In Lieu of Adventure

Even though Rebecca is on a quest for at least one adventure, we decided to hold off for one more day, doing less exciting things before Dena joins us.  We decided food and beach would keep us entertained enough (Rebecca is being very patient with her elders). First, Rebecca spent 15 minutes energetically emptying the fridge of all dubious leftovers, filling a garbage bag -- her favorite source of nutrients is leftovers, and those were not up to her standard.  We needed room to start fresh.

We dropped Fred off at Uncle Babe's for exercise class and headed to Char Hung Sut -- partly to see if it is still there after all these years. This is a Chinese bakery in Chinatown, run by the family of some Au Hoy cousins (same generation as my mother). It has been there since the beginning of time, and it always looks the same to me. Rebecca says it feels like we are going in the back, but that is because there is no front presentation at all, just a small door in a cinderblock wall. You walk straight into what seems to be a part of the production area and there is a counter to place your order, but not much of an explanation of what is available.  In other words, you have to know how to shop there, much like coming to PVF.  People are often baffled by our style at the stand (even though we feel that we are making it easy) -- I see a family resemblance: longevity in business despite a philosophy that is not entirely customer based. It looks like they make huge quantities for restaurants, so maybe their retail business is not their focus.  Anyway, we ordered a mixed box of dumplings and Manapua, thinking we would have that for lunch. It was 11:00 or so.  My cousin (whoever he is, I recognized him but did not stop to identify myself since we didn't have Mom with us) tied up the box with twine, just like at Modern Pastry in Boston (says Becca).

By the time we were about three blocks away, we had figured out how to wrestle that twine off the box and within about 20 minutes we had tested, then eaten, all of it.  So much for a picnic.  But then we were ready to walk around the swap meet in the heat of the day.  As I have said already, I don't like to get hot and sweaty on vacation -- then it feels like I am at work.  So walking around in the sun was not ideal, from my perspective. We walked in and out of the tents, looking at fruit, tacky souvenir things (can't spell tchotchke), shirts, identical print dresses and bathing suits, phone cases, ukuleles. It was pretty much the same as always, and I always look for my particular dresses.  The best ones weren't there.

We were still pondering the adventure possibilities and we headed back toward town to check out the scuba options.  Then Rebecca remembered that she had not brought her contact lenses, and neither had Jon, so the whole idea went by the wayside. What's the point if you can't see anything?  We opted for shave ice instead -- something you can't do in Delaware.  On the way there, I got a call from Nancy, getting me caught up on the status of things with Seldon (it was very nice to hear her voice, even if some of the news is complicated and hard) and Jon and Becca went into Waiola's and here is Becca's review, in her own words:

The guide book in Kauai, while charmingly written, was entirely untrustworthy by my account because it made such a big deal over such a lousy shave ice place (JoJo's something something). The difference in quality of shave ice isn't at all about the flavor, it's about the texture of the ice shavings. When "the best shave ice in Kauai" is a pile of flavored ice chips, it worries me that my memories of shave ice might be a case of absence making the heart grow fonder. Maybe all shave ice is like this, and I've concocted an elaborate fantasy in my head about what is, in fact, my favorite dessert in the entire world. This seemed to be corroborated by the grain of the ice at another shave ice place in Kauai, Uncle's something something. Garbage! Crap!

This is all necessary backstory leading up to Dad and I entering the Waiola's. Dad was carefully tempering my expectations ("You know what's going to happen, right? You're going to go in here and taste the shave ice and say, 'No no, this isn't the real original Waiola's, the stuff at that location is better.") We got lilikoi milk ice, whatever that means, and haupia and melona shave ice, and I, with bated breath, finally tasted it.

And I was right! It is the best! Dude from the Kauai guide book needs to up his game.

Then we went back to Ala Moana Beach and played in that clear aqua water. It was a little cloudy so it was too chilly to float forever, but plenty warm for naps on the beach.  The ever-present Japanese brides were getting photographed, with the wind in their hair and the sand on their beach gowns.

At Costco we admired all the local items (poi from Hanalei, aisles and aisles of macadamia nuts, poke, Hawaiian sweet bread) in vast quantities.  Unlike other places on the island, Costco prices are entirely comparable to mainland prices.  We bought roasted chickens for dinner for $5 each, which seems criminal.

Before leaving for Kauai, I had asked Scott what night he could come for dinner and he suggested Wednesday.  So a whole family meal grew out of that brief, noncommittal conversation.  As it happened, Scott couldn't come but we had a crowd of 11: Berta, Alan and Sandra and Micah, Babe and Arlene and the five of us from this house.  The table filled up with all the contributions: sushi and salad and wide noodles and Costco chicken and so much more.  I sat at the small table with Alan and family and we got caught up on the last 6 years of news -- plus I spent some time trying to convince Micah, 12, that is time for him to come to the farm for his stint. He looked dubious but his parents were enthusiastic. 

Fred, Berta, Rebecca, Annette, Arlene, Alan, Babe, Micah, Hana, Sondra.

Jon went to the airport to pick up Dena while the rest of us tried to fit all the leftovers into the fridge. Now we have a full house, with Becca and Dena on couches and all the beds filled.