Aloha to an Old Friend

I got bad news yesterday. I heard through the grapevine my favorite bar and grill was sold, and rumor has it turning into a martini bar.

It was a place I have been going to off and on for about twenty-six years. Even though I now live on the mainland, I still managed to get back a number of times over the years. Going back was like going home. I still remember the first time I went there as if it happened yesterday.

I had just come off of a very long and very bad sailing trip from Kona to Honolulu. We had a fast boat and would be sailing with the trades, so the trip back usually took us about eighteen to twenty hours. For a short trip like that all we took with us in the way of supplies was a large thermos of Kona coffee (of course), cooler full of beer and soft drinks, a dozen submarine sandwiches, a few bags of potato chips and a couple of platters of assorted sushi rolls.

God has a sense of humor and he showed it on this trip. We left in the early afternoon to make landfall in Honolulu around lunchtime. About midnight, halfway to Honolulu we were becalmed on a sailboat with a dead engine. We drifted in the channel for three days in the one spot in Hawaiian waters totally devoid of any other boat traffic. Stubborn pride kept us off the VHF radio.

We ran out of food before we ran out of wind, so we never had a chance to ration out the food. We ran out of beer and soft drinks the first day of drifting, because we never in our wildest dreams thought the calm would last beyond the next morning. For the next two days we were reduced to rationing out melted ice for drinking water.

As people who are starving to death while dying of thirst with absolutely nothing to do are prone to do, we spent the next two days discussing in great detail our favorite foods and drinks and the meal we would order if we survived this ordeal. As the hours pasted we continued torturing ourselves with descriptions of food and delicacies beyond our reach and pocket book.

At three in the morning on the third day we were awakened by the sound of sails flapping in the wind. The trade winds returned. We flew out of deep sleep into action as we trimmed the sails and set course for Honolulu. The trades were strong and we hung out every bit of rag we could to crank every bit of speed out of the boat.

As we sailed towards home a debate began, “Where should we go to eat?” For the next seven hours each person submitted a name and a description of the food in detail as they pleaded their case for their favorite restaurant. We all finally agreed on a place, but the process was brutal. It made us even hungrier.

I have to admit, the selected restaurant was not my choice. There were many other names submitted that offered better fare, more substantial fare, more diverse fare, or cheaper fare. The winner was selected based for one reason: It was close to the harbor.

Feast of Feasts! The waitress looked at us as we entered. We looked bad, and I‘m sure we were a tad on the ripe side. I was sure her first thought was going to be to call the police. But she was a pro and had dealt with her share of castaways. She lead us to a table and without even asking brought pitchers of ice water and glasses with ice cubes and lemon slices in them. It tasted wonderful. As we drank water she brought out baskets of fresh baked bread – one basket per person.

People at the surrounding tables who have often wondered what a pack of hyenas sounded like when devouring a fresh kill learned that morning.

Our waitress was Lani. After leaving the baskets she gave us a little time to recover our dignity before she came to the table to take our orders. She handled with kid gloves to the point we didn’t even know we were being handled. She got us to calm down. She corrected our manners. She got us to use our “polite voices.” She helped us work our way through menus that overwhelmed us with choices, and served us nirvana on a platter. She went out of her way to make our meal memorable and it was. At that moment life was perfect.

The owner came over and introduced himself. I am sure that he was just coming to check to see if this was going to get out of hand. We assured him that Lani had us under control because she did. My friends and I adopted the place. It became our sanctuary…our version of “Cheers.” I probably ate at least five to ten meals a week there for years until I got married. Although the other waitresses were as good as Lani, I always tried to get into her section.

One day I was having coffee with the owner and pointed out that from my perspective, the girls ran the place. I was surprised when he confirmed it to me. “I was just damned lucky they decided to keep me.”

He told me that he learned the secret to running a very successful bar and grill from another very successful owner. “Hire good people, give them all the support they need, and stay the hell out of their way.”

Lani was the epitome of his declaration. She made that first meal there very memorable. Over time she showed me the power serving with sincerity could have on other people. She led a team every bit as devoted to caring for the customers as she was. Twenty-six years was a good run in food service. She is the gold standard by which I gauge restaurant service to this day.

I have said my Alohas to an old friend this day. It was my home away from home, and the people who worked there were my friends. It was like the theme song for the television show “Cheers;” it was a place where everybody knew my name. In this increasingly impersonal world there are not many places like that left.

I’ve come to terms with the fact that my old hangout is gone. It will soon to be replaced by a new generation’s version of “Cheers.” I only hope the new owner has enough sense to “Hire good people, give them all the support they need, and stay the hell out of their way.”