Don't go to Lee's Hawaiian Islander for gourmet food, just for fun.
I'm not the kind of girl who goes to tiki bars — not to drink or, goodness knows, to dine. You're more likely to find me at a swanky cocktail lounge or a fine-food spot than a joint where a canoe hangs from the ceiling and the drinks are served in quirky ceramic mugs.
But on one rainy Tuesday night, I found myself at Lee's Hawaiian Islander with a veteran Bergen County chef and her friend — and not because we'd already had a few.
Let me explain. The original high-end restaurant we had planned on trying was closed, and Lee's Hawaiian Islander happened to be both down the street and open. Plus the chef, a CIA alum, award-winning cook and a cookbook author, was thrilled; she is, it turns out, a big fan of Lee's.
"You're going to love this place," she said, hardly able to contain her excitement.
And I did love Lee's, much to my (and just about everyone who knows me) surprise. Not because of the food: Lee's is far from gourmet; it's a good distance from delicious, too. And, Lordy, it is not pretty. The look includes a wall of gigantic rocks from which water trickles down (yup, waterfalls); a bunch of "tiki god" masks; colorful fake birds on fake tree branches; little white X-mas-y lights just about everywhere, and plastic flowers on the walls and table vases (no water 'cause — come on — they're fake).
Nor, for that matter, is Lee's, which primarily serves Chinese-American grub, big on formality. One waiter vacuumed the carpeting under a nearby table. Our waiter seemed genuinely surprised — and somewhat annoyed — that we would want to know the specific ingredients in the drinks that were listed on the cocktails menu, which were as follows: Scorpion, Aloha Delight, Love Potion, Fog Cutter, Flaming Virgin. No description whatsoever. I now know that all you need to know is to bring along a designated driver if you plan to have any.
Which brings me to why I (and so many North Jerseyans) have fallen for Lee's. It's a lot of fun (see previous paragraphs, especially the stuff about drinks). And it inspires that heart-melting thing called nostalgia. This near half-century-old Bergen institution is a throwback to a time when menus weren't saturated with (mostly meaningless) terms such as seasonal, heirloom, heritage, artisan, sustainable and — ye gods — farm-to-table, and when bartenders were more likely to toss you into the streets for some perceived infraction than wax poetic about the botanical notes of a particular bitter. Bartenders were also, blessedly, not called mixologists. Man, those were the days!
Our drinks — a Mai Tai ($9) and an Islander Zombie ($9.50) — arrived with small cubes of skewered canned pineapple and maraschino cherries (when was the last time you had a drink with that neon-red garnish?) and enough rum (including the near-lethal 151) to wipe out every care and woe we three gals may have carried in with us.
And of course we knew we had to to have the famous pupu platter, by far Lee's bestselling dish. "Everyone loves it," said Danny Lee, son of owner Steve Lee. "It's a lot of food."
Indeed. This gigantic platter of MSG-laden appetizers surrounding a sterno center could have been dinner: two perfectly greasy shrimp toasts, a pair of bland fantail shrimp that you'd be wise to dip into the absurdly large bowl of duck sauce, wonderfully meaty spare ribs, mediocre Hawaiian barbecue beef and a few egg rolls that you'd be wise to ignore: limp and flavor-free.
As for entrées: Let's see...Feel like "Polynesian?" There's Lobster Hawaii ($13.95); Steak Polynesian (roast pork with veggies, $13); and Spare Ribs Tahiti (ribs with cauliflower in a "zesty" sauce; $12.50). Or perhaps you're in the mood for "Szechuan & Hunan." Consider Beef and Scallions in a hoisin sauce ($10.75); Szechuan Shrimp in a spicy tomato sauce ($10), or perhaps Moo Shoo Pork ($9.50). There are Cantonese dishes, too: beef or pork with oyster sauce ($8.95) or with snow pea pods (also $8.95). Or maybe you're a food patriot and it's American eats for you: fried chicken ($8.25), broiled salmon ($10.75), fried breaded shrimp ($10.25).
We shared a hefty plate of flavorful Orange Beef ($11.75) with a rich sauce that had a citrus punch to it and — our moms would have been so happy to learn — a bunch of bright green broccoli florets, and an equally substantial dish of traditional ho yu gai poo, which was bland, though loaded with sliced pork and breaded chicken.
We skipped dessert, though Jello ($1.25) and store-bought ice cream ($1.50) were not hard to resist.
But, honestly, we didn't mind a thing. We were having too much fun admiring the plastic flowers, sipping our stiff drinks and kibitzing with our fellow diners. It seemed that everyone was having a good time. Everyone except management, apparently.
Danny Lee admitted that running a 47-year-old tiki bar/restaurant is tough work and getting tougher with time. "We're trying to hold on," he said. "We're hanging in for our fans. They get more joy [from Lee's] than we do."
Guess a few thank yous are in order.