04x09 - Hawaii

[bunniefuu]

Aloha.

Welcome, Mr. Bourdain.

Aloha, Mr. Bourdain.

Aloha.
Welcome to the property.

Thank you.

Aloha. Welcome.

Am I gonna be able to see?

[ Laughter ]

Aloha. Mwah.

Aloha, Mr. Bourdain.

[ Chuckles ]

Aloha.
Welcome to the Kahala.

Thank you.

Where's my room?

Thanks, guys.

It's a good look for me,
I think.

I'm Anthony Bourdain.

MAN: ♪ That's right ♪

I write, I travel, I eat...

♪ Aw, look out now ♪

...and I'm hungry for more.

♪ Ugh! ♪

♪ You got to ♪

♪ Get lost ♪

♪ No reservations ♪

[ Woman singing in Hawaiian ]

I had mixed emotions
about coming to Hawaii.

On one hand,
I was kind of apprehensive

about the sort of classic,
cliché, Don h*, luau,

loud shirt -- the whole
"Hawaii Five-0" thing.

[ Conch shell blows ]

But on the other hand, I kind
of like loud aloha shirts

in a post-ironic, post-Kramer,
Hunter S. Thompson kind of way.

I like an umbrella in my drink

as much as any red-blooded
American guy.

[ Chuckles ]

And of course,
there was the Asian dimension.

To be perfectly honest,
like the worst kind of snob,

what had held me back
from Hawaii

was that it was American.

How good could it be?

The answer?
Pretty damn good.

Of course
I knew it was gorgeous.

Big deal, right?

Well, I had no idea
how gorgeous.

And there's an attitude
and world view

and a crazy, kooky,
mixed-up cultural clash here

that makes it even more painful

to realize how much
I've been missing.

But let's begin
at the beginning.

First things first.
I need clothes, right?

Wardrobe.
Indigenous garb.

I want to blend.

Ever since
I arrived in Hawaii,

its siren song
has called to me.

MAN: Aloha.
Aloha. Aloha.

BOURDAIN:
A flash of bright colors,

the patterns of a dimly
remembered patio party,

a vision of something
like the hybrid mixture

of busy wallpaper
and my childhood jammies.

Moth-like, I'm drawn to it.

[ People singing in Hawaiian ]

Hi. Welcome.
Welcome to Bailey's.

We've got 15,000
aloha shirts here,

the biggest selection
in the world.

Do Hawaiians
wear Hawaiian shirts?

I mean, seriously, like?

I'd say a third of the people
wear them almost every day.

According to David,
alohas date back to the 1920s,

when a local kimono maker
was having trouble

selling his wares to tourists.

His solution?
A kimono in shirt form.

These ornately decorated
novelties soon became the thing

to bring back from Hawaii.

So what do I need to know
about shopping for a shirt?

Are there distinct styles?

There's a golden age,

which was from World w*r II
till through the 50s.

The originals
are up here.

They're, like,
investment shirts.

Now you're telling me

that's the shirt that
Montgomery Clift died in?

Yep. In the movie
"From Here to Eternity."

They don't make classics like
these the way they used to,

as they're made of rayon
and highly flammable,

but that only makes them
more desirable.

We've had Nicolas Cage
and Matt Dillon

and Peter Fonda
buy those shirts.

And Jimmy Buffett paid
over $4,000 for one shirt.

Everywhere I go, by the way,

anywhere where there's
a palm tree or a ski slope,

Jimmy Buffett's
been there first.

He's driving the price
of shirts up,

he's opening his hamburger
places everywhere,

and I hear that damn "Lost
in Margaritaville" song

in every good bar
in the world.

He's personally
ruined my life.

DAVID:
Do you like this one?

This is kind of cool.

Yeah, that's too much color
for me.

This is the complete history
of Boeing right here.

Here's a little bit more formal
kind of look.

Just not feeling it.

This is too cheerful.

This is definitely
too hip for me.

This is sort of the perfect gift
for my alcoholic friends.

The day will come.
I will wear that.

I'll be living in Florida
at the time.

You need to not give a [bleep]
if you wear this shirt,

and Jimmy Buffett has enough
money to not give a [bleep]

As with true love, you don't
pick your shirt, it picks you.

That's a famous shirt, too.

Yeah.

There's the original.

What size is that one?

DAVID:
That one's a large.

That would fit you.

And how much is that?

That one's about $2,000.

2 grand?! Ouch!

And it's combustible.

One pupu-platter-related mishap

and that thing could
become my funeral pyre.

But I'm in love.

She must be mine.
All mine.

WOMAN:
Oh, that fits you perfect.

-It does, doesn't it?
-Stunning.

Yeah, this is a timeless
and enduring classic.

Yeah, I will have to have this.

You goofed, boss.

Oh, man.

If it's a deal,
this is $3,000 not --

You still want it?

[ Laughs ]

Uh...okay.
All right.

Somewhere in
a diamond-studded hot tub,

Jimmy Buffett is laughing.

Mahalo.

What does that mean?

Guaranteed to go up
in value.

-You sure?
-Yeah. Yeah, yeah.

Laugh it up, Buffett.

I can always resell this thing
to Nicolas Cage at a profit.

♪♪

Well, what do you do
when you're feeling hungry,

but your wallet is suddenly
$3,000 lighter?

If you're like me,
you'll look for some place

that is delicious, innovative,
and, of course, cheap.

Puka Dog, anyone?

-It sounds wrong...
-It does.

...which means, conversely,
it's gotta work.

My friend Bruno and I
are gonna check out

the finer points
of this island original.

Sounds like a scene.

All right.
Let's say "hello."

Well, if I'm looking for
the classic, the quintessential

Puka Dog experience,
what should I do?

WOMAN:
First you go with a Polish

or a veggie
as you see on the board.

Polish, for sure.

Okay, and then, we have
our garlic lemon secret sauce.

We have mild, spicy, hot,
and hot-hot.

Every great culture
has its own strange, local,

mutant form of the hot dog,
and Hawaii is no different.

Fresh-made sausage, wacky
tropical toppings like mango,

pineapple, coconut,
and banana relishes,

and guava
and passion fruit mustards.

A homemade bun impaled

on something vaguely
medieval-looking?

I'm sold.

Okay. Here we go.

Oh, man.
This is totally high-tech.

This is really kooky.

BRUNO: You ever seen
something like this?

No, and I'm thinking,
you know,

there are other things
you could do with this.

I'm excited and afraid.

The toasted bun, while
disturbing in appearance,

is ingenious in design.

The toppings go inside.

The dog slides in after, awash
in a sea of delicious lube.

Thank you.

Mahalo.
How is it, Tony?

It's exactly the principle
I was talking about.

This makes no [bleep] sense
at all. I love it.

What unconventional mind
could be responsible

for so wondrous an operation?

Very pleased to meet you.
-Very pleased.

Dominique Quinette,
with her husband, Rick,

owner and operator
of Puka Dog.

I couldn't visualize what,
like, mango and a hot dog,

and all of these
would taste like together.

That's different, man.

Delicious.
Oh, but I love it.

And it's really Hawaiian.

That's also the point.

Well, I love my dog.
Thank you very much.

Oh, you're welcome.
It's my pleasure.

Thank you.

One Puka Dog down,
and I'm just getting warmed up.

I'm ready to take things
to the next level.

What do Don h*, Jack Lord,
and pineapple chicken

have in common
with my next meal?

Absolutely nothing.

Mmm.
Man, that's great.

BOURDAIN:
Chef friends who know

have repeatedly disabused me
of the notion

that Hawaiian food is anything
like the horrifying,

faux-Polynesian stuff
I remember from my youth.

It's Asian,
they kept telling me.

There's like thousands
and thousands

of Chinese, Japanese,
Filipinos --

people from all over your
favorite parts of the world.

And they've been living,
intermarrying, cooking,

and eating together
for, like, ages.

Filipino food, Japanese food,
you got Chinese food.

Food is excellent.

I see my opening.

I wanted to believe it,
but I needed proof,

and this is the guy who says
he can give it to me.

Tony, how are you?

-Good to meet you.
-Nice to meet you.

Where are you taking me
for lunch here?

We're gonna try
this Hawaiian place...

Oh, yeah?

...it's called Ono's
Hawaiian Food. Ono means "good."

It means "delicious"
in Hawaiian, so --

My dining companion
is Colin Nishida,

the owner of a chef-friendly
bar and grill,

who insists that this is where

you get the soul food
of the islands.

This a locals-only type
of place, or locals mostly?

Locals mostly.

Sounds good.
I'm hungry.

Ono Hawaiian is the type
of well-worn place

I've come to identify
as a safe haven

for the weary traveler
confused about what to eat.

And it's not the first time
that enlightenment has arrived

with a healthy dose
of salt and pork.

Here.
Here we go.

Ooh.
Already, it begins.

We start,
he insists with lau lau --

a mammoth purse, a handbag,
really, of pork, salt-fat,

and butterfish, steamed
in taro and ti leaves.

Don't eat
this outer ti leaf.

-Right. Push it.
-Yep, you peel it back

and then break it right
in the middle.

Oh, that's pretty.

Fatty, salty, savory goodness.

Mmm.

Man, that's great.

The food at Ono
is uniquely Hawaiian,

a true fusion of Chinese,
Japanese, Korean,

and Filipino influences,

and, according to Colin,
there's good reason for this.

You know, basically,
we're all sl*ves.

We were brought here
to work sugarcane

and the pineapple fields.
-Right.

Everybody brought
homestyle food, you know,

that's their culture,
you know?

Poor-people food.

A little bit of a flavor
from home,

and whatever you can find
where you are,

and that becomes the thing.
-Correct.

This is what we're eating.

This is not
what I expected.

Most of what we've come to
believe to be Hawaiian food

on the mainland
is really sweet...

and I'm not tasting that
here at all.

This is really savory.

I think salt is the key.

Salt is the number-one spice,
I think, in Hawaii.

And there are more salty,
savory treats

where that came from.

This is...

Lomi lomi salmon.

Salt-cured tomatoes,
smoke-cured beef.

This is the salt meat
watercress.

This is like
French pot au feu.

Fantastic.

Pork. Okay.
This is the poi.

Oh, okay. This is the stuff
that everybody talks about.

I say I'm going to Hawaii,
well, "Have you had the poi?"

The first thing
they ask, right?

So, I guess I'm not supposed
to like this?

It tastes like paste.
Like paper-mache paste.

But apparently
this starchy substance

made from mashed taro root
functions like fufu or grits,

originally used to make
a little meat go a long way.

It's kind of
a neutral flavor.

-Yes.
-Mm-hmm.

This stuff is supposed to suck?
It's great.

This is what you call
stick to your ribs.

Mm-hmm.

This is not the maraschino,
cherry garnish,

technicolor nonsense
I was prepared for,

and for those misconceptions,
I almost feel

like I owe Colin and the
pantheon of local luminaries

past and present an apology.

Fortunately,
Colin was quick to forgive,

and has invited me to come
by his bar later tonight.

You get the occasional chef
comes to your place

to hang out after work,
I hear?

Yeah. All of Hawaii's
top chefs

are in and out
of that place.

How come they like you?

We're open late.

[ Laughs ]

Hanging out with chefs

and enjoying local,
indigenous beverages?

I hate that.

As night falls on Honolulu,

chefs and restaurant people
do what they do -- they work.

But afterwards -- afterwards,
they tend to convene

at the Side Street Inn
for a few drinks,

if not, many drinks, and
hearty, unpretentious food --

the kind of food
chefs everywhere like.

Hey.
-Tony.

Thanks for coming down.

Alan, Dean, Russell...

Colin introduces me

to some of his chef friends
and industry people,

including godfather of regional
Hawaiian cuisine, Alan Wong.

Hawaii's the only place
in the world

that will serve you
spaghetti with meat sauce,

garlic bread, two scoops
of rice, and a rice salad.

[ Laughter ]

So how long have you guys
been coming to this place?

How long have you all known
each other, first of all?

[ Laughter ]

Way too long.

I'm already liking this place.

Like any good chef hangout,

there's no shortage
of drinking,

talking shop,
and busting of ba*ls.

These days, you know,
restaurants, like, you know,

they'll pay chefs
to come there.

Can you repeat that?
What was that last statement?

Put it on my tab!
Put it on my tab!

And of course,
there's the food.

So what are we eating tonight,
by the way?

Like Hawaii itself,
the kitchen at Side Street

is an unexpected
and wondrous mashup of food

and culinary traditions
from every culture

that's touched these shores.

-Gizzards.
-Oh, yeah.

Oh, I love the gizzards.

That's totally Puerto Rican,
by the way.

You want to make a Puerto Rican
cry, you serve this.

Portuguese sausage.

That's real Portuguese sausage,
made in Hawaii.

Oh, this is the real --
Oh, really?

Fried shrimp.

This is like a condiment
in Brazil.

You sprinkle it on things,
you know?

And the hits keep coming.

Island pan-fried pork chops,
locally raised rib-eye steak

with hamakua mushrooms
and Maui onions.

This preparation of steamed
fish -- in this case,

fresh, local moi with hoisin
sauce and coriander --

is a Chinese classic
with a local twist.

-That's moi.
-Oh, yeah. We like that.

You know, I know
this presentation.

I happen to believe that
if you look deeply

into the heart of every great
cook, there's a Chinese guy.

-Alan Wong is in everybody.
-No, no.

[ Laughter ]

Next, a special treat --
baby abalone.

All right.

Take this, scrape it out,
use that one.

-Like this?
-Yeah.

Once again,
my ill-informed preconceptions

of what to expect in Hawaii
end up buried

in an avalanche
of great food.

All of these amazing Asian
cultures have been coming here

and making great things happen
for a long time.

I mean, you know,
it's the American Singapore.

And by the way,
it's a state.

You don't need
a [bleep] passport.

And it's here.

-Salute!
-Salute!

This is what we do,
right here.

Thank you for taking
such good care of me.

Waimea Bay -- my chance
at big-wave greatness

or perhaps a free gurney ride
back to New York.

Guy could have died.

Find out when we come back.

♪♪

So where are we going today?

What's the plan?

We're gonna go
up the coast

to the three most famous
surf spots in the world.

BOURDAIN:
The North Shore of Oahu,

home to the Banzai Pipeline.

Big wave-riding legend
Darrick Doerner is here

to break it down for me.

Why is
the pipeline dangerous?

What makes it dangerous?

You know, the wave there
is so shallow,

and you've got these swells
that come

from thousands of miles,
and it hits the shelf,

and it just jacks up,
and it just pitches.

You can gain
a lot of knowledge

or you can run
for your life.

Somebody said to me
that big-wave surfing

is more about learning
to fall off your board.

Everything is okay
until it isn't,

and you need to master
how to relax

under stressful situations.

What would a typical
stressful situation be?

Like a gravel truck
unloading on top of you.

It does get very blurry.
You start getting tingly.

You're deprived from air.

A wise man once said,

"It's not tragic to die
doing what you love."

And I ain't talking
Confucius, man.

Better. Much better.

I'm quoting Swayze.

♪♪

Okay, enough of the oracle
of cheese.

I'm on the famed
North Shore of Oahu,

a magnet for those seeking
endless summer -- the young,

the brave, the insane, who've
come to take their place

among the ranks
of the legendary watermen --

or get mangled to chum trying.

Everyone in the world
comes to the North Shore.

Now, I may be crazy,
but I ain't stupid,

and I know enough not to step
into this liquid solo.

Thankfully, I've got Darrick,
famed surf lifeguard,

film stuntman,
and big-wave-riding master,

guiding me through my maiden
North Shore voyage.

One of the things that we do

is we operate out
of the comfort zone.

We have to be prepared
for the ride after the ride.

I know I'm in good hands,

but I can't help but be
a little apprehensive.

You know, a 30-foot wall
of water unloading on you

is not just something
you walk away from.

Then I hear, "Help! Help!"

and I look,
and there's a guy drowning.

And Darrick regaling us all

with near-death-experience
stories

isn't helping matters any.

The guy could have died.

And so, like the Skipper
and a late-model Gilligan,

we're off.

♪♪

We're gonna go over here

to the take-off spot
of Waimea Bay.

[ Seagulls calling ]

DOERNER: Now, this is the spot
right here in Waimea Bay.

This is where
I rode my claim to fame.

I rode a 30-foot wave
in 1988.

Unfortunately,
that ain't happening today.

It is kind of pathetic,
really,

to show up
at the premier surf spot

of the whole freaking world,

home to the legendary
Banzai Pipeline,

sunset in Waimea, on a day when
there's absolutely no surf.

Welcome
to the inside goal, bro.

Ah, so what.

So there aren't any giants
to ride.

It wouldn't have mattered.

I ain't getting on a board here
for love or money...

or a 12 share of the ratings.

I couldn't surf in a koi pond.

Besides, tearassing around
the North Shore on a jet ski

definitely does not suck.

♪♪

[ Dolphin calls ]

What was that?
Damn dolphins.

♪♪

It's late afternoon,
and there's a storm coming in.

What had been a punch bowl
has kicked up

into some larger, choppier,
more unruly stuff.

DOERNER: Conditions are
rainy, stormy, windy,

and there's only one,
two guys on the beach.

To go out there,
try to catch the wave

would be really,
really hard.

It's not worth it.

For locals like Darrick,

surf like this is better
to watch from a distance,

preferably with some good food
and good friends close by.

So we're digging
into some fresh poke

and sashimi and some grilled
Ahi, also known as bigeye tuna,

over at Peter Cole's house.

♪♪

Peter is a true legend of surf,

the revered fixer
on the North Shore,

where he's lived and surfed
since the '50s.

He won the Makaha International
in 1958,

and still, at the age of 78,

has no plans to give up on
his love of big-wave surfing.

He's an active
environmentalist, avid swimmer,

and soul surfer --
a true waterman.

BOURDAIN: What's it like
looking at this every day?

Do you feel an overwhelming
compulsion to, like, run in

and surf, I mean, when you see
a nice set out there?

COLE:
Well, yeah, you do.

That's when
I really get antsy

and when I really want
to be out there.

So, is it too late
for me?

I mean, 'cause I'm sensitive
to the ridicule factor,

having never surfed before.

Oh, no, no.
You gotta get over that.

You can't care
what people think.

I mean,
I wouldn't be out there

if I cared about
what people think.

When you're beginning to surf,
you're what we call a kook.

You're kind of just floundering
around, everything else.

And then as you get older,

you start reaching that point
where you're a kook again.

Like, right now, when I'm out
there, I feel like a kook.

Yeah, but your reputation
precedes you.

When is this old guy
gonna quit surfing?

If I started thinking
about that,

I wouldn't be out there,
you know?

It's a lot of fun.

It gets into your system
and blood.

What is a soul surfer?

Well,
I'm the young guy here,

so you're gonna have to
answer that, Peter.

Well, a soul surfer --
I don't know --

maybe a person that's surfing
for the surf itself,

not for the crowd, not for
the media, not for the hype.

To know the ocean,
to be able to swim, to dive.

That element is a factor
that I think is important.

I just love Sunset Beach.
I've always loved the place.

I just wouldn't know
what to do without it.

I've surfed a lot of places,

and I just always want
to come back to Sunset.

This is just a dream.

It is the stuff of legend.

MAN: Here is one of the freest
agents in the world,

an American housewife.

This housewife
chose a can of Spam.

BOURDAIN: To me, it's the
quintessential mystery meat.

A mash of processed pig parts,

only to be eaten in the event
of nuclear fallout.

WOMAN: Cold or hot,
Spam hits the spot.

BOURDAIN: But for a certain
cluster of islands,

it's what's for dinner.

MAN:
Hey, welcome to Hawaii.

Hawaiians buy over 4 million
cans of Spam a year.

In short, Hawaiians
are head-over-heels in love

with that salty cube
of mystery meat miscellany.

Why? I'm going to the New
Uptown Fountain to find out.

Spam, spam.
-Hey, dude.

My guide into the world of Spam

will be local Honolulu
food columnist David Choo.

Why does this have such a hold
on local mentality?

Well, they're wartime foods.

You know, we --
it was -- was World w*r II,

and, you know, as --
as you may know, Hawaii,

for most of the w*r,
was in a w*r zone.

And so, we ate what the soldiers
and sailors ate.

What started out as a ration
remained on the plates

and in the hearts of Hawaiians
ever since.

Yeah, but dude,
it's 2007.

But, you know, the meat
isn't the centerpiece,

it's just an ingredient,
and it tastes great with rice.

I -- I need to --
to embrace the beast,

to go over
to the dark side.

Let's order.
-Okay.

David arranges
a small sampling

of New Uptown's most
Spam-alicious delicacies.

First up, Spam Musubi.

Spam sushi?

Oh, man.
That's really [bleep] up.

I got to have that.
Sorry.

So basically,
it's like a nori roll,

or a hand roll,
but with this case,

with fried rice

and a big slab of Spam
right in the middle.

Yeah. Yep.

That's great.

Now imagine you're coming out
of the water at the beach.

-Yeah?
-You're hungry.

I'm thinking, stoned
at 2:00 in the morning,

watching TV,
I want this really badly.

I got to tell you, I love

that it's, uh, fried rice
in there.

It's like too much
of a good thing, man.

Oh-h*, yeah.
Speaking of which.

I don't know what dark place
this came from.

It looks like a Spam frittata
with kimchi on top,

floating in curry sauce.

I'm getting sh**ting pains
in my left arm

just looking at this thing.

Your emergency rooms here
must be doing --

just laying down
some [bleep] business.

Guys holding their chest
with this still on their lips.

I'm gonna stroke out
at the end of this meal.

Must not keel over yet.

I'm still picking Spam
out of my teeth

when the next dish arrives.

-Whoa.
-And the next dish.

This is chicken tofu.

Ah, chicken tofu.

And the next dish.

Homemade chili.

Oh, homemade chili!
You really have to.

And the next dish,
Spam sinette.

Boiled in this case,
right?

Nothing ironic
or funny about this.

It's just damn good.

I'm ashamed, so ashamed,
in a good way.

This thing is
[bleep] delicious.

I really like that.

This, just don't tell anyone
I enjoyed that.

I don't know why
I'm -- I'm eating this.

And if I even make a move
towards the chili,

stick a fork in me
because I'm done.

In all of its high-sodium,
gravy-drenched glory,

Spam has, in every sense,
found its way into my heart.

I get it now.
-You get it?

I feel inducted into, uh,

into the church
of true knowledge.

By the way, do you know
the Heimlich maneuver?

I'm just --
I'm just asking.

The inspiring story
of Don the Beachcomber...

Don the Beachcomber.

Don the Beachcomber.

It's tiki drinks 101
when we come back.

That's very good.

[ g*nf*re ]

[ Shell casing drops ]

BOURDAIN: In the years
following the w*r,

a strange and wonderful
new craze swept the nation

as returning GIs
brought with them

tales of exciting
and colorful new foods,

places half-remembered,
semi-understood visions

of tropical paradise
and ancient customs.

Hence, the tiki craze
that swept the nation.

Soon, every city in America
had a nightclub,

a restaurant with a supposed
Hawaiian or Polynesian theme.

And from one of the pioneers
of this industry,

a man named Don
the Beachcomber,

came the bizarre
and potent concoctions

of tiki drinks.

Boyd Candell knows the world,
the subculture, of tiki.

Emcee of the tiki super group,
Don Tiki,

he knows his tiki drinks,

and he knows one of the few
remaining old-school,

original, non-ironic tiki bars
left in Hawaii -- La Mariana,

hidden in an industrial area
next to the airport.

[ Tiki music plays ]

Ooh.
Good Lord.

I don't know whether
to be excited or afraid.

The fake waterfall still gushes
and the drinks, Zombies,

Mai Tais, and Tropical Itches
still flow.

Sure, the c*ck can be
a little awkward to drink,

but that's a small price
to pay for authenticity.

[ Chuckles ]

[ Airplane engine roars ]

Whoa!

That's cool.

It is cool.

I mean, I'm just totally
loving this.

Well, this is
what you want, right?

In the fantasy of your mind,
what you think

of Polynesia or Hawaii,
it's just so beautiful in here.

Oh, boy.

Zombie time.

Ah, yes.

Nothing makes paradise
even better

than a whole lot of rum.

Ooh, thank you.
Ooh, I like this.

WOMAN: Yeah.
It's very nice.

It's like
five kinds of rum.

Five kinds of rum.

Whoa!

My understanding is, the guy
who invented the Zombie,

they refused to serve you
more than two.

-Oh, really?
-That's it.

Now, for those of you
playing the home game,

making a good tiki drink
is deceptively simple.

Take for example,
the classic Mai Tai.

Three different rums,
some fresh lime juice,

and a dash of syrup.

Easy, right?
But watch your step.

That's dangerous.

Nothing makes a drink
taste better

than drinking it
out of a head.

This could lead
to ugliness.

But, you know,
music could help.

I think so.

Hit it, boys.

♪♪

I don't know if
it's the Zombie, the decor,

or the musical stylings
of Lloyd's Don Tiki brethren.

But right now, I'm thinking,
if there was ever a time

I dismissed all this
as nostalgic kitsch,

I humbly beg forgiveness
of the mighty tiki gods,

because it really doesn't
get much better than this.

Now, where's my bongo drums?

There are a lot of people with
Filipino background in Hawaii.

Some of them, strangely enough,
seem inclined to be nice to me.

So, where are we?

Tell me
about this neighborhood.

We're in Kalihi right now.

Kalihi's
an interesting place.

This is one of the older cities,
so if you look around,

there's a lot of
Filipino influence.

I'm in Kalihi, a working-class
section of Honolulu,

hanging with my friends
Lanai and Kaleo,

DJs and hosts
of a drive-time radio show

on a local Honolulu station.

What does Hawaiian food
mean now?

We call it now
more, like, local food,

because the locals here,
we're all mixed up.

And it's --
We have no color lines.

We just took the best things
from the different cultures

and put it together
to make our local food.

They promised me some down-home
barbecue Hawaii-style,

a luau in the purest, everyday

backyard or driveway sense
of the word...

[ All singing
in native language ]

...with traditional music
and dance

and a greatest hits,
if you will,

of some of the best food
these islands have to offer.

[ Kaleo speaks indistinctly ]

We're gonna do one
Chinese-style.

Chinese sausage.

This red snapper's
locally caught

and stuffed
with Chinese sausage

and slathered
with oyster sauce mayonnaise.

I don't even want to guess
at the genealogy of this dish.

I only know it's good.

Making me hungry.
Making my hungry, you guys.

And of course, what kind
of Hawaiian feast

would it be without poi?

Now this, not all the family
eat together anymore,

but poi, you put it
in one core bowl

in the middle of the table

and all the family
rush for the poi.

Since we're family already,

we can just go in the poi
with our fingers.

It's all good.
-Sounds like a plan.

Cheers, guys.
-Everything is salted.

BOURDAIN: I know, man.

One of the many things
that surprised me.

The stuff that I've had here

has been really intensely
flavored and really salty

in a really good way.

This is called beef luau.

Stewed, fatty beef simmered
with taro leaves,

and, of course,
a pinch of salt.

This is the hangover medicine
right here for the next day.

Keep you going
for a long time.

Oh, that's great.

Oh, yeah.
Good stuff.

And it's just the beginning
of a magnificent lineup

of what have become, over time,
Hawaiian standards,

like fresh Ahi poke,
squid ceviche,

and this taro-steamed
concoction palusami.

Corned beef, onion,
coconut milk.

Has a flavor in there
for you.

KALEO: Not all salt,
but that's a good, sweet...

Oh, that's the greatest
thing ever.

But not to be outdone

by our magnificent
stuffed red snapper.

Oh! Yeah, make some noise,
everybody!

Looks like it's good there,
man, with the mayonnaise.

Beautiful.

Everybody...
[ Speaks native language ]

[ All speak native language ]

Just like my barbecues --

local food, indigenous dance,
lots of cold beer.

Okay, the beer part
is just like mine.

Okay, I don't even have
a driveway or a yard.

The beer -- I have beer.

[ All singing
in native language ]

[ All cheering ]

Molten lava destroyed villages
in this guy's lava-field B&B.

Slow death.

It's a post-apocalyptic good
time when we come back.

BOURDAIN: On the eastern edge
of the Big Island of Hawaii,

an ever-changing alien world.

The Kilauea rift zone --
a 34-mile long swath

of volcanic rock
and molten lava flows...

all the result of this volcano,

the most active one
in the world, Kilauea.

It's an apocalyptic landscape
that according to legend

is the final home
of the volcano goddess Pele.

For 25 years, Kilauea has been

in a constant state
of eruption,

destroying over 45 square miles
of land, towns, homes,

and anything that resembled
civilization was destroyed.

The ensuing lava and exodus
of residents left only random,

vague remnants of everyday life
in its wake.

Roads that go nowhere...

a stop sign
that sits unheeded.

[ Helicopter blades whirring ]

But rumor has it that there's
still one lone holdout,

determined to scrape out
an existence,

hell-bent on being
the last one standing.

But how? And why?

Joining me on my journey

across this scorched landscape
is island resident,

best-selling author,

and international woman
of mystery, R.J. Hillhouse.

BOURDAIN: So this was once
a thriving neighborhood?

HILLHOUSE: Yeah,
this was Royal Gardens.

A lot of people had
their hopes and dreams

of moving to Hawaii

and having a beautiful home
here, then the lava came.

The lava came in
on both sides

and left these
little islands, or kipukas,

and most of the homes
were abandoned,

and a couple guys stayed,

and one of them has been
here continuously.

And he runs
a bed-and-breakfast

out here on an island
on the island.

That's hard core.

That's very hard core.

[ Bell rings ]

Either thumbing his nose
at Madam Pele herself

or deeply respectful
of the awesome forces

that surround him,
Jack Thompson

has made his home in the midst

of this dangerous, moonscape
wasteland for over 25 years.

You must be Jack,
I'm guessing.

Yeah.
This is Jack.

Jack, how you doing?
Tony.

-How you doing, Jack?
-Aloha.

Hello.

Sweet. Well, you have a view,
I got to say.

-Dynamite, isn't it?
-Yeah.

So how often do you run
into town,

and how do you run
into town?

I try to stay out of town.

Motorcycle across
the big, black desert.

A relatively short
three-mile journey

that takes almost an hour

due to the less-than-perfect
driving conditions

and obvious hazards
that one has to negotiate.

No Starbucks here?

Gee, I was hoping
for a mochaccino.

Fresh out.

So I'll meet you
at the house.

It's the end of the road.
Yep.

We'll chase after you.

[ Motorcycle engine revs ]

As you may have guessed,

there isn't a Shell station
in the neighborhood,

so the motorbike is the only
transportation option,

which means me and R.J.
are staying on foot

the rest of the way.

So you ready
to move to Hawaii?

Live the isolated life?

Meeting people must be
a problem.

Yeah, you would think.

You know, it's like one

of those science-fiction
end-of-the-world films.

Yeah.
Very, very similar.

There's 100% probability
that lava flow

will come down here
and will cover this.

So, I mean, the obvious
question is, "Is he crazy?"

Well, you know,
we're gonna find out.

Here we are.
Jack's place.

I can see why
you're reluctant to leave.

Aloha.
Welcome to Lava House.

Thanks.

Come on up.

Is he nuts?
I don't know.

I'm feeling like I admire
the guy for something.

So, the volcano,
the lava started

how many years ago?

About 23 years ago.

Just putting in the last window
when it started.

Trapped in paradise.

So you'd come from California?

-I mean, the dream --
-Yeah.

Ever since
I was a little kid.

It was my dream to live
Black Sands Beach,

but it's history now.

How old were you
when you arrived here?

I was about 22 years old.

So you were 22 years old?
That's young.

Yeah. Yeah.

What I'm saying,
I guess, is, you know,

by the time that you arrived
here and you bought in,

you're still 22 --

-Yeah.
-You know?

I mean, most people
would have said,

"Okay, I've lost everything,"

or, you know, "My dream --
it's not working out,

you know, I'll walk away
from this dream

and start another one."

You hung with it.

It actually
worked out better.

-You're happy with it?
-Yeah.

There's no screaming kids
or barking dogs

or crowing roosters
or coqui frogs.

-Yeah.
-[ Laughs ]

How many people
coming through so far?

It's not real busy,
but I get enough.

It is beautiful.
It really is.

Yeah.
It's hard to get tired of.

But didn't I see people
building down there?

Yeah, that's just started
in the last couple of years.

Yeah, what happens if people

start repopulating
the neighborhood?

Would that totally
freak you out?

That'd ruin it.
That'd ruin it.

[ Laughter ]

[ Birds chirping ]

Being surrounded
by all that nothingness --

it's a lot to take in.

We sit down
to a simple plate lunch --

macaroni salad, rice,
and baked chicken.

Standard picnic fare
of the islands.

What sucked about California
to you?

Well, you name it.

It's either 120 or 20.

It's smoggy, traffic.

Traffic -- okay, bad.
I'm with you there.

Is there hope for us out there
in the mainland?

No.

No.
We're all doomed.

What's gonna happen?

What's gonna --
it's already happening.

Slow death.
[ Chuckles ]

Well, you might be right.

You were looking to go
off the grid anyway.

Yeah. Right.

But this is pretty far
off the grid.

Yeah, and I still
have everything.

It's terrible and beautiful.

Yeah.

Yeah, it's like
a moth to flame.

You can't help it.

Let's assume
10 years down the line.

It's clear.
It's coming now.

And you've got weeks.
-It's coming.

You stay until
the last minute anyway?

Yeah.

I've already written
everything off.

If it goes, it goes.

So you believe in destiny?
Are you fatalistic about this?

Yeah, kind of.

I've seen Madam Pele
do some unbelievable things.

I can see why the Hawaiian
people think that she's real.

If it does happen, I don't
want to be in a hotel in Hilo.

♪♪

What's a good day for you?
What's a really good day?

Geez.
That's a good question.

When I get company,
like this.

Aw, that's nice.
Cheers, man.

Yeah, can it get better
than this?

Does it get any better?

A loaded question,
if there ever was one.

I guess it depends on
what "better" means for you.

As it turns out,
weeks after we visited Jack,

he was forcibly evacuated
from his home.

Pele finally settled the matter
for good.

What happens when you combine
the goodwill of the islands

and way too many Mai Tais?

WOMAN: Aloha!

ALL: Aloha!

You'll have to see it
to believe it.

♪♪

BOURDAIN:
By my last stay on the island

and my last night of sh**ting,

I was in a more forgiving mood
than is usual for me.

[ Woman singing in Hawaiian ]

We had asked for a typical
tourist luau --

you know,
the worst case scenario --

the kind of thing I hate,

tour buses full of tourists
in the same shirts,

mass-produced fun for
Middle America on holiday...

ALL: Aloha!

Hello.
Thank you very much.

...food from a production line,
and all you can eat.

I was gonna have a field day
with this scene,

put on my starcologist helmet,
and rip into this bogus,

for-tourists-only spectacle
like a junkyard dog.

Group hula lessons,
cheesy emcees...

Mahalo...

...fire juggling, hugging it
out with total strangers.

By now, I was gonna be
cheerfully tearing these guys

a new orifice, right?

But, funny thing,
something happened to me

during my time here.

I look at these people
on stage,

and for once in my life,
I'm not instinctively angry.

Look at them up there.

Hardworking people, retired
people, probably worked

their whole lives to come down
here and do this.

You got it.
Faster, faster.

If indeed we all live lives
of quiet desperation,

is it so awful that
on this one trip,

these solid citizens
get all kooky and crazy

and make public fools
of themselves

without care or inhibition?

This is a beautiful part
of the world, after all.

Who wouldn't want
to come here?

I mean, they're having fun.

They're having the time
of their lives.

WOMAN: Aloha!

Damn.
What's happening to me?

I'm getting soft.

Five more of these.

Fortunately, as I sat there
knocking back Tropical Itches

and Mai Tais,
just before I stood up

and volunteered to lead
the crowd

in a chorus of "Tiny Bubbles,"
Todd, noble Todd,

my veteran cameraman
came to my rescue.

Unaware that he'd just been
doused with a spilled Zombie,

Todd just wasn't paying
attention.

What happened next snapped me

right out of my
"We are the World" reverie.

In the end, people were
just too nice to me here,

the place too beautiful.

Aah! Aah!

I say often
that travel changes you,

and maybe Hawaii changed me.

I ain't gonna be strapping
on a coconut brassiere

and a grass skirt anytime soon,

but I might not be so quick
to sneer at those who do.

But then again...

TODD: Aah!

Oh, look...dessert.

[ Hawaiian music plays ]

MAN:
♪ Uno, dos, tres, cuatro ♪

♪♪