A definite tourist trap, but a convenient one in walking distance from our condo, we found ourselves at Hula Grill in Whaler's Village on a few occasions. Our first night we followed the sound of ukuleles and Don Ho verses to Hula’s Barefoot bar, complete with sandy floors and thatched canopies. Bubba ordered his first, official contestant in the great sashimi hunt and this evening’s ahi proved to be a contender. He celebrated, while I scarfed my beer-battered mahi taco with chips and salsa. Maybe not the most indigenous dish, but exactly the comfort food I needed after a long flight.
The second trip we just wanted a quick bite, so we sidled up to the bar and realized we were in the presence of the real life Sam Malone…a much more frantic, balding version...but none the less, there he was - lighting patron's cigarettes, busting old timers' chops and pouring on the charm with the ladies while doing a bang up job on drink and food service. He was fun to watch like an aging legend pitching his last game, even if it was over mediocre, goat cheese pizza.
The last visit was after a day of snorkeling and we pulled up at the beach in front of Hula. Thirsty and sunburned, nothing sounded better than one of those fruity daiquiri drinks that I am always disappointed by, but the Lava Flow (pina colada with strawberry puree) turned out to be one satisfying smoothie. Bubba was also entranced by his blended margarita with OJ, probably because they gave such a heavy pour that he got a buzz from one glass- that says a lot. Hula definitely jumped through enough hoops to stack its customers in the comforts of civilization while keeping their minds floating in paradise.
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