The Dough Boy and I — we go way back. We’re tight — like this (fingers intertwined). He’s even let me poke him in the tummy.

So, I was thrilled to be united with my doughy guy earlier this week, when I was invited to be a judge for America’s oldest and most lucrative cooking contest, the Pillsbury Bake-Off in Orlando.

It was my third time as a judge in this competition. And my third time having a hand in deciding who went home with the grand prize of $1 million.

Started in 1949, the event celebrates the joy of home-cooking as only amateurs are allowed to enter. Each time, tens of thousands of entries from home-cooks are whittled down to just 100 finalists who compete to create an original, great tasting dish that will impress not only a panel of discriminating judges, but the entire nation, which has grown up with this iconic contest.

The judges are chosen almost a year ahead of time. From that moment onward, we had to avoid reading, seeing or hearing anything about the contest so that the contestants remained completely anonymous to us. You almost felt like you’d been selected for a secret ops mission, where information is strictly on a “need to know” basis. Hmm, good thing I packed a lot of black clothing.

We 12 food professionals took our mission seriously, too. A few of us were veteran Bake-Off judges, having done it once or twice before. But others were first-timers, nervous and excited about what the judging process would be like. Should we do stomach exercises to gird ourselves for so many dishes? Should we wear XL elastic pants that day? Just how many hours would we be stuffing our faces? Would we have to arm wrestle one another if we couldn’t agree on a winner in the end?

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When visiting Hawaii, don’t forget to pack your swimsuit, flip-flops, sunscreen — and Costco card.

Seriously.

The cavernous membership warehouse store has some of the best — and best priced — Hawaiian souvenirs you can find. I’m talkin’ surf T-shirts, bags of taro chips, lilikoi cookies, Kona blend coffee, and of course, macadamia nuts. My husband had to buy another tote bag for the plane for all the goodies he brought back home on our trip to the islands last year.

Me? I was content with a big bag of macadamias for a steal.

After all, it’s always good to have a ready supply for when the baking mood hits.

And it did big-time with this recipe for “Macadamia and White Chocolate Chunk Cookies” from Alice Medrich’s “Chewy Gooey Crispy Crunchy: Melt-In-Your-Mouth Cookies” (Artisan), of which I received a review copy. Only, I changed it up, substituting dark chocolate for white — TCHO Dark Chocolate Disks 68 Percent ($7.98 for 8 ounces) to be exact, of which I also received a sample. With macadamias one of the richest tasting nuts around, I prefer them with the slight bitter-earthiness of dark chocolate rather than the often cloyingly saccharine white chocolate.

The cookie dough needs to be refrigerated for at least two hours or overnight, so plan accordingly.

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KONA, HAWAII — When you think of the Kona district on the Big Island, it’s hard not to think of coffee immediately.

The first coffee was planted in Kona around 1828 by missionary Samuel Ruggles, where it thrived because of the mineral-rich volcanic soil.

It is now Kona’s most famous crop and probably its most expensive. You’ll find top-grade Kona coffee selling for upwards of $38 a pound. Don’t be fooled by the so-called “Kona Blends.” Yes, they’re cheaper — but for a reason. The blends are required to contain only 10 percent Kona coffee. The rest can be made up of much cheaper coffee from elsewhere around the world.

Kona coffee may get even more expensive in the future, as farmers have had to do battle with a pesky, virulent beetle that has been attacking the berries for the past couple of years. Moreover, just like farming elsewhere, it remains a hard profession that younger generations are turning their backs on.

Tom Greenwell is a fourth-generation grower. His great-grandfather, British adventurer, Henry Nicholas Greenwell, was one of the first exporters of Kona coffee in the late 1800s. Today, Tom Greenwell carries on the family tradition, overseeing Greenwell Farms, where the planting and picking are still done by hand on 35 lush acres.

Recently, I had a chance to tour the farm with Tom Greenwell during my trip to Hawaii, courtesy of the Hawaii Visitors and Convention Bureau.

Before you even stick your head into the roasting building, the sweet aroma of roasty-toasty beans hits you. It’s like coffee syrup aromatherapy.

Greenwell Farms grows about 280,000 pounds of coffee annually. Small white flowers begin to bloom on the coffee trees in by February, followed by green berries in April. From August through February, the red fruit, known as a “cherry” (because it looks similar to one) has ripened and is ready for picking.

The fruit is separated from the seed or bean with a machine known as a pulper. The beans are fermented overnight, then rinsed before being spread out on a rooftop to dry for at least 30 days. After that, the beans go into the roaster for about 15 minutes.

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MAUI, HAWAII — You’re probably accustomed to restaurant menus that list the farms where the produce comes from and the ranches that raise the pork and beef starring in the dishes.

But how about a seafood restaurant that lists not only where the fresh fish it serves comes from, but the name of the fisherman who caught it and the method used to land it?

That’s what you’ll find on the menu of Mama’s Fish House in Paia on the north shore of Maui, which has been including that information since it opened 39 years ago. At a time when upscale restaurants on Maui were all steak houses, Vice President Karen Christenson’s parents opened this beach-side restaurant to spotlight seafood because it was cheaper then — and because the fishermen conveniently delivered.

Today, you’ll find descriptions on the menu such as “Deep-water ahi caught by Shawn Boneza trolling the north shore of Maui; seared in ginger and panko crust with kalua pig rice pilaf” ($40) and “Papio caught by David Wallace while adrift over deep sea ledges near Kaupo; upcountry style with caramelized Maui onion, tomato and jasmine rice” ($38).

How’s that to make a dish sound even more enticing?

Recently, I had a chance to dine as a guest at four wonderful restaurants on Maui, including Mama’s Fish House, as part of my trip to Hawaii, courtesy of the Hawaii Visitors and Convention Bureau.

They take their fish seriously at Mama’s Fish House, a bustling tropical outpost with dining rooms decorated with outrigger boats and shells, as well as views of sand and palm trees.

Chef Perry Bateman, who has been at the restaurant an astounding 20 years, turns out about 1,000 meals a day. Everything is made from scratch, too.

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HONOLULU, OAHU and KONA, HAWAII — Ken Love has had a multitude of careers in one lifetime: Associated Press photographer, Chicago Sun-Times restaurant reviewer and Tokyo culinary student.

But it is as a farmer on the Big Island that he is perhaps most happiest.

I can’t help but get that feeling as Love, a big bear of a man with a desert dry sense of humor, showed me around a five-acre plot of wild Eden on a friend’s property that he looks after. I had a chance to meet Love, president of the Hawaii Tropical Fruit Growers Corp., on my recent trip to Hawaii, courtesy of Hawaii Visitors and Convention Bureau.

A specialist in tropical fruit horticulture, he’s also quite the activist, rallying for the Big Island to feature home-grown fruit and veggies in school lunches rather than the rock-hard peaches and tasteless imported apples that often end up on cafeteria trays instead.

He’s also about to become a film star. Love recently filmed a documentary with actor Bill Pullman, who happens to be a fruit activist, himself. (Who knew?) The film, “The Fruit Hunters,” is based on the book of the same name by Adam Leith Gollner. It looks at the diversity of fruit in the world, as well as folks who become almost fanatically passionate about fruit. The movie is expected to be released by the end of next year.

On this quiet afternoon, as we thread our way through this lush five-acre spot, Love stops every few steps to point with pride to a tree or bush, and to pick something amazing for me to taste. It’s a veritable fruit smorgasbord before my eyes.

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