There is no why associated with a trip to Tahiti, only when. My when was mid-January, a time when the cold Midwestern wind readily nudges jumboliners across the eight thousand miles that separates wintry Detroit from this tropical paradise. Tahiti is the focal point of French Polynesia, the largest of nearly two hundred islands scattered like seeds across the South Pacific. The essence of the romantic setting, it's also extremely family friendly, as I learned alongside my children Josh and Alicia, who came with me.

We trekked throughout the Society archipelago by canoe, powerboat and prop plane...finding new and exciting adventures on each island we visited. We boogie boarded on the legendary surfing break at Tahiti's Papenoo Beach, fed sharks and stingrays in the translucent waters of Bora Bora's lagoon, and swam with the Moorea dolphins. The kids were champs throughout, and brought back with them (beside a trunkload of souvenirs) a semester's worth of extra-credit reports to justify the week they spent away from the classroom.

As always, we ate well. Polynesia is a territory of France, and the Gallic influence is everywhere; in language, culture, and cuisine. To Polynesians, both the natives and the many European transplants, food matters. Tahiti is probably the best place in the world outside of France to get a steaming, crusty baguette, and the fanciful blending of classical French technique with local foods make dining here a unique and marvelous experience.Most of the chefs I worked with were trained in France (several had Michelin three-star affiliations), and in general, reported that Polynesian ingredients, though somewhat limited in scope, fit in well with their tried and true methods. Like the Basques, the Polynesians mingle fruits and meats in a single dish quite readily, and the seafood dishes here are extraordinary. Parrot fish, red and white tuna, and a flaky swordfish known locally as meka (a far cry from the tough steaks we sometimes encounter in the States) graced every menu.

Of particular interest was the ubiquitous Polynesian ceviche, Poisson Cru, in which freshly-caught raw fish is tossed with lime juice and coconut milk. While on Moorea, I stopped by a vanilla plantation and created a couple of recipes using this painstakingly-grown, but sensationally aromatic spice, which I later prepared with the chef from Beachcombers Resort, just outside Tahiti's capital city of Papeete.

The best culinary experience I encountered, however, was miles from any restaurant. On a tiny Robinson Crusoe-style island within the Bora Bora lagoon, a group of native cooks prepared a full-blown Tahitian cookout using the underground oven known as an Ahima'a. Suckling pig accompanied roasted taro root, breadfruit, plantains, and the rich, delicious Tahitian poi, which is made from pureed pumpkin, sweetened with coconut, and is a far cry from the bland Hawaiian staple of the same name.

Likewise, I found that the small, intense pineapples grown on the island of Moorea totally outstrip their famed Hawaiian counterpart in terms of sweetness and flavor depth. You don't get much more remote than Polynesia, but it's great to discover that, besides the lush scenery and sparkling waters, it comes with all the amenities of home...except the snow.