While shaking my fist at Wicker Park’s lazily nostalgic Mahalo last week, I began wondering how the hell we got here. What’s behind the sudden surge in Hawaiian food? Particularly poke, the raw fish salad, piled on any variety of grains and greens, with toppings and garnishes to vary textures and sauces to brighten (or perhaps dampen) the qualities of the protein (typically tuna).
It took about 30 minutes to get a volcano bowl at Aloha, where the line is broken in two, the second half pushed back a few dozen feet so as not to impede access to the poor, lonely Lillie’s Q outpost next door. Aloha features a four-step ordering process: (1) pick a size (eight, 16, or 24 ounces); (2) pick a base—white or brown rice or mixed greens; (3) pick a protein (marinated or plain ahi tuna, salmon, or tofu): (4) add on a bunch of ingredients (Maui onions, seaweed, pineapple, tobiko, ginger, et cetera) and sauces (wasabi, sesame vinaigrette, spicy aioli, among others). Or you can make it easy on yourself and order one of three house bowls. The volcano features seaweed, edamame, jalapeño, ginger, tobiko, and a revolting looking sauce that resembles Russian dressing and has a blanketing sweet-spicy creaminess that pretty much takes over everything in the bowl. In spite of myself, I actually enjoyed the large “Kahuna” with brown rice and marinated tuna. Aloha offers a generous portion of fish, which balances nicely with the other ingredients. The fish is of decent quality, which makes me question the abundance of sauce. (What are they trying to hide?) A more restrained approach in ordering on my part could’ve approximated the same elementally satisfying experience that’s offered by a decent bowl of chirashi or hwe du bap.
