eating the big island (part 1 of 4)

And so it was that the relentless bitter cold and interminable winter doldrums had driven us to the brink of sanity, and we fled the Northwest for more tropical climes on a well-deserved vacation.  Next stop: The Big Island, Hawaii.  We had visited the previous year and enjoyed the laid back vibe and white sandy beaches, although we realized in retrospect that we hadn’t actually seen all that much of the island.  We were staying on the western or Kona side of Hawaii, up north in Puako Bay and had resolved to experience more of the local culture this time out.

So on our first full day, the sun (THE SUN!) woke us early and we drove the three hours it takes to get to the southeast or Hilo side of Hawaii in order to experience the madness that is the Maku’u Craft and Farmer’s Market in Puna.  A cross between a Flea Market and a Grateful Dead concert, with hundreds of vendors selling everything from jewelry to produce to home-brewed kava.  There was live music and ceramic dolphins and lots of food, from Samoan to tamales.  It was pretty obvious that one food stall in particular was consistently drawing the largest crowds, so we decided to hit up SMOKE MEAT and get our barbeque on.

In particular, we ordered one of the Hawaiian style (S)AUSAGES, mostly due to the whim of the gnarled old dude running the barbeque, who would periodically throw a random handful of meat on the grill and thereby determine what you would be eating.  The entire sausage was cut up into slices and dumped on a paper plate with the usual macaroni salad and white rice that comprise nearly every “plate” lunch in Hawaii.  It was an immense amount of food, which I would quickly discover is generally the case with most eats on the Big Island.  Sorry, “grinds“.  Anyhow, the sausage was sweet and smoky and delicious – a Hawaiian variation of Portugese Linguica.  It kept us happy and satisfied throughout the rest of the day as we toured around Volcano National Park and the remote backwaters of Ka’u looking for some strange Buddhist retreat.

By the time we made it back to the West side of the Island, it was late and we were tired and there was still quite a ways to go before reaching Puako.  We were driving through the winding roads of Captain Cook, when out of the darkness I saw a neon vision appear on the side of the road and immediately parked the car.  The Manago Hotel.

The Manago Hotel had repeatedly been mentioned on local message boards as a prominent culinary destination, and in particular, they reportedly served up some crazy famous pork chops.  The historic building was built in 1917 and had an ancient, roadhouse feel to it.  The dining room was small and quiet and dark, with wood-paneled walls and formica table tops.  It definitely felt like stepping into a time warp, an experience light years away from what you get at the resorts (which I’ll touch on in a later post).

Our server was ridiculously sweet and attentive and clearly proud of the Manago’s food and reputation.  Each dinner automatically came with FOUR side dishes – the inevitable macaroni salad (which to be fair, was much closer to a traditional potato salad), a bowl of white rice, and then some fairly unique servings based on the season.  In this case, a bowl of ogo seaweed, blanched with vinegar and sugar and onions, and a plate of local squash, cooked until translucent and then served cold with shoyu.  The seaweed was fresh and crunchy, and the squash was very distinctive, with the texture and consistency of an onion.

Of course I ordered the pork chops, which were very simply prepared – lightly breaded and then pan fried in butter.  Nothing particularly fancy or even noteworthy really, until smothered with a fantastic side of sweet grilled onions and a thin brown gravy that had impossibly huge flavor.  Seriously, those grilled onions and that gravy made the chops.  My partner ordered ahi tuna in a butter and garlic sauce, which was served hot and flaky and entirely cooked.  We wondered for a moment if we’d ever actually eaten COOKED ahi.  Seared, sure, but cooked?  It was very, very old school.  Which made sense, because everything about this place was old school.

The warm night air drafting through the window, a ton of food, a couple glasses of decent wine, and a tremendously inexpensive final bill set the stage smoothly for what was to be a very pleasant stay in paradise…