Beattles was playing on the drive back from Haiku on Hana Rd., and the melody was so upbeat along a Maui backdrop. I have no recipe in mind today, just food thoughts swirling around my head— but eating isn’t always the intention. Some of the best life memories come after! Bourdain, my idol, was master of the “talk of food” on his late show Parts Unknown, right? He “traveled” through the cultural lens of that country he’s being shown, and the cuisine was beside the point (he’s interest was in people and how it was manifest in routine to live by their food). I remember an episode shot in a working-class barrio (village) in the Philippines (he had featured the country a couple of times before) and knew better where to find the best halo-halo in town, to soothe the body through sweltering heat and a must there. He could have gone to one of the full-blast A.C.’d upscale malls in the capital, Manila, and got this shaved ice with candied fruits, ice cream on top and dunked in evaporated milk at a Jamba Juice-like store, but instead he went to the humble streets of the metro for one. He sat on a dirty bench with flies about and enjoyed scooping the bananas-brown beans-coconut jello coldness looking totally cool and not necessarily out of place (the ordinary folks liked him). Again, it’s not because he was a foreigner and curious; it’s because, just like the Filipinos, he was enjoying the halo-halo as it is, to pass the time. In an almost poetic travelogue scene, the towering chef extraordinaire let that moment spoke for itself. I also couldn’t forget his trip to Hanoi, Vietnam and met the President over spicy brisket pho and local beer. The paparazzi didn’t seem to faze Mr. Bourdain. And never mind the deconstruction of the soup or what seasonings and fresh herbs cum bean sprouts go when or the proper way to hold a chopstick. No. On the other hand, he straight away talked about the future of his young daughter in a 21st century world that’s geopolitically in upheaval, and what could Obama do about it. He was a father first and foremost. Never mind he knew how to eat in S.E. Asia and sweat it well. I don’t know of any other celebrity chef, living or dead, as unique as Bourdain my idol capturing the essence of cosmopolitan food the cerebral way, barring none that was artistic in his nature. Good food wasn’t a commodity for him. If anything, it was a "means to an end" we, in retrospect, all respected. My buddy and I stopped at Baldwin Beach for a sunset swim before going home. On Hana Hwy. beams of the sun flashed over Iao Mountain across the sea, what a fantastic view, and still blasting on the car stereo, it’s all right... The water was warm and side-by-side we both floated in the swell carrying our backs. We ate well that day in Haiku (an omnivore home feast cooked by our hippie friends into sun dance drum-chants and around lava rocks sweat:purification lodges). For the vegans in the group, I prepared a fruit plate of pomelo citrus, papaya and yellow lilikoi in half shells. The spiced chicory lentils porridge was sublime. A circle of interlaced hands around the communal table in prayer before meal, bestowed the blessing of the day. And it was for the celebration of earth elements - creek water splashed steaming the coals of cedar perfume - that we all gathered for under the grand Sun. ... sun, sun, sun, here it comes...
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