Jason "Hungry Hawaiian" C.'s Profile

"It's that place where parents won't be judged, and your little one will be praised for their independence (loosely speaking)."

From the perspective of having an active, healthy and engaged life, becoming a parent can be compared to burning your address book, deleting all of your emails, closing all of your social media accounts, and tossing your phone from your car while driving on the Santa Monica freeway.  Basically, you disappear. For the first year, you learn how early man was able to live entirely in a cave. The second year, you seek other equally sleep-deprived parents with whom you can  commiserate and feel better by hearing stories that are far worse than yours.  Then, the third year begins with an entirely new set of friends, all veterans of a tour-of-duty who can really understand why you look like you've suddenly aged in dog years. Us parents need places to hide. And like a colorful peacock adorned with distinctly childlike primary colors, Little Junebugs visually calls out as the corner bar where you can relax among like-minded adults. Well, maybe more like,  a safe haven for parents to take their kids for events, art, gifts, or whatever might fit a smart craving for an engaging activity. It's that place where parents won't be judged, and your little one will be praised for their independence (loosely speaking).

Little Junebugs is in a historic building, parked between Pasadena greats, Elements Kitchen, Zona Rosa Coffee, and the Pasadena Playhouse, all nestled in a familiar, but over-looked strip. Within a 5 minute walking radius, there's great fresh roast espresso, a dozen restaurants, an epic bookstore, Laemmle theater...even an array of kitchen sinks are only minutes away.  I happened to pop-in on their first day they were open to the public and I quickly cured the virginity of their cash register with yet another spoil-my-daughter purchase. And such spoiling is easy to do here. They have truly unique items for sale in the front half of the building, and their gift wrapping alone is enough to temporarily stun a toddler from ripping it to shreds. The layout has two floors of craft activity with enough build-and-take-home items to satisfy even the most demanding brat (sorry, little loved ones). The staff wear smiles warm enough to draw out even the shy ones, and if I was less self-conscious, I would have rented some time to build my own crafts.

Stop by Zona's next door, then with beverage in hand, check out Junebugs. They've brought rays of sunshine on the block. Even if you aren't a parent, you can at least look through the window to watch parents grazing in their new, natural habitat.

"...pistachio-nougat rolls that should be sold at the pharmacy because they're so addictive."

I love Aladdin Nut House. It's a tiny dive in a nearly forgotten strip of Pasadena in an area where the blabbing of time seemed to stutter with development. You'll see the best mix from the 60's, 70's and 80's all mixing their humble shops while waiting for their trickle of regulars to jingle their hanging door bell. I think that I've jingled their bell off the hook.

But the use of the word "nuthouse" implies one of 3 things:

1) That the owner truly DOESN'T understand the dark humor of using a word reserved for psychiatric wards.
2) That the owner DOES understand the dark humor of using a word reserved for psychiatric wards.
3) That the owner COULD CARE LESS and simply calls it like they see it.

Frankly, any of those reasons are a good sign. They are either new immigrants filled with their cultural expertise, multi-generational with a sense of humor, or uber-serious about a house filled with nuts. And, we're not just talking about a jar of almonds here and a box of walnuts there. We're talking about wall-to-wall nuts whereby you're left wondering if indeed the shop is actually constructed from nuts. And, I might add, their pistachio-nougat rolls should be sold at the pharmacy because they're so addictive.

Unfortunately, I no longer find it embarrassing to stroll in, grab and pay for a handful of nougats, tell them I'm a teacher buying supplies for the kids, then walk out with half of them stuffed in my mouth. Anyone with a shop called a "Nuthouse" understands. And no, I'm not a teacher.

"...the downside is that it's tough to look discrete when you walk in with 10 bottles of booze."

I will avoid going into detail about the food since it's well covered by the other reviews. That said, I can see that many of the bad reviews stem from the inconsistent service. So, I'll digress from Elements'  above average food and dig into our similar service issues.  

Both our table busser (Jake) and waiter ("Kiwi" Carey) were good, but they were simply over-tabled; too many tables to manage per team. How do I know? I asked them, then I watched how many tables the various wait teams had to contain. Sure enough, they needed to hire more people. To me there's bad service because the service teams are morons, or there's bad service because the manager or owners are morons and make the under-staffed wait teams take the blame on the front line. With Elements, I fear it's the latter.  

But why would a high tab establishment be under staffed?  I chatted with a number of other servers and here's my best guess (at least for my visit). Her name is Irene Virbila. Irene is Restaurant Critic extraordinaire for the Los Angeles Times and she rarely gives great reviews; and Elements Kitchen was raved. As such, like the perfectly timed gears of a Swiss Watch, the moment her review hit the stands, the restaurant was swamped and stayed that way for weeks. Add to this chaos a large expo at the nearby Pasadena Convention Center and voila. Stressed servers. It was tangible. You could see the fear in their eyes as they struggled and juggled to tend to the growing impatience of every table.

Ahh, but the silver lining on the cloud was that  we brought our own wine and didn't have to wait to guzzle our chosen elixirs. And by the way, if you have some great wines that would cost double/triple if you ordered off a wine menu, bring em. Corkage at Elements is $20 per bottle, but it's a savings if you're drinking 10 bottles of wine. Which we did. The only downside is that it's tough to look discrete when you walk in with 10 bottles of booze.

...and by the way, the kimchee tacos rocked our resident Korean to her knees. We had to ask for 3 more orders.

"...and while I sat, covered with red sauce smeared on my face like a drunken clown, I watched people flowing in and out like koi to a feeding."

As I entered the famous Altadena landmark building, I peered into the corners searching for memories. This odd triangular shaped building is filled with the sad history of failed eateries, a list that stretches as far back as the 60's, yet there I stood like a guy with a food gambling problem. I hoped that El Patron was going to beat the odds.

I was met by Beatrice, a very sweet, very sharp, and very service-oriented woman with a glowing smile. Why was she glowing? Because her aunt (Maria) and uncle (Nati) were cooking in the kitchen, and she was proud of it. Hmmm. That was my first "aha" moment because those are magic words to diners looking for a home cooked meal in a family style restaurant. The menu looked smart and experienced, so my hunch was that some restaurant lurked  in the DNA somewhere. And I was right. Alejandro and Jose of the Cortez local family fame. They own the two highly rated Puebla Taco joints in Pasadena. Obviously they want to own Pasadena.

First of all, you know that deep red color that chili sauce gets when you mix it with more powder than is reasonable? It's the kind of sauce with a rich chili-filled aroma that makes your sense of smell more valuable than your eyesight; although, that level of red sauce would be wasted without all of your senses. Take that sauce, sprinkle some queso, drape it over a homestyle flour tortilla that's barely able to contain its juicy carne/onion mix, and you'll have El Patron's Burrito Mojado/Wet Burrito for $6.95. Yum. It was delicious and a welcome breath of fresh chile for the mountain hugging town of Altadena.

The downside? Well, if you're sportin' Samoan/Hawaiian DNA like me, then you realize that one meal simply won't do. Hence, I also ordered a full dinner size combo taco plate with rice & beans plus a side order of guacamole to top it off. Sorry. I'm a borderline glutton. Go sling your diet lecture somewhere else. Anyway, the crispy taco was perfect. Most places fry the shell until it has the consistency of burnt tree bark, then pinch the bottom so it holds less meat (a well-bred Polynesian notices these things). There's no pinching in El Patron's kitchen. And wow. That guacamole was about the best that I've had in San Gabriel, and I'm an avocado freakazoid. Lot's of finely diced onions, no stringy fibers, and enough cilantro to give flavor without robbing the subtleties of the perfectly ripe avocado. As usual, my only complaint was that the serving size was perfect for those who have reasonable appetites. I'm not reasonable.

...and while I sat, covered with red sauce smeared on my face like a drunken clown, I watched people flowing in and out like koi to a feeding. Believe me, this is something that's unusual for this building. My hunch is that this new kid on the block will beat the odds and kick the ghosts of failed eateries out of town.

Note: Cash only for the near term. They're busy setting up their credit card system and it  should be up by June. Also, their hours are 8a to 8p, daily. Yes. 7 days a week. Yeeee-haaaa!

"If it wasn't for Java Kai, most of the tourists or haoles would be half asleep and wandering aimlessly. Of course, even gentrified locals like me sneak in too."

When I was a kid growing up here, Hanalei was a gas stop speck on a nearly one lane road with a bay hosting world class winter swells. Now, even my Italiano and Spaniard friends have visited here, not to mention half of California. But my snooty coffee friends remind me that 3 things make a great espresso. The roast, the bean, and the espresso machine (there's a limerick in there somewhere). Java Kai hits all 3.

Java Kai roasts on premises sourcing a fantastic bean from Kauai Coffee within a 1 hour drive away. Coffee fans should experience the plantation and free joe there because they have matured into a world class grower with a subtle flavor that slaps cousin Kona in the face. But the machine. Java Kai tastes like they hit that magic number, 203 degrees F, because the best of the bean, rich oils and aromas have been extracted molecule by tasty molecule from the harsh acids. Of course, it's just a machine, and one can't ignore the great human touches in their great roast, grinds, and brews. Can your mouth water from thinking about coffee? If it wasn't for Java Kai, most of the tourists or haoles would be half asleep and wandering aimlessly. Of course, even gentrified locals like me sneak in too.

But those baristas. They're are all what one would expect from a small town on the north shore of Kauai. Beautiful people inside and out who chose Hanalei as a lifestyle. And it is a lifestyle. I can't guarantee that Java Kai's crema nectar will make you as beautiful, but you'll feel like it.

"And then he went there. He ordered a vodka rocks and proceeded to try and pick up on a single traveling woman musician in the corner..."

Knuckles in the Hyatt at the Wharf is what is it. "That has got to be the worst food that I've ever had!" is all my colleague could mumble through his fistful of French toast. "You're a Yelp foodie! How can you eat this stuff?" more muffled mumbles. Hmmm. He wasn't saying that the day before when we dragged our tired travel feet up to the bar and he proceeded to order a vodka rocks. Which, is my point. It's really a sports bar that's attached to a hotel. You don't go to a pancake house for a scotch and soda, so why would you go to a sports bar expecting a great breakfast? Or, a great anything if it doesn't pair with a frosty beer? And, I might add, I counted 23 godzilla screen TV's.

Frankly, I thought the breakfast was decent. The scrambled eggs were cooked right, the bacon was well balanced with marbling; even the dollar sized pancakes hit the right spot...for what it was. C'mon. It's a sports bar that cooks a decent meal, served by staff who smile even though they're likely to never see your face again.

And, after checking out of the Hyatt, I zipped-in for an iced tea (not the Long Island kind), and the lunch fare seemed equally paired in quality with the breakfast. Fresh looking burgers and fries. Nice looking bowls of chowder. Why would you care anyway if your eyes are glued to one of the 23+ TV's? For all you know, you could be eating the brochure.  Frankly, I think my colleague did.

And then he went there. He ordered a vodka rocks and proceeded to try and pick up on a single traveling woman musician in the corner. Come to think of it, he did eat my brochure. I can't find it.

"And when I let go of that dietary handcuff, I always rediscover segments of my life when calories and fats were insignificant..."

What dork walks into a 5 star restaurant off the street wearing a sweatshirt that says "Hanalei Canoe Club" across the back, then sits at the bar and downs food like it was a Shakey's buffet? Oh. Sorry Gary Danko's. That was me.

O.K. I'd better defend myself and backup a bit. I was attending the Eye for Travel social media conference down the street at the Hyatt in Fisherman's Wharf.  There we all sat like peacocks, strutting our fully connected social selves, Tweetdecked and 4-Squaring away while hanging on to the words of big cheeses from Facebook and Virgin Air. It was ugly. Haha. None other  than Yelp's own COO Geoff Donaker was also in the house, smugly chatting about tactics and customer conversions. And no, he didn't yell, "Hey, is that the Hungry Hawaiian I see in the 2nd row?!"  Hmm. I'm sure he saw me. Maybe he's racist.  Whatever. Frankly, after all the feather fluffing, I was mentally overloaded and ready for food that wasn't the tourist fish & chip fare.  So, what does any good Yelper do? Yelp search.

Now, keep in mind that my mind was fuzzy, so at that moment, Yelp was akin to a Playboy. I was only looking at the pictures. Woohoo! Gary Danko's was smokin'! Did I pay attention to the notes on attire? No. Did I check out the price range? No. Did I even care about either? No.  Frankly, when the slightest hint of hunger is felt in a Samoan, they have a unique gift whereby the brain becomes completely detached from the body.  Think of those old cartoons with a hypnotized guy shuffling his feet, eyes spiraling, arms outstretched as he makes his way to some comic ending.  

And there I shuffled into Gary Danko's. I pushed open a pair of non-descript doors to a room that was exploding with laughter and the scent of great food and wines. I froze and was suddenly acutely aware that I was a) the only person wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, b) in a place that was at my budget pain threshold for a supposed quick meal.  Alone. Whatever. I pretended as if I wasn't self-conscious, sat at the bar, and proceeded to order an iced tea. The non-alcoholic kind. The kind that bartenders squint at you as if you had made a comment about their mother.  Whatever. My body was still in the conference networking mode, so I started to chatter with people around me. To my left were two girlfriends who were celebrating a birthday and friendship. Jen and Akiko. I joined too. They happily let me. But the food.

The beet salad was bursting with full flavors; rich and subtle flavors that can only come from ripe ingredients. My main was the Roasted Pork Belly and Tenderloin with Brussels Sprouts, Bacon, Parsnip Purée and Maple Cider.  Wow. I personally like slightly less marbled meat, but I went with it and really focused on enjoying that taboo melt-in-your-mouth marbling.  And when I let go of that dietary handcuff, I always rediscover segments of my life when calories and fats were insignificant.  That time when you're young enough to get away with food murder, but not yet old enough to fully appreciate the decadence. I did. I followed the main with one of their signature cheese platters.  The cheese cart is nice, you choose four, but I've had far grander fare. Either way, order it. You won't be sad.

All of this ended with sharing Jen's happy birthday treat and a platter full of assorted dessert goodies. Ahhh. Hugs and emails from new friends...and as I departed from that voyage, tapping a tweet on my Blackberry,  I'd have to say. Was all that just a weird dream?

"...yada-yada-yada-chocolate mousse...Bistrot bistro spoke my language"

The peanuts on airlines benefit from the fact that there's nothing else to eat. That and the fact that  you're 30,000 ft in the air. Kind of like a picnic. Somehow a measly ham & cheese sandwich tastes pretty good when you recognize that you've got nothing else to eat.  And, there I sat in my severely coach seat, snapping handfuls of freebie Spanish peanuts (the bottom feeder peanut pedigree) as I mentally drooled over my laptop. Porno you say? Naw.  Somehow porno and peanuts seem particularly low brow. No, I was drooling over the various menus that I had stored in preparation for my Green Beret assault on Vancouver's eateries. Click. Ahhhh. There it was. My email conversation with Laurent, the owner of Bistrot Bistro.

I find that I have this odd thirst to connect with chefs and restaurateurs. I'm that dork who shoves his way into kitchens so that I can ask the chef how the hell they were able get their bolognaise to stand like clay, yet melt like butter. And with Bistrot Bistro, I was relentless with my questions because their menu read like poetry.  ...yada-yada-yada-chocolate mousse...Bistrot bistro spoke my language. Sure their menu was filled with more than I could possibly enjoy in one sitting, but that chocolate mousse was somehow reaching out to me like that lone label on a new bottle of wine. You don't know why you chose it. Call it a hunch.

Ordering Beef Bourguignon was a no brainer. Warm caramelized onion Maplewood smoked bacon gruyere tart. Check. And everything at our table was stunning. To me the trick with Bourguignon is to not reduce the wine so far that it's cooked-down to only its taste and remnants from the chemical reaction. To me, it thrives when it still has a nearly imperceptible zing to help open your taste buds for the beef flavors that will follow. And it did. Wow. That's about when I realized that I could actually live in Vancouver; the beauty, people, culture and history were all only accents to the food.

And, for dessert, my hunch was right.  The chocolate mousse was not only amazing, but the desert chef comes to your table and serves you a healthy scoop directly from the gigantic bowl from which it was created. Crazy good. Fresh. Fluffy yet rich. How do those chefs do that?

Laurent's wife, Valerie, ended the evening by chatting with us as we joked about my emails with Laurent.  Warm people, warm food, and a thousand miles away from sitting in a plane while snapping Spanish peanuts. Hmmm. Maybe the cold winters would be worth it.

"Ohno. Vonn. Vancouver. Winter Olympics. I get it. Although, I actually came here for that street cart destination, Japa Dog."

Here's the thing. A zebra has thin skin that's meant to help cool their bodies from the scalding African plains. Drop said zebra into the middle of pack of caribou in the icy Alaskan timber, and you would have me. A Polynesian walking amongst the mitten-wearing Vancouver crowds, looking notably ill-equipped for weather that's fit for a freaking penguin. I've obviously been mislead. I thought shave ice was snow. Sure, Vancouver has stunning beauty, amazingly friendly people and mad-good food, but I was never quite sure why people would choose to live at this latitude vs. somewhere else, say Tuscany. Of course, they have Japa Dog. Hmmm. Apolo Ohno. Lindsey Vonn. Vancouver. Winter Olympics. I get it. Although, I actually came here for that street cart destination, Japa Dog.

I love every aspect of travel, but I tend to be food-centric about my itineraries. So there I sat. Planning a quick 3-4 day trip as if on a clipper ship in the 1700's, compass in hand, a huge map spread across a dimly lit table, carefully drawing lines from one calculated point to the next, then marking: Japa Dog, meal 2, day 3. I can almost hear the creaking of the ship. Ugh. The mere mention of a rocking boat...I'm that oddball Polynesian who was kicked off the canoe for getting seasick. Frankly,  I find the harshest reality in life being that we can only eat 3-4 meals a day. So, when I'm traveling, I don't want to waste one of them on chimp food. Although, bananas with a beurre blanc glaze and a dust of paprika...

But was Japa Dog  worth it? Yum.

Create a memorable craving? Yes.

Worth traveling from L.A. to Vancouver? No.

Worth traveling from L.A. to Vancouver, if you see the Olympics, enjoy the warm people and enjoy great eateries? Absolutely.

"Like a patient who needs occasional shots of pain reliever in their IV drip, I have a medical need for espresso..."

You know the hummingbird feeders that hang like an open bar for those tiny winged, hyper-flapping nectar sucking sugarholics?  Although I've never tasted the red syrupy goo, I imagine that it's very similar to my soy mocha from Café Mocca in Encino. Wow! I'm not trying to be mean. Believe me, I really wanted to like it. I have a client whose LA offices are in the gigantic building across the street, and like a patient who needs occasional shots of pain reliever in their IV drip, I have a medical need for espresso. Thus, with Café Mocca as the only alternative to the Starbucks down the street, I was truly hoping that they would have a better and more dangerous espresso. But no. And  there I sat with a colleague, verbally abusing my cup, yelling "wow" with each sip. I sat and stared into that cup, and wondered how they could have dissolved 3 pounds of sugar in 8 ounces of fluid. And yes. I kept sipping. I sipped with a pathetic optimism hoping that my masochistic twinges would fade with each sugary blast. Eventually, I had to face reality. That, and the fact that I simply couldn't take the pain anymore.  I let go of the cup and let it fall into the trash. The cup left my fingers as if I was holding the hand of a loved one while I was going down with the Titanic. Pathetic.

Yes, they have buttery pastries. Yes, they have food that ranges from Manhattan Lox & Bagels to a Mexicali quesadilla (think George Lopez wearing a Yamaka). Yes they have nice indoor/outdoor seating. And yes, I should give it another chance. But I just can't help wondering. Those hummingbirds have got to be yelling "wow!" after each sip.