Recipe Essay
Recipe Essay
Recipe Essay
During the housing crash of 2008 I remember picking up and moving from place to place
until finally crash landing at my grandparents’ house. It wasn’t much, just an old pueblo style
home with 3 bedrooms and a chicken coop out back and not a blade of living grass in sight.
Although things were tough, I can say thankfully that due to my hardworking family, I never
spent a single night hungry. In fact, with my Samoan Grandmother I spent most nights quite the
opposite. In Polynesian culture, we emphasize the importance of the three ‘F’s’. Faith, Family,
and Football. If I’m being completely honest though, there should be a fourth ‘F’ for food.
Being Afakasi, (the Samoan word for mixed) I had experienced a little taste of my
Samoan culture and our cultural foods but not much at all. I was used to having some Samoan
food at family gatherings, funerals, and church potlucks but I tended to gravitate more towards a
PB&J than a skewered fish. I remember my Nana opening up the cooler at our family barbeques
and thinking she had kidnapped an exhibit from the aquarium. Slimy tentacled creatures, a literal
ball of spikes, and fish with beaks similar to a parrots filled me with terror. But at least our
vegetables were normal… Nope, wrong again! Nanas veggie drawer consisted of purple
potatoes, leaves the size of a tennis racquet, tiny bananas, and yet another spike covered demon
food (are you sensing a theme here?). My young self could not believe that these mutant animals
could possibly be intended for human consumption. Even as a 6 year old I thankfully had the
common sense to play it cool so as to not expose myself as an imposter in my full blooded
Samoan BBQ. So I helped wrap all these scary items in foil and broad leaves and place them in
our Samoan style oven to cook. To the bewilderment of my childhood self, the inedible-seeming
foods were transformed in the oven into delectable steaming bundles of goodness. From this
experience, I derived one of my favorite comfort foods on this entire planet. I remember eating
Pilikaki almost any time that I go back to visit my Nana. It’s a simple dish made up of normal
milk, and diced onions usually served alongside a bed of white rice.
To the random passerby, the response to this dish might be similar to mine at first, but
over years and years the mellow savory and sweet flavors bring me back to a simple time where
understatement. This last summer, I was cut from my dream school’s college football team after
spending the whole summer training hard for my shot. After dejectedly packing up all of my
clothes, I left behind everything I couldn’t fit in a backpack and a shattered dream. As I waited at
my aunties at 4am I still recall a familiar smell coming from the oven. As the scent hit my nose
memories flashed in my head. Of a kid coming home from the park scratched and bruised from
playing tackle with the neighborhood kids to his favorite lunch. Soft tastes and flavors reminded
me that that kid still existed. Deep down I was still that same kid. Playing a game, catching a ball
and getting beat up only to come home and stuff my face. I thought of how that kid might be
proud of seeing how far he would end up making it. I realized I couldn’t let that kid give up. For
that fiery eyed kid with a head and heart full of dreams I was able to pick up my head and double
Throughout my life, food has always been absolutely key. From nourishing my body and
helping me grow and recover, to helping my spirits recover after a heartbreaking failure. It’s easy
to blow these things off as unimportant for some. But for me, I truly don’t think I would be who I
am without the cultural foods and experiences that came along with them. If given the
opportunity I would push to add Food as the fourth ‘F’ of Samoan culture.