Every city needs its cafes – the hubs of culture, gathering points of the tattooed and pierced, oases of free wifi and left-leaning papers, galleries of almost-decent artwork, pushers of joe.
A couple of noteworthy stops for the cafe junkie:
Mocha Java, more of an upscale cafe, with older, yuppier-looking denizens, and an unfortunate physical positioning within the confines of Ward Center that does not allow it to fully define its own space. Comfortable in spite of its shortcomings, and stocked with good eats, including the crepes for which they are known.
Coffee Talk, in Kaimuki, provides that earthen funk one wants in a cafe, that unpretentious pretentiousness. It is a cafe in the classic university town mode, essentially everything I described above. Sandwiches and salads are recommended, as are the juices and smoothies – extra-fresh.
Filed under: Hawaii
Last weekend we made it out to the famous Hanauma Bay. A visit had eluded us on a previous trip to Oahu when a full parking lot denied us entry. This time we were a bit luckier with our timing.
The bay is one of those miraculous natural formations that gives spontaneous rise to belief in a higher intelligence. It is a crescent moon of volcanic cliffs lined with wispy vegetation, a perfect long stretch of sandy beach nestled in the valley and crystal clear shallows blotted with reef. The beauty is pretty intense, and understandably attracts tourists by the busload. The authorities turned it into a regulated park in 1990 to reduce the impact of gazillions of beachgoers. I would judge the effects of this policy to be partial.
They make you watch a video prior to entry that dispenses advice on how to minimize your footprint by not touching any wildlife, including the coral. While it seems kind of preachy and longwinded when you watch it, it does have the effect of making you feel guilty when you are snorkeling and inevitably, unintentionally breaking off chunks of coral with your flailing limbs. Which coral is, by the way, almost completely covered in algal bloom, just like all of Waikiki’s.
The illusion of sanctuary set up by the video is also dispelled by arrival on the beach to crowds that rival Waikiki.
Some cool fish to be seen though. Well worth the trip for the breathtaking scenery and wildlife. Just don’t call it a “natural preserve,” ok?
On Fathers Day we ended up brunching at Mac24-7, a “modern American diner” that is, true to its name, open 24-7. People didn’t seem to be put off by the kitschy decor that passes for chic, or the really bad distressed stencil logo; we had to wait for 30 minutes just to get in. But wait a stinkin minute! The place was not even 50% full by the time we were led to our table. The reason for this unusual policy came clear when we encountered the incompetent wait/cook staff. They certainly could not have handled full capacity, let alone 50%. Our order arrived in relatively short order, but I watched the mounting frustration of the table seated after us as they waited throughout our entire meal for theirs to arrive.
The omelette I ordered was unremarkable, but that was besides the point. Mac24-7 is famous, locally, for the most ridiculously large pancakes you’ve ever seen. We ordered a plate of banana walnut chocolate to share, but I don’t think Konishiki would even be able to polish off these flapjacks.
All in all, I didn’t really get it. Who wants to take home pancakes in a doggy bag?
So ten years of advancement in bike design just passed me by while living in Japan. I did see the occasional high-end road machine zip by, usually gaijin-owned, but in the land of mama-cherries, never had much interaction with anything more advanced than single-gear, basket-mounted neighborhood cruisers. Man was I missing out.
With gas prices rising and my beltline expanding, there was never a better time than now to get back in the saddle. Honolulu is such a small city, I am surprised more people don’t take advantage of pedal power. I guess people are starting to, though, judging by what the bike shop pros are saying.
With my recent history of riding bikes designed in circa 1975, I didn’t have much knowledge to go on in making an informed purchase. I did know that I didn’t want to buy the crap they sell in Walmart. That was a good starting point. Then, by chance, I lunched with a friend whose boyfriend works in The Bike Shop. That’s right, they have the cajones to call themselves simply the bike shop. The store seemed to be staffed by former bike messengers and failed downhill racers (aside from the owner, who resembled the Simpsons comic book guy) – slightly intimidating to a novice like me, but also quite knowledgeable.
They steered me toward the Crosstrail, by Specialized, an entry-level hybrid that is perfect for commuting and light trail riding. I swapped out the trail tires for some kevlar-lined fatties that are built for speed but can handle the potholes and grassy shortcuts that abound in this neck of the woods. The attention to detail and functional beauty in every part of the bike, from the grips to the saddle to the gearshifters just blows me away. The frame is light and super-solid, the ride smooth and powerful.
All day long I sit in my office like a schoolboy waiting for the day to end so I can enjoy my bikeride home.
My quest for decent Tex-Mex in Hawaii made progress Friday with the discovery of Wahoo’s Fish Taco.
The shop is sports bar meets franchise meets Quiksilver, pleasant enough, a little plastic. But hot damn if the food isn’t leaps above Mi Casa Taqueria. It’s a shame you can’t eat ambience, or Mi Casa would be the winner by a mile.
I had a platter with an enchilada with red and green mole sauce and a blackened cajun fish taco, heaps of black beans and nicely seasoned rice. It had my taste buds up and doing la cucaracha, and my stomach sated.
But I hear that the real island champ for Tex-Mex is somewhere in Chinatown. I knew that’s where I should have been looking.
The day after eating at Kaka’ako Kitchen, I had my first taste of Korean in Hawaii. And a very good taste it was.
Sorabol is located in a small stripmall complex that houses another Korean restaurant, a Korean bar, Korean karaoke, Korean everything, you get the idea. It is like a self-contained Korean town, if it is possible to call a stripmall a town.
The decor, to be honest, had me a bit confused. Tables arrayed somewhat cafeteria-style, chintzy glass chandeliers, a couple fishtanks, all of it hovering somewhere between classy and worn-down. Apparently the place is open 24-7, which could account for the feel of wear and tear.
Started with a bottle of Hite. The logo of Hite looks like a poor conflagration of the Miller Lite logo and a dishwashing powder label. And it looks like it tastes. Actually, it is not bad, a very light-bodied beer with a crisp and sweet finish that, naturally, goes well with Korean food.
We ordered up the usual fare: meat and kimchi. While it wasn’t on a level with the best I’ve had in Japan or Korea, it still did the trick. The sweet tea at the end provided a nice finish.
So I just finished my first week of work at the new gig. Which means I don’t have much to write about… a blatantly false statement. I could easily write many thousands of words about my new workplace, the type of folk who populate it and the projects that are in motion. But I’ll have to save that for a less public forum. I could also dedicate a few lines to the differences between a Japanese and American office. But that would probably re-tread familiar territory and just be tiresome.
I’ll stick to food instead. Because it’s easy, and all I’ve been doing besides working and handling random logistical tasks like moving into a new unit in our building, is eating.
I am starting to believe/realize that food in Hawaii is not nearly as heinous as my misplaced and rapidly dissolving Tokyo snobbery had led me to believe. As the husband of my company’s CEO noted at a dinner, Hawaiians love to eat.
The first place this week that raised my eyebrows (in a good way) was the Kaka’ako Kitchen, in Ward Center, a stone’s throw from my office. The order counter wasn’t much to look at, but was bustling and unassuming, with poured concrete floors giving it a market feel. The seating is all outside under a broad canopy, looking out onto Auahi. Nothing very special, but at least cool and casual.
Food comes out in styrofoam delivery packs, not really much presentation. I had catfish tempura with ponzu sauce, fresh greens with a horseradish dressing and brown rice. The batter on the catfish was just the right consistency – not too dense, not overly crisp – though I should note it was of course heavier than real tempura batter, Americanized. Fine by me. Full of flavor, everything at a pinnacle of freshness.
My colleague, born and raised on the island, claimed catfish was an unworthy fish (as opposed to the Akipakipo or something that he recommended). It is true that catfish will win no prizes for delicacy or subtlety. But it is an honest fish. I guess they are a little spoiled for fish here in Hawaii.
On second thought, ordering catfish in Hawaii is like ordering a hotdog in Tokyo. But hey, I’ve got plenty of time to sample all the good stuff.
A brilliant two-hour hike that’s just – and only just – outside Honolulu. It really put living here into a new perspective. One moment you’re driving through Manoa, a valley neighborhood just behind the U of H campus and the next you are right smack in the middle of a rainforest. The transition – or lack thereof – is really that sudden.
The hike’s destination is the falls, which is a moderately impressive, Hokusai-esque 150 ft. single fall down a vertical rockface. For me, the real beauty was just enjoying the otherworldly vegetation at every turn along the hike, the sheer uncontrolled wildness of it all.
Finally got around to having my first surf – four weeks too late!
Rented a board from the Ezekiel tent behind the Duke statue and, hoping for an epic experience of Biblical proportions that would live up to the namesake of my rental board, tried to run out into the surf before I had received my ankle leash and had to be chased down by one of the rental staff.
Fuckin-A, man, surfing Waikiki is childsplay. And it is, literally. I saw loads of kids tiny fractions of my age riding far bigger waves than the shorehuggers I was catching. Even I was getting some good rides. Sure, I looked like a tottering grandmother on my twenty-foot board.
But I was a surfing granny. And that’s cool.
Last night I had my first taste of authentic Hawaiian food at local favorite Ono Hawaiian Foods.
I had no real preconceived notions of what Hawaiian food was supposed to be, but suspected that it involved mounds of roasted pork. My suspicions were confirmed, but I was to learn that there is a little more to it than that.
We got a Kalua Pig Plate and a Chicken Long Rice Plate. Kalua Pig was self-explanatory, but chicken long rice turned out to be a savory sweet chicken stew with glass noodles. Misnomers aside, both were mouth-wateringly satisfying.
A word about poi, which, as a side dish, is considered a counterpart of rice. I don’t know why, but we were imagining some kind of hushpuppy-like deep-fried breadish munchable. So when we first saw the bowl of blue goo that is poi, we were mystified. Poi has a consistency somewhere between jello and mochi, and a rather bland first impact followed by a sour, tangy aftertaste. It is not wholly unpleasant, but perhaps an acquired taste. In the end, it was good for a killer oyaji gag – and that is no small thing! After making my best effort to finish most of it, I told Mizuho to “poi-o-poi-sute” (throw out the poi). Yeaaah!
