A rainy day here on Kauai. The roosters and their flocks sought shelter under the spreading philodendron and the tall Cook pines. Waimea Canyon, the Grand Canyon of the Pacific, hid itself in shrouds of white clouds scudding along at the 2,500 foot level.
Hanapeppe, an artist’s colony had not had time to wake up when we pulled in hunting for lunch. We ate at Bobbie’s, a local food restaurant. This includes lau lau pork, locomoco, lomin and various fried foods done in a style similar to, but fattier than tempura. The androgynous cook, think muscular and broad shouldered with a cute hair do and hot pants, asked if we’d ordered enough food. This because #8 and #9, our orders, came with a lot of food.
Hanapeppe, off Highway 50, the main and only highway headed toward Waimea Canyon, had the look of old Hawai’i, a look fondly remembered in guide books, but, since its primary ingredients seem to be rural poverty, I suspect not much missed by the locals.
The bantam roosters and hens found their liberation in the 1991 Hurricane I’niki. The winds tore open the chicken huts and yards, freeing most of the islands population of chickens. Now they roam everywhere. At the Big Save in Port Allen, as I put groceries in the trunk, a rooster ran by me, headed to another place with great determination. It surprised me.
We’ll dine tonight at Yum Cha, an Asian fusion restaurant on the golf course.