Good Sh*t From Hawaii: How I Invented the Poke Bowl

I am really pleased that Mainland folks with very little if any connection to Hawaii have embraced the poke bowl.  Like the Spirit of Aloha, surfing, and hula, all Hawaii residents should be proud to add the savory raw fish dish to the list of Hawaiian exports.  I for one can take personal pride in the feat, because, you see:  I.  Invented.  The poke bowl.

The first time I encountered poke was at my first ever luau, which I attended in the 1970s.  I forget the occasion, but it was a classic Hawaiian luau in a large field, where beneath large tarpaulin tents, hundreds of ohana and guests gathered.  There was hula and a steel guitar band.  As a nine year old at the time, this is the extent of detail I recall, save one other.  I remember the poke.  My 11 year old friend gave me a paper cup and grinned, "here, try this."  I put the purple, slimy morsel in my mouth and immediately gagged.  It was cold, clammy, and salty.  In retrospect, I'm surprised I didn't bother to ask or hesitate before popping it past my lips.  I thought I was being fed boogers.  It was my first ever experience with raw fish.  Luckily, in the ensuing years I quickly took to sashimi and sushi and ceviche and poisson cru and all things seafood, and my first ever encounter with the Hawaiian version of raw fish was but a footnote.

Fast forward to the Nineties, after seven years of college and law school, and I returned to Hawaii,  fully immersing myself in the outrigger paddling lifestyle.  Such a life involved canoe paddling on the beautiful blue-green water surrounding our islands almost every day from February to October, punctuated by almost weekly races.  My canoe club was a notorious party club.  We often found ourselves after these races reveling well into the night.  We enjoyed sharing coolers of beer, meats grilled on hibachis set up on the grass or sand, and plastic containers of poke, which we purchased from any number of supermarkets selling it as an item as unremarkable as apples or hot dogs.  The variety was endless, consisting of ahi tuna, octopus, marlin, even raw white crab.  Drizzle these with sesame oil, green onions, shoyu (soy sauce), and chili pepper flakes, and you have a basic poke.  But you might also find minced garlic, chopped kukui or macadamia nut, shredded ginger, even a Sriracha-mayonaise dressing to make it spicy.  All of this would be passed around amongst my paddling teammates and shared with endless beer after beer.  Mostly, we would pick the hunks of fish out of the containers with our fingers, or maybe chopsticks if we refused to be uncouth.  This was my Nineties.

Then one Sunday, I thought to myself, "this poke would be good with some hot rice."  I was thinking of the Japanese chirashi dishes that many sushi restaurants offered.  Rather than serving sashimi nigiri style, on bullets of rolled rice one at a time, chirashi was a large shallow bowl of warm sushi rice, upon which a layer of sashimi - ahi, hamachi, salmon, chutoro and otoro - was decoratively arranged for one to heartily dig into with chopsticks.  This is what I wanted for my poke, and no one had ever seen it served that way before.

Before my Hawaiian chirashi idea, poke was more an appetizer, to be served as I had experienced it 2 decades before; in a paper cup served on the side of a luau plate, little better than an afterthought to the entree of kalua pig, shoyu chicken, and rice.

By the end of that particular canoe season, my teammates were bringing portable rice cookers to the races, to enjoy with the poke that would inevitably be passed around.  I even introduced my new wife to it by instituting a Monday Night Football picnic, wherein I came home with poke from the store and cooked up a pot of rice, which we would enjoy sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the football game, eating from the Japanese bowls we got in our wedding.

Still, this particular style of serving poke was not seen in local eateries, much less in fancy Pacific Rim Fusion cuisine places like Roy's or Sam Choy's until a few years after our wedding.  The first "poke bowl" I noticed on a menu was at a small "plate lunch" restaurant.  Historians are convinced (OK, I, I am convinced) that that poke bowl can be traced backwards from paddler to paddler all the way back to my canoe club's tarp tent. 

In the ensuing years, I noticed poke bowls at Zippy's, the humble and ubiquitous Hawaiian diner franchise, and at Sam Choy's Breakfast Lunch & Crab on the high end.   To me, it reached local saturation when groceries offered a poke bowl option at their fresh fish counter.  I recognized it as a popular explosion when a friend of a friend, both of whom lived in the Mid-West, sheepishly asked me about poke bowls on Facebook, when she learned I was from Honolulu.

And to that, you can bet my first reply to her was "You know.  I. Invented. The poke bowl."

Good Sh*t From Hawaii: The Last of the Great Original Tiki Lounges

On a whim, we tried to get into the Honolulu Surf Film Festival at the Hawaii Art Museum.  It was opening night and the Festival were screening one of those films that was a little smarter than you’d expect from the surfer crowd; you know, probably some tasteful acid jazz over 16mm footage of peeling surf – looking very much like lines of coke on a glass coffee table – from oddball surfari destinations like Kiribati or Fiji.  Art crowd meets surf crowd.  Since it was opening night there would be a cash bar and a live band.  Looking forward to tropical images, surf music, and good libation, we circled the Museum in my truck looking for parking.

I already knew we’d have trouble getting in.  There was a trickle of Beautiful People sauntering towards the Museum from the nearby street parking, all decked out in Aloha shirts, Little Black Dresses and dress slippers (you mainlanders call them “flip flops).  Anticipating them, I had dressed the same in my kodachrome Phil Edwards-designed,surf-themed Aloha shirt and khaki Duck Head shorts.  The beachy version of Tom Wolfe’s Radical Chic were all turning out.

Sea Shell Lamps

It would’ve been a memorable night had we gotten in.  But without advance tickets we were sh*t out of luck.  Since we didn’t want to be uncool and get in off the waiting list (nobody wants to be uncool in the surf world), we executed Plan B.

Mai Tai and Blue Hawaii

Plan B: The last of the original tiki bars in Honolulu is located not in Waikiki, but hidden away in an industrial area off Sand Island Access Road, amidst a boatwright’s lot, some warehouse storage facilities, and probably a junkyard or two.  It’s called the La Mariana Sailing Club, and although there in fact are slips for several dozen sailboats, it’s not like any yacht club I’ve ever seen.

Sunset at the LMSC

As you might expect if you know me, the LMSC is the real deal.  It didn’t pop up in the midst of the lounge and tiki revival movement of the late 90s.  By that point, the LMSC was already into 40 years in business at roughly the same location.  Every artifact of the genre there, the tikis, the glass fishing balls, the hanging blowfish lamps, have the patina of authenticity, the aura that it was hung in the Kennedy era by some monosyllabic manservant to Annette La Mariana Nahinu, the establishment’s founder.  There is dust settled into the cracks of the koa carvings and mahogany filigree that dates back to the era of Skinny Elvis.

The food, while generous of portion, is average at best, but really, you’re there for the Boat Drinks.  The drinks you sip on a Lurline class ocean liner.  Mai Tai.  Zombie.  Blue Hawaii.   All strong, all original, all irony-free.  Brought to your table or served at the bar, where, on the night of Plan B we drank bathed in the light of startled blowfish, next to a particularly salty and pickled patron of dubious condition.  We watched him get politely 86d because he hadn’t lost his sea legs yet and was still a bit unsteady on land.  Evidently, outside he engaged in fisticuffs with some of the solid, and very real tikis lining the walkway.

Glass Fishing Balls

There were other tiki bars in Honolulu, mostly in Waikiki.  Famously, there was a Trader Vic’s at the International Marketplace and a Polynesian Village (founded by Don the Beachcomber), but they, and the multitude of smaller, lesser known establishments had all but died out by the 80s, when irony as a precious natural resource was discovered.  The only ones left standing on the island by that time were the LMSC and the Tahitian Lanai.

The Tahitian Lanai, and it’s adjacent tiki themed hotel, the Waikikian, sounds like it was a fine place in its day, hosting many sing alongs around its much revered piano bar.  I’ve heard anecdotes of holiday parties there involving guests like Martin Denny, Connie Francis, the Lennon Sisters, the cast of “Hawaiian Eye”.  It remained open until 1997, leaving the LMSC alone to carry the torch, which Annette did until her passing in 2008.  In the 90s when I started going to La Mariana, she would greet us as we walked in, dressed in a long floral mu’u mu’u and often a haku lei on her head, shushing her caged parrot.  And the LMSC continues to outlive her in exactly the manner she intended.

The Kodachrome Phil Edwards Surf-Themed Aloha Shirt

On the night of Plan B we had a C+ pupu platter and potent mai tais and Blue Hawaiis.  There may have been a martini and a beer in there, too.  We watched the sunset over my shoulder and through the masts of the LMSC fleet.  The place got dimmer, but the colorful glass fishing balls turned on.  Tourists and regulars were all charmed by the place.  The same entertainer from the Tahitian Lanai piano bar was there, too, singing for us, encouraging the shameless to sing along.

Believe me, Radical Surf Chic was not missed.  An irony-free zone, when it can be found here, is definitely Good Sh*t from Hawaii.

Spiny Blowfish

Fresh-Water Fish Tank, here?

Piano, Ukulele, and Sing Alongs

The Old Salt

Skinny Skinny Fat

A buddy at another blog got me a'thinkin' about Elvis and his Hawaii connection. The King always loved the islands, and for that we here will always have a special place for him in our hearts. My favorite Elvis movie is Blue Hawaii (which beat out Paradise Hawaiian Style, about a helicopter pilot being a bachelor on Kauai, by a country mile, as well as Girls, Girls, Girls, which I've never seen). There's so much that this movie gets WRONG about Honolulu, but the vibe is just SO RIGHT, especially for when summer kicks in and it's a non-stop beach-fest from Memorial to Labor Day.

Here he is driving around the Island, circa 1961. Love the girl (hibiscus in hair). Love the sights (Waikiki, Diamond Head Lighthouse, the Kai'wi Coast, Makapu'u). Love the little red sports car (what is that, a Jag?).



And here's a timeless classic that many may not know first played in this movie.



Time passed, and the Skinny Elvis, the great iconic bachelor, eventually bought lots of Caddilacs, set up shop in Vegas, and maybe shot out a few too many TVs with .357s. But he still had one iconic Hawaii performance left in him before he became Fat Elvis. Ladies, gentlemen, Bachelors and Betties, I give you Mr. Elvis Presley at the Honolulu International Center (know to locals as "H.I.C."), 1973.



A bronze statue of the King was dedicated in 2007 at the very site of this immortal concert. And that's Good Sh*t from Hawaii.

MacGarrett Redux

Word on the Street (Ke'eaumoku Street, that is), is that they're going to reboot this.



Good luck. The original ran for a then record 12 seasons and delivered a rum punch of crime, international intrigue, New Frontier-style sex, and Martin Denny exotica. It accurately portrayed the multi-racial world that made Honolulu so ahead of its time in the mid-century. It frankly presented new levels of screen violence hitherto unseen. The phrase "book'em Dan-O" has got to be a top 20 pop-culture catch phrase. You can't often capture lightning in a bottle twice and as far as I'm concerned, Honolulu's already got Jack Lord's Five-O and Magnum PI.

There can't be much more Good Sh*t From Hawaii on the tube, but here's hoping.

Good Sh*t From Hawaii: Aloha Shirts for Aloha Friday

In Honolulu, the alternative to the business casual of denim shirts, is the Aloha Shirt. In fact, it is less an alternative than it is an institution in its own right. For as long as I can remember, long before "I.T." specialists anonymously buzzed the hallways of quiet law firms in their Dockers and jeans shirts, there was the Aloha Shirt, worn daily by bankers, CPAs, and all other professionals. My father wore one to Equitable five days a week. The Aloha Shirt, especially those made by venerable local clothiers have always been acceptable business wear downtown.

I, on the other hand, took a long time to warm up to the idea of colorful patterned shirts as anything other than tacky, even in this Aloha State. Of course, I changed my attitude, especially when I realized that many tasteful patterns could be had. Add to that the comfort of cool short sleeves in our tropical climate and the fact that many of the nicest ones are made right here in Hawaii, and I'm ready to defend the Aloha Shirt against the sniping of any sartorialist.

To the right you find the classic Reyn Spooner, an almost always muted affair, unencumbered of the many garish colors associated with the Aloha Shirt of the cheesy variety. This one was given to me by my sister because it depicted outrigger canoe paddlers, and I love it. Pull this shirt over your head, tuck it into a pair of tropical weight dress pants or, of course, khakis, and you can hit the board room, deposition, or country club without fear of being underattired. Just don't go to court in one, unless it's a settlement conference in chambers. Going on the record is still a suit and tie occasion, as well it should be. But the Reyn Spooner is about as Establishment as they come around here. In the late fifties, Reyn McCullogh, a businessman from Catalina Island, California, saw the potential that jet travel and statehood offered Hawaii. Ruth Spooner was already a master seamstress making the best shirts and surf trunks in Waikiki when Reyn brought his venture here. Like the formation of a law firm, both their names graced the letterhead and Reyn Spooner was born. Now, whether Trad or Prep or modern, and you don't want to swim in a world of cheese, the Reyn Spooner is the Safe Bet of Aloha Shirts, .

To the left is the Kahala*, since 1936 another member of the venerable Battleship Row of Aloha wear. The Reyn Spooner may be a safe bet brand, but there's nothing safer in pattern than blue and white, for sure. Not having any court appearances, I wore mine this past friday, so that I could seamlessly go straight from work to happy hour. Aloha Friday existed long before silicon valley execs could even imagine casual friday. In Honolulu, every friday is casual and to a lesser extent monday through thursday is a sort of friday. Matched with some pegged chinos and my Jolly Roger belt (thanks John) and Weejuns, I like to think I've got that travelling surfer vibe from The Endless Summer going on.

So far two shirts, two brands and I have yet to detect the stink of cheese.

Manuheali'i is the name of a label from the Windward Side of Oahu, in Kailua, a place that some locals still consider the other side of the moon rather than just the other side of the island. Although I've lived here for almost 40 years, I still get lost in Kailua, because I'm from over the mountains. And Kailua is no one horse town, either! Manu is a relatively new brand, so new in fact, that they don't tout their age on their website. My wife seems to love their patterns and has gifted me a trio of their shirts. The one below is my favorite, a pullover (half placket) with tanglefern print. Quietly sprinkled into their design is their script logo. My wife has taken the liberty of gifting the exact same patterns to herself and our son. The two of them are the only people on the planet I would ever wear matching clothes with, and with these Manu prints, I must say it's still not an overload of pattern.

But really, the best reason to wear an Aloha Shirt, in my book, is because you want to "kick back" and relax, maybe have a mai tai at the Halekulani Hotel House Without A Key or enjoy some finger food and stingers with the Jetsons at Honolulu's last rotating restaurant, The Top of Waikiki. If that's the case, don't even worry about business casual. Just do what Honolulu does best: casual casual.

What follows are some of my fun Aloha Shirts, ones I probably wouldn't wear to the office, but ones I'm proud to wear to anything from fancy cocktails to baby lu'au. To the right is my Primo Beer shirt by Go Barefoot, another gift from my wife, this time for Valentine's Day while we were engaged. This shirt usually goes untucked with Duck Head shorts or my Levi's. I've gotten many compliments from locals who remember this Hawaiian beer from the sixties and seventies when it was the choice of everyone from fishermen to politicians.



Next is another favorite of mine, another Reyn Spooner with nifty graphics featuring the Disney superheroes, the Incredibles. Mr. Incredible, Elastigirl, Dash, and Violet the Invisible Teen are all depicted, as are second-bananas like Frozone and the Edith Head-like "Edna Mode". Man I loved that movie. If you've never seen it (and what OnceABachelor with a kid hasn't?), it's cooler than Mad Men for sure, and an absolute must-see.
Next is a sweet kodachrome-toned job, again by Reyn Spooner, but designed by deified sixties surfer Phil Edwards. This pattern celebrates surfing's early days, with the names of some noted surf spots like Makaha and Waimea Bay printed right on the shirt and mixed in with some classic surf images. This is a tough shirt to pair with anything other than very faded blue jeans, although I can get away wearing fancy linens and a pair of dainty Coach loafers in tan leather with it. No socks, please. Then my wife is putty, but that's another story.


And last but not least is my famous (at least around here) party Aloha Shirt, although it's not made in Hawaii. I bought this orange and green Attitude Adjuster in Bora Bora, when I was accompanying students on an environmental awareness exchange through the islands of Tahiti. This shirt gives new meaning to the term Go To Hell. It really lets the rest of the party-goers know what your intentions are. This shirt is Strong Medicine, and I don't wear it often, but I love it.

I will square off against any clothes horse in its defense, and in defense of all of my beloved Aloha Shirts.

* By the way, all the photographs from the Kahala website were taken by a photographer friend of mine, Joss Descoteaux, who specializes in paddling and surf themed photography.

Good Sh*t from Hawaii: Bathys Watch Co. 100Fathoms Automatic

I've lived most of my life in Hawaii and, yes it's paradise. I wouldn't live anywhere else, but really, its greatest claims to fame are Don Ho (R.I.P.) and Hawaii Five-O. Hardly illustrious by the standards of polite society but if so moved, I can give polite society such a philodemic bitch-slapping on the merits of both Uncle Don (Tiny Bubbles. 'Nuff said) and H5O (Jack Lord's sharkskin suit, to begin with) it would be ugly. Honestly though, as much as everyone would love to visit the Islands, not everyone truly appreciates all the different amazing things they have to offer.

And so I hereby inaugurate Good Sh*t From Hawaii, beginning with the Little Watch Company That Could, which, as it turns out, comes straight outta Kauai. Bathys is run, almost single-handedly by John Patterson. John, as far as I can tell is nothing if not a fine time manager (no pun intended), who balances scientific endeavors (i.e. his day job) with horological entrepreneurialism, a love of Hawaiian watersports, and an appreciation of vintage automobiles (old Volvos, SLs, and Willys jeeps).

Bathys hit the watch scene only a few years ago as the only watch company from Hawaii to offer Swiss made precision timepieces. The term Swiss Made is jealously protected by, well, the Swiss, to ensure quality and superlative workmanship, so you know you can count on a Bathys. I have one of the original 100 Fathom automatics, actually a 2nd generation Bathys, in stainless steel with a black dial. I bought it on the strength of the Bathys reputation, which grew thanks to the internet, and because of this very evocative photograph (taken from the Bathys Website):

This image, depicting the arm of an eco-adventurer pal of John, spoke to me. It told me the watch was just a bit different but still tasteful, and I just had to have it. As you can see, this watch sits proud of the wrist, a 41mm beautifully brushed silver stainless steel case on a waterproof leather band with contrast stitching, big green numbers and a blood-red sweep second hand. It boasts a slightly curved sapphire crystal that distorts at flat angles (love it or hate it, the former for me) and thunks reassuringly when you tap it with your fingernail. It also has a beautiful chapter ring indexed both in 60 seconds and 24 hours, also in confident red, black, and white. Lastly, the face is marked with one of my favorite words: "Hawaii", and on the case back John has engraved and labeled the main Hawaiian Islands. Here's mine, serial # 6155, on my lanai railing wearing the original leather strap with deployant buckle (enlarge the image, seriously, get a load of the face!):

And here it is, at a waterfall on Kauai, wearing an aftermarket solid-link stainless steel bracelet. John will be coming out with his own bracelet with fitted lugs soon:

And finally, here we are diving on a pod of spinner dolphins on the island of Lanai and sporting a nylon NATO strap:
Because of the absence of a timing bezel, it can't really claim to be a complete dive watch. However, with a 200 meter depth rating, a spirited argument to the contrary can be made. What the watch is, in fact, is a consumate watersports watch that can be surfed, paddled, swum, or worn diving, as I have done many times, without issue. In that way, it is as Hawaiian as can be. Unlike a pure diver, however, it is stylish enough to be worn to court in a suit, as I have done probably weekly. In that way, it is as OnceWereBachelorean as can be.

In a short span, Kauai resident John Patterson, a man after my own soul (and therefore yours too) has taken his little watch company from internet pipsqueak to cult favorite, a three-time (and counting) invitee to the illustrious Basel Watch Fair in, where else, Switzerland. John has expanded his line of watches to include the classic 100F (my favorite), a variety of imposing dive watches called Benthics, to their newest line of lunar phase ladies watches called Wahine (Hawaiian for, well, woman). Alas, Bathys have made the jump from internet sales only to brick and mortar retail at stores on the East Coast and London, but it's still the same great watch, with the same great customer service and approachability.

So the uninitiated may think that Hawaii is all kitsch and tack, but really if you look hard, you can find a lot of Good Shi*t From Hawaii, starting with Bathys.

For more info on Bathys, go to John's website, bathyswatch.com. Do yourself a favor and let the intro play so you can hear a great cover of Bob Marley's "Jammin'" on ukulele. Make sure to turn it up.

John, I hope you don't mind me borrowing pictures off your website. This is, after all, an unsolicited and unpaid-for testimonial for I am no shill. However, if you want me to remove them, let me know and I would be happy to do so immediately.