Most people imagine and anticipate a beach bar or luxury hotel as their first Hawaiian outing. Not I. Envision a convenience store without a gas station…this was my first stop returning to Hawai’i, and I toted my tired boyfriend along with me for the experience. Self-care basics. Sundries. SNACKS.
I longingly fancy myself a quasi-local, because I spent years working and volunteering on these islands. (My internal struggle with colonialism and cultural appropriation are topics for another piece). As such, I’ve been fantasizing for months about all the gastro goods I’m going to consume again. My boyfriend is looking forward to lava- I say, “but also lilikoi, lau lau, li hing mui!” He does not understand…yet.
I’m teaching him the Hawaiian basics, the abc’s, so it’s fitting that our pilgrimage store is named ABC. We walk in, he gets the lay of the land while I bolt to the musubi warmer, single handedly grabbing a basket without losing stride. But, “patience- restraint,” I remind myself…get the temperature neutral items first to keep things fresh. I dash around to take inventory. The purple ube crack cookies are not here, either sold out or not on this island. A disappointment, but there is time (and plane tickets to the island where they are made…purchased and impending). Face wash for me, razors and a toothbrush for him, THEN my basket overfloweth.
Musubi. Poke. Mochi. Kona coffee. Local chips flavored from the ocean. Ono single serve sake from Japan that is so strong it will take me two servings. My boyfriend gravitates toward the familiar…Pringles and basic crackers (not even reimagined with a Pacific palette!), but learns quickly. He’s selecting a bento, and I advise (don’t make THIS your first loco moco!).
The clerk and security guard may never have seen such a haggard haole light up so much for local basics. The cashier asks us with a grin if we can fit it all in our reusable bag. My brow furrows, realizing her very realistic observation. “We’ll manage,” I say, without pausing piling the items. The guard chuckles and says “enjoy” as we scuttle back to our room, already tearing into our stash.
I can’t contain the happy dance in my mouth and stomp my feet on the floor. Anyone staying below us might’ve thought there were rambunctious children or honeymoon shenanigans going on. Broke da mouth, is the local saying.
Like no one is watching (or listening), I will be break dancing every day.
For photo credit & further reading, visit: http://www.google.com/…/hawaiian-food-staples-and…/amp/
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