There was a $20 cover, the place was almost empty, and we endured unwelcoming glances from several women in slinky dresses at the bar. My wife agreed, but only after making me promise not to sing karaoke.įrom almost the minute we walked in, I knew this stop was a mistake. It was a lot of food, but we savored every mouthful and washed it down with mugs of Japanese draft beer.īack outside, I noticed a hostess bar down a side street, and suggested a drink. We ordered rib-eye steak on a bed of sizzling bean sprouts, a succulent and colorful sashimi salad drizzled with Japanese mayo, a mountain of yakisoba on a cast-iron platter, and a large plate of ahi tuna and onions marinated in poke sauce.
Owner Minoru Uchida, 60, stood silently behind a counter of glistening seafood and welcomed us with a nod. The place felt seasoned, as though it had been aging inside a barrel for decades. We walked up the wooden stairs and sat at the sushi bar. “It looks good,” Hiromi said, not even glancing at the menu. Dozens of autographed snapshots of Japanese personalities were pinned to the walls of the entrance.
Our fingers sticky and our breath smelly, we continued on, winding up at Tako-No-Ki, a Japanese pub, or izakaya, on Royal Hawaiian Avenue tucked between a surfboard shop and a massage parlor. We stood in line for a pre-dinner snack of 12 plump garlic shrimp on a bed of greens for $12.95. Attracted by the smell of shrimp sautéed in garlic, we stopped at an old, blue school bus at the edge of a building lot on Kuhio Avenue.