We all had ‘em, growing-up time. You know, foods you hated.
As an adult, most of the hatred disappeared. But the memories linger.
Here’s an admission from the memory bank.
Sliced raw tomatoes were foods I hated as a kid.
I hated raw, sliced tomato. You know, the sliver that came with most burgers and some sandwiches. What I did was glide and remove the red veggie from the burger to the plate.
But there were other foods that were a struggle to swallow; over the decades, I learned to get accustomed to some:
Raw celery. The taste was, well, offensive. Can now eat ‘em if chopped small in a salad; in stews, it’s OK now.
Raw celery was on my list, too, but I now can handle cooked and finely-chopped salad celer
Natto. The icky, sticky fermented soy bean thing. In my book: This. Was. Not. Food. Still can’t handle it.
Peppers. Green ones, red ones, yellow ones. Recall the time I went to a luncheon and a tuna-stuffed red pepper was the meal. I only could eat the tuna. Now, I can handle red and yellow peppers, raw or cooked. Still don’t enjoy the green ones.
Pickles. Large, small, chopped – still don’t eat them. Yep, they’re removed from my Big Mac at McDonald’s. Have tried to appreciate Italian dills, particularly the ones that taste like local-style pickled cucumbers.
Raw onions. Will eat the sweet Maui onions, even raw; cooked sliced onions are OK. Chopped fine in salads, OK.
Siracha hot sauce, the kind of heat that makes you sweat. In the “hot’ realm, I don’t enjoy buffalo wings, really hot kim chee, and anything seasoned with the heat, from chips to anything “flaming.”
Raw oysters. My biggest faux pas, as an adult, was ordering a dozen oysters that I thought would be Oysters Rockeller (cooked). Still can’t handle raw oysters.
What foodstuff couldn’t you handle when you were growing up?…
Cleaning up some files today, I came across a small collection of notecards I created, to thank the cast of “Les Miserables,” which was a wowser and rouser at Paliku Theatre at Windward Community College in October, 2013.
This production likely to be Hawaii’s most astonishing accomplishment in local theater, directed, of course, by the late and legendary Ron Bright. It was Mr. B’s favorite show, part of a bucket-list of shows he wanted to do; “Phantom of the Opera” and “Miss Saigon,” which he also directed with his impeccable touch, completing his wish list.
The cast of “Les Miserables,” at Paliku Theatre, in October, 2013.
The notecards – in the shape of T-shirts – depict a Cosette-in-Hawaii motif. The cards were meant to commemorate and thank the cast and crew of this stupendous show; and yes, did enough cards so each performer and techie received one on opening night
See, in many tour stops made by the official touring company of “Les Miz,” the iconic child that is the symbol of this enduring Broadway and London show, takes on the flavor of the city being visited. In Canada, Cosette had a flag with a maple leaf; in France, the French flag gets prime time; in Scotland, she might don a kilt. In Hawaii, it’s a hula skirt. And so on.
I took some liberties, borrowing the Cosette image and adding a local element. For one card, “Lei Miz” was the subtitle, because she was wearing a lei. In another, she is in hula pose, so I labeled it as “Lovely (Hula) Lady,” borrowing a tune from the show. The third card depicts Cosette with a surfboard and donning sunglasses, and an apt title: “Catch the waif.” This was an official authorized trademarked image the first time the show played here.
Four specimens of the “Les Miz” noted cards gifted to the cast and crew.
I gave the images a splash of color, and each Cosette wears a hibiscus in her hair. Lei color varied, but red and yellow were prevalent, as I recall.
The show – loaded with music that speaks to a generation of theater players – featured a protagonist who delivers one of blockbuster ballads (“Bring Him Home”), neither he nor the song is promoted in the “Les Miz” annals.
So, I thought Jean Valjean’s prisoner number would be a code to his valor and vigor; did a limited number of cards that simply addressed his numbers: 24601
On the back of the T-shirt card, I expressed my appreciation for a job well done. And borrowed that show’s most quoted line: “To love another person is to see the face of God.”
This expression of dedication and performance — the core of theatrical life — inspired Mr. B’s family and followers to create the I’m a Bright Kid Foundation to preserve and perpetuate his enduring spirit and inspiration. The journey continues.
In days long gone, did your family enjoy fried aku bones (the bones of the aku, with some flesh still on), to have an oh-so-ono dinner or lunch?
For an earlier generation, fried aku bones was — and still is a– delicacy. That’s if you can find ‘em.
When salted and peppered with or without a dash of chili flakes, and fried in your cast iron skillet, aku bones are a treat. Broke da mouth ono! Add shoyu, and it’s perfection; Finger -licking good, with apologies to Colonel Sanders.
It was such a treat to have these cast-away bones for a meal. Markets, particularly with a local butcher, used to sell ‘em alongside the fresh aku. It even used to be considered a throw-away thing, but many hungry souls adored this treat, and if you were lucky enough to find these bones to buy, you were lucky, lucky, lucky.
If your family has fishermen who catch aku, you know there’s a treasure amid the catch.
It’s probably a thing of the past, but just wondering: do you know any market that still sells ‘em?
Seems like a new tradition is in the making at Blue Note Hawaii: A Mother’s Day Brunch Show, with Frank DeLima as its toastmaster, cheerleader and centrifugal source.
DeLima, perhaps Hawaii’s favorite comedian, is known for cheerful pokes and punches to Hawaii’s rainbow of ethnicities. And wow, he was hot and happening this morning (May 8), delivering his best show ever, with plenty of howls and hoots indicative of a winnah!
He doesn’t leave anyone out, and his jabs to Chinese, Korean, Japanese, Filipino and Portuguese folks might potentially be racist in other hands. Not with this gentle giant of stand-ups; at 72, he knows his audience and struts cautiously devoid of foul language; his stance always is jovial as he celebrates, not slashes, cultural differences. He’s becoming a sit-down comic, too, as he navigates aches here and there like the rest of us elders. The bottom line: His humor does not condemn; he laughs with you, not at you; the gags are like the proverbial sugar that helps the medicine go down.
DeLima, in Korean costume.
DeLima was a bona fide sellout at the club within the Outrigger Waikiki resort, so calendar planners and bookers should contemplate signing him up for 2023. Now.
He’s seasoned at plucking folks from the audience. He’s also truly extemporaneous, and anything that comes to his mind reflects a quick wit that hasn’t lost that comic spark. He’s highly spontaneous, ad-libbing and jabbing away, and yep, he’s totally in control of his antics.
Clearly, this gig – he’s played the Blue Note previously, in evening gigs — demonstrated that he’s acclimated to the environment, evoking happy laughter. Clubgoers also are eager to get out and explore the new normal after two-and-a-half years of shutdown, and DeLima connected — the right act at the perfect time and occasion– with the mostly local crowd with precision and power. And moms at perhaps every other table.
DeLima as Imelda Marcos.
He didn’t mention it, so I will; when he trekked on stage, the space was curiously filled with covered-up instruments belonging to Tower of Power, the blues-pop giants, in a multi-day gig through Sunday night.
No matter, DeLima navigated a show, demonstrating his power of tolerance, in the minimal space he was allowed.
Some highlights:
His Imelda Marcos parody, with oversized wig, specs and green-black dress with toaster-shaped sleeves — had a two-pronged charm: he shared memories of her visit to The Noodle Shop, back in the early days of his Waikiki tenure, and relived that memory with her shoe-biz notoriety, making “What I Did for Love” anthem a gem. And surprise, he added “Downtown,” as an ode to Bong Bong, the Marcos son, but the jewel was the unexpected Christmas lights of his “Filipino Christmas” shtick, with the lights glowing whenever the lyrics mentioned Bong Bong. Nothing like a holiday boost in May.
DeLima in Chinese motif.
His Chinese character, Foo Ling Yu, was a gamemaster in a “Who Wants to be a Millionaire” parody, accented in Chinese with a dude named Lava from the crowd. It’s so familiar to so many, but everytime he stages this, it’s a new laugh-machine all over again.
Koreans were chided in a pair of satirical tunes, “Koreaumoku,” to the melody of “On the Street Where You Live” because Keeaumoku Street has been notoriously known for the Korean bars on that block, and “Korea,” a ballad about a girl rendered to “Maria,” the song from “West Side Story.” So much kim-cheer here.
The Japanese were targeted for their “boxey” four-syllabled names, like Yamashiro, Ariyoshi, and yes, sukiyaki.
An Asian-Okinawan sector included his body-padded sumotori prancing about, and dancing in the Okinawan style as well as the bon-odori “Tanko Bushi.”
He introduced the “Portuguese shrug,” with shoulders signaling an “I dunno” response. No words, just action, and the crowds chuckled.
His adoration and aloha to Bruno Mars – yes, he does talk about Bruno, despite the Disney-originated saying otherwise – and zipped out two Mars classics “Just the Way You Are” and “24 K Magic.”
DeLima in sumotori get-up.
Yes, he walks with a pair of canes these days, one for the left and the right hands, which he jokingly said he resembles a praying mantis, but the truth of the matter is he continues to have mobility issues with hip and legs. Thus, he sits through part of his performance, and stands when necessary, and indulges in character costume change before your eyes, slipping in and out of garments with the kokua of an aide.
He describes his two-member band, comprised of Bobby Nishida (bass) and David Kauahikaua (electric keyboard) as his Senior Citizen Band, since they’ve been his trusty sidekicks for more than three decades. That loyalty has to be applauded and admired.
Bobby Nishida and David Kauahikaua, DeLima’s newly-dubbed Senior Citizen Band.
DeLima, like other Waikiki acts, has been struggling to find venues to do shows, and his last “regular” space, prior to the pandemic, was the Pagoda Restaurant.
He used to joke that wherever he worked before, the performance space shut down, including venue as diverse as the Queen Kapiolani Hotel the Polynesian Palace and the Hula Hut.
Enter, the Blue Note., which programmed a splendid Mother’s Day brunch menu for the DeLima performance, and it appeared that most folks ordered the sampler dessert plate, the medley of three Spam musubi, the mammoth quiche with salad, and the kalua pork breakfast burrito, among others. Happily, the wait-staffers were able to take orders and deliver platters very swiftly and efficiently, far better than the usual nighttime food service, so the club’s kitchen protocols were in high performance mode. Thank you, very much!
Again, a DeLima brunch at Mother’s Day was a splendid option instead of a pricey Sunday buffet, so should be considered as an annual ritual. A Christmas brunch (vs.nighttime) also might convert the Blue Note into a day club, tapping DeLima as an option for December. Hey, why not? …
Today, March 29, is a dubious but memorable milestone for me. It was the first time ever that I was fired from a job…two years ago.
It was the day my last Show Biz column was published in the Honolulu Star-Advertiser.
I had a full-on career for 44 ½ years, mostly at the Honolulu Advertiser, longer if you count a couple of prior years I worked (while in high school) for a Sunday tabloid called Hawaii’s Youth, which the Advertiser published, tapping six youths from different high schools to do reportorial chores. That was the infancy of my journey as a journalist.
The conclusion of my print career happened – while free-lanching for the Star-Advertiser — when the COVID 19 pandemic was festering, but not in a manner I anticipated. I skipped the first anniversary of my dismissal, but decided to reflect belatedly on that awkward instance when I was terminated.
This was the last Show Biz column, in the Honolullu Star-Advertiser, March 29, 2020,
An abrupt call from my immediate editor at the newspaper brought my service to an end; she said all freelance contributors had to be released to cut production costs. OK, I accepted the decision and the dismissal, agreeing that if there were to be cost considerations, freelancers should go before fulltime staff. How naive of me.
That bottom-line alibi turned out to be an outright lie. In retrospect, I was one of only two contributors – the other was Cheryl Chee Tsutsumi, the esteemed travel writer – who were immediately erased from the ranks. No two-week notice consideration, which is customary in the trade, but a freelancer has virtually no privileges.
I would have expected the courtesy of doing an aloha column – you know, a reflective piece on the joy of writing about folks and events here and elsewhere – to simply say mahalo for the mana‘o and memories shared over the years.
But here’s the thing that bothered me then and still is snarled in my memory. By the end of the week, and over the next few weeks, I noticed that the paper continued to retain a corps of contributors, who report and write weekly for a very nominal fee (one has told me he columnizes for free). Still happening, in the third season of the pandemic, because the paper relies on outsiders to produce stories or opinion pieces to augment the daily news gathering. The freelance pay is so minimal, it’s gas money at best. What irked me is that my editor – and perhaps other management staffers – did not have the decency to speak the truth; the selective termination decision came from a higher-upper, the publisher – and my supervisor never challenges her boss. “I need my paycheck,” she once revealed, and thus would neither question nor discuss matters concerning replaceable hired hands. Do as told, or head for the exit door.
My tenure at the paper included a dozen years of freelancing columns after I retired which notably meant I had been part of the reportorial scene for more than 50 years.
One door closed but another opened In May of 2021, I launched my own website and resumed the Show Biz column/blog, much like the old days but, at a pace I can freely handle in retirement.
Still doing it, even attracting readers from the past, and the tempo varies – with a mix of columns and reviews and reflections – because I still maintain twice-a-week PT sessions, frequent doctor visits, and occasional lunches or dinners with friends and family.
Samples of this year’s crop of Easter-season pins.
I am quite busy, thank you, in different ways. Like, I still create my hand-made Wild Cards, note cards with local-themed motifs. And I do annual lapel pins for Valentine’s, Easter, Halloween and Christmas, adding a limited amount of. yuletide table decorations as gifts to family and friends, including former colleagues and a roster of island entertainers.
With chronic back pain, I proceed activities with caution. Had a procedure done during the pandemic that involved the implantation of a battery in my butt, with wires connected to my spine. It’s an alternative pain management procedure (yes, I said no to actual back surgery).
So I lumber on, doing what’s doable when the mood hits.
Nope, there’s no salary; my monthly pension checks go directly into a bank account.
I have no editor, thus no outside stress, and nope, I can’t be fired. I can take a coffee or lemonade break when I want one and sometimes factor in a deserved short nap.
I’ve found my passion, set my own clock, and proceed to Do It, too, to keep the mind and spirit alive. I have no staff, unless you count my wife who catches typos frequently. My Apple MacBook Pro and my Apple iPhone are my work-related resources.
I learn from yesterday, as I live through today, and anticipate a cheery tomorrow.
Meanwhile, at the paper, the newsroom no longer has that buzz because – much like those dutiful freelancers — the reportorial staffers work from home. Something’s just not right here … newspapering is not what it used to be.
