My, My, Mai Tai
We admit it. One of the first things we do every Friday morning is read the Star‘s Preview section. We’re amused by its groan-inducing attempts at hipness, like “Noted Without Comment.” (Note this: It sucks!) We were reminded of this tendency yet again when we read Lauren Chapin’s recent review of Kona Grill. The Star‘s food critic proclaimed that “the scene rocks,” then described how she had made one visit with “two 20-something, newly married gals who fit the Kona’s intended demographic.” Though we weren’t twentysomething, newly married, or “gals,” we decided to crash the party anyway and went for happy hour, which we’d heard was pickup central.
The scene in the front lounge one Friday was total aggro-bar; it was packed, and we became grumpy trying to slither through the crowd. There were the older ladies (who either had the Rod Stewart cut or anchorwoman hair with stiff bangs) clutching frozen margs, and the Glamazons, who looked to be of the species that ends up marrying athletes. The guys came in several varieties: spiky-haired “You, me, sex in stall right now” sorts, ambiguous GNG (gay/not gay), or midlevel manager types trying too hard with their pickup lines while staring down low-cut shirts. According to Research Assistant Michael, one Narcissus was checking out his hair in the silver reflective square on his credit card as he was waiting to get the bartender’s attention. We were sad to have missed this.
Later, Betsy Hamlon, one of Kona Grill’s managers, told us that it tends to be most sardinelike on Fridays and Saturdays and said that we would be more likely to find a bar stool on a weekday. She also talked up Kona Grill’s three flat-screen TVs and great music, which seemed wasted in the Friday schmoozefest.
“So, if a guy buys a woman a drink in here, is that a down payment for sex?” asked Cat. Given the cheap happy-hour deals and the potent drinks, we would vote yes. We started out with the Plaza, a martini made with Belevedere vodka, Chambord and sweet-and-sour. It had a dusky, rose hue and tasted raspberry-licious. We moved on to the Sake Bomb — a shot of warm sake dropped into Kirin Lager. Our buoyant, Joey Lawrence-ish waiter told us that people lay their chopsticks across the top of the glass, set the shot on top of the chopsticks, then hit the table and yell “Sake!” The chopsticks fall away, the shot drops into the beer, and they drink. “Then,” he added, “they take off their clothes!” Whoa!
“It tastes like beer found in the backseat of a car in the summer heat,” Michael said after trying one. He got bonus points for inadvertently describing the drink in haiku form.
Our downfall was the stiff Mai Tai. Made of Captain Morgan’s Original Spiced Rum, orange and pineapple juices and Meyer’s dark rum, the drink arrived in an enormous, bamboo-shaped glass. It was after drinking the Mai Tais that we scrawled in our notebook this random quote from Joey Lawrence: “Wanna see me strip down naked and put baby oil on? Him, too” — here he gestured toward the sushi chef — “Korean-style!”
He then told us to stick around for the reverse happy hour, when Kona Grill offers the same deals from 10 p.m. to midnight Monday through Thursday and from 11 p.m. to 1 a.m. Friday and Saturday. That was when “the most beautiful people” came in, he said. “All fake, nothing on in 20-degree weather and Brazilian waxes! Word!”
We declined his baby-oil and sticking-around suggestions. But we will make a bold, Chapinesque statement about Kona Grill: The drinks did rock. Word, indeed.
