Dining: Two You’d Never Find


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(page 1 of 3)


At Mitch’s, the lobster comes two ways: as
sashimi and in miso soup.

Photo: olivier koning

Here’s this month’s moral dilemma. I have for you two exceptional restaurants, ones you’d be unlikely to stumble upon. They are short on decor, but reasonably priced and wonderful to eat at.

The problem? These are tiny restaurants, seating about a dozen people. More than 111,000 local residents at least glance at the pages of this magazine every month. If an infinitesimal percentage of them—point zero zero one percent—show up at once, these places are full.

That’s why the people who mentioned them to me cautioned against writing about them. They worry if I do so, they’ll never get a seat again.

I sympathize.

However, truth will out. If I don’t live up to my responsibilities and tip you off, someone else will. Besides, restaurants like these, full of food and fervor, with proprietors who have a flair for hospitality, deserve to be celebrated.

Green Door Cafe
1145 Maunakea St.
533-0806
Tues.-Sat. lunch 11 a.m.-3 p.m., dinner 5:30-8 p.m.
Street parking, no credit cards

A friend who’d lived in Malaysia tipped me to the Green Door Cafe. He went on and on about the authentic belacan, a potent Malaysian shrimp paste, in some of the dishes. “Whenever I eat there, I get home and my wife says, What the hell have you been eating?’”

This, and the fact that he discouraged me from writing about it—“You’ll probably ruin the place”—kept me from following up immediately.

Then one day, two friends and I were in Chinatown, walking from Little Village, which was full, to Cafe Oriente, which we hoped wasn’t, when we stumbled upon the Green Door Cafe. It’s not easy to find: its address is on Maunakea Street, but it’s physically located on Pauahi. The doors—indeed the whole tiny storefront and the interior walls—are painted a distinctive shade of green, somewhere between a Granny Smith apple and a calamansi lime.

The sign said Open, but the door was locked. We had to knock. A Chinese woman, who we later learned was the proprietor and sole employee, Betty Pang, almost reluctantly opened the door. We walked into Wonderland.

Not a physical wonderland: four plain pedestal tables, a dozen metal folding chairs, a free-standing air conditioner, a cluttered kitchen counter with the menu handwritten in two colors on a Dry Erase board. The menu was filled with Singaporean and Malaysian items.

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