Hawaii

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I’m one of those people who gets annoyed when people make a big deal out of my birthday and even more annoyed when they ignore it. So yesterday when I got an e-mail from Babs, a friend in California, wishing me happy birthday, I  thanked her by whining about how the night before, for dinner, I’d gone to the ABC store and bought a bottle of Meridian Merlot and a box of Chip & Cookie Hawaii chocolate chip cookies. “It will be tough to top that for a birthday celebration.”

I know. What a martyr, right?

So Babs writes back, “Well, happy depressing birthday! This is your assignment today—to get someone to sing a Hawaiian version (or any version) of ‘Happy Birthday’ to you.”

Yeah, right. I’m going to ask some stranger to sing happy birthday.

Anyway, I’m out at the KoAloha ukulele factory and I’m just about to leave when the owner, Alvin “Pops” Okami, tells me how his son, Paul who is the company luthier and makes KoAloha’s custom ukes, is in San Francisco on business, which makes Pops a little sad because it’s his birthday and birthdays are a big thing for the KoAloha ohana, or extended family, and Paul is going to miss that and so is Pops.

Well, would you believe, I tell Pops, that today is my birthday?

“No!”

photo by David Lansing

photo by David Lansing

I pull out my driver’s license and show him. Which is when Pops grabs a ukulele off the wall and spontaneously starts singing “Happy Birthday.” And his wife, Tricia, and a couple of KoAloha employees join in. I felt like I was coming down with something all of a sudden because my throat got all tight and my eyes started to water.

“You ever play the ukulele before?” Pop asked me.

“Not really.”

“You should learn,” he said. And he handed me the ukulele he’d just been strumming. As a gift. I didn’t even know what to say. But I think it may have been the nicest birthday present I’ve ever gotten. And it came from someone who was basically a stranger.

True aloha.

 Totally by coincidence, a documentary film maker from Philadephia, Gary San Angel, had been filming while Pops was giving me a tour of the factory and he caught the whole Happy Birthday ukulele serenade on tape. So here it is. Just so Babs will know that I’m not making this stuff up. And that her birthday wish for me really did come true.  

David Lansing at KoAloha Ukulele on his Birthday from Gary San Angel on Vimeo.

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As much as I dig the foodie aspect of the Kapiolani Community College Farmers’ Market, I’m also envious over the flowers. Envious because locals come here and walk away with boxes of orchids, like phalaenopsis, for about $8 each when I’m happy to pay $15 or $20 at home.

photos by David Lansing

photos by David Lansing

And if they have half a clue as to what to do with them, these gorgeous butterfly orchids (which are easier to grow than roses, particularly in this climate) will not only bloom for years but, with just the slightest bit of care, can easily flower twice in a season. What a bargain compared to cut flowers which you stick in a vase and you’re lucky if they still look good a week later.

But what really amazes me are the cattleya. Now that’s a temperamental orchid. I’ve got eight or nine in my greenhouse but I don’t think any of them have ever bloomed. Then you come to the farmers’ market here and they’re like $20 for a gallon-sized plant. That would be a good $50 or $60 most places.

While I’m most enamored with the orchids, there are so many other beautiful flowers here, such as the almost-obscene looking anthuriums, known as “the hearts of Hawaii,” which come in every shade of red as well as green, purple, orange, white, and a golden yellow (they say there are over 500 species of this tropical). Or the fragrant gingers which you can crush in your hand and they bounce back unfazed.

People were walking out of here with big bouquets of proteas, which look like colorful artichokes to me, and various heliconia, or lobster-claws, whose waxy bracts look resembles the plumage of tropical parrots.

And it was almost impossible to find a bouquet costing more than $5 or $6—what a steal! 

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Honolulu foodies’ market

When I woke up Saturday morning, I started having second thoughts about going out to the farmers’ market at Kapiolani Community College. For one thing, the day was gorgeous and I kind of felt like just throwing on my swim trunks and going for a long swim. For another, the market is far enough from Waikiki that it would necessitate driving, which meant getting my rental from the valet and that whole hassle. But I kind of kicked myself in the ass and took a quick shower and humiliated myself into going by calling myself a lazy ass.

It was a good decision. I’ve been to farmers’ markets all over the world but this has to be one of the best. Even though there’s really not all that much in the way of fruit or veggies. It’s more about the food. In fact, they should probably call it the Honolulu Foodies’ Market to better reflect the experience. Absolutely everything here has to be grown or produced in Hawaii, which is very cool.

photos by David Lansing

photos by David Lansing

The thing to do is to make a circuit of the market and check out the vendors, kind of letting your nose and your eyes guide you, before you start eating. Otherwise, it will be like loading up on the rolls and potato salad at a buffet bar before you get to the prime rib table.

If you’re going to have breakfast here (and you’d be crazy not to), you have to decide whether to pace yourself and go with some finger food like a little mangobread or sweet potato Danish or go for something heartier like fried rice with Portuguese sausage.

My head told me to grab a cup’a Kona from Koko Crater and a banana muffin from Happy Cakes, but then my heart (or was it my stomach?) spotted the Styrofoam containers of food fronting Hawaiian Style Chili Co. Kim chee fried rice, kalua pork, taro mochi. In the end, my gut over-ruled my brain and I got the loco moco chili—a big scoop of chili on a mound of rice, topped with a fried egg.

Plenty ono grinds, brah. 

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Winnah of da winnah pizza

Here’s what you do at the Kapiolani Community College Farmers’ Market: you walk around until you find some good grinds, sit and chow down, then walk around looking for something else to eat. Repeat until full.

I didn’t even try to finish my loco moco chili. Way too much starch and carbs. What was I thinking? I needed to cleanse my palate. So I wandered over to Two Hot Tomatoes to have some of Barbara Sant’Anna’s fried green tomatoes.

photos by David Lansing

photos by David Lansing

Frankly I’ve never been a big fan of fried green tomatoes (okay, the tomatoes are green and there’s just something unappealing about that, and, secondly, the crust is always mushy), but Barbara’s secret trick is to fry the tomatoes in a panko breading so they come out crunchy and airy. More like tempura.

Those were good (although, again, I didn’t bother to try and finish the whole thing). Then, after grabbing a fresh gingerale lemonade from PacifiKool, made from their Hawaiian-grown ginger syrup, I got in line at the North Shore Farms booth for a slice of Jeanne Vana’s pesto Neapolitano  tomato and mozzarella pizza. Probably didn’t need this since I still hadn’t digested the loco moco chili (if, in fact, that’s even digestible) or the fried green tomatoes, but what the hell.

There are two things that make North Shore Farms pizza winnah of da winnah (best of the best): Jeanne’s Waialua Big Wave tomatoes, which she grows only in winter on a 10-acre farmer’s co-op on the North Shore on land that used to be a sugar plantation, and her pizza oven—which is actually just a portable gas bbq grill.

Jeanne calls her pizza Neapolitano, probably because, like a true Neapolitan margherita pizza it’s made with just four ingredients: tomato, mozzarella, basil, and olive oil. But Jeanne’s bbq’s don’t get hot enough to turn out a true crispy crust (a true Neapolitan pizza gets cooked in a 900° stone oven for less than two minutes). So while her crust is a little more limp than I like, the Big Wave tomatoes are unbelievable. A true loco moco pizza. 

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Hula as opera

There’s so much I don’t know. Like hula which I’ve always sort of thought of as Hawaiian clog dancing. But then you hang out with someone like Blaine Kia, a kumu hula, or hula instructor, and all of a sudden you realize that this dance is much closer to ballet than clogging.

“Hula is an oral tradition,” Blaine said as I sat in his garage in Kailua watching his wife, Kaleo, and two other dancers, Kaweni and Margo, choreograph a new dance before heading for Japan where Blaine runs four hula schools (he’s also involved in eight other hula schools from Vancouver, B.C. to Papeete, Tahiti).

photos by David Lansing

photos by David Lansing

“Hula is the end result of everything that is already here. We’re retelling the clouds passing over the water and the wind in the trees and the rain falling from the heavens.”

It’s the mana, or spirit force, that hula is expressing. And Hawaiians believe that there is mana in everything—rocks, wind, ocean, plumeria, turtles, people.

 If you ever really spend time watching a hula halau, or dance group, pay attention to their hands and feet. That’s where the real story is being told.

Blaine and Kaleo Kia

Blaine and Kaleo Kia

“When we begin to choreograph a dance,” Blaine told me, “we start with the foundation which is from the waist down. That’s the earth. So the feet connect to the earth. From the waist up, it’s the heavens and the arms and hands and face are all about the heart and emotion, expressing the story.”

For the better part of an hour, Blaine and Kaleo discussed whether the palm of one hand should face out or in as she lifted a hand towards the sky. Or whether her foot should stay in contact with the ground as she did a little half-circle movement or be lifted. Every little move was discussed in terms of storytelling.

Watching Kaleo dance, listening to Blaine sing some very beautiful Hawaiian songs, it all felt very emotional. Even though I had no idea what the words meant. It was like listening to opera. Somehow you feel the story even if intellectually you don’t quite get it.

When I told this to Blaine he smiled and said, “Hula is all about the heart. It has nothing to do with the brain. You don’t have to understand it to get it.”

I got it. Even if I didn’t really understand it. 

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