Bar Exam

In Bora Bora, it’s 85 degrees, with a light northwest breeze. In
Seattle, the low on this day is 29, with a predicted high of a balmy
38. At the bar at the Luau, near Green Lake, everyone’s talking about
black ice. It’s mid-afternoon, and the treachery is still out there.
“It’s the angle of the sun,” someone says; parts of city streets
are being held captive in freezing-cold shadow all day long.

Inside, however, some early Bob Marley is playing, and there’s
the sweet sound of the blender, and then you’ve got a
piña colada. It’s served in a ceramic coconut shell, and it’s
got a little paper umbrella with an orange and a cherry impaled on it.
Because it’s happy hour—and the Luau’s weekend Hula Happy Hour is
the world’s longest, from noon to 6:00 p.m. (3:00 to 6:00 p.m.
weekdays)—it costs $5. You’d prefer a mai tai, all
tropical-bright in a tall glass shaped like a fat stick of bamboo? It’s
also $5, and it also has a paper umbrella. It’s made with Myers’s dark
rum, guava, pineapple, and more, including “the Kaha secret.”
Kaha means “over there,” among other things, in Hawaiian; the
bartender won’t say what the secret is. Not secret: The guava
and pineapple juice come from a can. These aren’t craft cocktails, but
the taste puts you poolside.

The Luau’s pulled pork sandwich is all right—while the meat
could use more seasoning, the portion’s unstingy and the Macrina roll
is fresh. The island-style creamy macaroni salad is better than most,
with a slight spicy heat and a ton of paprika on top. There’s a
traditional Hawaiian plate lunch, too, with a Spam option available.
What’s extra-super-delicious at the Luau: the house-made potato
chips, not too greasy, some slightly thicker than others. You could
eat a mountain of them.

The thermostat at the Luau is set to 75. Over in one corner, under
the fronds of a woven palapa roof, a few stools wait in the afternoon
sun that’s slanting valiantly through the window. Don’t look
outside—where the bereft, barren patio sends chilling signals to
your brain—just drink through your straw. The carved tiki
gods are watching you. The Luau’s carpet is leopard-print, the bar
has a bamboo railing around it, and paintings on black velvet show
Polynesian lovelies coyly hiding their bare bosoms. Part of one wall is
a shrine to Luau-style fun: Memorabilia includes a recent Jimmy Buffett
ticket stub and a Qwest Field Fan Code of Conduct Violation ticket
issued for smoking at a November 8 game. Above one booth is an Elvis
reliquary, with Elvis photos and an Elvis snow globe bedecked in
plastic leis. Through a doorway, the marlin on the wall of the
Bora Bora Room shines.

Luau, 2253 N 56th St, 633-5828