as a savory pudding, the other flavors reign supreme over any lingering sweetness from the bread. I used the pre-packaged rolls because that seems to be more prevalent than the old-school round loaves of King's Hawaiian. It's a delicious bread to eat on its own, with just a bit of softened butter on a slice of its spongey, soft brioche-like texture. I remember many mornings just having a giant slice of sweet bread and a bit of margarine over it, because I was too impatient to wait for the butter to become spreadable. Because of its soft, moist texture, for a bread pudding, it's good to perform the extra step of toasting the cubes of bread first so that it can absorb the liquid custard that will eventually bind all the ingredients together. The resulting savory bread pudding is a hearty slice of Island delight that reflects the unique mix of cultures and unfussy food resourcefulness that is very much a part of Hawaiian life.
If you want to read some previous posts about my last trip to Da Islands, you can read a two-part Mixed Plate post, titled Ono Kine Hawaii:
Green Acres (pt 1)
Island Grindz is da Bes' Kinez (pt 2)
I also created a twist on the popular Hawaiian pizza, using dried spiced pineapple and Black Forest ham, even though I got razzed by family saying "yo, I'm sick of foods with pineapple thrown on it and 'Hawaiian' slapped on the name." Razz all you want - the pizza was ono. Read Fantasy Island Pizza >>
If you're looking to be foodie-gangstah, go ahead and make up a platter of Spam Musubi. I made up a batch to celebrate Hawaii's 50th anniversary for statehood, with little flags! Don't knock it till you try it -- it's onolicious to the tenth power. And your blood sugar will absolutely freak out from all the white rice. Read Statehood Spam Musubi Post >>
Aloha Plenty Bread Pudding
1 package of King's Hawaiian sweet bread/dinner rolls (12 oz), torn/cut into cubes
1 can of Spam, cubed into small pieces
1 package of Portuguese sausage/linguica, sliced into small pieces
2 green onions, chopped finely
2 eggs
1 1/2 cups milk
Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Place cubes of sweet bread onto a baking sheet and toast lightly in the oven for 10-15 minutes, or until slightly browned and most of the moisture removed.They should feel like large croutons.
Take a large skillet and place on burner set to medium-high heat. Cook down the slices and cubes of Spam and Portuguese sausage until they are browned. Remove and discard extra oil if desired. Toss the cooked meat and toasted bread cubes in a bowl until incorporated.
Lightly whisk two eggs with the milk in a small bowl. Drizzle over the bread and meat mixture, tossing ingredients until the bread has soaked up the milk and egg custard. Add the green onions and mix until incorporated. Lightly grease a casserole dish with butter or oil, and pour mixture in, spreading evenly along the bottom. Place dish into the preheated oven still at 350 degrees and bake for 20-25 minutes or until the custard has set and the top is browned.
Let bread pudding rest for a few minutes after removing from the oven, slice pieces and serve. Optional, sprinkle with toasted/crushed macadamia nuts and a drizzle of Tabasco sauce for onolicious fun.
Will blog-atcha soon! Mahalo Plenty!
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| Mystery Meat with Bread That's Sweet! - Photos by Wasabi Prime |
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
UnRecipe: The Lord of the Leftovers - Thanksgiving Trilogy
Humorist Calvin Trillin had this to say about leftovers: The most remarkable thing about my mother is that for thirty years she served the family nothing but leftovers. The original meal has never been found. While I can say with certainty the origin of our triple-header leftover saga was the gut-busting feast of Thanksgiving, it's not an unknown occurrence in the Wasabi household to have leftovers stretched to near-infinite meals. For better or worse, my parents never liked to throw out food, and that mentality of "waste not" was forever drilled into my Wasabi brain. Our current surplus of ham, turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sauce led to this Episode I, II and III of meals: Thanksgiving Skillet Hash, Thanks-for-Giving Savory Bread Pudding, and a Truly Leftover Turkey Ramen.
Skillet hash is probably one of the most leftover-friendly meals to make. It's UnRecipe to the tenth power, as no measuring or ingredient-fretting is needed. Depending on how many hungry people are needing to be fed, you just take a bit of protein like a handful of finely chopped ham and turkey, add something starchy, which in our case was the leftover roasted sweet potatoes, and throw it all in a heated skillet. The fat from the ham and the turkey skin melts down a bit in the pan, creating a nice sizzle for the sweet potatoes. I also scattered a bit of cranberry sauce over the hash to give it a little tartness. Once everything is fully incorporated and heated through, make a shallow little well in the hash and crack an egg right in. Depending on how many people it's being made for, one egg per person will do. Turn the heat down to medium and cover the top of the skillet with a bit of tin foil to trap the heat and cook the top of the egg to whatever doneness you prefer. I like the consistency of a poached egg, so I let the top of the egg get a bit opaque but the yolk is still liquid inside. Depending on how large a skillet and how many eggs are being used, this final step should only take a few minutes.
Everything was already well-seasoned from their past life as a dinner, so no salt or pepper required. I do like Tabasco with my eggs, so I added a splash or two right before the omming and nomming. The Thanksgiving Skillet Hash was made across several breakfasts, and more than a couple of times, I made this for a party of one because we have a couple of small pans. Yes, I did eat it right out of the skillet, furthering solidifying my membership with the Seattle Skillet Sensation Club, a secret society of plateless skillet-eaters created by foodie blogger and future chef, Eric Rivera. As Rachel of Laptops and Stovetops fame noted, if eating out of a skillet is wrong, I don't want to be right. Amen to that.
Thanksgiving Leftovers, the Sequel turned into a savory bread pudding. We wound up with a refugee band of dinner rolls and despite our tendency to leave out breads and pastas in our meals, the voice of my parents' Waste Not wisdom was in back of my mind like Obi-Wan. Or perhaps it was Lord Vader of the Carbohydrate Dark Side. Either way, I wanted to use up as much of the Thanksgiving leftovers as possible. Cubing the rolls and letting them toast in the oven to dry out, I took all the rest of the ham and turkey and chopped it into bite-sized pieces. There wasn't really any measuring involved in this UnRecipe because it was one of those "stone soup" meals that just uses everything available. Savory bread puddings, much like a skillet hash, have that lovely flexibility when it comes to ingredients. If they paired well as a meal of main courses and sides, there's no reason they can't be mashed together as a leftover delight.
I used the remaining half-and-half from the coffee and dessert portion of Thanksgiving to make a loose custard for the oven-dried cubed rolls. It was maybe a half a cup's worth. Mixed with a couple of eggs, the creamy, viscous liquid soaked into the now-crispy breadcubes. I probably could have skipped the oven-drying of the bread, but I like taking all the moisture out of bread first, so that it soaks up whatever new liquid and flavor that's being reintroduced to it. The ham, turkey, stuffing, and remainder of the cranberry sauce was already cooked, so once the bread was fully soaked with the custard, the savory bits were tossed with the bread, and a few slices of remaining cheese from the appetizer course of Thanksgiving was laid over the top to create a melty topping in the oven. Again, because everything had been pre-seasoned, I added maybe a few cracks of pepper and that's it. The oven set up the pudding, leaving the bottom part creamy and fused together, while the top crisped in the dry heat. Sliced into wedges, this made for easy lunches for the week.
The final meal that furthered Thanksgiving leftovers into the realm of, "Holy Hell, aren't you sick of this yet??" used the most basic, but flavorful part -- the turkey broth. I still had several cups' worth of a concentrated turkey stock made from the whole bird. Some of it was originally used for gravy, but the rest was reserved knowing it could be used for a number of things. I had seen a number of soups and stew recipes flying around on blogs and Tweets, but at this point, I had been sick with a cold and a craving for ramen won out in the end. Feeling too sick to hit the store and the fact that most of the Thanksgiving remnants were spoken for, it became a resourceful ramen that came together with pantry items and basic ingredients.
When the sniffles hit, some people crave chicken soup or grilled cheese sandwiches -- mine is either miso soup or ramen. More to the point, I crave a Hawaii-style saimin, which uses a thinner shoyu broth and yes, Spam is involved. Be it ever so humble, there's nothing that eases my sickly aches and pains like a savory, salty broth with chewy noodles, shredded fried egg, and slices of fried Spam on top. The ramen dashi came together with all the remaining turkey stock, water to thin it out, a splash of vinegar, several splashes of soy sauce, and a stalk of lemongrass (I keep them in the freezer; you'll be thankful if you do the same). The resulting flavor was a salty, sour broth that isn't necessarily traditional, it was just what my flu-riddled palate needed. I had the fortune of finding a few packets of fresh noodles stashed in the freezer. They weren't the firm, wrinkly Hilo-style saimin noodles I love best, but given my state of health, I wasn't about to complain.
Maybe waving the banner of Team Leftovers makes the Prime seem extra provincial, but I don't think it's too shabby a thing to think fast in the kitchen and cook by the seat of one's pantry. Given my newly-minted status as a Lady of Leisure, I anticipate many more at-home meals of UnRecipe inspiration.
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| Seattle Skillet Sensation Club - chances are, you've been a member since college. - Photo by Wasabi Prime |
Skillet hash is probably one of the most leftover-friendly meals to make. It's UnRecipe to the tenth power, as no measuring or ingredient-fretting is needed. Depending on how many hungry people are needing to be fed, you just take a bit of protein like a handful of finely chopped ham and turkey, add something starchy, which in our case was the leftover roasted sweet potatoes, and throw it all in a heated skillet. The fat from the ham and the turkey skin melts down a bit in the pan, creating a nice sizzle for the sweet potatoes. I also scattered a bit of cranberry sauce over the hash to give it a little tartness. Once everything is fully incorporated and heated through, make a shallow little well in the hash and crack an egg right in. Depending on how many people it's being made for, one egg per person will do. Turn the heat down to medium and cover the top of the skillet with a bit of tin foil to trap the heat and cook the top of the egg to whatever doneness you prefer. I like the consistency of a poached egg, so I let the top of the egg get a bit opaque but the yolk is still liquid inside. Depending on how large a skillet and how many eggs are being used, this final step should only take a few minutes.
Everything was already well-seasoned from their past life as a dinner, so no salt or pepper required. I do like Tabasco with my eggs, so I added a splash or two right before the omming and nomming. The Thanksgiving Skillet Hash was made across several breakfasts, and more than a couple of times, I made this for a party of one because we have a couple of small pans. Yes, I did eat it right out of the skillet, furthering solidifying my membership with the Seattle Skillet Sensation Club, a secret society of plateless skillet-eaters created by foodie blogger and future chef, Eric Rivera. As Rachel of Laptops and Stovetops fame noted, if eating out of a skillet is wrong, I don't want to be right. Amen to that.
 |
| Savory bread pudding -- just throw everything in and bake it! - Photos by Wasabi Prime |
Thanksgiving Leftovers, the Sequel turned into a savory bread pudding. We wound up with a refugee band of dinner rolls and despite our tendency to leave out breads and pastas in our meals, the voice of my parents' Waste Not wisdom was in back of my mind like Obi-Wan. Or perhaps it was Lord Vader of the Carbohydrate Dark Side. Either way, I wanted to use up as much of the Thanksgiving leftovers as possible. Cubing the rolls and letting them toast in the oven to dry out, I took all the rest of the ham and turkey and chopped it into bite-sized pieces. There wasn't really any measuring involved in this UnRecipe because it was one of those "stone soup" meals that just uses everything available. Savory bread puddings, much like a skillet hash, have that lovely flexibility when it comes to ingredients. If they paired well as a meal of main courses and sides, there's no reason they can't be mashed together as a leftover delight.
I used the remaining half-and-half from the coffee and dessert portion of Thanksgiving to make a loose custard for the oven-dried cubed rolls. It was maybe a half a cup's worth. Mixed with a couple of eggs, the creamy, viscous liquid soaked into the now-crispy breadcubes. I probably could have skipped the oven-drying of the bread, but I like taking all the moisture out of bread first, so that it soaks up whatever new liquid and flavor that's being reintroduced to it. The ham, turkey, stuffing, and remainder of the cranberry sauce was already cooked, so once the bread was fully soaked with the custard, the savory bits were tossed with the bread, and a few slices of remaining cheese from the appetizer course of Thanksgiving was laid over the top to create a melty topping in the oven. Again, because everything had been pre-seasoned, I added maybe a few cracks of pepper and that's it. The oven set up the pudding, leaving the bottom part creamy and fused together, while the top crisped in the dry heat. Sliced into wedges, this made for easy lunches for the week.
 |
| Thanksgiving dinner -- good to the last drop. Photo by Wasabi Prime |
The final meal that furthered Thanksgiving leftovers into the realm of, "Holy Hell, aren't you sick of this yet??" used the most basic, but flavorful part -- the turkey broth. I still had several cups' worth of a concentrated turkey stock made from the whole bird. Some of it was originally used for gravy, but the rest was reserved knowing it could be used for a number of things. I had seen a number of soups and stew recipes flying around on blogs and Tweets, but at this point, I had been sick with a cold and a craving for ramen won out in the end. Feeling too sick to hit the store and the fact that most of the Thanksgiving remnants were spoken for, it became a resourceful ramen that came together with pantry items and basic ingredients.
When the sniffles hit, some people crave chicken soup or grilled cheese sandwiches -- mine is either miso soup or ramen. More to the point, I crave a Hawaii-style saimin, which uses a thinner shoyu broth and yes, Spam is involved. Be it ever so humble, there's nothing that eases my sickly aches and pains like a savory, salty broth with chewy noodles, shredded fried egg, and slices of fried Spam on top. The ramen dashi came together with all the remaining turkey stock, water to thin it out, a splash of vinegar, several splashes of soy sauce, and a stalk of lemongrass (I keep them in the freezer; you'll be thankful if you do the same). The resulting flavor was a salty, sour broth that isn't necessarily traditional, it was just what my flu-riddled palate needed. I had the fortune of finding a few packets of fresh noodles stashed in the freezer. They weren't the firm, wrinkly Hilo-style saimin noodles I love best, but given my state of health, I wasn't about to complain.
Maybe waving the banner of Team Leftovers makes the Prime seem extra provincial, but I don't think it's too shabby a thing to think fast in the kitchen and cook by the seat of one's pantry. Given my newly-minted status as a Lady of Leisure, I anticipate many more at-home meals of UnRecipe inspiration.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Mixed Plate: Ono Kine Hawaii - Island Grindz is da Bes' Kinez (part 2)
Howzit? Ono Kine Part Deux, comin' at you! Apologies for not posting sooner, but in traditional fashion, let's consider these on Island Time. Those familiar with Hawaii know that ono kine grindz is the Pidgin equivalent of the dinner bell for the best part of living La Vida Loco Moco. If you're wondering, Pidgin is the commonly spoken creole that developed as a result of the mix of cultures in the Aloha State. Pidgin is easy to understand for the most part, as it's English, with a smattering of words and language structure from Hawaiian, Portuguese, Cantonese, Tagalog, Japanese, and Korean. Years ago, this helped to facilitate universal communication amongst the variety of immigrants during the plantation days, and this language of resourcefulness has carried on to present-day. Much like the unique dialect of Hawaii, local foods were influenced by this multiculturalism, resulting in dishes born of humble comforts, war, and the ingenuity to make seemingly unappetizing ingredients into something truly wonderful.
This melting pot of cultures resides in local meals, from simple breakfasts to formal weddings. Brock and I were there for my cousin's wedding, at the very lovely Willows in Honolulu, on a gorgeously sunny day. Cousin J, her sister, mom, and our Auntie S all pitched in to make precious favors of boxed chocolate-dipped shortbread, decorated with orchids, and the dinner was a huge buffet of delicious options -- the whole wedding was grand, complete with a Japanese and Filipino toast to honor the families.
The food items I particularly appreciated were things locals wouldn't think twice about, but might be considered unique most anywhere else -- the reception cocktail hour served up fresh poke (seasoned raw tuna and vegetables, like a ceviche), as well as boiled peanuts. Long before the raw bar craze hit the restaurant scene, Native Hawaiians have enjoyed fresh poke and it's been a social gathering mainstay ever since. Boiled peanuts, a popular snack in Asian countries as well as the Southern states, has also been a longtime pau hana pupu favorite. Hawaii can be a hot, humid place, and the only refuge can sometimes be as simple as a plate of cool poke and salty boiled peanuts, all going marvelously well with your can of Primo Beer. That seems to be the snack litmus test to truly be considered ono, oishii, and pupu-worthy -- if it's good with beer, then it's brok da mout good.
A bit of Hawaii's history can be seen through its plate lunches. I've never been shy about my love for Spam musubi, and this isn't some dark secret that thwarts a political future -- you can get this marvelously mysterious meat at nearly any chain restaurant in Hawaii. Even BK will do it Your Way, freaky-deaky though it may seem. We even picked up individually-wrapped Spam musubis at the local Foodland for a quick lunch. A WWII remnant of military rations and the fact that it's a long way from the Mainland to these islands, growing accustomed to eating meat from a can became a fact of life. But therein lies the magic of ingenuity and a grumbly tummy. During our visit to the island of Maui, we found #1 BBQ, a tiny eatery in a stripmall offering local breakfasts and lunches in Lahaina. It's got a suspiciously Engrish-sounding name, it looks like a greasy spoon dive, but there's nary a tourist nor a fake plastic lei in sight. It's mostly locals who patronize this place, so you know you're getting the good stuff, plus all the best eats are scribbled on a poster board menu.
Offering simple $2.99 breakfasts (you can see it on the sign by the order window -- proof that it exists!) that would make my friends at the Cheap Appetite blog cheer, #1 BBQ powered our morning with a hearty portion of scrambled eggs over rice and a choice of the almighty slabs of Spam or extra-large slices of delicious Portuguese sausage. The islands can thank the Portuguese immigrants for coming in to work on the ranches, bringing their knowledge of linguisa-making to bless Hawaii's meals with the wonderfully spicy, fatty sausage. A few restaurants make their own linguisa from scratch, which is a treat if you can find it. A lunch trip to #1 BBQ also let me quiet a serious saimin craving. I love the chewy, crinkly-wrinkly noodles sitting in a loose shoyu broth that's typically more Hawaiian-style than Japanese, especially with the wedges of Spam floating in there. The only thing missing in the saimin were shreds of scrambled egg and thin slices of kamaboko, a pressed fish cake dyed in the unholy hue of Hello Kitty pink. What?! people exclaim when I say this is why I go to Hawaii. You travel all this distance to find hole-in-the-wall dives that serve processed meats and strange cross-cultural foods? Damn skippy, I do.
We split our meals between Lahaina and Kaanapali. There was a strip mall close to our hotel, which had two spots we frequented during our Maui stay: The Hawaiian Village Coffee House and CJ's Comfort Zone. We had a refreshingly Starbucks-free morning at the Hawaiian Village Coffee House, enjoying their strong brews and Mr. Wasabi enjoyed their strong WiFi when he had to do some work -- yes, he had to work, and yes, that totally sucks, but (shameless plug alert!) Torchlight turned out totally rad. To escape an overpriced hotel breakfast buffet, we found refuge at CJ's and their early bird special under $6 that included eggs, potatoes or rice, bacon or sausage, and delicious vanilla macadamia nut coffee. While not as ghetto fabulous as #1 BBQ, we returned to CJ's several times to take advantage of their deli-style and local-friendly menu.
Along with saimin, I had to indulge in a loco moco. CJ's was the first I'd ever seen served with slices of tomato, but they felt no further need to gild the lily, serving up two hearty hamburger patties over rice, nestled beneath fried eggs, smothered with brown gravy. I've had this many ways, served with potato mac salad, fried saimin, or the eggs and hamburger over fried rice -- it's the beauty of all these local dishes in that there's really no correct way of making or presenting them, since everyone has their own take on the recipe. I was also able to sample some of CJ's tasty mochiko chicken, a sweet, savory teriyaki-flavored fried chicken. My mother usually makes this over the holidays so I associate it as Christmas chicken, but it's pretty delicious and much like Christmas, should be celebrated all year round.
Greasy comfort indulgences aside, the visit to Maui provided a long-overdue walk down memory lane for Ms. Prime. My mother's family is from the upcountry town of Makawao, a small community nestled in the hills and farmland at the base of the volcano Haleakala. It's like traveling to a different place, leaving behind the sandy beaches of Lahaina and driving up into the higher elevation where the surroundings go from arid desert to verdant farmland and fields of sugarcane. The temperature drops ten or more degrees, there are trees everywhere, and the land is dotted with ranches and livestock. This is the place where tourists tend not to venture, and it's a shame, as these sleepy towns are places that have managed to stay a little more authentic. Granted, over the years, my grandparents would lament that their dusty little cowboy town turned hippie with crystal-crunching aura readers and people who would take the avocados from their yard and sell them as healthy and organic, even though they sometimes tasted lousy.
Along with sharing Makawao's rural charm with my travelmates, they were able to experience a local treat, the cream puff pastries from the Komoda Store bakery. It's a silly thing to say, but they truly are a taste of childhood. I remember many mornings where a box from Komoda Store would be waiting at the breakfast table, the sunlight pouring in through wispy clouds, shining a holy light on the formica table holding that beautiful parcel of goodies: deep-fried malasadas covered in cinnamon sugar, eclair-like long johns, and the Komoda-famous cream puffs. Unlike the traditional French pastry, these cream puffs are filled with a heavy, glutenous pudding. They're also Monster Truck-sized in comparison to the traditional profiterole. The dough is chewy and plain, so as not to compete with the chocolate or classic vanilla filling. Because of its center, it needs to be served cold. I recall pulling the pastry apart in smaller pieces to scoop out the custardy filling, savoring every bite as I read the funnies my mom pulled from the morning paper. I can recall so much sense memory from the time spent in this small, nearly unknown place -- specific smells, sounds, and even the feeling of line-dried sheets as feet slipped into bed. Having a familiar pastry from Komoda Store was a sweet and sad reminder of how much I truly miss those times and the people who now live on in memory.
Not to get all maudlin on everyone -- we had a blast and did not neglect to lavish attention on fruity umbrella-staked cocktails and a local brew or two. We picked up a bottle of Volcano Red, made by the Big Island's Volcano Winery and raised a glass or three one night in the hotel. My folks and I had visited the winery years ago -- their wines lean heavily towards sweet and fruity, and their fruit-blended and honey wines are their stronger suits, compared to the Red. It was a little harsh and on the acidic side, but their honey wine remains a winner as something to enjoy with dessert. I'm just very glad to see the Volcano Winery is still working away, producing vino from the Big Isle.
Additional frosty beverages that are available in many Mainland stores are the local Kona Brewing Co. microbrews, also from Big Island. Around since 1995, they have been putting out a variety of ales, a lager, and a seasonal porter. Lighter beers have always been a traditional favorite among the islands, as it can be pretty refreshing on a hot evening (enter the boiled peanuts and poke). I stuck to their Longboard Island Lager, which I think is my new favorite of theirs, offering a deeper flavor than their ales.
Hey, braddah, dis post stay pau already, so get one nuddah beer and raise a glass to conclude this edible kama'aina (local) adventure. I realize a lot of the foods here are almost painfully humble, and it's not that fabulous four-star restaurants don't exist -- the islands are awash with them, much like any large city, but I wanted to show some common foods that are unique to the area. They are childhood comforts of the Islands, and it's a collective experience that is perhaps so everyday, visitors may not even think to notice or experience them, and that would be a shame because the food culture of Hawaii is very authentic and rich in history.
I barely even touched the surface of true local foods, just going for the simple, can't mess-up fare, since I'm not as familiar with the Lahaina area. One of my favorite food blogs, The Tasty Island, is a great resource if you are on Oahu or just want to see the variety of delicious food the locals enjoy. Consider Pomai your food guide to da bes' kine, brok da mout grinds, with a handy and effective Spam Musubi rating system. Mahalo plenty.
 |
| Hawaii style weddings are full of ono food and ohana plenty - Photos by Wasabi Prime |
This melting pot of cultures resides in local meals, from simple breakfasts to formal weddings. Brock and I were there for my cousin's wedding, at the very lovely Willows in Honolulu, on a gorgeously sunny day. Cousin J, her sister, mom, and our Auntie S all pitched in to make precious favors of boxed chocolate-dipped shortbread, decorated with orchids, and the dinner was a huge buffet of delicious options -- the whole wedding was grand, complete with a Japanese and Filipino toast to honor the families.
The food items I particularly appreciated were things locals wouldn't think twice about, but might be considered unique most anywhere else -- the reception cocktail hour served up fresh poke (seasoned raw tuna and vegetables, like a ceviche), as well as boiled peanuts. Long before the raw bar craze hit the restaurant scene, Native Hawaiians have enjoyed fresh poke and it's been a social gathering mainstay ever since. Boiled peanuts, a popular snack in Asian countries as well as the Southern states, has also been a longtime pau hana pupu favorite. Hawaii can be a hot, humid place, and the only refuge can sometimes be as simple as a plate of cool poke and salty boiled peanuts, all going marvelously well with your can of Primo Beer. That seems to be the snack litmus test to truly be considered ono, oishii, and pupu-worthy -- if it's good with beer, then it's brok da mout good.
 |
| #1 BBQ in Lahaina, Maui; note the $2.99 breakfast special on ghetto fabulous posterboard - Photo by Wasabi Prime |
A bit of Hawaii's history can be seen through its plate lunches. I've never been shy about my love for Spam musubi, and this isn't some dark secret that thwarts a political future -- you can get this marvelously mysterious meat at nearly any chain restaurant in Hawaii. Even BK will do it Your Way, freaky-deaky though it may seem. We even picked up individually-wrapped Spam musubis at the local Foodland for a quick lunch. A WWII remnant of military rations and the fact that it's a long way from the Mainland to these islands, growing accustomed to eating meat from a can became a fact of life. But therein lies the magic of ingenuity and a grumbly tummy. During our visit to the island of Maui, we found #1 BBQ, a tiny eatery in a stripmall offering local breakfasts and lunches in Lahaina. It's got a suspiciously Engrish-sounding name, it looks like a greasy spoon dive, but there's nary a tourist nor a fake plastic lei in sight. It's mostly locals who patronize this place, so you know you're getting the good stuff, plus all the best eats are scribbled on a poster board menu.
 |
| Lunch and breakfasts powered by Spam and Portuguese sausage - photos by Wasabi Prime |
Offering simple $2.99 breakfasts (you can see it on the sign by the order window -- proof that it exists!) that would make my friends at the Cheap Appetite blog cheer, #1 BBQ powered our morning with a hearty portion of scrambled eggs over rice and a choice of the almighty slabs of Spam or extra-large slices of delicious Portuguese sausage. The islands can thank the Portuguese immigrants for coming in to work on the ranches, bringing their knowledge of linguisa-making to bless Hawaii's meals with the wonderfully spicy, fatty sausage. A few restaurants make their own linguisa from scratch, which is a treat if you can find it. A lunch trip to #1 BBQ also let me quiet a serious saimin craving. I love the chewy, crinkly-wrinkly noodles sitting in a loose shoyu broth that's typically more Hawaiian-style than Japanese, especially with the wedges of Spam floating in there. The only thing missing in the saimin were shreds of scrambled egg and thin slices of kamaboko, a pressed fish cake dyed in the unholy hue of Hello Kitty pink. What?! people exclaim when I say this is why I go to Hawaii. You travel all this distance to find hole-in-the-wall dives that serve processed meats and strange cross-cultural foods? Damn skippy, I do.
 |
| Quirky and fun Hawaiiana collection at Hawaiian Village Coffee House in Maui - photo by Wasabi Prime |
We split our meals between Lahaina and Kaanapali. There was a strip mall close to our hotel, which had two spots we frequented during our Maui stay: The Hawaiian Village Coffee House and CJ's Comfort Zone. We had a refreshingly Starbucks-free morning at the Hawaiian Village Coffee House, enjoying their strong brews and Mr. Wasabi enjoyed their strong WiFi when he had to do some work -- yes, he had to work, and yes, that totally sucks, but (shameless plug alert!) Torchlight turned out totally rad. To escape an overpriced hotel breakfast buffet, we found refuge at CJ's and their early bird special under $6 that included eggs, potatoes or rice, bacon or sausage, and delicious vanilla macadamia nut coffee. While not as ghetto fabulous as #1 BBQ, we returned to CJ's several times to take advantage of their deli-style and local-friendly menu.
 |
| Don't bother me, I'm in the Zone with my breakfast, loco moco & mochiko chicken - Photos by Wasabi Prime |
Along with saimin, I had to indulge in a loco moco. CJ's was the first I'd ever seen served with slices of tomato, but they felt no further need to gild the lily, serving up two hearty hamburger patties over rice, nestled beneath fried eggs, smothered with brown gravy. I've had this many ways, served with potato mac salad, fried saimin, or the eggs and hamburger over fried rice -- it's the beauty of all these local dishes in that there's really no correct way of making or presenting them, since everyone has their own take on the recipe. I was also able to sample some of CJ's tasty mochiko chicken, a sweet, savory teriyaki-flavored fried chicken. My mother usually makes this over the holidays so I associate it as Christmas chicken, but it's pretty delicious and much like Christmas, should be celebrated all year round.
 |
| Makawao, a little town very close to my heart and pastries still stuck in my arteries - Photos by Wasabi Prime |
Greasy comfort indulgences aside, the visit to Maui provided a long-overdue walk down memory lane for Ms. Prime. My mother's family is from the upcountry town of Makawao, a small community nestled in the hills and farmland at the base of the volcano Haleakala. It's like traveling to a different place, leaving behind the sandy beaches of Lahaina and driving up into the higher elevation where the surroundings go from arid desert to verdant farmland and fields of sugarcane. The temperature drops ten or more degrees, there are trees everywhere, and the land is dotted with ranches and livestock. This is the place where tourists tend not to venture, and it's a shame, as these sleepy towns are places that have managed to stay a little more authentic. Granted, over the years, my grandparents would lament that their dusty little cowboy town turned hippie with crystal-crunching aura readers and people who would take the avocados from their yard and sell them as healthy and organic, even though they sometimes tasted lousy.
 |
| The custardy jewel of Makawao, courtesy Komoda Store bakery - Photo by Wasabi Prime |
Along with sharing Makawao's rural charm with my travelmates, they were able to experience a local treat, the cream puff pastries from the Komoda Store bakery. It's a silly thing to say, but they truly are a taste of childhood. I remember many mornings where a box from Komoda Store would be waiting at the breakfast table, the sunlight pouring in through wispy clouds, shining a holy light on the formica table holding that beautiful parcel of goodies: deep-fried malasadas covered in cinnamon sugar, eclair-like long johns, and the Komoda-famous cream puffs. Unlike the traditional French pastry, these cream puffs are filled with a heavy, glutenous pudding. They're also Monster Truck-sized in comparison to the traditional profiterole. The dough is chewy and plain, so as not to compete with the chocolate or classic vanilla filling. Because of its center, it needs to be served cold. I recall pulling the pastry apart in smaller pieces to scoop out the custardy filling, savoring every bite as I read the funnies my mom pulled from the morning paper. I can recall so much sense memory from the time spent in this small, nearly unknown place -- specific smells, sounds, and even the feeling of line-dried sheets as feet slipped into bed. Having a familiar pastry from Komoda Store was a sweet and sad reminder of how much I truly miss those times and the people who now live on in memory.
Not to get all maudlin on everyone -- we had a blast and did not neglect to lavish attention on fruity umbrella-staked cocktails and a local brew or two. We picked up a bottle of Volcano Red, made by the Big Island's Volcano Winery and raised a glass or three one night in the hotel. My folks and I had visited the winery years ago -- their wines lean heavily towards sweet and fruity, and their fruit-blended and honey wines are their stronger suits, compared to the Red. It was a little harsh and on the acidic side, but their honey wine remains a winner as something to enjoy with dessert. I'm just very glad to see the Volcano Winery is still working away, producing vino from the Big Isle.
 |
| Hey, man, I got a beverage here! - Photos by Wasabi Prime |
Additional frosty beverages that are available in many Mainland stores are the local Kona Brewing Co. microbrews, also from Big Island. Around since 1995, they have been putting out a variety of ales, a lager, and a seasonal porter. Lighter beers have always been a traditional favorite among the islands, as it can be pretty refreshing on a hot evening (enter the boiled peanuts and poke). I stuck to their Longboard Island Lager, which I think is my new favorite of theirs, offering a deeper flavor than their ales.
Hey, braddah, dis post stay pau already, so get one nuddah beer and raise a glass to conclude this edible kama'aina (local) adventure. I realize a lot of the foods here are almost painfully humble, and it's not that fabulous four-star restaurants don't exist -- the islands are awash with them, much like any large city, but I wanted to show some common foods that are unique to the area. They are childhood comforts of the Islands, and it's a collective experience that is perhaps so everyday, visitors may not even think to notice or experience them, and that would be a shame because the food culture of Hawaii is very authentic and rich in history.
I barely even touched the surface of true local foods, just going for the simple, can't mess-up fare, since I'm not as familiar with the Lahaina area. One of my favorite food blogs, The Tasty Island, is a great resource if you are on Oahu or just want to see the variety of delicious food the locals enjoy. Consider Pomai your food guide to da bes' kine, brok da mout grinds, with a handy and effective Spam Musubi rating system. Mahalo plenty.
Friday, August 21, 2009
UnRecipe: Mah-hollah for Statehood Day!
Happy golden anniversary, Hawaii! Fifty years ago, on August 21st, 1959, da islands of Hawaii were admitted to the union. Fifty years for the fiftieth state. This calls for a celebration -- let's eat Spam!
I wasn't the only one with Spam on the brain. My Island Homegirl cousin who now lives in Sweden reminded me of Statehood Day, sharing a great blog post by Tasty Island, called The Goteborg Musubi Project. Apparently, the Goteborg sausage being featured as a Kauai treat is an Americanized version of falukorv, a native Swedish sausage that's similar to Spam in its mystery meat-ness. I'll let the note from my cousin explain the provenance of falukorv: It is named falukorv for more sinister literal reasons...back in the day, Swedes mined copper and this is also how the falu-red paint was created, and used on barns and houses and is still used today on traditional cottages... Well back then in these mines, they used horses in the mines and they would get old and worn out--so they were used to make sausages when their usefulness in the mines was used up. So the mixture described in Hormel's Goteborg Sausage is according to Anders Stridsberg, not quite authentic, it should have been 75% horse and 25% pork probably, instead of beef. He said the sausage, falukorv is really saying it was horse sausage, since it came from the copper mines. The fact that falukorv is also usually shaped like a horseshoe makes it all the more bizarre and grisly.
 |
| Hooray, hooray, it's Hawaii Statehood Day -- have a slice of Spam musubi! - Photo by Wasabi Prime |
Yes, that's the Hawaiian flag. And yes, it's the only state flag to feature the Union Jack. Hawaii has the rare distinction of having previously been a kingdom under its own monarchy, as well as a British protectorate through the mid-1800s. Flash-forward, as a result of the strong WWII military presence and their love of environmentally-sealed rations, Hawaii got into the habit of being a big consumer of Hormel products, including that mystery meat of fear and loathing: Spam. Or as my mom likes to refer to it as Spare Parts, All Meat.
There's this misconception that people in Hawaii sit around eating food smothered in sugary teriyaki sauce and chunks of pineapple on everything. In all honesty, the local food of Hawaii is its own unique melting pot of cultural cuisine, a direct product of the various immigrants from China, Japan, Philippines, and even Mexico, all mixed together with the Native Hawaiian offerings. I didn't grow up there, but my whole family was born and raised there, so I had the good fortune to spend a lot of summers being immersed in what was really like another country. Hawaii is a food culture, and it deserves much more than a simple post about Spam, so I think I'll save that exploration for another day. But until then, I just really like Spam and I thought it would be amusing to do a post about the very native dish called Spam Musubi.
 |
| Simple steps toward comfort food nirvana - Photos by Wasabi Prime |
Most people just make it at home, since the ingredients are pantry staples, but one can find Spam musubi swaddled in plastic wrap on the counters of restaurants for a quick purchase, the same that you'd find tuna salad or a turkey on rye. It's both a quick snack or a simple lunch. Filled with the naughty promise of sticky white rice sandwiching a pan-fried slab of Spam and wrapped in nori (seaweed), this Japanese-inspired treat is a mainstay of the locals. I've been known to bring it on an airplane in lieu of the soggy hamburger that I see most people smuggle in from the food court. Don't judge me, fellow airline travellers. You're just jealous you don't have ono kine grindz like mine.
You'll notice the plastic apparatus being used. It's a Spam musubi mold -- yes, for reals -- and you can buy it online, but if you're in Hawaii, you can usually find it at Longs Drugs store, the unofficial store of awesomeness for the locals. What I made was a quickie version of Spam musubi -- some people add a fried egg or a sprinkle of furikake -- I just went with the basic nori/Spam/rice combo in the interest of time. I did, however, make sure to pan-sear the slices of Spam. While one could consume the jiggly slab of meat straight from the oblong can, I'm not quite Spam-gangsta enough to do so, and I like a bit of pan-crusted goodness on my mystery meat products. You'll notice I purchased the 25% Less Sodium version of Spam. Kind of pointless, I know, seeing as how my heart will stop from the pau hana backup of solid pork fat, long before the hypertension sets in.
 |
| Hunger won out during the Spam musubi photo shoot. - Photos by Wasabi Prime |
I wasn't the only one with Spam on the brain. My Island Homegirl cousin who now lives in Sweden reminded me of Statehood Day, sharing a great blog post by Tasty Island, called The Goteborg Musubi Project. Apparently, the Goteborg sausage being featured as a Kauai treat is an Americanized version of falukorv, a native Swedish sausage that's similar to Spam in its mystery meat-ness. I'll let the note from my cousin explain the provenance of falukorv: It is named falukorv for more sinister literal reasons...back in the day, Swedes mined copper and this is also how the falu-red paint was created, and used on barns and houses and is still used today on traditional cottages... Well back then in these mines, they used horses in the mines and they would get old and worn out--so they were used to make sausages when their usefulness in the mines was used up. So the mixture described in Hormel's Goteborg Sausage is according to Anders Stridsberg, not quite authentic, it should have been 75% horse and 25% pork probably, instead of beef. He said the sausage, falukorv is really saying it was horse sausage, since it came from the copper mines. The fact that falukorv is also usually shaped like a horseshoe makes it all the more bizarre and grisly.
Giddyup, horsie, or it's the falukorv factory for you! I kid, I kid -- I realize many countries have similar types of mystery meats, and they've all developed out of the same necessity, so I can dig on that. Let's bridge the gap between Sweden and Hawaii and celebrate our love of guilty pleasure meat byproducts! Happy Statehood Day, Hawaii. I hope Swedes raise a slab of falukorv in your honor!
* Post Script - Mahalo plenty to both Food Gawker and Serious Eats for posting photos of the glorious Spam Musubi. Thanks for showing Spare Parts, All Meat some good Aloha spirit!
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