SOME THINK Honolulu, Hawaii’s most populous city, has little to offer visitors beyond high-rise hotels and chain restaurants with sticky laminated menus. Those critics clearly haven’t strolled through Chinatown lately. Just 3 miles from Waikiki Beach, the designated historic neighborhood—and new magnet for the island’s cool kids—consists of a curious mix of turn-of-the-century architecture styles. Romanesque Revival buildings constructed of lava-rock mingle with Italianate structures with pagoda roofs and a throng of red-brick edifices (a rarity in Hawaii) built just after a widespread fire in 1900. While the buildings might not be new, many of the occupants are.
Poor macadamia nuts. While almonds and walnuts bask in the health food spotlight, touted as snacks for the svelte, macadamia nuts are the fat nuts, covered in chocolate and sold as candy, or buried in cream and custard and served as dessert. “Consumers do not view mac nuts as healthy,” says Scott Wallace, president of Royal Hawaiian Orchards, which has been growing mac nuts on Hawai‘i Island for sixty years.
I don’t know why it took the rest of the country so long to catch on to poke. I’ve been hooked on Hawaii’s beloved raw-fish dish, pronounced poh-kay, ever since I moved to Oahu, nearly 10 years ago. As common to the islands as hamburgers are to the mainland, it’s Hawaii’s version of ceviche, minus the citrus, often made with cubed ahi (yellowfin or bigeye tuna) and seasoned with soy sauce and sesame oil. Rare is the supermarket or social gathering that doesn’t have poke. Elsewhere, you might bring wine and cheese to a party; in Hawaii, it’s more likely beer and poke.
Photo by Ryan T. Foley
Jon Jon Tabon told me to blend into the sky and sea. My pants, he’d said, should be in shades of tan or beige, my shirt light blue or gray. “What you are trying to do is camouﬂage yourself from the most timid ﬁsh there is,” he’d said. “It will see you from a good distance if you wear something too bright.”
I meet Tabon in the parking lot of McDonald’s in Kīhei wearing my best impression of the sky and ocean. We drive past strip malls on both sides of congested South Kīhei Road, then pull onto a dirt shoulder barely wide enough for his truck. He leads us—myself and his client for the day, Jon Biel, the father of actress Jessica Biel—along a path next to a grassy ﬁeld. Suddenly the cars and the condos and commercial buildings drop out of view, and we are on a white-sand beach. The West Maui Mountains ﬁll the horizon. This is Tabon’s secret garden, and his sport—ﬂy ﬁshing—is the secret within a secret.
Cinderella’s pumpkin carriage has nothing on Anna Peach’s Squashmobile. It’s a ’79 royal blue MG Midget, a car that’s even mini-er than a Mini, that Peach uses to shuttle up to 300 pounds of squash at a time from her farm, Squash and Awe, high on the slopes of Waimea, to restaurants all over the Big Island of Hawaii. Her specialty: bizarre squash you’ve never heard of, like the Ugandan giant pink banana variegated, which is indeed giant, pink and striped, or the marina di Chioggia, a warty-looking thing named after a town near Venice.
In EatingWell magazine, read more here.
Photo by Dana Edmunds
Ordinarily Kaluako‘i Villas on the west end of Moloka‘i is a quiet as a ghost town. But once a year, when the Molokai-2-Oahu Paddleboard World Championships descend upon it, this desolate complex of vacation condos becomes a place of intense anticipation and activity.
On the night before the nineteenth annual race, with more than two hundred paddlers gathered for the start, it feels like a beach town during spring break. Except instead of college kids with alcohol on their breath, the crowd is ﬁlled with broad-shouldered men and women with powerful backs and arms. Their six-packs are of abdominal muscle, not beer.
The Molokai-2-Oahu is a wild, thirty-two-mile endurance race across the deep blue Kaiwi channel, one of the roughest channels in the world. Kaiwi means “the bone,” a reference perhaps to its reputation for swallowing sailors and spitting up their remains along the southeast shore of O‘ahu. This is the channel where roaring tradewinds routinely whip up steep, twenty-foot seas, the channel where renowned waterman Eddie Aikau was lost after the replica of a Polynesian voyaging canoe, Hōkūle‘a capsized in 1978. “Paddling the channel will change your life,” says race director Mike Takahashi, who has done it himself seven times.
Read the rest: https://hanahou.slickage.com/articles/1460
Growing old over the decades: alone, with loved ones, with the friends who outlast the loved ones.