The Bowl that Converted Me: Saimin at Jane’s Fountain

Eat. Breathe. Write. Repeat. Full-time healthcare worker Robin Bae welcomes all to join his quest to live to eat and tell all about it. This is his first published piece.

I am not a local. Though I try to be, pretend to be, and even lie to myself about being local, with my Hawai‘i state ID and Honolulu golf ID, I did not grow up with the memories of kama‘aina. My upbringing was in a culinary black hole—a lackluster suburb of strip malls and soulless food in Southern California.

A second confession: I have never loved saimin. To me it seemed overrated and oddly beloved. As a mainlander, I looked in disdain at its frugal simplicity and wondered what the big deal was. For 10 years I much preferred soba, pho, naengmyun, Thai boat noodles, Xi’an hand-pulled noodles—almost anything else in cylindrical gluten form.

I’m sorry, saimin. Boy, did I have you wrong.

It’s a rainy morning, and I’m in desperate search of a place that I’ve heard can help me on my path to becoming local. I jaywalk across Liliha Street to a sign from a bygone era: “Coca-Cola / Saimin”. I have arrived at Jane’s Fountain.

The establishment has decades of history written in every fabric and wall. There’s even a jukebox. I try to get my bearings from the menu, if you can call it that. It’s more like a listing of dozens of handwritten local culinary hits on three or four different boards. The prices have been taped over many times—the only things that appear to have changed over the past 75 years. When I close my eyes I can imagine the trolleys that used to run up and down Liliha, bringing with them thousands who have sat where I sit. In this temple of local diner classics, they were a congregation of the faithful.

Photo: Eric Baranda

Service today is provided by a woman who appears to be doing every job in the house, from greeter to server to busser to cashier. Salvation! She can lead me through this culinary wilderness.

Wonton min and a hamburger deluxe is my order, as recommended and approved by my local guide.

I smile. Only in Hawai‘i would you eat a classic American burger with saimin for breakfast. I’ve smiled at similar only-in-Hawai‘i thoughts in many places.

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The food comes out in a hurry and I take a bite of the hamburger. What sorcery is this? Like many Americans, I’ve had probably a thousand burgers. At humble mainland diners, the patties are usually frozen. This one tastes different. It tastes … fresh.

“Oh, it’s because we make our own patties.”

Ah, yes. Ground beef, some onion, an egg and bread. The burger is a classic because it is actually made the classic way.

The saimin worries me. The noodles are alarmingly thick. Have they bloated in the soup? I take a sip.

Here’s where my conversion begins.

Photo: Aaron K. Yoshino

I taste umami and lightly, perfectly balanced seasoning. The broth is simple, with dried shrimp, konbu, a touch of ginger. My soul begins to quiver.

I slurp the noodles and realize immediately they’re thick not from bloating, but by design. They are the perfect al dente.

“We custom-order from Sun Noodles—that’s why they’re thicker than other places.”

SEE ALSO: Here’s Why Saimin Is So Good

Together, the noodles, broth and minimal toppings bring me to full conversion. I can taste the plantation history, the different cultures that added ingredients like wonton, noodles, kamaboko and luncheon meat. It’s a dish based on survival and comfort, and downright soulful goodness.

I get it now. This. Is. Good.

I walk out of Jane’s Fountain a new saimin devotee with a new cultish fervor, endorphins kicking in after my only-in-Hawai‘i breakfast.

I realize that the reason I never liked saimin was because I had never had it at Jane’s Fountain. There are other places from a long time ago that make saimin the way they always made it but here, in this place, is where the elements came together in a way that made sense for me. This is a dish that can be eaten every day because it doesn’t overfill with pretension or overintensity of flavor. With every slurp, it nourishes people’s taste memories and souls.

I thank Jane’s Fountain for helping me see the light. I may not be kama‘aina, but I know its saimin will always bring up for me nostalgia for a time before mine. A dish made by locals for locals. Even more now, I hope this world can adopt me as one of its hanai sons.

I finally found home here, in a bowl of saimin.

1719 Liliha St., (808) 533-1238