Review: Canned ham gets day in the sun at authentic Hawaiian restaurant

The Spam sushi is a fitting introduction to L&L Hawaiian Barbecue.

That’s right, Spam sushi.

Technically, the slice of canned ham wrapped in sticky rice and seaweed with a splash of soy sauce ($1.89) is musubi, not sushi. But the only real difference is the absence of wasabi and the presence of a four-letter meat that’s usually used on the mainland as a punch line.

This is authentic island cuisine. Odd as it may seem, Hawaiians love Spam. They eat more per capita (about six cans a year) than any state. You can order Spam platters at Burger King, and Spam musubi is sold everywhere from sushi bars to 7-Elevens.

The musubi is surprisingly tasty in an odd Pacific Rimtrailer park-fusion sort of way. Salty. Hammy. Seaweedy. But good.

That’s why it’s a good intro to L&L Hawaiian. The whole menu is real Hawaiian comfort food without any makeup — not the touristy pineapple luau show you might expect from a slick-looking, fast, casual Hawaiian spot on Powers Boulevard (if you want that, try Rumbi’s Island Grill on North Academy), but the food you might find at a drive-in in a blue-collar corner of Honolulu.

L&L is not going to sweep the Spam, or anything else, under the mat.

There is not a pineapple in sight. Instead, mayonnaiseladen mounds of macaroni salad sit alongside juicy, thinly sliced, Korean-style grilled beef short ribs and sweet chicken teriyaki.

The Spam doesn’t stop with musubi. Steaming bowls of ramenlike Saimin soup ($2.89) arrive with the pink pork squares bobbing in the broth.

L&L started in Honolulu as a chain serving “plate lunches” to locals. On the islands, ordering the plate lunch will get you two scoops of rice, one of macaroni salad and choice of meat (often beef or chicken teriyaki, Japanese-style breaded chicken, smoked pork or a hamburger). When L & L expanded to California in 1999, it tacked “Hawaiian Barbecue” onto its name because no one on the mainland knew what the heck a plate lunch was. The formula must be a winning one. The chain keeps growing. One hundred seventy five locations later, L&L landed in Colorado Springs.

The bright, ocean-blue and sunset-yellow walls lend the strip mall restaurant a tropical mood, even on a winter day. The counter staff welcomes everyone with an “aloha.” The trash-bin doors are all are printed with “Mahalo” (“thank you”), and dogeared copies of The Honolulu Advertiser sit on the counter.

The menu holds a number of delights, though most arrive as crashing tsunamis of meat.

The Barbecue Mix Plate (thin cuts of beef, ribs and chicken grilled with teriyaki sauce, $7.85) is seductively sweet and shot with sodium, but the fatty cuts (the chicken is boned thighs with the skin still on) seem to drown in their own grease, and the starchfest of macaroni and rice on the side isn’t much of a lifeline. The Seafood Combo (fried shrimp, fried mahi mahi and choice of grilled meat, $8.50) is as good and bad for the same reasons.

Kalua Pork ($7.10), slowcooked, shredded and richly smoky, is light in comparison and absolutely delicious. For a traditional island experience, get the combo plate with Kalua and Lau Lau ($9.75), a thick pork chop slow-steamed in a wrapper of taro leaves. The sweet, soft, slimy leaves are even more of an acquired taste than the Spam sushi.

“They’ve got a little musk to them,” I said when a friend and I tried the taro.

“They’ve got a lot of musk to them,” she said.

“A little like horse breath,” I said.

“Yeah, in a way, I can taste that,” she said.

The leaves went unfinished, though people I’ve talked to love them.

All plate lunches have a “mini” option ($4.95-$5.75) that’s plenty filling.

L&L also has lighter plates ($7.75) served with salad instead of scoops of macaroni and rice, but the light plates are marked by the same decidedly un-chainy Hawaiian oddness. (Salmon patty or unshelled shrimp anyone?)

But in the end, the odd authenticity of L&L is what makes it a cool experience, and the good value makes it worth coming back. The service is great, too.

The question is whether the Powers Boulevard crowd will buy “real Hawaiian” or whether it’s just too far from our mainland, pineapple-laden notion of paradise.

It would be ironic that Spam, the symbol of bland Middle American suburban culture, would be too exotic for the bland suburban cultural hub that is Powers, but stranger things have happened — Spam sushi among them.

CONTACT THE WRITER: nathaniel.glen@gazette.com