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There is something almost ritualistic about a Hawaiian dinner. A scoop of light macaroni salad, almost quietly radical in its defiant simplicity, sits next to two scoops of white rice (there must be two, never three, never one). The rice acts as both base and binder, uniting the creaminess of the macaroni salad with the sharp intensity of the third and central component of the meal on the plate: salty, savory meat.
Along with poke bowls and surfing, the plate lunch has become one of the calling cards of the fifth state. To understand the dish is to understand Hawaii’s unique genius for cultural melting pot. Its roots go back to the colonial plantations of the late nineteenth century, when workers—native Hawaiians as well as immigrants from Japan, China, the Philippines, and elsewhere—toiled on the islands’ vast fruit and sugar plantations, pausing for a light, affordable lunch of rice packed with whatever scraps and condiments were on hand. Over time, as Hawaii’s economy changed, so did the lunch, with food trucks and food trucks serving dishes similar to what workers brought from home: Japanese katsu, Chinese char siu, Filipino adobo; rice, of course, and pasta salad, soft and mayonnaise-laden, a clear American influence. Over time, the carts were supplemented by actual restaurants and, inevitably, chains both small and large. Today, plate lunches can be found served from trucks parked near construction sites and surf breaks, from mall stands, and from hip, photogenic newcomers who dress up their dishes with carefully chosen ingredients and thoughtful little details. The essence of plate lunches remains the same: they are essentially working-class food, high in calories and with spare ribs, transformed over the decades into something approaching cult status.
In addition to the plate lunch variations, the menu also features a Hawaiian version of ramen.
L&L Hawaiian Barbecue, as it’s known today, started in Honolulu in 1976. It now has more than two hundred locations worldwide, making it perhaps the largest chain selling plated food. After opening some forty-nine stores in Hawaii by 1999, founder Eddie Flores Jr. and his business partner turned their efforts to the mainland, debuting L&L in the food court of a shopping mall in Industry, California. New York City gained L&L in 2004 and lost it about a decade later; since then, hungry people in that city looking for plated food have had limited options. I’ve mostly satisfied my cravings on the other side of the country, eating breakfast at Rutt’s Hawaiian Café in Los Angeles or enjoying a heavenly loco moco at a cafe adjacent to a bowling alley in Gardena, California. Here in his hometown, one of the most famous Hawaiian restaurants is Noreetuh, a trendy place where you can, of course, try Spam musubi, a rice and meat appetizer coated in teriyaki sauce and wrapped in nori. But on the menu, it sits next to a thirty-eight-dollar version made from Hokkai uni.
Sourse: newyorker.com
