I’ve been anticipating writing this entry for some time, much in the same way I anticipate every meal at Le Bistro. Except I have a feeling this post is not to live up to the hype in my mind, whereas Le Bistro never ceases to excel.
The hyperbole is already flowing like wine, but heck, Le Bistro deserves it.
As a couple, Mizuho and I are always in need of a special place that we can get away to to “be adults,” and bask in the ecstatic highs of decadent culinary sophistication. Not because of our superior knowledge of ingredients and preparation. We don’t even qualify as foodies. I guess it’s kind of like going to the opera without knowing anything about the history of the plays, the actors or the music, and loving it nonetheless. Not that I do that kind of thing, but you know what I mean.
Let me be clear that I’m not trying to undercut our authority in any way. We have great instincts when it comes to food. This review is a case in point.
In Tokyo, our home kitchen was the Cardenas Charcoal Grill – which we feel, incidentally, has slipped in quality over the years. My suspicion is they’ve spread themselves too thinly with all the new openings in the Cardenas portfolio.
Last Christmas we were looking for a similar place in Hawaii to celebrate the arrival of my 32nd year on planet. The options, as proposed by Mizuho, were centering around the known Honolulu standards: Alan Wong’s, that kind of thing. But I couldn’t help feeling, as I eyed the underwhelming promotional websites, that such places slice the cheese maybe a bit thick. Not to pass premature judgment on places we will hopefully one day dine. But my inner Pavlov was not ringing.
Then there was this dark horse candidate, a little place outside town on the way to Hawaii Kai called Le Bistro, with no website. As we vacillated hopelessly about where to go, Mizuho began to think this was the one. I found a blog where someone was raving about the place – she even took pictures of every dish she ate. Now that’s serious, I thought. The deal was sealed.
To make a long story short, we went, we saw, we enjoyed. And just about a month ago, it was time for round two: Mizuho’s birthday.
Entrance is always the most disappointing part of the evening for me at Le Bistro. I can’t help thinking they could do more with the interior. Van Gogh prints and large dried flowers in floor vases straight out of Pier 1 just don’t strike me as very fresh. And the table layout which seems designed to allow maximum waiter flow doesn’t otherwise appear to have been considered from a customer point of view.
That’s ok. The wait staff are on the level: knowledgeable, charming without being intrusive and on-the-money sensitive to what is happening at the table (though ours this time was a little late on the wine pours – tsk, tsk).
Then, the food. Sadly, the details of the meal are lost somewhere in the webby folds of my brain, but I do remember I had the braised lamb chops, each bite bursting with an infusion of herbal delights – possibly a little too intense, but I like intense. Mizuho’s lobster was about as good as it gets this side of Maine. Oh yeah, creme brulee for desert – one of the best I’ve had anywhere. And there is a nice selection of alcohol-infused coffee cocktails, allowing one to combine the after dinner drink with a shot of espresso. I have a soft spot for them, and they go down real well after an epic tour of sensory indulgences.
So, from my humble little perspective, Le Bistro has set the bar for culinary excellence in Hawaii. And a cartoonish, fat French chef has appeared to tell me that it’s probably not going to get much better than that on this island.
Slowly but surely I am reeling in the thread of time. It was nearly a month ago that we were graced with the presence of Uncle Grant, who rolled into town like a dirty hobo to crash on our couch for a week (not counting the time he wandered homeless along the shores of Kauai). He was kind enough to act as a surrogate parent to the boys for most of that time, and we like to think he was even inspired enough to give up his wayward ways and think about settling down with about 2.5 kids, a mortgaged home and a pipe and slippers. The trip was actually a means of saving money on mail-ordered mountaineering gear he had delivered to our address, but we were happy to see him anyway. Not long gone yet from Tokyo, it all felt like a quick jaunt down the Odakyu, with palm trees and sun. Big thanks to the G-Dawg for filling our home with some warm fuzziness!
Snorkeling is to scuba diving as body boarding is to surfing. It is the sport of the casual enthusiast versus a passionate commitment. And yet, just as body boarding has gained cred through the existence of a pro circuit dedicated to its most intense practitioners, snorkeling also has a lot to be said in its favor. For one thing, it is low maintenance, low budget. A five dollar rental and you are swimming with the fishes for a day. Pull over the car, strap on the plastic gear that, while intended for benign interactions with nature, in a few years will be dumped at sea, and enter the mirror world of water. That, in my book, is a price of admission that bests Disneyland any day of the week.
I am not a snorkeling fanatic by any means, or even a frequent snorkeler. So I don’t really have much to compare the snorkeling wonderland of Shark’s Cove to. But it must be pretty decent to attract the scuba set, who you can see laboring on shore with their heavy tanks and troublesome bodysuits, and gliding beneath you like henchmen in a James Bond movie.
The crazy thing about the cove is it starts at ankle deep and by about fifteen feet out you are airborne, gazing down at the canyons of coral below. Like all of the coral I have seen off Oahu so far, it is not in good shape, but the abundance of marine life more than makes up for it. We glided about for an hour that felt to me like twenty minutes. I’d wax poetic about the varieties of fish species if I hadn’t failed my Intro to Marine Biology class back in college. Just imagine the calming effect that that giant fishtank in your doctor’s office has on you and magnify that by about a thousand. There are also some caves that you can swim through if your lungs and balls are big enough. We took a pass. I think it is the kind of thing someone needs to show you.
What’s not to like about the Kona Brewing Company’s Koko Marina Pub? The waterfront location is about as good as it gets, the interior combines the best of dock house and pub aesthetics, effortlessly warm and inviting, with a big old patio out back on the water, the bar band is a bar band’s bar band, a wealthy selection of tasty microbrews on tap, a wait staff that is friendly and efficient and a menu selection that rises above the level of standard pub fare, in terms of promise and delivery. The Uncle’s Poke started things off with a shebang, the Organic Baby Greens were fresh and vibrant, and the Kau Pesto Pizza with macadamia nut pesto sauce, chicken, sun dried tomatoes, artichoke hearts, kalamata olives and mozzerella was heaped high with flavor.
This isn’t gourmet dining, but pound for pound I’d say it beats its crosstown rival with ease.
After witnessing a less than satisfactory Jake Shimabukuro performance in early July, we headed out to Hawaii Kai Town Center to catch another, hopefully better, free show. Jake’s play is never in question. He is a consummate professional with a heart of gold who gives 100% at every show. What was in question were the things beyond his control: namely, venue and organization.
This time, there was to be no disappointment. The folk of Hawaii Kai are a more discerning demographic, and their shopping centers know they have to step up their game to cater to local taste.
If the seating arrangements at the Hawaii Kai Town Center left a little to be desired, the setting was picture perfect. The pavilion where Jake played is right on an inlet from the ocean, and a few high rollers even hitched their boats to the dock to catch the sounds.
The early evening start time was a nice touch: two sets of music stretching over a couple of hours as the sun dipped toward the horizon. A Hawaiian dusk extra mellow.
And there was the ohana factor: this was truly a family affair. Not in the sense of being a G-rated gathering, but because Jake’s local friends and family were out in force. Jake played to the crowd, reminiscing about the way things were, talking about shared memories and forgotten places.
But the music was all his own. Infused with Hawaiian spirit, characterized by an astonishing diversity of styles and repertoire. There was the obligatory “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” but there was also just about every styling under the sun – something for your granny and your alcoholic uncle.
Jake, true island original, in the homecoming performance he deserves.
First of all, it ain’t the Olive Garden, ok? I told someone – a longtime resident whose name shall remain anonymous cause he should be feeling enough shame – I went to the Olive Tree for dinner. And he said, “You mean the Olive Garden?” I mean, it’s a small island, and the Olive Tree offers the most amazingly flavorful Greek food at insanely low prices anywhere on it. And the Olive Garden is just… the favorite restaurant of one of Hugh Hefner’s girlfriends.
Secondly, if you are reading this (thanks!), and you only remember one thing of what I’m telling you, remember this: there is a wine shop right next door to the restaurant. I’m telling you this because I had read that somewhere at some point, but when we actually went all I remembered was that it’s a byob kind of place. So, if you want to save yourself an extra 30-minute trip to Safeway en route, remember: wine shop next door.
Thirdly, what’s not to like? I only found one thing – the limited menu, which might get old on repeated trips
- and that’s just because I’m a nitpicky bastard. Oh, and it’s crowded, but once you find a table, you’re golden, because you can tuck right into your wine without even having to wait for a waiter. Because there are none. Like many many places here in HI, it’s service at the counter. From the first mouthwatering bites of the baba ghanoush all the way through to the baklava (or balaclava, as I was calling it after two bottles of wine) that you don’t really need but get anyway because it looks (and then tastes) so completely decadent, the food is on the level.
Mostly Greek food. I don’t know, it tasted pretty Greek to me, but I appreciate the playfulness.
When our friend Grant committed to visiting us at the end of last month, I started to freak. Grant likes nature. Grant hates tourist traps. Grant is a free spirit. What the hell are we going to do with him for six days in Waikiki?
Running through my still limited knowledge of the island and what it has to offer, I thought back fondly on the Manoa Falls hike we did. But that hike, while dense with lush rainforest, is short and well-traveled. If a hike was to go on the agenda, it needed to be a little wilder, a little more challenging.
My outdoorsy co-worker was able to recommend a few, and handed me his copy of Stewart Ball’s classic tome on Oahu hikes. Leafing through the pages the legendary Lanipo hike caught my eye, but the night before I wussed out and decided on the easier, shorter and more popular Kuli’ou’ou Ridge.
The hike starts out with a series of long switchbacks up the valley. We made a quick start to put some distance between ourselves and the group of pre-teens in matching yellow shirts that was assembling at the trailhead with their parents. The foliage is not nearly as spectacular or diverse as you find in Manoa, but the views looking back down the valley make up for it. Midway up the trail flattens through a few groves of Cook pines, which make you feel like you are wrapped up in a cocoon of green mesh – a nice, kind of mysterious sensation, but one that doesn’t necessarily feel distinctly Hawaiian. After that, the trail steepens over too many exposed roots – wet exposed roots that took me out once on the way down. The trees gradually thin out and then you are up some stairs installed to prevent erosion on the ascent to the ridgeline.
The views of the windward side are well worth the price of admission: rippled green peaks undulating gently to the north and south and green, sparsely populated flats extending out to the ocean. We hiked a little ways up the ridge – again, to escape the tweenies that were hot on our tails – and, in fact, it looks like you could go pretty far in both directions along it. If you had the cajones, and weren’t wearing a pair of worn out New Balances as hiking shoes.
All in all, a perfect half-day hike for the occasional trekker.
The nice thing about having a blog that few people read is that there’s no pressure to keep it updated on a regular basis. I realize these are sentiments I already alluded to in my previous post, but that was before I let a mountain of blogworthy material amass over several weeks spent in varied states of incapacity. As a semi-regular reader of marketing/design/trendhunting blogs, I’m always amazed at the ability of those writers and contributers, many of whom occupy upper-level positions in major agencies, to maintain a steady stream of daily intelligence.
That is the explanation for the following post about an event that happened over a month ago.
ArtSpree! Whee!
Our first trip up to the Contemporary Museum, which is located on a stunning property – once a private residence – in Makiki Heights. ArtSpree is an annual event put on for children that allows them to engage with art through numerous activities and shows. I wasn’t expecting much, but the combination of setting – the green hilly gardens out back of the gallery – with a sprawl of funky-fun activities (for which this big kid is just as much a sucker) was just about as good as it gets when it comes to free entertainment for the kids.
