Monday, November 18, 2013

Aloha Mixed Plate

After a peaceful morning, I walked down along the ocean to grab lunch at Aloha Mixed Plate- a local restaurant not too far away.

"Paper plate meets million dollar view," sayeth the New York Times.  So true. Those Howlies know what's up. Hard to find a better paradise than to have lunch. Hawaiian barbecue chicken on the sea breeze, as birds chirp in the canopy of trees.

I sipped a mai tai of dark and light rums mixed with tropical juices as boats moored in the water rocked in the surf.

My lunch came, a plate of Mochiko Chicken- island style fried chicken.

Boneless chicken thighs marinated, dipped in sweet rice flour batter and then deep fried golden.  It came with a  side of rice and macaroni salad. I filled up a pool of sriracha, and munched the juicy fried chicken and soft rice.  The macaroni salad cut the heat of the sriracha on the golden crispy chicken, and its succulent sauce and juices flavored the fluffy rice.  It was absolutely delicious.  I saved some for the fellow I had passed on way who was living by between the sea and the shed near the beach who had smiled at me earlier on my journey.

I sat reading of another emerald isle in Angela's Ashes:

Toby says nobody knows Limerick like the telegram boy. We know every avenue, road, street, terrace, mews, place, close, lane. Jasus, says Toby, there isn’t a door in Limerick we don’t know. We knock on all kinds of doors, iron, oak, plywood. Twenty thousand doors, Frankie. We rap, kick, push. We ring and buzz bells. We shout and whistle, Telegram boy, telegram boy. We drop telegrams in letter boxes, shove them under doors, throw them over the transom. We climb in windows where people are bedridden. We fight off every dog who wants to turn us into dinner. You never know what’s going to happen when you hand people their telegrams. They laugh and sing and dance and cry and scream and fall down in a weakness and you wonder if they’ll wake up at all and give you the tip. It’s not a bit like delivering telegrams in America where Mickey Rooney rides around in a film called The Human Comedy and people are pleasant and falling over themselves to give you a tip, inviting you in, giving you a cup of tea and a bun. 
Toby Mackey says he has facts galore in his notebook and he doesn’t give a fiddler’s fart about anything and that’s the way I’d like to be myself.

I sipped a Pacific Golden Wave lager as I got towards the end of my precious book.  I got to the beginning of the last chapter, and then I paid the check, and wandered back along the ocean.  I found the fellow and gave him the leftover Mochiko Chicken.

"It ain't much, but it's good," I said with an Aloha smile.

He smiled back big, took the white container of mochiko goodness and said "Mahalo.  God bless you."

I smiled and returned to my hermitage to read my last chapter of Angela's Ashes.

Hawai'i , please do gastrodiplomacy to mainland (America)! I swear we know scant about Hawaiian cuisine and culture on the mainland, especially on the East Coast.  I promise, this Big Kahuna will help you do domestic public diplomacy of your unique culture and cuisine to mainland, and it will be good.

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