THE RED HILL SPECIAL

Ask anyone about Hawaii and they’ll tell you about the beaches, the sunsets, the paradise. For us, Hawaii was different. It was home for a while—but it was also the place where survival showed up in ways we never expected.

Our last duty station sat in the shadow of the Navy’s Red Hill Bulk Fuel Storage Facility, and when the fuel leaked, it didn’t just poison the water—it poisoned us.

We watched our neighbors light the water streaming from their kitchen sinks on fire. The first formula our baby ever drank was mixed with water laced with jet fuel and lead. Our dog’s hair fell out. Our skin broke into rashes. Walking down the stairs became dangerous because of the vertigo and migraines.

Then came the diagnoses. James’s melanoma was so advanced that doctors told him if it hadn’t been caught, he’d be gone in three months. He went through multiple surgeries and spent months tethered to a wound vac on his back. Our baby battled severe stomach issues long after we were evacuated—brushed off by doctors as “just the daycare special.” But what do you do when your child is in pain every single day and no one has an answer?

During that time, neither of our children spoke. They couldn’t tell us what they were feeling, only show us through tears, silence, and fear that it wasn’t good. And we were displaced for months, carrying nothing but questions: What’s safe? Who do we trust? When can we go home?

How do you feed your family when the most basic thing—your water—has turned against you?

It could have broken us. But instead, we were held up by people who didn’t owe us anything. The locals fed us, loved us, wrapped us in aloha when our own home was unlivable. They taught us that even in chaos, there’s community. Even in poison, there’s healing.

The Red Hill Special is our ode to that. Tender teriyaki chicken over crisp shaved cabbage. Island-style potato-mac salad. A fluffy scoop of white rice. A slice of caramelized pineapple, sweet as a memory you want to keep.

It’s contradiction on a plate: sweet and smoky, heavy and bright. A reminder that we carry scars from that time—but we also carry the love we were shown through food.

All Aloha. No Jet Fuel.

(And if you’re curious about how this story keeps playing out, here’s the latest in the “Look! It’s totally safe! We’re still drinking it!” Saga.)

Two civilians indicted for their role in a Pearl Harbor fuel spill that sickened 6,000 people in 2021