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Cross-country trip ends
with a plateful of aloha

While sitting in a booth at the IHOP on Boulder Highway in Henderson, Nev., sipping a bit of semi-vile coffee and picking at what is left of the fried potatoes, what to my wandering ear should appear but a loud "ALOHA." What could one answer but "Aloha nui loa"? No sooner were the words out of my mouth when I realized that the woman was not talking to me, but to some other expatriate Hawaiians having their breakfast.

It had been a month or more since I had uttered "Aloha" to a young lady in an Italian bakery shop in Limerick, Penn. She had looked at me as if I had escaped from the Norristown State Hospital a few miles away.

The sweet aloha did not earn much respect in Limerick, and going across the country by car allowed little room for aloha. Some of the clerks at the hotels were fantastically full of aloha but didn't have a name for the goodness they shared. Others were less able to share aloha but were thrilled to tell us about the rotten people who stayed in their hotels and what miserable tightwads their bosses were.

However, on the cross-country trip we received an abundance of aloha at one particular chain of restaurants. Bob Evans is the name, and happy, overflowing platefuls of food is the game. This man has infused his staff with gallons of aloha. And the food is wonderful. Large, colorful salads flow from their bowls onto the platter of fish and chips. The drinks are served and refilled quickly. The manager and assistant manager duckwalk beside the table so you don't have to get a crick in the neck looking up at them as they ask if everything is OK. And they are sincere.

If Gov. Lingle is not terribly busy, she might try to find out why Bob Evans has not set foot in Hawaii. He stopped building restaurants somewhere between Nebraska and Bush country, which is of course in Texas. If we cannot persuade him to build in Hawaii, we should clone some of his staff and get to work.

But get back to Henderson. Genny W. called us from Waipahu and asked us why we had not been to Blueberry Hill here in Nevada. We had no answer, but checked with the computer for an address. A wee map led us on our quest. It was Sunday morning, on Memorial Day weekend, and the place was packed. I told the hostess that a friend from Hawaii called Saturday night demanding to know why we had not gotten to Blueberry Hill. She giggled and patted my hand nicely. She suggested that I go sit down as it would be 15 minutes or so before we got a table. Looking out onto the restaurant floor, we saw at least four tables of "Most Definitely Hawaiians" having their breakfast.

We got a table eventually and left the line of about 20 people waiting behind us. The menu is extensive and the pricing was very reasonable. Ed ordered eggs Benedict from a saucy young lady. The man at the booth beside us shared my family name of Zeigler. A Hawaiian dude was snuggling with a woman in the booth opposite. Kids ran all over the place. I ordered ham and eggs and potatoes.

Well, the food arrived. My slice of ham, with the bone still inside, was fully 8 1/2 inches in diameter. One end of it covered one of my eggs, and the potatoes had to be perched upon the side of the ham slice. Plus, I got two slices of toast. This was $6.99. I got enough food for takeout and supper. Ed's eggs were delightful, yolks staring at the ceiling and bits of ham sticking out from the sides. Fantastic meal and fantastic coffee.

We then went to Longs. Yes, Longs Las Vegas. There is a Hawaiian section. I did not see poi, but am assured that they do have it when available. A group of four ladies, obviously from the islands, were getting their half-gallon of shoyu for their week's vacation. We giggled together over the Diamond crackers and the pairs of slippers on the wall. At checkout the cashier and I giggled over the prices there vs. Longs Ala Moana. She laughed and as we left said, "Mahalo."

It felt good to throw a "nui loa" back at her. Amazing what a few words can do to bring back a sense of humor.

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