FLUX No. 15 Heritage

THE Heritage ISSUE

A Melting Pot of Gastronomic Delights

Paniania, Beloved Banyan Trees

Hawai‘i’s Flower Girls

Perpetuating Pūpū ‘o Ni‘ihau

Mahina Alexander wears a pā‘ū skirt made by the students of Hālau o Kekuhi, under the direction of kumu Nālani Kanaka‘ole.

The Perfec T Bi T e | 34

The best way to get a true understanding of a place is through the food. Writer Kelli Gratz discusses how Hawai‘i’s Plantation Era history merged cuisines and cultures, underscoring the islands’ reputation as a melting pot of gastronomic delights. Photography by John Hook.

Slow walk S in T he Park | 43

As trees go, the koa and the ‘ōhi‘a lehua remain lauded in hula and Hawaiian legend. But, writer Sonny Ganaden lauds, it is the introduced Indian Banyan, called paniania in Hawaiian, that has become the tree of the people of Hawai‘i, both the subject and host of prose and poetry for nearly two centuries. Photography by Tom Anderson.

The Blooming m inu T e S | 50

The flower girl tradition has been spreading aloha basket by basket since the 1970s. Writer Anna Harmon documents her experiences working as a Honolulu flower girl from sunset to early morning hours, and delves into the history of the trade that continues to bloom in Hawai‘i.

Per P e T uaT ing Pū P ū ‘n i‘ihau | 56

Though Ni‘ihau shell lei are cherished by those who understand the work that goes into their creation, many remain unaware of the significance and value of this cultural treasure. Musician Kuana Torres Kahele, a Ni‘ihau shell lei collector and maker, recounts with fondness his adoration of the prized Ni‘ihau shell lei. Photography by Haren Soril.

a dorned l ineage | 60

A fashion editorial that pays homage to the costuming of the ethnic groups that came together during Hawai‘i’s Plantation Era, including the Japanese kimono, the Korean hanbok and hula pā‘ū skirts. Styled by Aly Ishikuni and photographed by John Hook.

EDITOR’S LETTER

MASTHEAD

CONTRIBUTORS

LETTERS TO THE EDITOR

WHAT THE FLUX?! | 18

THE MANY VARIETIES OF KALO

LOCAL MOCO | 21

RICHARD TANAKA, 442ND REGIMENTAL

COMBAT TEAM

FLUXFILES : MUSIC | 24

KAMAKAKEHAU FERNANDEZ

FLUXFILES : ART | 26

DREW BRODERICK

FLUXFILES : ART | 28

MARQUES MARZAN

FLUXFILES : FOOD | 30

THE PIG & THE LADY

FLUXFILES : FOOD | 30

ZARATEZ MEXICATESSEN

IN FLUX

FASHION TREND | 69 HEIRLOOM JEWELS

LEATHER SOUL STYLE | 72 TAILORING PANTS

Richard “Dickie” Tanaka recounts his time in the service in the 442nd Regimental Combat Team, the most decorated unit in the history of the United States military.

SOCK ATTACK | 74

FOOD | 72

BACON-WASHED BOURBON

VIEWFINDER | 80

BEHIND THE SCENES

Go behind the scenes to see how the “Adorned Lineage” (page 60) fashion editorial came to life.

ON THE COVER

Model Mahina Alexander is shown here in a traditional pā‘ū skirt and lauhala kūpe‘e (bracelet) made by the students of Hālau o Kekuhi. Photographer John Hook captures Alexander at Hawai‘i’s Plantation Village, an outdoor history museum in Waipahu that tells the story of life on Hawai‘i’s sugar plantations.

ADORNED LINEAGE

In this online exclusive edit, we chat with Nālani Kanaka‘ole, the kumu for Hālau o Kekuhi, about the hula costumes that were featured in this spread. “I really wasn’t satisfied with what was out there as far as the normal notion of hula costuming is concerned,” she says. “I like to be cutting edge, and I’ll take the costumes to that envelope.” The costumes, worn at the most recent Merrie Monarch Festival, were all made by hand by students of the hālau, including the kūpe‘e, the implements worn around the wrists and ankles. Often, it takes months to collect enough shells and lauhala to make one implement. “What the students learn is the holistic cycle of hula,” Kanaka‘ole says, “and how it’s not only about the performing, but it is also learning the arts and crafts that come with it. Because all of it concurs upon the dancer when she is dancing, and so it adds to the strength of the performance.”

We may be a quarterly, but We’re bringing stories all the time online. Stay current on arts and culture with us at:

website: fluxhawaii.com facebook: /fluxhawaii twitter @fluxhawaii instagram @fluxhawaii

AND EUROFRIES

LIVE MUSIC AND ENTERTAINMENT DAILY HAPPY HOUR 4:00 TO 8:00PM FOR PRIVATE EVENTS, RESERVATIONS AND BOTTLE SERVICE, INFO@BAR35.COM

Growing up in Hawai‘i, there are many things to be proud of. From the beauty of our customs to the loveliness of our people, it’s easy to see how many become entranced by the allure of the islands. What we often forget, however, is how sometimes the origins for the source of our pride rise forth from hopelessness, when it seems like the injustices of the world would drown out any chance for conviction, opportunity, or inspiration.

It’s easy to overlook how the lingering melody of a falsetto voice ringing clear against the pluck of ‘ukulele strings arose out of a boy once hapless and given up for adoption; how the valiant charge of soldiers making the ultimate sacrifice came in spite of an entire ethnic group of people being stripped of its dignity and viewed as disloyal citizens; how the melting-pot customs that have come to define our islands evolved out of essentially what amounts to indentured servitude.

It’s important to remember this indelible spirit of Hawai‘i’s people, who work to continue perpetuating cultural legacies against all odds. While it seems like traditions are falling by the wayside the world over in exchange for a life of convenience, there still exist those seeking to carry on the traditions of the ones who came before them. Like a banyan tree, whose boughs continue to shoot down from high above, spreading slowly and expanding in size despite any effort to prevent such growth, the heritage of Hawai‘i’s people will live on.

With aloha,

Lisa Yamada Editor

BAR 35 35 N. Hotel Street www.bar35.com Monday - Saturday 4:00pm to 2:00am

FLUX HAWAII

Jason Cutinella PUBLISHER

Lisa Yamada EDITOR

Ara Laylo CREATIVE DIRECTOR

SENIOR STAFF

PHOTOGRAPHER

John Hook

FASHION EDITOR

Aly Ishikuni

ONLINE EDITOR

Anna Harmon

EDITOR-AT-LARGE

Sonny Ganaden

ASSISTANT DESIGNER

Haren Soril

IMAGES

Tom Anderson

Jessica Fowler

Jonas Maon

Haren Soril

CONTRIBUTORS

Kelli Gratz

Kuana Torres Kahele

Carolyn Mirante

Jeff Mull

Justin Park

Tom Park

COPY EDITORS

Anna Harmon

Andrew Scott

EDITORIAL INTERNS

Hannah Broderick

Melissa Kirby

Emilie Moy

DESIGN INTERN

Mitchell Valenzuela

COVER PHOTO

John Hook

BEAUTY

Ryan Jacobie Salon

Risa Hoshino

Timeless Classic Beauty

WEB DEVELOPER

Matthew McVickar

ADVERTISING

Keely Bruns

VP Marketing & Advertising kbruns@nellamediagroup.com

Bryan Butteling

Account Executive bryan@nellamediagroup.com

OPERATIONS

Joe V. Bock

Chief Operating Officer joe@nellamediagroup.com

Gary Payne

Business Development Director gpayne@nellamediagroup.com

Jill Miyashiro

National Account Manager jill@nellamediagroup.com

General Inquiries: contact@FLUXhawaii.com

Published by:

Nella Media Group 36 N. Hotel Street, Suite A Honolulu, HI 96817

2009-2013 by Nella Media Group, LLC. Contents of FLUX Hawaii are protected by copyright and may not be reproduced without the expressed written consent of the publisher. FLUX Hawaii accepts no responsibility for unsolicited manuscripts and/or photographs and assumes no liability for products or services advertised herein. FLUX Hawaii reserves the right to edit, rewrite, refuse or reuse material, is not responsible for errors and omissions and may feature same on fluxhawaii. com, as well as other mediums for any and all purposes.

FLUX Hawaii is a quarterly lifestyle publication.

Mon to Sat, 2 - 7pm

Mon to Thu, 11pm - 2am

For private events and bottle service contact: info@bambutwo.com

KELLI GRATZ

P ROWLING THROUGH QUIRKY GALLERIES OR SCOURING MARKET STALLS IN S OUTH E AST A SIA , K ELLI G RATZ HAS A DESIRE TO SEE DIFFERENT CULTURES AND EXPLORE OFFBEAT PATHS .

She returned home to Hawai‘i, where she was born and raised, after working most recently as a writer, editor and styling assistant for Harper’s Bazaar Singapore. For Kelli, an adventure—even one of culinary proportions—is never out of the question. In this issue, she documents how Hawai‘i’s plantation history gave rise to the food we consider uniquely local in “The Perfect Bite,” page 34.

ANNA HARMON

A NNA H ARMON IS A WRITER , EDITOR , AND FORMER FLOWER GIRL , HAVING PEDDLED BLOOMS VIA H ONOLULU F LOWER L ADY FOR TWO MONTHS IN EARLY 2013.

In her wanderings—which range from King Street to Addis Ababa—she keeps busy documenting her experiences for the likes of FLUX, Innov8, Honolulu Magazine, and a variety of other outlets. In this issue, she shares her experiences as a flower girl and the history of the tradition in “The Blooming Minutes,” page 50.

JOHN HOOK

J OHN H OOK , DESCRIBES HIMSELF AS A “ PROFESSIONAL FUNTOGRAPHER .”

When he’s not capturing photo gold for FLUX, Hook captures magical moments with L’amour Photography and Dave Miyamoto & Company. Most recently, he was commissioned to photograph the campaign for the Hawai‘i International Film Festival’s 2013 Fall Film Festival, which celebrates 100 years of film in Hawai‘i. Be on the lookout for the exciting new collateral at the festival, October 10-20.

ALY ISHIKUNI

A LY I SHIKUNI IS THE CO - FOUNDER OF A RT & F LEA , WHICH WAS VOTED “H ONOLULU ’ S B EST M ONTHLY E VENT ” IN 2011 BY H ONOLULU M AGAZINE AND FEATURES VINTAGE WARES AND HANDMADE GOODS FROM MORE THAN FIFTY LOCAL VENDORS

The idea for Art & Flea took root when she and a few others sold off remnants of Ishikuni’s former line of deconstructed vintage mu‘umu‘mu, Mechekawa Vintage, with a garage sale-type market. The University of Hawai‘i marketing major has a unique eye for putting together looks that inspire and evoke emotion from even the most fashion-disinterested, and did so for this issue’s fashion editorial “Adorned Lineage,” page 60.

I thought your chart on GMO [“What the FLUX?! Is up with GMO?” from the fall Stewardship issue] was really fantastic. There’s so much noise out there in regards to the genetically modified food industry, it’s hard to separate the facts from the clamor, emotions from science. I appreciated your efforts to provide some clarity on this complex issue.

David Miller

We’re glad you got it. It’s such a key conversation in Hawai‘i. In fact, Bloomberg News just published more information about GMO wheat that is being tested in Hawai‘i (“The Search for Monsanto’s Rogue GMO Wheat”), so we thought we’d add a little more insight into this one, below.

According to the website Waging Nonviolence, “In the past 20 years, these chemical companies have performed over 5,000 open-field-test experiments of pesticide-resistant crops on an estimated 40,000 to 60,000 acres of Hawaiian land without any disclosure, making the place and its people a guinea pig for biotech engineering.” With its isolated location in the middle of the Pacific, Hawai‘i makes for a prime location for field-testing of GMO. While proponents claim much of the land being tested on is unsuitable for planting food crops for consumption, a little more transparency from companies like Monsanto never hurt anyone.

Results of our online poll, which asked readers, “Do you support the use of genetic modification to food sources?”

Hell No: 67%

Let’s Go: 33%

Mahalo nui for the article on Bumpy Kanahele [“The Village,” from the fall Stewardship issue]. I remember reading about the Makapu‘u occupation and always wondered what happened to him. Sounds like he’s doing some good things for the people over there in Waimanalo. If we all took a hold of our responsibility to each other, this world would be a much better place.

With aloha, Edwin Aki

We W e Lcome A nd vALue your F eedb Ack. Send letter S to the editor via email to li S a@fluxhawaii.com or mail to flux h awaii, P.o. Box 30927, h onolulu, hi 96820.

Sous-vide duck breast, cherry gastrique & braised kale

House made kabocha ravioli w/ sage brown-butter, balsamic cipolini onion, toasted pumpkin seed

MY EYE

From the eye of editor, Lisa Yamada

CRO-MANIA

Cro-mania has officially hit Hawai‘i. Dubbed the “BUTTerNUT” (inspired by Dominique Ansel Bakery’s “cronut” in New York), the croissant-doughnut hybrid is now available at Regal Bakery in downtown in green tea, Bavarian cream, or passion orange guava flavors. Pacific Beach Hotel also offers its flaky take on a local favorite with the “croissada,” a flaky cross between the croissant and the malasada. Both, however, are a little dense for my tastes; I shared my BUTTerNUT with three others and was still satiated.

H OME S WEET H OME

A new crop of home furnishing shops featuring mostly small (ish), contemporary decorative fixtures have popped up as of late. I’m hankering to spruce up my home and office with a pair of deer antlers from Hound and Quail (pictured), a Love Grenade coin bank from Mōno, a set of Turkish towels from Owens and Co., jumbo color-block pillows from Quince, and a pleated armchair from Fishcake.

D OWNWARD DO g

Amidst twelve-hour workdays, caring for a baby (read: a needy Bishon named Luffy), and gorging on things like croissantdoughnuts, exercise is the last thing on my mind. But after discovering not one, but three yoga studios within walking distance of my office—Moonstruck Yogi, Open Space Yoga, and Yoga Theorie—there’s no excuse to neglect the body. An hour of yoga can relax the mind in much the same way a massage might, while working up a sweat in downward-facing dog.

T HE 1920 S

This year marks the 100th anniversary of film in Hawai‘i, and in appropriate fanfare, the Hawai‘i International Film Festival will take us back to the glitz and the glamour of the 1920s. I’m especially excited about this season, since the new festival campaign was directed by the staff at FLUX Hawaii. This year’s fall festival takes place October 10–20.

J UICE C LEANSE

Spurred perhaps by my efforts to lead a healthier lifestyle, our entire office staff took part in a five-day juice cleanse from Blue Tree Café. Meant to rid the body of toxins, the introductory cleanse consists of a diet of fruit and vegetable smoothies, homemade almond milk and kombucha, and Smooth Move tea for extra digestive relief. The actual health benefits of juice fasts remain unproven, but I don’t think that’s the point of all this. As much a spiritual and mental challenge as it is a physical one, partaking in a juice fast is more about being conscious of one’s body and kickstarting overall health and wellness.

WHAT THE FLUX ?!

The many varieties of kalo

ILLUSTRATIONS BY JESSICA FOWLER

Papapueo

Name : With some latitude for interpretation, papa could mean native born, while pueo may mean land section. Use : Most commonly pounded into poi.

The ancient Hawaiians knew every detail about the more than 300 varieties of kalo that once grew in the islands, each variety nuanced in shape, color, size, and use. Today, there are less than a hundred varieties of kalo left, and to many, poi is simply poi.

A few organizations, however, are hoping to reconnect the community with kalo, and its many varieties, as a mainstay food source. Kāko‘o ‘Ōiwi is making it easy by delivering freshly pounded poi and pa‘i‘ai (poi without water) directly to consumers, even providing newsletter updates about the varieties of kalo being milled into poi.

“Kalo is the food of the Hawaiian people, our cultural connection of where we come from,” says programs manager Kyrie Puaoi. “To be consuming a food with that in mind helps you to be rooted, helps [kalo farmers] to exist and to grow, and ultimately, it’s helping to keep the culture alive.” Additionally, the website Kupuna Kalo provides an educational resource for understanding the biodiversity of kalo and its massive health benefits, listing in extensive detail the defining characteristics about eighty-nine known varieties of taro. Here is a sampling of ten of those varieties:

Uahiapele

Name : “Smoke of Pele,” after the smoky appearance of its purple and green leaves, as well as the high-quality, smoke-gray poi made from its ‘i‘o kalo (corm).

Use : Favored for ritual offerings to the gods, especially Pele; also for medicinal properties.

Piko Uliuli

Name : The Hershey’s of kalo, this is a very important commercial strand named for its dark green (uliuli) hā (stem). Use : Commercial poi.

Black Magic

Name : For its black color and ability to provide decorative “magic.”

Use : Popular with landscape companies as a decorative plant.

‘Apuwai

Name : For its coconut shell-cupped ( ‘apu ) leaves that hold water ( wai ) in the form of dew or rain.

Use : In ancient Hawai‘i, the water held in the leaves of the ‘apuwai was reserved for the ali’i (royalty) because it flowed directly from heaven.

Kāī ‘Ala

Name : ‘Ala refers to the fragrant odor of the cooked ‘i’o kalo, a characteristic common to all varieties of kāī.

Use : The potent fragrance translates to an equally rich taste, if the taster is prepared to spend nearly double the time on preparation.

‘Iliuaua

Name : ‘lli refers to the skin, or peel, while uaua may mean tough or stubborn.

Use : With a high yield, hearty flavor, and limited distribution, this strand is regarded as a delicacy, with leaves highly esteemed for lu‘au.

Kūmū ‘Ele‘ele

Name : For the dark pink tinge of the corm ( kumu ) and the blackish color ( ‘ele‘ele ) of the hā (stem).

Use : Collected by various individuals with a penchant for the esoteric, this rare strand is most commonly served on proud tables and eaten with two fingers.

Tahitian

Name : This non-native strand was first introduced to the islands by a horticulturist from Tahiti named Gerrit Parmile Wilder.

Use : This kalo is slowly finding its home among native varieties, with limited distribution, and is often made into a meal.

Manapiko

Name : In reference to the branching coloration spreading from the center of the leaf, called the piko Use : Most commonly found on tables and in mouths.

LOCAL MOCO: RICHARD “DICKIE” TANAKA, 442ND REGIMENTAL COMBAT TEAM

TEXT BY LISA YAMADA | IMAGES BY JOHN HOOK

Growing up, I didn’t know much about my grandfather on my dad’s side. He passed away of colon cancer before I was born. Over the years, at family gatherings on Father’s Day or when we got together for his memorial, the occasional story would be shared about his work ethic or his love of his family, but little else.

A few years ago, my grandma started bringing around a new gentleman companion. We called him Uncle Dickie. For the most part, Uncle Dickie would sit quietly in a rocking chair near the television, always dressed in a royal blue collared shirt and a beige Members Only jacket, a jumble of keys jingling as he puttered around the dining room table. It was only recently, however, that Uncle Dickie started sharing stories about my grandfather and their time serving during WWII in the 442nd Regimental Combat Team, the most decorated unit in the history of the United States military. Maybe it was because he finally started feeling comfortable around us, or maybe just that he was getting older and didn’t want to forget, but regardless, it has shed light on a story from my grandpa’s life that had yet to be told.

***

More than seventy years later, Richard “Dickie” Tanaka can still remember the day that Pearl Harbor was attacked, the loud whirr of airplanes racing above the mountains in Pauoa Valley toward to Sand Island. “We

thought they was doing maneuvers because you could see the airplanes diving down and coming back up,” he recalls. “That’s when it came out on the radio that the Japanese was bombing the hell out of Pearl Harbor. On King Street in McCully, they were shooting at the Japanese airplanes, and shells from the anti-aircraft guns were falling to the ground and exploding.”

After the bombing, 110,000 Japanese on the mainland were forcibly interred in relocation camps, guarded by barbed wire fences and machine gun towers. Martial law was declared in Hawai‘i, but because of the large portion of Japanese that comprised the island population, internment in Hawai‘i was deemed impractical, though Japanese did come to be classified as 4C “enemy alien” status and banned from any further military service. Wanting to illustrate their commitment and loyalty to their country, a group of Japanese-American students banded together to form the Varsity Victory Volunteers, or VVV, to do various labor tasks like building roads, stringing barbed wire, cooking for the troops, or working in the quarry breaking rocks for gravel. Impressed by their service, the War Department lifted the ban against Japanese in 1943 and initiated a call for volunteers for an all-Nisei (second-generation Japanese) unit.

My grandfather and Uncle Dickie both volunteered for the service. They didn’t know each other at the time, but they would later come to serve in the same company. “When the war started, I was 20 years old,” Dickie recalls. “They were looking for replacements for the 100th Battalion [who were already serving in the Hawai‘i National Guard]. They wanted maybe about 1,500 boys to volunteer. Well, after everyone volunteered, 10,000 boys showed up, so they figure they put ’em all in one battalion and formed the 442nd.”

It was in Italy that Dickie and my grandfather crossed paths. While helping to deliver mail to the troops, my grandfather noticed something peculiar on a letter addressed to Dickie: The return address was the same as his. Turns out, Dickie’s brotherin-law was living and working at the mochi shop my grandfather’s family ran. They were eventually stationed with the same company in the anti-tank unit. Since there weren’t many German tanks in the hilly terrain of Italy and France, the anti-tank company

mostly served as ration or litter bearers, bringing supplies and munitions to troops in the mountainsides or carrying fallen soldiers off the battlefields.

In October 1944, their anti-tank unit joined the rest of the 442nd in the Vosges Mountains in Italy to aid in what has become the most well-known feat of the 442nd, the Rescue of the Lost Battalion, when nearly 300 men from the 141st Texas Regiment were surrounded by enemy German forces and cut off from food, water, and supplies. After two failed attempts by their comrades from the 141st and the 143rd to rescue the Texas Battalion, the 442nd was sent in. It took six days of fighting and a final charge through a storm of German bullets and up what came to be known as “Banzai Hill” for the 442nd to finally reach the lost battalion, rescuing the 211 men who were left standing. “That was about the worst place up there,” Dickie recalls. “We was under fire up in the mountains, and if the guys got shot, we picked them up and took them to the first-aid station during the fighting.” The rescue was not without loss: The 442nd suffered more than 800 casualties, including fifty-four killed in action.

After three years of serving, Dickie and the men of the 442nd were discharged on December 24, 1945. My grandfather and Dickie remained close: Dickie, who had opened up an auto mechanic shop, sold my grandfather his first truck when he started his electrical contracting company; Dickie was the best man at my grandfather’s wedding. They golfed together—once. “I took your grandfather to play golf one time. He played nine holes, then quit. ‘Stupid game,’ he said.”

I still don’t know much about my grandfather. I don’t know where he grew up, or what high school he went to, or how he and my grandmother met and fell in love. This small snippet of history shared with me by his fellow brother in arms, however, makes me well up with pride for the sacrifice that was made by him and the thousands of other Nisei soldiers who served, whose legacy paved the way for generations of Japanese-Americans who came after them.

Richard Tanaka, who served with the author’s grandfather, is shown here.

Though Kamakakehau Fernandez does not appear at first glance to be the typical falsetto singer, the recent Hoku-award winner has a talent that impresses even the staunchest of traditionalists.

aloha Soul

Ryan

Kamakakehau Fernandez

Despite their warm aloha, the audience at the 36th annual Nā Hōkū Hanohano Awards can be a tough crowd to impress. The aunties at the back tables are as cutting as the audience at Showtime at the Apollo and just as hilarious in their dissection of under-par performances. But there was no eye-rolling when Ryan Kamakakehau Fernandez, who had just won “EP Release of the Year” for Wahi Mahalo, took the stage to perform a haunting Hawaiian rendition of “Bridge over Troubled Water.” The Hokus are a celebration of a culture that nearly lost its language, from which one articulates and sings about one’s place in the world, and to win an award has evolved into a major accomplishment.

Ascending to the podium after his win, Kamakakehau, translated as “the heart’s desire,” didn’t need to reiterate part of his autobiography, but did so anyway. “I dedicate this first award to my mother, for raising me on the beautiful island of Maui,” he said to the Hawaiian entertainment community. “I hope this is an inspiration to kamali‘i (children) that shows them that everyone deserves the right to ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i.”

Kamakakehau was born in Little Rock, Arkansas. At six weeks old, he was adopted by Robyn Nae‘ole and brought to Hawai‘i to be raised on the Valley Isle. His family enrolled him in Ke Kula Kaiapuni ‘o Kekaulike, the Hawaiian language immersion program at King Kekaulike High School, and he spent his teenage years learning to be a professional singer. While he is an African-American, non-

Native-Hawaiian young man performing traditional Hawaiian music, Kamakakehau has a talent that has always overshadowed any questions of authenticity or issues of discrimination. Online videos of his performances have been gaining in popularity. YouTube comments, which are often vile, have only expressed aloha. “Truly a special gift from our Hawaiian Gods-he is a special Hawaiian-with a special voice,” wrote one viewer. “Hey I like see more of this bruddah please. He sure is all Hawaiian no doubt,“ wrote another. “Everyone wants to know where I came from, and sometimes that gets old,” Kamakakehau explains. “But I realize I have a story to tell, about ‘ohana, and I’m doing my best to tell it.”

Leo ki‘eki‘e, or Hawaiian falsetto singing, is intensely demanding to perform. Many singers in Hawai‘i don’t even try. This is due in part to the fact that local entertainment legends Gabby Pahinui, Aunty Genoa Keawe, and both of their respective families astounded audiences for decades with only a four-stringed ‘ukulele and a voice that sung sweetly and melodically in the upper-octave register. “It takes years, decades even to make it work,” Kamakakehau says. “Usually people who sing in this style begin really young. I was late. I started in 2003 when I was already 18.” But Kamakakehau was a natural, and in his first year singing, he won the Ho‘opi‘i Falsetto Contest at the 2003 Maui Aloha Festival.

Kamakakehau now performs professionally, teaches private ‘ukulele lessons, and has made several excursions

to California and Japan to perform. In addition to singing across the Hawaiian music-loving diaspora, the singer is also ready to try different styles, which he’s been experimenting with in performances throughout Waikīkī. “I was doing shows almost every day the last few years, and I’ve gotten to the point where I can do what I want up there performing. It’s good to be versatile. Eventually, I want to do more neosoul and gospel, like Philadelphia artists Musiq Soulchild or Jill Scott.”

For Kamakakehau, winning a Hoku award was both a validation from an ‘ohana of elite performers and a distinction for his excellence in practicing an exceedingly difficult medium. “I was so thankful to be up there, to perform for that crowd,” he says of the event. “In the next few years, I’d like to work more with adoption agencies, continue to teach ‘ukulele, perform, and work with others. It took a long time to get this far. My mom told me that I can’t expect to please everyone. There are so many musicians I still want to work with, and so many places I’d like to take my music. This is just the beginning.”

For more information, or to purchase Wahi Mahalo, visit kamakakehau.com.

Drew Broderick was chosen as one of only eleven participating artists in this year’s upcoming Artists of Hawai‘i, a prestigious juried exhibition that takes place biennially at the Honolulu Museum of Art.

the economicS of ParadiSe

Artist/Curator Drew Broderick

Waiting to board the Pink Line, a trolley that departs from Ala Moana Center and weaves through Waikīkī with tourists in tow, Drew Broderick looks off into the distance for the next arrival. He is dressed casually, sporting a T-shirt, jeans, and a baseball cap. “The first time I rode on one of these, I remember being so completely overcome with embarrassment,” he recalls. “But I realized quickly that there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. There’s actually something kind of nice about the anonymity of being on one of these things.”

Once we settle into our trolley seats, the conversation turns to the subject of art. Despite a Spicoli-esque semblance, Broderick is perceptive and quick-witted, with an immense knowledge of art and Hawai‘i, the place he calls home and often the subject of his artistic pursuits. Broderick is the founder and director of SPF Projects, a new art space in Kaka‘ako dedicated to contemporary art with ties to the islands, but he is also a visual artist in his own right. This year, Broderick was selected to be one of only eleven participating artists in this year’s upcoming Artists of Hawai‘i, a prestigious juried exhibition that takes place biennially at the Honolulu Museum of Art. Much of the artwork he is preparing for the exhibition deals with critical theories surrounding what he calls “paradise economics” (a term referencing the workings of economy in the context of a place like Hawai‘i) and the frustration, desperation, and questions concerning authenticity that stem from it.

Broderick tells me about one piece he’s

preparing in particular, which was inspired by two existing pieces in the museum’s collection: Jules Tavernier’s “Sunrise Over Diamond Head” and Lionel Walden’s “Volcano.” Both painters were of the Volcano School, a genre of painting by non-native artists often depicting dramatic nighttime scenes overlooking Hawai‘i’s volcanoes, effectively presenting an idealized version of Hawai‘i.

“I’m interested in the ideology of these romanticized images,” says Broderick. “There’s an interesting connection between that kind of romanticizing of Hawai‘i in art and commerce.” Pinnacle Foods (headquartered in Parsippany, New Jersey), he tells me, is one such company that utilizes this kind of idealism in its marketing tactics. The company’s slogan for its Hawaiian® brand chips reads, “Escape to the islands with the unique taste of Hawaiianstyle kettle chips.” Images of smiling hula dancers set against backdrops of erupting volcanoes and glistening beaches adorn the various packages of “Mango Habanero” and “Maui Onion” flavored chips. “There’s a luau barbeque flavor, too,” says Broderick with a laugh. He hopes that his piece in the show will be an attempt at further analyzing this connection and encouraging the younger generations to look past the surface. “There’s a lot to think about here in Hawai‘i. It’s true that artists have thought critically about this place before, but I strongly believe that there’s more to be said. There’s still a lot of work to be done here.”

For Broderick, it’s all about questioning this surface of things. He has an investigative eye that reveals itself in his artwork and ideas. As we make our way through Waikīkī to our final stop, passing various stores, eateries, and merchants on the way, Broderick is quick to point out objects that appear, to my untrained eye, commonplace. The trolley turns onto Saratoga Road, and Broderick leans over the railing. “Look at the post office over there,” he says motioning to the building. “That dry-stack motif was copied and pasted from the kind used in the construction of traditional heiau.” I look on and nod in agreement, impressed by the quick observation. “There are all kinds of origins here that are, for lack of a better term, co-opted and submerged because we’re in a big epicenter for tourism,” he explains. “I find that fascinating. The presence of the material in this context alone is worth contemplating.”

Broderick’s work will be on display at Honolulu Museum of Art’s Artists of Hawai‘i 2013, Sept. 19 – Nov. 24. For more information, visit honolulumuseum.org. SPF Projects is located at 729 Auahi St., Tue–Thurs. 7–11 p.m. and Sun. 1–5 p.m.

The great-grandson of a Hawaiian weaver and Japanese silk weavers,

continues to carry on the tradition of fiber art.

Marques Marzan

warPS in time

Artist Marques Marzan

The thing that strikes you most upon meeting Marques Marzan is his indelible spirit and passion for his multi-ethnic heritage. The Hawaiian-Japanese-Filipino fiber artist wears a dark green aloha shirt, slacks, and a bone carving around his neck reminiscent of an old Polynesian voyager. He fiddles with his bracelet while he speaks and rubs together the hard, calloused palms of his hands—hands that pulse with the blood from his ancestors, who happened to be weavers themselves.

“My great-grandmother wove lauhala hats, and my mother cared for the ones that were passed down to her,” says Marzan. “Growing up, I always wanted to learn how to make one. When I was a teenager, I took my first actual Hawaiian lauhala weaving workshop, and my teacher, Elizabeth Malu‘ihi Lee, was impressed with how fast I picked it up. To me, it was as if I had been handling the material all my life. Later on, I realized I’d be doing a disservice to my gift if I chose to push it down and reject it.”

After graduating from Castle High School, Marzan went on to obtain a bachelor of fine arts degree from the University of Hawai‘i and a graduate certificate in museum studies from George Washington University. He started college as a biology major, but after enrolling in a fiber arts class his first semester, he promptly switched to fine art.

The great-grandson of a Hawaiian weaver and Japanese silk weavers, Marzan had the art form in his blood from the start.

“After that class, I was ready to give everything up and follow my passion of art,” he says. “I was exposed to techniques that were done across the globe. I learned looming, which is weaving cloth across warps and whips. I learned different forms of basketry and net making, felting, papermaking, and screen printing. I learned all the techniques associated with fiber. I think because of my heritage, I gravitated toward the ones associated with Hawai‘i, like net making and basketry.”

In his current role as a cultural resource specialist and cultural advisor at the Bishop Museum, Marzan remains sensitive that what is being put out there is perpetuating and telling the stories of Hawai‘i. “All of the techniques I use have some kind of grounding in a cultural concept,” he says. “For example, the Hawaiians were able to move from necessity to art and create their own interpretations with the material they had available. Being able to use only what’s directly accessible to you is sometimes a struggle, but that’s what makes it unique.”

Despite the challenges Marzan encounters in his work, it’s important for him to remain active in the community and pass on

traditions he’s learned over the years. “When I approached my family about learning how to weave, it really struck a chord in me that no one took the time to learn from my great-grandmother. I had so many questions and wanted to learn so many things from her, but she wasn’t around anymore to teach me. For me, the most important thing is to make sure the knowledge and skills that I possess gets passed on to the next generation so that it doesn’t die with me.”

This notion is evident in one such piece entitled “Self Portrait,” made of bamboo fiber, hibiscus fiber, paper, and hemp, resulting in a funnel-like sculpture with spiral motifs. “With that particular piece, everything starts from a single point and spreads out,” he explains. “I know that I’m just a single dot, and my actions spread outward in different ways and different forms depending on how it’s perceived and passed around over time. All of that starts at a single point.”

A mix of authentic Vietnamese street cuisine with more contemporary fare, Andrew Le’s Pig and the Lady pop-up restaurant will soon have permanent digs in Chinatown.

when PiGS flY

The Pig & The Lady

In 1975, after decades of grueling combat operations in Southeast Asia, the Vietnam War was nearing a close. America had withdrawn its forces from the war-torn country, and the North Vietnamese Army was moving in to take the South Vietnamese capital of Saigon. Chaos filled the city. Fearing retribution from the north, thousands of South Vietnamese who aided the Americans during the war were desperately trying to flee the country. Raymond Le, who had worked as a translator for the American army during the war, and his pregnant wife—affectionately referred to as “Mama Le”—were some of the lucky ones to escape. With Saigon falling, the couple was able to board a plane bound for Arkansas, where they planned to start anew in America.

But fate had another plan for the Le family, and it didn’t include Arkansas. En route to the United States, Raymond’s wife went into labor over the Pacific, and the plane was forced to land in Hawai‘i. On the ground in Honolulu, Mama Le was rushed to Tripler Army Hospital, where she gave birth to her first son, Anderson, followed in later years by Andrew, Alex, and Allison. Although the siblings quickly assimilated to the United States, they kept a connection to their Vietnamese heritage through the food that Mama Le created each night. It was through this passion for cuisine that the first seeds of what would eventually become The Pig And The Lady pop-up restaurant were sown.

“My family definitely has an interesting

story to tell,” says Andrew Le, founder and head chef of The Pig and the Lady. “For our family, food has always been a big part of who we are. It’s helped to define our identity. My mom is an amazing cook, and she’s one of the primary reasons that I was so attracted to food and why I became a chef.”

After high school, Andrew attended the Culinary Institute of America in New York. He moved back to Honolulu after graduating and found himself in the fastpaced kitchen of Chef Mavro. Five years later, wanting to steer his own destiny, Andrew decided that there would never be a better opportunity to find his voice, and the fifth Le baby was born, this time in the form of a restaurant.

Mixing authentic Vietnamese street cuisine with the gourmet palate that Andrew developed at CIA and Mavro, The Pig and the Lady has become a regular at farmers markets across O‘ahu. He also hosts special one-night-only coursed dinners centering on themes like “natto” or “beef seven ways.”

On the Vietnamese front, a typical menu may range from innovative takes on bahn mi (a Vietnamese-style sandwich) to bun mang moc (a noodle-based soup filled with pork sausage, spare ribs, bamboo, and shiitake mushrooms). On the more contemporary side, he’ll offer up a slow-poached egg with watercress, shimeji mushrooms, and a stuffed tomato, and for dessert, a black sesame gelato with furikake brioche and roasted banana.

“My mom, who is an amazing cook, has always been hugely influential in my life,” says Andrew. “She’s a driving force behind the Pig and the Lady and brings a really authentic style of Vietnamese cuisine to the table. There’s so much more to Vietnamese food than spring rolls and pho, and she’s able to widen people’s understanding of the food. From the French influences to the old world cuisine of the countryside, there’s just so much diversity in the food. So we’re taking her expertise, blending it with mine, and the results have been really amazing.”

And the Le family journey continues on with plans to open up a permanent restaurant in Chinatown later this year. “Chinatown has such a rich history,” says Andrew. “The architecture, the food, the ambiance—it’s real, it’s unapologetic, and it really speaks to me. If you liked what we’ve done in the past, you’re going to love what we’re doing with our brick-andmortar space.”

The Pig and the Lady pops up at farmers markets every Wednesday at Blaisdell, Thursday in Kailua, and Saturday at Kapiolani Community College, as well as every other Saturday at Taste in Kaka‘ako. For more information, visit thepigandthelady.com.

Rich in flavor and simple in presentation, the traditional taqueria food that Paul Zarate cooks up at his namesake restaurant are the kind he grew up with, the recipes passed down to him by his grandparents.

viva la raZa!

Zaratez Mexicatessen

The smell of chilies, warm tortillas, and simmering meat permeates the thick Hawaiian heat outside a nondescript eatery off King Street where patrons hankering for a taste of authentic, unapologetic Mexican street food line up in droves. Inside, chef and owner Paul Zarate stands in a small kitchen that overlooks the quaint seating area of the restaurant that bears his namesake. One of the walls is painted a vibrant red and has been adorned with a small chalkboard emblazoned with the day’s specials. It’s only been a few months since opening, but flocks of hungry customers are making Zaratez Mexicatessen their go-to destination to satisfy their cravings for Mexican food.

Rich in flavor and simple in presentation, the traditional taqueria fare that Zarate aspires to cook up has been prevalent on the mainland but lacking in the islands. “The way we’re approaching our food at Zaratez is really pretty straightforward,” he says. “This is authentic comfort food, and it’s the way my family has always done it. All of my recipes have been passed down through my family, from my grandma’s chile verde to my grandpa’s carne asada.”

Fifteen years ago, Zarate moved to Hawai‘i from Los Angeles. While he’s always had a passion and taste for authentic Mexican food, when he first jumped the pond to Honolulu, owning his own restaurant was the furthest thing from his mind. But after some encouragement from friends, Zarate took a chance and started selling the kind of Mexican food he grew up eating.

This meant homemade salsas and mulitas; burritos stuffed with slow-

simmered chicken; carne asada—the food he was passionate about, which he sold from the trunk of his car to friends in Kaka‘ako, Mānoa, and downtown. The reaction was so positive that Zarate decided to open up a food truck, which enabled him to dish out his fare wherever he could find a parking spot. But even while the food-truck fad gained momentum in Honolulu, Zarate yearned for a brick-and-mortar location.

“The truck was great, but it was a lot of work,” he recalls. “With the catering we were doing, it was like having two kitchens, and a car. There were a lot of moving pieces to deal with so it just made sense to open up a real restaurant when we found the right space. Home-cooked Mexican food is really special to me. It really defined my childhood. I have so many memories of family barbecues where we’d all gather together and celebrate over the same type of food we’re serving now. It’s great to see how receptive people have been. I’m able to serve people a tasting of my heritage, something that goes way back. That’s pretty special.”

Zaratez Mexicatessan is located at 1273 S. King St. For more information or daily specials, follow them on Facebook or Twitter @zaratez.

Hawai‘i’s food is a celebration of people who came from all corners of the globe during the Plantation Era. That melting pot of cultures is perfectly reflected at Alicia’s Market, with its plethora of meat and seafood options.

THE PERFECT BITE

how hawai ‘ i ’S P lantation da YS mer G ed cui S ine S and culture S, under S corin G the i S land S’

re P utation a S a meltin G P ot of G a S tronomic deli G ht S

TEXT BY KELLI GRATZ

IMAGES BY JOHN HOOK

Hawai‘i is a place where the amalgamation of old and new is palpable, especially when you sample the islands’ food. History pervades the bold mountainous shores and primitive tracks of each island, while Honolulu, with its metallic luster and twinkle of faraway lights, infuses the city with an air of briskness that excites. As most guests and residents of a city will tell you, the best way to get a true understanding of a place is through its food. Here, the melting pot of Hawai‘i is home to a multitude of peoples, and its cuisine is as diverse and rich as its historical legacy.

“We had a school, a playground, a post office, and a general store,” says Arnold Hiura, self-professed foodie and author of Kau Kau: Cuisine and Culture in the Hawaiian Islands, of life growing up on a plantation on the Big Island. “The plantation community is rather unique in that it is very self-contained. We played sports, joined the boy scouts, and went to church. Everyone was of a mixed ethnicity, so the community itself colored the way you think and what you liked to eat.”

From the sugarcane of early Polynesian settlers to rice and noodles of the Chinese to pão doce (sweet bread) of the Portuguese, Hawai‘i’s food has long been a celebration of the people who came to live here from all corners of the globe, bringing with them their own distinct customs and cultures. The tastes that are familiar to home, the flavors that are characteristic of Hawaiian cooking inherited over time from mothers and grandmothers—this translates today to

a common cultural identity, or as people say in the islands, “local.”

“Every island has a different spin to foods and each can be traced back to their respective cultures,” says Hiura. “When I was doing research for my book, I traveled to each island to talk to people about food. I went to Waimea, Kaua‘i and looked at their traditional salt ponds; I visited the biggest producing taro plantation in Hanalei, I went to Pu‘unene in Maui to visit the last functioning sugar plantation in Hawai‘i. Every island has its own specialty, its own distinction that makes Hawai‘i as a whole so interesting.”

When voyagers from the South Pacific arrived in Hawai‘i more than 1,500 years ago, what they brought with them and what they ate to survive forged the beginnings of what we know today as traditional Hawaiian food. Fish, shellfish, seaweed, taro, and breadfruit, among other things, were prepared in many different ways, including being wrapped in ti leaves or heated underground in an imu. Sea salt was an important commodity (and remains so even today), allowing for drying, fermenting, preserving, and seasoning foods.

The Hawaiians planted sugarcane around their taro fields and chewed on the sweet stalk. In 1928, Maui opened Hawai‘i’s first of many sugar plantations, which stoked the time we now know as Hawai‘i’s Plantation Era. People from all over the world were hired to work in these plantations and over time began blending elements of their own

cuisines into the culinary map of Hawai‘i.

“Plantation owners continually recruited workers from different countries, in part because of growth in the sugar industry, but also because workers kept leaving the plantations for other occupations,” says Hiura. “Many former sugar workers found employment in the pineapple, ranching, fishing, farming, and dairy industries, while others started up small businesses. In this transition from plantations to towns, entrepreneurs began importing foodstuffs and other goods from their native countries; others manufactured goods that were in demand and opened bakeries, meat markets, produce stands, fish markets, and restaurants to meet Hawai‘i’s rapidly evolving food needs. Eateries such as Chinese restaurants, Japanese okazu-ya, and saimin stands helped to define for the public what each ethnic group’s food was like.”

The bold, robust flavors of multiethnic dishes like oxtail soup, Portuguese bean soup, adobo, and the infamous plate lunch are, without a doubt, evocative of times past. Reflective of the many different cultures of Hawai‘i’s Plantation Era, the following Honolulu establishments are the closest you’ll ever come to experiencing the heart of Hawai‘i in one bite.

alicia’S mar K et

The Mixed Plate

“At lunch, or kau kau time,” begins Hiura, “workers found as comfortable a spot as possible wherever they happened to be working and stopped to share their lunches. Sitting or squatting in a circle, each worker held his or her own rice container, while placing the upper tray in the circle to share what he or she had brought with others. This sharing between people of different ethnic backgrounds led to what could be described as a process of natural selection. In other words, Hawai‘i’s mixed plate today is a representation of those foods that appealed to the broadest base of people over time.”

Camouflaged against linen-blotched stone, local mom-and-pop joint Alicia’s Market is busting at the seams with Kams of all ages. I’m greeted by Leonard Kam, son of Raymond and Alicia Kam, who originally opened the shop in 1949. He’s dressed in an apron, wearing rubber gloves, and filling a large silver pot with potatoes. “You know, the road outside used to be all dirt, and this building was actually a small wooden shack. I remember one Halloween where I was

running through the wet dirt, excited to see that they were building a road. So much has changed since then, but our food is still as good as ever.”

The inner workings of Alicia’s market are like a well-organized symphony: the pounding of meat tenderizers against wooden cutting boards; the clamoring of knives slicing through roasted carcasses of various animals; the sounds of the cashier ringing orders up. Leonard beckons to his mother, and an elderly Chinese lady with a wide grin appears. “I opened the shop because I got to make money to live. You know, I only start with my husband. How many times we moved?” she asks to no one in particular before trailing off. “Oh, I forget already, so much we moved.” When Alicia’s first opened, they started off only serving meat, but eventually expanded to include seafood of all sorts. “I like the fish plain with shoyu, but people like pokē and barbeque meat,” she says. “I still cooking. Got to take care of my family, not myself. That’s what I’ve been doing my whole life.”

Today, in a seamless blend of Far East meets Pacific, the market divides itself into two sections: the produce area and its main attraction, the pupu bar. Here’s where it gets exciting. The scent of Chinese-style roasted meats, poi, pickled vegetables, salads, and seafood fills the air. There’s roast and shoyu-glazed chicken, char siu spare ribs, turkey tails, squid luau, and kalua pork on the menu, but most come for what’s often called the best shoyu pokē on the island.

“My father passed away about ten years ago, but his spirit is still alive with us because, you know, I just feel it,” says Leonard. “When he sees business is good, he’s always happy. And this is where he wants to be— not at his burial site, but here. He poured his whole heart and soul into this place, and we are happy to carry on his legacy.”

Alicia’s Market is located at 267 Mokauea St. For more information, call 808-841-1921 or visit aliciashawaii.com.

Good food often has little to do with grand presentations or imagined artistry, and everything to do with hard work and love for what you do and who you serve. At least that’s Char Hung Sut’s philosophy.

With more than sixty years of delighting local palates with its simple but hearty fare, Char Hung Sut remains a symbol for localstyle Chinese comfort food. Literally meaning, “smell of the tea house,” Char Hung Sut was originally a Chinese teahouse that served local-style dim sum like gau gee min and duck noodle. Though their menu includes nearly a dozen items including pork hash, chow fun, ma tai soo, and an assortment of rice cakes, it’s the Hawaiian-style-sized char siu bao that customers line up for. The dough is large and fluffy and stuffed with a generous serving of shredded pork that manages to be juicy and lean all at once.

“We make the manapua fresh every day,” says Barry Mau, grandson of original founder Bat Moi Kam Mau, who arrived to Hawai‘i from a small village in China when she was only 16 years old. “My grandmother used to work at Dole Cannery making kukui nut leis, but her real talent was making dim sum.” Now at the helm of this fourth-generation restaurant in the vibrant quarter of Chinatown, Barry is up before the break of dawn to prep for the busy day. “I oversee retail, and my brother Bruce makes the dough,” says Barry. “The bread is the real secret. It has to be fresh and done just right.”

Char Hung Sut is located at 64 N. Pauahi St. For more information, call 808-538-3335 or visit charhungsut.com.

leonard ’S

B a K er Y

Malasada

“Portuguese immigrants preferred bread rather than taro or rice,” says Hiura. “They were famed bakers, and the undeniable aroma of pão doce wafting from traditional Portuguese stone ovens is etched into the memories of many plantation residents.”

None, perhaps, is more famous than Leonard’s Bakery, founded by Leonard DoRego in 1946 after he moved to Honolulu from Maui. Leonard’s parents were from San Miguel Island in Portugal, where they boarded the British sailing ship the Monarch in June of 1882 to work in the sugarcane fields. Portuguese immigrants began building fornos, or stone bread ovens, to make various bready treats, and Leonard’s mother suggested using them to make malasadas for Shrove Tuesday, a Portuguese tradition similar to Fat Tuesday. Suffice it to say, she had a couturier’s touch to confectionery. More than a hundred years later, Leonard’s malasadas, fried perfectly golden brown and covered in sugar, remain a part of Hawai‘i’s signature fare.

Leonard’s Bakery is located at 933 Kapahulu Ave. For more information, call 808-737-5591 or visit leonardshawaii.com.

char hun G S ut Manapua

fort ru G er mar K et

Musubi

Hawai‘i’s most torrid love affair has to be with the ubiquitous Spam musubi. Spam first showed up in the islands during World War II, when fresh meats were difficult to come across. Soldiers referred to the mystery meat as “ham that didn’t pass its physical” or “meatloaf without basic training,” but nevertheless, it made its way into the local diet.

Japanese immigrants who came to work on the plantations brought with them musubi or onigiri (small balls of rice wrapped in dried seaweed), to which locals added Spam. “It was better for Hawai‘i workers, as its saltiness kept it from spoiling long after it was prepared,” says Hiura. “This was important to plantation laborers and other working-class folks, who packed their lunches in the morning and had to leave them under the tropical sun for several hours without refrigeration.”

Fort Ruger Market (named after Fort

Ruger, the first military reservation in Hawai‘i) offers a dizzying mix of musubis, among other local samplings. Though it recently came under new ownership, little has changed about the quaint neighborhood market. “After I bought this shop from the previous owner, I knew that I wanted to stick with the long-held traditions because people have this idea of what to expect when they come here,” says owner Hajun Choi, who moved to Hawai‘i from California five years ago. “We have custom-made, sashimi-grade poke, Hawaiian plates, boiled peanuts, and a variety of musubis. The only thing I added to the menu was Filipino food. Everything else I kept the same because of the shop’s history.”

The people patronizing the market range from construction workers to groups of college students, and they all come here with one thing in common: They’re hungry. Though Fort Ruger is popular for its pokē,

kalua pig, and mixed bentos, it’s the various musubis that fly off the shelf. There is the pipikaula-with-fried-rice musubi, ahi musubi, and an assortment of musubis made with char siu, mochiko chicken, Portuguese sausage, Spam, hot dog, bacon, and meat jun.

“When I first moved here, I thought it was so strange that people sold Spam musubis in their stores and that people actually ate them,” says Choi. “It didn’t take long for me to catch on, and now I think they are the best things!”

Fort Ruger Market is located at 3585 Alohea Ave. For more information, call 808-737-4531.

Your K itchen

Shave Ice

“Over 1,000 years ago, Japanese people preserved natural ice during winter months in ice rooms dug deep into the shady sides of mountains,” says Hiura about the origins of shave ice. “Then in the summer, they could extract the ice, shave it, and eat it with syrup. Japanese also liked to add azuki beans sweetened with sugar to shave ice to flavor it.”

On 10th Avenue just off Waialae Avenue, Your Kitchen recalls the plantation days of Hawai‘i when workers delighted themselves with shave ice as an afternoon treat. Yasuyuki and Yukiko Asakura, who took over the space after Samira Country Kitchen vacated three years ago, display a passion for excellence that characterizes the centuries-old frozen confectionary. While patrons won’t find the gigantic cones of other shave ice locales, they will discover that what the shave ice bowls at Your Kitchen lack in size, they make up for in quality. Here, the Japanese-style shave ice is soft and fine, nearly creamy in consistency, and available in just a few homemade flavors like green tea, strawberry, mango, haupia, and passion fruit. The restaurant’s signature, Fujiyama (the green tea cone), features a mix of bittersweet green tea syrup, homemade ice cream, and azuki beans.

Your Kitchen is located at 1423 10th Ave. For more information, call 808-203-7685.

SLOW WALKS IN THE PARK

UNDER THE MOTTLED SHADE AND SWINGING BOUGHS OF HAWAI‘I’S PANIANIA , BELOVED BANYAN TREES

TEXT BY SONNY GANADEN IMAGES BY TOM ANDERSON

As trees go in Hawai‘i, the mighty koa and the metaphysical ‘ōhi‘a lehua remain lauded in hula and legend, their grandeur the province of gods of creation and destruction; these are the trees that adaptively radiated to Hawai‘i and defined landscape and life. But it is the introduced Ficus benghalensis, the Indian Banyan, (paniania in Hawaiian, a transliteration of the English word) that has become the tree of the people, both the subject and host of prose and poetry for nearly two centuries. Suspending aerial roots like pale limbs under thick boughs, tangling into themselves, the trees have witnessed all aspects of living in the sea-locked center of the Pacific.

The ability to walk, and the tree’s capacity to send tendrils to the earth from its exposed branches, have inspired numerous cultures to ascribe a sentience to the banyan and incorporate their forms into the planning of community.

Princess boughs

The scientific process of counting tree rings (dendrochronology, they call it) is impossible on a banyan; the tropical tree lacks alternating seasonal layers. It is also unnecessary, as most, if not all, banyans in Hawai‘i come from a single source: the tree that once stood at a home called ‘Āinahau in Waikīkī. That tree was planted in 1875 by businessman Archibald Scott Cleghorn and his wife Princess Miriam Kapili Likelike for their daughter Ka‘iulani on land given to the newborn by her godmother Princess Ruth Ke‘elikolani in honor of her birth. Under the shade of the banyan, which flourished in the former wetland, the royals entertained all manner of guests at both Western- and Hawaiian-style receptions. Of Ka‘iulani’s eighth birthday celebration in 1883, an article from the Saturday Press read: “There was a dancing room fitted up, for the little ones, and all the band boys were under the great banyan to pipe for them to dance.” By Ka‘iulani’s eleventh birthday, the banyan was big enough to serve as the setting for the Royal Hawaiian Band.

‘Āinahau is now the site of the Sheraton Princess Kaiulani Hotel. The Cleghorn home no longer stands, “the victim of the transformation of Waikīkī from the playground of royalty to a place of package tours,” wrote Ralph Thomas Kam, a University of Hawai‘i American studies professor, in the Hawaii Journal of History in 2011. “But one storied piece of its history continues to literally spread its roots through time in the form of the ‘Āinahau banyan. … Hundreds of individuals have rallied to help preserve the ‘Āinahau banyan and its numerous descendants.”

Assuming Mr. Cleghorn was an intelligent man, I wondered why he chose to plant a giant shade tree that could foreseeably uproot his daughter’s home. That era in Hawai‘i was marked by immense

change, as ports across the archipelago in Lahaina, Honolulu, and Kailua-Kona were becoming urbanized due to an influx of American missionaries and whalers— utilizing historical imagination, I realize what’s not mentioned in the books: These places get damn hot. Like, everything-isirritating-me-right-now hot. Before electric air conditioning, the pall of heat when the trade winds pause was a great equalizer in the Pacific. No one, not even a princess, was too bourgeois to stay cooped up indoors. Royalty and the rich sons of missionaries had their summer estates in the cool microclimates of Nu‘uanu Valley on O‘ahu or Hulihe‘e in Kailua-Kona on Hawai‘i Island, but for everybody else, the only rational thing to do with free time was to follow instincts and chill out under a tree by the tepid waters, and the bigger the better.

Prior to Ka‘iulani’s departure for England in 1889, frequent houseguest, author, and poet Robert Louis Stevenson penned a remembrance for both the tree and the princess:

Forth from her land to mine she goes, The island maid, the island rose, Light of heart and bright of face: The daughter of a double race.

Her islands here, in Southern sun, Shall mourn their Kaiulani gone, And I, in her dear banyan shade, Look vainly for my little maid.

But our Scots islands far away Shall glitter with unwonted day, And cast for once their tempests by To smile in Kaiulani’s eye.

When Ka‘iulani returned, ‘Āinahau remained the site of numerous receptions. But less than six months later, the “banyan that had long

served as a place of mirth and dancing would transform to one of mourning and dirge with the death of Princess Ka‘iulani,” according to Kam. “Traditional ritual replaced the Western receptions.”

An article from 1899 in the Hawaiian Gazette captured the scene when thousands of mourners showed up to view Ka‘iulani’s remains: “Mingling with the wailing of the old natives and the chanting of the meles floated up the mournful dirges of the band. Seated in front of the home, under the branches of the spreading banyan, the members of the band poured out their melody.”

Decades later, a fire razed ‘Āinahau and scourged the tree on its expansive lawn. Until the 1940s, the tree was called the Stevenson banyan, as his poem to Ka‘iulani was inscribed on a plaque at its base. Eventually the street fronting ‘Āinahau was named Tusitala (“storyteller,” in Samoan), the name given to Stevenson by his friends. After its care by the Daughters of Hawai‘i and the Outdoor Circle, the tree was felled in 1949. What remain of the ‘Āinahau banyan are the numerous trees that were planted with its cuttings at Kapi‘olani Park, the Honolulu Zoo, Ka‘iulani Elementary School (where the ‘Āinahau plaque now rests), and Kūhiō Beach.

the excePtional Walking tree

“Trees are the last thing you notice, until they’re gone,” said Stan Oka, the urban forest administrator of City and County of Honolulu’s Department of Parks and Recreation. “We do things a lay person wouldn’t notice, but we tend to get pushback from both ends, people telling us to keep a tree or take it out. There are steps that we take before deciding to remove one. We consider safety first, then defects and aesthetics,” he said, speaking at the

Hawaiian royalty had their summer estates in cool microclimates like Nu‘uanu, but for everybody else, the only rational thing to do with free time was to follow instincts and chill out under the shade of a banyan tree.

department’s headquarters across the street from Kapi‘olani Park. “We get a lot of vandalism: poisoning, staking, cutting trees, but people don’t mess with the banyan. Everyone has been really respectful of those trees.” As we talked, I noticed a wall stacked from floor to ceiling with awards and certifications for Honolulu’s rigorously trained arborists and tree trimmers. Say what you will about City and County politics, with five arboretums on the island and the most educated arborists in the country, Honolulu has impressively maintained flora. “We haven’t had an incident where someone’s been injured from a city tree in years,” said Stan proudly.

“The city has several tree farms, and occasionally plants types that provide the high-top canopy that Ficus benghalensis offers,” Clark Leavitt, a highly decorated arborist with the City and County of Honolulu, explained to me. “We plant narra, monkeypod, and occasionally banyan. The thing with banyan is that it’s going to spread, and not too many places can accommodate that anymore.” When asked about the banyan’s propensity as an arboreal jungle gym, he’s pragmatic. “Chicken wire prevents the kids from swinging on the roots. When they do that, the bough gets lower and tougher, and then people will want to climb it. Safety is our first priority. We have to review sites and do routine work, all on a budget. We’ve spent the last decade working on transitioning from managing to maintenance, to be more efficient. We do most of our work in-house, but for some projects, we need licensed outside contractors.”

Mafatu Krainer, a second-generation tree specialist, is one of those contractors, and got the nod to work on the exceptional banyan at Kūhiō Beach Park that fronts Queen’s surf, the boughs of which nearly touch the iconic statue of Duke Kahanamoku. His father, “Chief Miko” Krainer, was famous for ascending coconut trees in nothing but a malo and tattoos before Mafatu took over the family business. “So much of what we hear about is from the Outdoor Circle and

folks that come up to me and say whether or not I’m doing my job right,” said Mafatu. “It’s not as if we can just hand somebody a chainsaw and tell them to go at it. This is dangerous work, and we go through a lot to get certified. That tree was tough because of its location and its exceptional status,” Mafatu says. He refers to the city’s ability to deem a tree “exceptional,” affording it unique rights and privileges; a separate process must be undertaken to even trim it.

No other tree is given more privileges than the banyan at ‘Iolani Palace. The tree on the grounds of ‘Iolani Palace is most likely descended from the tree at ‘Āinahau, though this can only be inferred. Many believe Queen Kapi‘olani planted it, her sister-in-law being Likelike, whose husband planted the ‘Āinahau banyan. Years after the overthrow, Queen Lili‘uokalani still held court under its canopy. “In the happy old palace days her favorite pastime was to sit under the shade of the great banyan tree, in the back of the palace yard, with her ladies in waiting, lounging lazily on the grass around her, and tease them about their sweethearts,” wrote the Austin’s Hawaiian Weekly in 1899. “If you look for the trunk of that tree, you won’t find it,” said Leavitt of the original trunk that has since died. But the banyan lives on, its aerial roots having slowly made their way to the earth, forming new tree trunks for the organism, which they continue to do. “It’s been walking towards the legislature for decades now, setting down new roots in that direction,” continued Leavitt.

The ability to “walk,” this process of regeneration, and the tree’s capacity to send tendrils to the earth from its exposed branches in forms that resemble pale limbs, have inspired numerous cultures to ascribe a sentience to the banyan and incorporate their forms into the planning of community. There are other famous banyans in Hawai‘i besides the Honolulu ones: the largest thrives in front of the Lahaina courthouse on Maui, planted in 1873 by contentious lawyer, trustee, and member of the Committee of Safety who dethroned the Hawaiian kingdom, William Owen Smith. Several thrive throughout Kaua‘i, there’s an exceptional one on Moloka‘i, and countless others flourish in both resorts and forests across the archipelago. The banyan on the beach in Kailua-Kona may be gone, but its memory isn’t. Residents still refer to the best

surfing break on the coast as “Banyans,” just across from Banyan Mart and the Banyan Tree apartments.

A ERIAL -R OOTED Ag ORA

No other flora in Hawai‘i has been as linked to political protest as much as the hanai paniania. In 1889, Robert Wilcox organized and staged troops in Kapālama to reverse the Bayonet Constitution under a banyan’s arched spans. “We were all arranged in two lines near the banyan tree,” said Lieutenant Albert Loomens at his trial for treason after the unsuccessful revolt, just before his forced exile. That tree later served as a site for political meetings following the overthrow and is now the site of Honolulu’s most vibrant of farmers markets at Banyan Court in Kapālama. Other relatives of ‘Āinahau served as populist agoras in addition to the ‘Iolani Palace tree. The Banyan Street tree in Palama served as a meeting place for the Democratic party through the first decade of the 20th century, and the fate of a tree on the corner of King and Ke‘eaumoku was a major issue of the Honolulu mayoral race of 1968.

Paniania remain the site of political protest. The giant banyan ring surrounding a low fountain at Thomas Square in the geographic center of Honolulu has seen an active debate over what it now means to utilize public space. From an aerial view, it’s still possible to see the original layout of the park: a rough approximation of the Union Jack, created by Don Francisco de Paula Marín, a botanist and member of the Kamehameha court, as a commemoration of Admiral Thomas, a British officer who returned the Kingdom after the Paulet Affair (when a warship captain unilaterally demanded the cession of the Kingdom). Whether one should be commemorated for returning what is not theirs is another matter; Thomas Square remains a grassy monument to decency.

Fast-forward to the 21st century. As the Occupy Movement was organizing on the continental United States, its Hawai‘i counterpart situated itself on the mauka edge of Thomas Square, calling itself (de) Occupy Honolulu. Protesters, activists, artists, and the homeless used the site to discuss Wall Street debacles with each other and passing motorists. In early 2013, the City and County of Honolulu, through

the office of the mayor, installed haphazard wooden planters and fluorescent orange construction fencing along the sidewalk to remove the cohort of activists, the first time that flowers were used as an offensive weapon against free speech. It didn’t work. The (de)Occupy activists simply moved to the other side of the park, causing an arms race between planters and protesters.

If a sociologist were to do a survey, Hawai‘i has, per capita, more armchair historians and arborists—nerds that get psyched about politics and trees—than anywhere in the world. When the Honolulu Museum of Art organized a community forum regarding festering political tensions at Thomas Square, it highlighted the capacity of the arts community to produce actual solutions. At the forum, mayor Kirk Caldwell spoke of investing a million dollars in the park. Though he only stayed for the first forty minutes, he heard an earful from citizens: sovereignty activists, academics, homeless advocates, and those with general grievances against the state. The fifth speaker to take the microphone was my favorite: a middleaged Japanese man who adjusted his reading glasses and discussed the importance of the banyan at the center of the park using a diagram on his iPad.

A few days after the political discussion of Thomas Square, I took a walk under the banyan’s boughs, as countless others have. While a homeless man argued with his mind on one corner and a teenaged couple walked a dog on another, I noticed something peculiar: The Thomas Square banyan is not one tree but four, whose branches and aerial roots have grown tangled with each other over the years, like lovers’ legs at rest. It is impossible to see where one tree’s pallid trunk ends and another begins. Where mottled shade turns to open arena, I see a hundred places to pause and whisper through surreal columns. Though the fate of the park and of the rest of our tropical, 21st century conception of the commons remains in debate, everyone is in agreement regarding the trees. The paniania, the beloved banyans, will remain.

Planted by Archibald Scott Cleghorn for his daughter, Princess Ka‘iulani (shown far right), the ‘Āinahau banyan is the source for many of the banyans found throughout Hawai‘i. Image by Capt. Nicholls, Dec. 16, 1888, courtesy of the Hawai‘i State Archives.

A flower girl presents her perfectly balanced basket. In the ’70s and early ’80s, the industry was so competitive that it was often referred to as the “Flower Wars” by locals. Today, the Honolulu Flower Lady, in business since 1991, is the last of its kind on the island.

the B loomin G minute S

the diar Y of a honolulu flower G irl and B rief hi S tor Y of a trade that ha S SP read aloha B a SK et BY B a SK et S ince the 1970S

TEXT BY ANNA HARMON

IMAGES BY JOHN HOOK

At strip clubs, the guys flashing cash are usually not the ones who buy flowers, the flower girls who train me say. Instead, it is usually the women working who buy for themselves. Or, in my case, it is a handsome busboy at a restaurant along the Ala Wai Harbor who buys a lily for a girl in Waikīkī, which I then deliver up red-carpeted stairs and hand off to a nearly naked woman at the front of a dark club. When I explain who sent the flower, she points to a longhaired dancer straddling a pole then sings, “Awwww, that’s so sweet—that’s her boyfriend!”

The first flower girl I train with is Jamie*, a 26-year-old commuting from the North Shore. When I meet her at the flower girl headquarters, run out of a converted garage in Palolo, she is in a rush to make her restaurant accounts by sunset but slows long enough to demonstrate how to fill out our checklist, prep flowers, and mist puakenikeni leis so they don’t turn brown. She is efficient and charming, slender and strong. When we get to Ala Moana, she notes grayed-out boxes on our printed spreadsheet of routes. “That means it’s a silent account,” she says. This means you can sell, but not talk. We approach each table at a whitewashed, open-air restaurant with large smiles, and she shows the basket with a gentle flourish. Mostly, we get waved away. One couple, wearing matching aloha print, buys a tuberose lei.

Later, Jamie smokes a cigarette as we lean against a concrete ledge. We’re talking about

love: She’s fighting with her boyfriend; I’m single. She likes the job but gets frustrated too. “Guys don’t want to get girls by buying them a flower and courting them,” she says. “They want to get them wasted.”

When we arrive at a bar in Waikīkī just past midnight, the bouncers welcome her warmly. She lifts her basket high over her head to weave between drunken tourists on the dance floor, her blond hair shifting colors in the strobe lights. The deejay calls out, “Ladies and gentlemen, the flower girl is in the house. Show someone you care.” ---

“HONOLULU FLOWER LADY - Full/ Part Time - Good Money (Honolulu/Pearl City) … You would be working in the companies’ [sic] accounts (restaurants, bars and nightclubs) in Waikiki, Honolulu and elsewhere, selling beautiful flowers and lei.” - Craigslist job posting for flower girls

I’m on my own four days after training with Jamie. I struggle with my restaurant accounts, fighting my introverted tendencies while facing hundreds of diners, until a man buys a flurry of flowers for an unsmiling woman sitting across from him over a flickering candle. “No really, that’s enough,” she insists, while he chooses one variety after another, plucking a lily, roses, a

sunflower from my basket. At another stop, a woman with platinum hair and orangehued skin beams when her date—it’s their first—buys her a red rose. “No one has ever done that for me before!” she says.

I walk back to my car at the underground parking lot of Ala Moana, surrounded by people but utterly alone; the job is, surprisingly, hauntingly solitary. While I visit dozens of places, most of the time I am walking alone under bottom-lit palm trees, driving down dark streets, collecting myself in parking stalls, or tallying flowers to hours and accounts in my head.

At 1 a.m., my nightclub stops are dark and throbbing. Men stand in lines along the dance floor, clot along the bar. Groups talk loudly over tables full of glasses. I quickly find that the sales require nimble moves and persistence, or as one bartender says, “no shame.” At Rumors Night Club, I hit the jackpot all flower girls hope for, selling my entire basket to a man standing at a crowded cluster of back tables. I fumble with the math, place a lei on the shoulders of one his friends, pile flowers on a sticky table, and prance out the sliding glass doors, high-fiving the club manager and bantering with the valets on the way out.

“You’ve got to be a good person, but also be very naïve.” – A manager at Coffee Talk, where Hillarie often interviews potential flower girls

Before becoming a flower girl, I didn’t even like flowers. But with several parttime writing and marketing jobs leaving me scraping by, and not enough time to commit to a waitressing gig, I found myself curious about the girls and the earnings. Soon enough, I typed “flower girl” into the Craigslist search box and found the Honolulu Flower Lady posting. My first night solo, I discover an affinity for the colorful tidbits under my arm, which seem to truly make people happy. Plus, a basket full of flowers is like an invisibility cloak, an all-access pass to places I would never go, people I would never get to know, otherwise. Gina* is the other woman who trains me. She has long brown hair almost to her hips, bright eyes, and a loud voice. She always wears a flower behind her ear and earplugs for the second half of the night. We bond over our Colorado roots. She is a farm girl with a biology degree who came to

spend the summer with her brother in the Navy and ended up staying. To pay pending bills and rent, she answered the Craigslist ad Hillarie had posted and quickly became one of the most reliable sellers. She has built relationships with people across Waikīkī, and is later offered a job bartending at a small lounge off a side street. When we are training, she takes me to this bar, and a tanned, chatty man with a crew cut tells me he used to be friends with a flower girl, and how he would tag along with her to each of her stops, getting a drink and making sure she was safe.

“She would sell out and have to run back to the shop to get more. One time, she surprised me by filling up my whole car with flowers. She was a great girl. Waikīkī, it wasn’t like it is now. It was different back then.”

- A middle-aged employee at a Waikīkī restaurant remembering his flower girl girlfriend in the 1970s

In the ’70s and early ’80s, the girls were so successful, the industry so competitive, that

A flower girl walks along the “Tower Row” route.

it was often referred to as the “Flower Wars” by locals. Hillarie Hamilton, the owner of Honolulu Flower Lady, tells me that it was a time of economic boom; of successful, supportive local businesses rather than stodgy corporate chains; of freer life, drugs, and dance. Waikīkī was a beach town, it was the disco era, and the girls played the part.

Hillarie grew up on O‘ahu and became one of early flower girls in the ’70s, using the income to pay for a psychology degree from University of Hawai‘i. Today, she has shoulder-length dyed-blond hair, three large poodles, and works by day as a domestic abuse counselor. She’s also the founder and sole employee of Honolulu Flower Lady, the last of its kind on the island, which she has run since 1991. Each of the flower girls under her wing is a direct seller, with no hourly wage. She takes a small percentage of sales in exchange for managing the flowers, routes, and accounts. According to Hillarie, she keeps the business not only for side income, which she says was almost nonexistent with the economic downturn, but because it is a support system for women in transition—out of bad relationships or the military, between jobs, or putting themselves through school. Other times, it is a full-time job for years for women who flourish in the role. When there aren’t enough girls—usually, there are around six—Hillarie works routes herself.

The flower girl business originated with Watanabe Floral, run by a local family who started by growing roses. Before the arrival of refrigerated, more hardy South American roses, local rose growers were plentiful and often ended up with a surplus unclaimed by flower shops. According to the company, one of the Watanabe sons started the program, bringing baskets of extras around to bars and restaurants. The success of this new approach within a local community gave birth to the flower girl tradition.

It’s local support that keeps the girls afloat even now. “Local people are my customers. They love flowers, and it’s part of their lives,” Hillarie tells me. “Tourists come here to be voyeurs, to see it. Sometimes they’ll dip their toe into it, and buy a lei or something, but it’s not common. They do the obligatory flowers. Valentine’s, Mother’s

Day, birthdays. For the local people, it’s, ‘I’m happy, I’m with my friend, I want to have flowers to share.’”

“Often, Haughton and her flowers provide a safe, non-threatening way for strangers to meet each other. ‘Life is still a lot like high school, boys on one side of the gym and the girls on the other,’ she explains. ‘When I’m the one making the approach, it’s a lot less intimidating. I’ve even had guys buy an entire basketful of flowers to give to one woman.’” – Anna Haughton, flower girl for Honolulu Flower Lady, in “Petal Pusher,” Honolulu Magazine, 1991. Haughton later became a lawyer.

One of my last nights working, I hit the jackpot again. My buyer, very drunk and inclined to showing off, is a local business owner. “I know all the flower girls,” he tells me, and starts listing names I don’t recognize. He insists on buying me a shot and a drink, which I have no problem with since I don’t want to go back for more stock—I am informed later that it’s against the rules for flower girls to sit with customers or take drinks, but the lines easily blurred for me. I sit on a stool next to him while he whistles to get the bartender’s attention, making small talk with the girl he bought the basket for, until the man starts touching my leg, and I look over to see him making a blow job gesture with a beer bottle. The buzz I have from making the large sale vanishes, and I leave. I take a flower with me.

“I’ve had guys tell me, ‘Well aren’t those girls hookers?’” says Hillarie. “I say no, not at all, but this is what people project. Part of that, I believe, is because the flower girls, as they do this job, develop a sense of confidence and independence. They become more beautiful in that sense. … The traits you’ll gain in this job, you will take with you to every job and every walk of life you do.”

And it’s true; I find confidence when hundreds of people tell me no, and one says yes; when I feel safe in dark shortcuts that most would eye with nervous suspicion. We learn to interact with frequenters of fancy

steak restaurants and ocean-view fine dining, strip clubs on Kūhiō, military bars in ‘Ewa, hostess bars on King Street. It requires tough skin and bounds of self-motivation. A local flower girl, Stacey*, has been doing the job for three years—she’s known to sell double the leis most girls do, and when I ask her how she does it, she says her strategy is simple: Take them out of the bags and loops them over your arm during the dinner rush. Jamie has researched what nights each account has special events; Saturday nights at Bar Seven is a sure thing, when drag queens take the stage and belt out their best versions of Beyonce and Gaga classics.

Sometimes, it doesn’t matter if you sell or not. My night training with Gina, there’s barely anyone around. And after striking out at a Thai restaurant, she is still excited to find a telescope set up by street vendors on Ala Moana Boulevard, and we take turns kneeling at its viewfinder to see Jupiter’s moons.

After one Saturday shift, I settle in for a drink at a dimly lit sports bar near University Avenue where I had dropped off flowers earlier. While pouring me a gin and tonic on the house, the owner explains why he keeps us around: He remembers the girls who made a living selling flowers when he was a young bartender. In exchange for the account, we give him a dozen roses every week. Before I leave, he tosses me a rose that he is replacing with new stock, a slightly wilted yellow thing I put in a vase when I get home. I keep it in my room until it dries up, and bring tulips home to replace it shortly after.

*Names have been changed.

A simple Ni‘ihau shell lei choker can start at a $1,000, while a 36-inch, multiple-strand lei containing the most cherished kahelelani shells can sell for over $40,000.

PERPETUATING PŪPŪ ‘O NI‘IHAU

“WEAR YOUR LEI. SHOW RESPECT AND ALOHA FOR THE HOURS OF WORK THAT WENT IN TO COLLECTING, SIZING, AND STRINGING THE SPECIAL SHELLS. THIS IS ONE OF OUR MOST IMPORTANT LIVING CULTURAL LEGACIES. WE SHOULD HONOR IT.”

TEXT BY KUANA TORRES KAHELE

IMAGES BY HAREN SORIL

The extremely rare, highly prized, and widely collected shells of Ni‘ihau have been gathered, meticulously sorted by size and color, and strung into shell lei for hundreds of years. Samples of this unique Hawaiian art can be found at such esteemed institutions as the Smithsonian and the Natural History Museum in London. Larger lei boast tens of thousands of individual shells that are sewn into strands that command high prices at both sale and auction. A simple choker can start at a $1,000, while a 36-inch, multiple-strand lei containing the most cherished kahelelani shells can sell for over $40,000. Though these rare pieces are cherished by those who understand the work that goes into their creation, many remain unaware of the significance and value of this cultural treasure that remains unique to the island of Ni‘ihau. Musician Kuana Torres Kahele, a Ni‘ihau shell lei collector and maker, recounts with fondness his adoration of the prized Ni‘ihau shell lei.

It had been a dream of mine since childhood, growing up in rainy Hilo on the far opposite end of the island chain, to one day visit mythical Ni‘ihau, the Forbidden Island. I have always been drawn to its mele (song), the legends of the island shrouded in mystery. As a kid, I was enchanted by stories of priceless lei pūpū, the Ni‘ihau shell lei. I loved growing up in Hilo during Merrie Monarch because the Hawaiians dressed

for it. Hair done up with pua (flowers), mu‘umu‘u fluffed, and if you had Ni‘ihau lei pūpū, you wore them—all of them. I remember one year seeing Uncle George Naope in an orange polyester suit, white shoes, white hat, and what must have been forty strands of Ni‘ihau white momi shells tied pikake-style around his neck. The crowd parted around him like nervous schools of fish as he slowly made his way around the craft fair in the Hilo Civic Auditorium.

For many years after that, I tucked away savings in hopes to afford my first Ni‘ihau momi shell choker. I wore it until it broke and repaired it many times after, until finally the shells were added to a larger lei. As a young musician, I remember hearing stories of Aunty Genoa Keawe traveling to Ni‘ihau to entertain the people there. She so delighted the entire village with her music that she was sent home with three suitcases full of Ni‘ihau shell lei gifted to her from the people of Ni‘ihau.

Although I have traveled the world with my music, the closest I had ever got to the island of Ni‘ihau was looking at it with wonder from across the shimmering sea on Kaua‘i until last year. Once, my group Nā Palapalai was asked to play at a birthday party on Kaua‘i for a family from Ni‘ihau. I chose a Ni‘ihau shell lei over cash as payment for the gig and just about fell over when, towards the end of the party, I was presented with

a three-strand Ni‘ihau lei kipona (mixed shells) that fell past my stomach. I was supposed to finish singing but was utterly speechless. I was forever hooked on Ni‘ihau lei pūpū from that moment on.

Today, I am an avid shell-lei collector and lei maker in my own right. Unlike many islanders, I wear my Ni‘ihau lei frequently, mixing style and color to coordinate with a performance or sometimes just to go to dinner with friends. I am always complimented by people who adore my lei; immediately after, they tell me theirs are locked away in a safety deposit box or tucked away in some secret drawer. I always say the same thing: “Wear your lei!” Show respect and aloha for the hours of work that went in to collecting, sizing, and stringing the special shells. This is one of our most important living cultural legacies. We should honor it.

Most lei makers focus on smaller, faster-selling chokers or earrings to make a living rather than take a chance on creating larger, multi-strand lei, which makes these all the more rare. My own collection is a mix of cherished lei given to me by loved ones and friends; others I made myself. I have several lei from the Kanahele ‘ohana, one of the most respected lei-making families in Hawai‘i. My most intricate and detailed lei are made by Mama Ane Kanahele and her son Kele Kanahele, both master Ni‘ihau lei makers and teachers of the art.

Last December, the opportunity to visit Ni‘ihau finally presented itself. In view from our charter flight aboard Ni‘ihau Helicopters were a handful of wellmaintained homesteads clustered along one stretch of white sandy beach. At any given time, a third of these homes may be empty, a result of families traveling back and forth to Kaua‘i for business, supplies, or medical needs. There is no phone service on Ni‘ihau, nor is there cell phone reception. A one-lane dirt road winds along various stretches of coastline. It is Ni‘ihau’s main thoroughfare, guiding horses and the occasional rusty Army jeep along its lazy, meandering path.

Many things are unchanged on the island. Fresh-caught fish is an island staple, along with a limited amount of locally grown fruits and vegetables. Everything else is shipped in by barge every other month from Kaua‘i. People on Ni‘ihau make running lists of supplies that are relayed to ‘ohana on Kaua‘i who make Costco runs for requested items. There is no need for money on Ni‘ihau because there is nothing to buy. Many years ago, when Ni‘ihau Ranch was operational, there was a one-room general store that carried basic supplies. Families would charge items against their dad’s or son’s paycheck from the ranch to make it through the month until the ship came. Today, the only form of currency is the prized Ni‘ihau lei made on the island. Shell lei can be traded for helicopter charters off the island or given to Kaua‘i family members to sell in order to pay for supplies. Loose shells are often sold to other lei makers. All currency is shell-based.

The work required for shell collection is extensive. It requires almost a year of searching every day on a beach only accessible after an hour-long horseback ride to pick enough shells for one 36-inch strand of the ultra-rare, butterscotchcolored momi kahakaha. The lei pūpū-

making process is a testament to Ni‘ihau ingenuity and determination.

The beach where we landed was a mixture of shells and coarse, largegrain sand. The rare and highly prized kahelelani shells are almost the same size as the grains of Ni‘ihau sand, making them nearly impossible to detect, much less collect. Jet-black baby opihi are scattered across the sand amid striped cone shells, tiny dove shells, and puka shells, all waiting to be strung. The larger, multicolored cowries are used as closures for the lei. Ni‘ihau cowries come in assorted colors and sizes, ranging from the prized, bumpy, white cowry to the extremely rare golden yellow cowry.

Crawling around on my hands and knees, gingerly picking shells, I thought of the lei I owned and how long it must have taken to gather all their shells. It was then that I realized the magnitude of human labor that had gone into my current collection. There is nothing more valuable than our talent and our time, and each Ni‘ihau shell lei requires hundreds of hours of both. Ironically, picking shells from the sand on Ni‘ihau was the last step in my shell lei-making education, and after having completed all the steps of the circle, I would say gathering the shells is by far the hardest part. In order to make a beautifully sized lei with perfectly matched color, you must find a needle in a haystack hundreds of times over.

While on Ni‘ihau, I had hoped a new song might find its way to me. As a songwriter and a Hawaiian, it is one of the highest forms of respect and reverence I can offer to a beautiful place or memorable person. Slowly, the music in my head overcame all else, and the lyrics began to come to me in Hawaiian. The Ni‘ihau lei pūpū is remembered.

Lei Pūpū ‘o Ni‘ihau: A Primer

Types

The three most common types of Ni‘ihau shells are as follows: momi, or “pearl,” oval in shape and often shining on the surface; laiki, or rice shells, called so because of their resemblance to grains of rice; and kahelelani, meaning “the royal going,” the smallest and most difficult to collect, thereby making them the most prized of all the shells. These three shells are collectively referred to as pūpū ‘o Ni‘ihau, or “the shells of Ni‘ihau.”

History

Ni‘ihau shell lei were included in written accounts of the islands by Captain Cook as early as 1778. By the late 1800s, these shells were largely popular among Hawaiian royalty. According to Linda Paik Moriarty in her book Ni‘ihau Shell Leis, “The women of the royalty had quickly adapted the Ni‘ihau shell lei to Victorian jewelry styles by varying the length of the lei and adding a period clasp. The alterations in style elevated the appearance of the shell necklace so that it resembled a fashionable pearl necklace.”

Commercialization

It wasn’t until the 1940s that retail stores, starting with those on Kaua‘i, began selling Ni‘ihau lei. In 1941, a momi kua‘ula shell lei with eight 50-inch strands sold for $2.50. After World War II, with the acceptance of the less formal “aloha attire” style of dress, women began complementing their mu‘umu‘u dresses with shell lei. By the 1960s, following statehood, Ni‘ihau shell lei became available at retail stores across the state.

Rareness

While the same species of shells can be found on beaches across the state, the Ni‘ihau shells remain unique to the Forbidden Isle, similar to the

differentiations that make coffee “Kona” or not. According to Pam Kailikini Dow, an authority on authenticating Ni‘ihau shell items, “The island of Ni‘ihau is so untouched—void of river, agricultural, and industrial runoff—that the shells that develop in the coral beds on Ni‘ihau remain in their pristine form, creating a luster and color that can’t be replicated on the shores of any other island.”

Gathering

The process of shell gathering contributes to the high value of these shells. It can take up to a year, for example, to pick enough shells for one 36-inch strand of the ultra-rare, butterscotch-color momi kahakaha. The best time for collecting the shells is during periods of severe winter storms, when rough seas and high surf desposit large quantities of shells on the island shores.

Future

While many worry about the tradition of Ni‘ihau lei making dying off, Dow remains hopeful. “I’m really a traditionalist,” says Dow, “and my vision for Ni‘ihau shell lei is that they would remain just as such, using shells and mediums that were gathered only from Ni‘ihau. It’s how generation after generation has done it for years. One of my lei makers, she taught her daughter, her daughter is teaching her daughters, so I don’t think it’s in danger of dying off. It’s a tradition that these people, as a community, have safeguarded and kept to themselves all these years.”

From October 26 until January 27, 2014, the Bishop Museum Larger will feature, for the first time ever, a private collection of more than sixty pristine lei, examining the science behind Ni‘ihau shells and celebrating the master craftsmen who make them.

While many worry about the tradition of Ni‘ihau lei making dying off, Pam Kailikini Dow, an authority on authenticating Ni‘ihau shell items, believes otherwise: “It’s a tradition that these people, as a community, have safeguarded and kept to themselves all these years.”

ADORNED LINEAGE

PHOTOGRAPHED BY JOHN HOOK

STYLED BY ALY ISHIKUNI

STYLING ASSISTANTS: REISE KOCHI & MATT GONZALEZ

MAKEUP BY DULCE APANA ,

TIMELESS CLASSIC BEAUTY HAIR BY RISA HOSHINO & ISABELLA HASHIMOTO

MODELS: MAHINA ALEXANDER , JAZMINE PERRY, NICOLE HESSLINK ,

NICHE MODELS AND TALENT

LOCATION: HAWAII’S PLANTATION VILLAGE

On Nicole : Vintage kimono; stylist’s own. Emporio Armani obi; DFS Waikiki.

On Nicole: Alexander Wang leather bralette, Eskander pants and knit coat; Neiman Marcus. Michael Kors necklace, Emporio Armani sunglasses and clutch; DFS Waikiki. Shoes, model’s own.

Patagonia GORE-TEX jacket; Patagonia. Marc by Marc Jacobs shirt; DFS Waikiki. Balenciaga sneakers;

On Jazmine : Korean chima skirt; stylist’s own. Earrings, belt, and top; Barrio Vintage. Salvatore Ferragamo bag and shoes; Salvatore Ferragamo boutiques.

On Mahina : Hand-dyed pā‘ū skirt, shell kūpe‘e and necklace; Nālani Kanaka‘ole, Hālau o Kekuhi. Alexander Wang leather bralette; Neiman Marcus.

Stella McCartney jacket, Phillip Lim top, Giorgio Armani pants; Neiman Marcus. Shoes; model’s own.

On Jazmine : Victoria Beckham dress, St. John cropped jacket; Neiman Marcus.

On Mahina : Jean Paul Gaultier dress; Neiman Marcus. Shoes; stylist’s own.

HEIRLOOM JEWELS

PHOTOGRAPHY BY JOHN HOOK

STYLED BY ALY ISHIKUNI

STYLING ASSISTANT: REISE KOCHI

MAKEUP BY DULCE APANA, TIMELESS CLASSIC BEAUTY

HAIR BY RYAN CAMACHO, RYAN JACOBIE SALON

LOCATION: YWCA OF O‘AHU LANIĀKEA

Tiffany Legacy triple-drop diamond earrings in platinum, Tiffany Sparklers green quartz cocktail ring in sterling silver, Tiffany Swing three-row ring of diamonds in platinum; Tiffany & Co. boutiques. Suzi Roher pearl chain, Sue Wong sequin dress, and fur shawl; Neiman Marcus. Hair accessory; Barrio Vintage.

Founded in 1900, the YWCA of O‘ahu is the oldest continuous service organization devoted to women and children in Hawai‘i. Today, the YWCA of O‘ahu continues to create opportunities for growth, leadership, and power for women and girls, and to work for peace, justice, dignity, respect, and the elimination of racism for all people. For more information, visit ywca.org.

Tulip design diamond necklace, diamonds 22.58 carats, set in platinum, and cluster diamond earrings, diamonds totaling 6.36 carats, set in

platinum; Harry Winston, Ala Moana Center. Fendi dress; Fendi boutiques. Adrienne Landau Designs brown mink shawl; Neiman Marcus.

Ziegfeld freshwater pearl tassel necklace with sterling silver, Ziegfeld 87-inch freshwater pearl necklace, Tiffany five-strand pearl bracelet with sterling silver clasp, Ziegfeld daisy ring with black onyx in sterling silver, Tiffany Legacy Collection four-square drop earrings in platinum with diamonds; Tiffany & Co boutiques. Trilogy Collections black feather shawl; Neiman Marcus. Vintage dress; Barrio Vintage. Head-wrap; stylist’s own.

GO BEHIND THE SCENES! VISIT FLUXHAWAII. COM FOR MORE

beFore: All model’s own.

LEATHER SOUL STYLE GUIDE #1

TEXT BY TOM PARK

IMAGES BY JOHN HOOK

If you are 6 feet tall and weigh 175 pounds, with a 32-inch waist, stop reading this now. If you’re not, chances are the pair of pants you bought off the rack doesn’t fit you as well as it could.

Tailoring is a wardrobe staple for many women but something often overlooked by men. What many men don’t realize, however, is that proper tailoring can make them look slimmer, fitter, and taller—all traits that anyone would want.

Our model Jon is very fit and leads an active lifestyle, a fact that remains unseen in his normal work clothes. In his oversized aloha shirt and baggy, ill-fitting trousers,

Jon looks like the typical downtown Honolulu businessman. But with a little help from Linda Fujioka, my preferred local tailor, we were able to slim his pants, tighten up his rise, and give him a proper inseam length and break.

The result: Jon looks 6 inches taller, 15 pounds slimmer, and like he dropped about 10 percent body fat. Outfitted with a slimmer-fitting Sig Zane aloha shirt, he’s now Leather Soul approved.

Linda Fujioka’s Alterations is located at 1357 S. Beretania St. For more information, contact her at 808-596-7996.

aF ter:

Aloha shirt available at Sig Zane, located at 122 Kamehameha Ave., Hilo, or sigzane.com. Shoes and belt available at Leather Soul in downtown Honolulu, Waikīkī, and Beverly Hills. For more information, visit leathersoulhawaii.com.

Tom Park is T he founder and owner of LeaT her s ou L f or quesT ions on sT y L e or Tai Loring, con Tac T him aT info@ L eaT hersou L .com.

risahoshino.com risahoshino@gmail.com

SOCK ATTACK!

Crazy socks are magical.

T HE y w I ll f IT THE m SE lv ES I n T o any o UT f IT . T HE mor E THE y cla SH , THE mor E THE y compl E m E n T . T HE y don’ T E v E n H av E T o ma T c H w ITH

on E ano THE r. I T ’ S r I d I c U lo US

I n THE b EST way po SSI bl E . I T ’ S

okay T o lo SE H alf a pa I r; no T

ma T c HI ng IS ac TU ally k I nd of

THE po I n T n o T H av I ng T o f I nd a ma T c HI ng pa I r al S o S av ES TI m E

I n THE morn I ng S , no mor E la TE

b USES and m ISSE d SHUTT l ES c razy

S ock S g ET mor E l I k ES TH an pla I n

S ock S . Imag I n E THE po SSI b I l ITIES of #randomcrazy S ock S of THE day.

Ul TI ma TE ly c razy S ock S ar E f U n.

a nd E v E n w HE n yo U grow U p, yo U r

S ock S don’ T H av E T o.

PORK FAT RULES

How to make bacon-washed bourbon

TEXT BY JUSTIN PARK

IMAGES BY JOHN HOOK

What you’ll need:

* 16 ounces Jim Beam bourbon

* 1 pound Applewood-smoked bacon

* 24-ounce wide-mouth jar or container with cover

* Frying pan

* Funnel

* Cheesecloth

What you do:

S TE p 1 : Cook bacon in frying pan, making sure you have at least 8 ounces of bacon fat oil. Put bacon aside and save for snacking at a later date.

S TE p 2 : Using the funnel, pour the bacon fat oil into the 24-ounce jar. Add bourbon to jar and let it cool.

S TE p 3 : Cover the jar, shake vigorously, and let it sit for 45 minutes.

S TE p 4 : Freeze overnight.

S TE p 5 : Remove from freezer, and take off frozen layer of fat. Strain the bacon fatwashed bourbon into a bottle and serve chilled. Garnish with an orange peel.

Justin Park is an award-winning bartender and mixologist. He’s the general manager of The Manifest, which specializes in handcrafted cocktails and features more than sixty different types of whiskeys.

KO OLINA

The “Place of Joy”

JW Marriott Ihilani Resort & Spa at Ko Olina is your getaway destination if you’re looking for the following…

E S cap E

If you’re looking to relax and truly get away from the hustle and bustle of the city, then JW Marriott Ihilani Resort & Spa at Ko Olina is your ultimate destination. Situated on O‘ahu’s sunny Westside, the beachfront resort offers the island’s best view of the sunset, as well as access to the island’s most pristine beaches. Views of the Pacific, lagoons, and saltwater Hawaiian ponds are predominant in the resort’s unique environment.

c oa ST al cHI c

The recently revitalized guest rooms feature a cool, coastal chic style with contemporary, ocean-inspired design. In addition to new furnishings and beddings, the guest rooms feature upgraded technology, including a flat-

screen television with easy-to-reach connections and outlets. If available, request an oceanfront corner unit for some of the island’s most breathtaking 180-degree views of the Pacific.

rE laxa TI on

The 35,000-square-foot, full-service Ihilani Spa is an oasis of luxury, featuring an array of treatments including the following: Healing by the Sea Therapy, which is based on Thalasso water therapy and uses a series of hydro and air jets to massage the body with ocean water; therapeutic lomi lomi massage, which uses relaxation techniques passed down through the ages; and a signature mountain apple scrub, which awakens the whole body with a full-body skin treatment with nourishing ocean based products. The spa’s new Ho‘onanea suite is also perfect for groups, offering a private suite for spa treatments like pedicures or paraffin waxes.

Whether brides are looking for a romantic sunset wedding, a dreamy ocean-view wedding, or a tropical garden wedding, JW Marriott Ihilani Resort & Spa at Ko Olina is one of the best locations on the island for a destination wedding, large or small. Additionally, group meetings, incentives and corporate meetings choose the elegant ambiance of JW Marriott Ihilani due to the selfcontained resort services offering a total of 77,694 square feet of outdoor and indoor meeting space. Meeting facilities include the 15,600-square feet Hokulani Ballroom, which can be divided into up to five separate breakout spaces, offering versatility for special events.

The JW Marriott Ihilani Resort & Spa at Ko Olina is located at 92-1001 Olani St. For more information, call 808-679-0079 or visit ihilani.com.

VIEWFINDER

Submit & Win

The knowledge and legacy of Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu has been passed down from generation to generation since its birth in 1915. Starting from a single seed in Japan, Maeda Mitsuyo introduced Brazil to Jiu-Jitsu in the late 19th century. This sparked a revolution in martial arts that gave birth to many offshoots, most notably the Gracie family and Luiz França. Today, those two trees have spawned thousands of branches across the globe. Once a year, the legacy’s styles are tested at the World Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu Championships. It is here where they fight for legacy against one another. Shown here, a fighter representing the Chekmat Team celebrates her victory as she is crowned World Champion. —Image by Pete Ulatan, ulatan.com

theme: Homecoming DeaDline: September 30, 2013 email: contact@FLUXhawaii.com, enter “Viewfinder” in the subject

THE VIEWFINDER IS WHAT PHOTOGRAPHERS USE TO FRAME AND FOCUS A SUBJECT:

Submit a photo you think captures the theme of our upcoming issue for your chance to be published in FLUX Hawaii, a cash prize of $100, and an annual subscription. Include a description of your photo no more than 150 words. Please include your name, mailing address, email and telephone number in your submission. You must have a high-resolution version of the photo.