Poke Thirty

I started food photography with an iPhone 11 taking pictures of poke bowls.

My $11 lunch, about fifty hashtags, and a kitschy Instagram filter - it was the pinnacle of 2016 innocence. Fast forward ten years to this weekend, when I drove two hours and hauled thousands of dollars worth of equipment into a commercial kitchen where a private chef unveiled the dish she’d like me to photograph: a poke bowl.

I had to pause and sit with that, feeling the cosmic weight of a full-circle moment. As I reach the end of my Saturn return next month (that’s hello to my thirties, for the non-witchy folk), I end my twenties exactly where they began: photographing a poke bowl.

In Eugene, Oregon, a diverse college town in the Pacific Northwest, restaurants and beer gardens were abundant, as is and was the ebb and flow of business openings and closures. My old haunt, Poke Stop (aptly named during the hayday of Pokemon Go) where I chose poke bowl ingredients like a Subway sandwich, closed five years ago, but my second favorite is still going strong to the best of my knowledge - at the Moi Poke food truck at the Beer Garden downtown. A busily packed rice and seafood bowl, tossed in masago, from the quirky array of food trucks - we sat on picnic tables intertwined with ivy, underneath clear tent plastics and the pitter patter of Oregon rain. What could be better? I was just following my nose at the time. That was the start of the “foodstagram”.

The social bomb that was 2016 Instagram turned into more connections and jobs for me as I leaned into the love of local food just for the love of local food. I traveled, grew, and became a professional food photographer, among other things.

The poke bowl brightened my food horizons and my life all in one. But poke was first born of the beaches and coral reefs of Hawaiʻi.

Hawaiians are inventive cooks. Did you know that the Hawaiian staple, musubi (spiced SPAM sushi rolls), was invented during World War II when Hawaii was on nuclear bomb lockdown? Forced to reign in traditional fishing and food preparation methods, Hawaiians sustained themselves on US government rations transported by planes. Notably SPAM.

Hawaiian women marinated and added spices to the spam, wrapped it in native seaweed and carefully cooked rice to make the dish their own. To me, that speaks. That cultural moment is food anthropology in a nutshell: take the bullshit you’ve been given. Infuse it with the magic of self. Make it fire.

For poke, Hawaiians caught a variety of fish from the reef - slicing it still raw (‘poke’ is Polynesian for ‘to slice’ or ‘to cut crosswide’) and served it with seaweed and nuts.

Poke took on Asian influence with the presence of Japanese immigrants in the 1930s, incorporating additions of soy sauce, sesame seed and green onion. 

In recent decades, poke has hit the mainland in the form of a customizable bowl. In truly American fashion, the garnishes are limitless: Add pineapple, cabbage, edamame, crab, BBQ chicken, seaweed salad, avocado, cucumbers, shaved carrot, marinated ginger, onions, to name a few - the bowl is bursting with nutrients, a colorful cultural infusion.

The poke bowl that endcapped my twenties (and inspired this blog ramble, which is comparatively rare) was by Marquette chef Roxanne Dragon. Roxanne creates healthful meals to-go for working folks that want to eat well without the time. 

After a long shoot together Roxanne set down plates for sous chef Lizette and I: poke. Together we sat, ate, and talked about whole foods, processed foods, glyphosate, farm-to-school, and other savory and unsavory food system realities.

She may not know it, but on Roxanne’s scratched cutting board lies the future, and a truth: This work is important.

I didn’t know that the poke in my bowl would cause a change in me that would spearhead me into the food system at large, but it’s something every dish has the potential to do.

The poke bowl met me at a time when my life could’ve used some brightening and is still special to me a decade later. Meeting my first poke bowl was a lot like meeting myself - a vibrant and varied amalgamation of many places. A lot out of a little. It remains on my winter rotation when I need some color to get me through a long Upper Peninsula winter. I like to think I’ve taken that light and amplified it, just like the Hawaiians did, and the people making and serving poke today still do.

From poke I come, and to poke I return - a little older, a little saltier, swimming my way toward something bright. Next time you see me at market, stop and give me your best advice for this decade! Stay warm and happy spring.