"You're pronouncing it wrong," said my friend Sheila. "It's poke."
"Poh-kee?" I asked. "As in Gumby and Pokey? Like do the hokey-pokey? Rhymes with gnocchi?"
Sheila is kama'aina—born in Honolulu—and I'm from the mainland, but we've been friends through shared meals of Spam musubi, loco moco and lau lau, pipikaula, chocolate haupia cream pie. (I loved the pie.) We even had an episode involving the etiquette of two-finger poi.
Poke wasn't about to part us. Food shouldn't do that. Politics, possibly. Never food.