When in Hawaii, Eat as the Locals Do

On Tuesday night, when the
2nd AD from LOST gives me my call time, I mention that I’m going to Leonard’s Bakery in the morning to get malasadas. Surprised and with an extra lift in her voice, she asks, “How do you know about Leonard’s?
You a local girl?”

In Hawaii, being “local” isn’t just a geographical distinction. It’s a point of pride. It speaks of a camaraderie and connection to the spirit of Hawaii that no tourist can ever have. A reverence that comes from honoring the cultural heritage of the land and its people.

The 2nd AD’s question was just as much a compliment as it was an inquiry. The fact that I wanted to eat like the locals set me apart from most tourists. For me, it was a no-brainer.
I didn’t fly all the way to Honolulu to eat at PF Chang’s.

So while tourists crowded into the Yard House for lunch, I was walking to Ono Seafood, a little fish counter that serves fresh shoyu poke piled on top of steamed rice, accompanied by a can of soda for only $5.50. And while the wait at Denny’s was 25-35 minutes, I was sitting at the counter at Liliha Bakery enjoying a steaming plate of Loco Moco with Coco Puffs for dessert.

I headed to the North Shore for garlic shrimp at Giovanni’s Shrimp Truck, feasted on fresh from the oven manapua and pork hash from Libby Manapua Shop, and strolled through the Diamond Head Farmer’s Market washing down pork and shrimp lumpia with ice cold lilikoi lemonade.

I’m not a local girl, but for six days I ate like one. And I’m still full.