Passion is at the heart of Kobayashi Group, and in each edition of Violet, our interests lie in the diverse and innovative forms one’s passions can take. This season, we bring you stories of those who honor tradition, celebrate heritage, and look to nature as their muse.
We meet a trio of artists whose oeuvres are colored by the organic bounty of landscapes across the archipelago. In Windward O‘ahu, we glimpse the psychedelic blooms that have made Voodoo Plants a favored purveyor of florals for show-stopping lei and flower art. Meanwhile, streetwear meets couture in a new fashion collection inspired by the verdant countryside of designer Rocket Ahuna’s native Kaua‘i.
We’re also thrilled to share the stories of two Japan-based creatives who are exploring traditional crafts through a contemporary lens: Teppei Kojima of Tradman’s Bonsai, a brand bringing new swagger to a storied art form, and Aaron Mollin of Ichijuku World, whose bespoke suits are driven by a reverence for the craftsmanship behind fine kimono fabric.
We invite you into their worlds of creativity and refinement in hopes you’ll resonate, as we do, with their relentless pursuit of excellence, their passion for that which fuels them, and the ways in which they choose to make those passions their own.
This intricate bonsai was photographed by Ohno Toshio at the headquarters of Tradman’s Bonsai near Tokyo.
Moncler
Sushi
アート
豊かな自然のスペクトラム
ビジネス
シェフたちのコミュニティ 文化
志ある異端者たち
復興するワイアルア
花の魔力
デザイン
時空を超えた針仕事
島で見る幻想 食
鮨が君臨する世界
表紙
美と匠の技が息づく盆栽 （撮影：大野隼男、場所：東京
近郊TRADMAN’S BONSAI
本社）
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Envisioned to enhance the daily lives of residents, Ālia’s dynamic design, curated amenities, and premier location tastefully align to create an unparalleled living experience.
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notions
AR TS
that amplify
Visual
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Verdant Spectrums
Text by Natalie Schack
by John Hook
写真 = ジョン・フック
Images
A trio of natural dye artists showcase the beauty in using Mother Nature as a medium.
母なる自然の恵みで染め上げる ３人のアーティストが生み出す色彩
Translation by Mutsumi Matsunobu 訳 = 松延むつみ
The art of natural dyeing is not just about color— it’s a profound expression weaving together the history, culture, and ecology of a place. For this trio of distinct artists, the production of natural dyes is a means to work hand in hand with nature, honor traditions, and forge personal relationships with the land. Through their works, they invite us into a world where color is more than a visual experience; it’s a journey of reverence and transformation.
From foraged plants to native flora, the islands’ lush vegetation offers many materials for natural dye artists to choose from.
Wai‘ala Ahn
Coaxing Color from the Earth
For Wai‘ala Ahn, natural dyeing began as a slow and humble process rooted in her Hawaiian upbringing. Growing up with traditional practices such as hula, she watched as the older generation carefully gathered plants for adornments. As a child, she didn’t understand the significance of the labor involved. It wasn’t until years later, while teaching lei-making herself, that she began to grasp the intricate, painstaking beauty of the process, notably the deep connection found between the land and the shades it produces. “I do adore the color, but it’s really the process that has hooked me for 10 years,” she says. “It takes so much longer than just putting a piece of fiber in a solution and there being color. There are hours, days, and sometimes, depending on the color, years of labor.”
Today, Ahn and her husband, Justin Cook Tripp, operate their natural dyery and workshop space on their picturesque homestead nestled on the slopes of Mauna Loa, where they live with their young child. Her days are spent among the land she cherishes, where her connection to nature is palpable. Surrounded by lush forests and lava fields, she practices a lifestyle that is both self-sustaining and deeply connected to the rhythms of the earth. “I’m a plant lover and a nature lover by design,” she reflects. “My childhood was shaped by cultural and environmental activists, so preservation and conservation are very important to me.” The mountains are not only a place of peace but also an endless source of inspiration for her work. Her homestead serves as both sanctuary and laboratory. It’s a place where she can slow down, listen to the land, and extract vibrant colors from the plants she carefully cultivates.
Ahn’s practice is not merely about achieving a perfect color, but rather embracing the slow, meditative process of coaxing pigment from nature. She often works with the abundant plants around her, favoring those that are accessible, such as black beans, cabbage, and ‘ōlena (turmeric). Her most beloved medium, however, is indigo, specifically the tropical variety known as Indigofera suffruticosa. Considered invasive in Hawai‘i, the plant is removed and repurposed in Ahn’s hands into striking blue hues.
Her dyeing process is a lesson in patience. Fireweed, for example, yields a vibrant citron-yellow when steamed, depending on the fiber it’s used on. “When you treat it
like a tea, the true hues come out,” she says, explaining that the longer you let fireweed steep, the more vibrant the shade of gold. Factors such as the water’s mineral content or the soil’s composition can create subtle variations in color. Each dye bath produces a unique hue, one that cannot be replicated. The dyes also change over time, deepening or fading, just as the Hawaiian landscape transforms with the passage of seasons and years. “They’re evolving, just like we are,” Ahn notes.
Avalon Paradea
A Cultural Canvas
Some of the artist Avalon Paradea’s favorite plants to work with are ‘uki‘uki, a native species that yields a striking blue, and ma‘o hau hele, the yellow hibiscus that creates a hue that can shift from blue to green depending on how it’s treated. Paradea marvels at the moment during the dyeing process when a color shift occurs unexpectedly, describing it as “magic.” “I love it when the plants surprise me,” Paradea reflects. “The fun part is not knowing. Will it be blue or will it be something else?” Paradea’s journey into natural dyeing was a lifechanging experience that bridged their love for the land and deepened their understanding for the cultural
“I try to work with these colors and co-create with them and honor their story,” says artist Wai‘ala Ahn. “It’s learning to tell the stories of these plants in different ways.”
practice of waiho‘olu‘u mea kanu (plant dyes), past and present. Raised in Hawai‘i, Paradea’s work reflects a deep reverence for native plants and their role in both environmental conservation and cultural practices. A turning point came in 2016 after Paradea took a natural dye workshop at Kumuola Foundation on O‘ahu, hosted by Ka‘iulani de Silva. The experience of co-creating with nature to produce a spectrum of possibilities was a font of inspiration for them as an artist, horticulturist, and beyond. “It was a moment when I realized that this was going to change my perspective on both art and plants,” Paradea shares.
Their passion for native plants grew as they worked with the Ko‘olau Mountains Watershed Partnership, learning to remove invasive species while simultaneously exploring the dye potential of native flora. “The more I worked around these plants, the deeper my understanding grew about their cultural significance and the relationship between them and the environment,” Paradea says. Paradea’s work spans both traditional and experimental approaches to dyeing. They’ve become deeply involved in kapa, the traditional Hawaiian bark cloth, after discovering a passion for it in 2017. “It was something I always wanted to learn, but I didn’t know where to start,” Paradea says, recalling that this changed upon meeting kapa maker Roen Hufford at Hawai‘i Island’s annual Wiliwili Festival. “She invited me to join her hui (group), and I never stopped coming back.”
Through this community, Paradea has deepened their practice, learning to dye kapa with native and nonnative plants. “I see myself as a co-creator,” they say. “I work with living elements, and those plants will do their own thing. There’s magic in that uncertainty.”
Kristin Baucom
Art of All Shades
Kristin Baucom, the creative force behind the brand Okbet, has carved a distinctive space at the intersection of fashion, sustainability, and innovation. Since launching her brand in 2021, Baucom has blended the ancient art of natural dyeing with contemporary
streetwear and dynamic installations. Her work celebrates the natural world, creating vibrant, ecoconscious pieces that draw inspiration from local resources and community-driven values.
Baucom found her way into natural dyeing during the pandemic, a time that reignited her connection to the islands and her passion for sustainability. With a background in environmental management from the University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa, Baucom had always been attuned to nature’s rhythms. Initially experimenting with soap-making, she soon turned her attention to natural dyeing, foraging plants like hibiscus, avocado pits, and strawberry guava from her surroundings. You’ll find her either scouring hiking trails in Nu‘uanu or gathering fallen flora from her own backyard. “Foraging is such a personal part of my process,” she says. “I love that I can create something beautiful while also being in tune with the environment.”
Okbet began with Baucom’s vision to merge natural dyes with upcycled streetwear. Think unexpected statement pieces like detachable collars with delicate ruffled borders and sleek muslin vests in natural shades of salmon or tan.
Over time, her practice expanded to include art installations and a collection of quirky, sculptural lamps, which have become a hallmark of her practice. Baucom’s lamp designs are particularly distinctive, crafted from upcycled leather, wood, and naturally dyed silk. “I like the idea of bringing nature into the home in a functional but also artistic way,” she says. “Each lamp is a little piece of the environment, transformed into something unique.” At the heart of Baucom’s work is a commitment to experimentation. Her curiosity drives her to explore new dye sources and techniques, such as fermenting milo nuts or using pH-sensitive dyes, like purple cabbage, to create ever-changing hues. “I’m constantly pushing myself to learn more. The more I experiment, the more I realize there’s always something new to discover,” she says. Collaborations with brands like Ron Herman—for whom she most recently produced a slew of silk button-downs hand-dyed in luscious shades of deep chocolate and sky blue—showcase her versatile approach. Baucom’s varied projects aim to redefine the medium beyond its boho chic
associations by marrying her love of sustainability, the craft of dying, and a passion for contemporary aesthetics, a sensibility exemplified in her one-of-a-kind lamps, which more closely resemble modern art than home goods. “Natural dyeing doesn’t have to be bohemian or old-fashioned,” she explains. “It can be fun, edgy, and still respect the environment. I’m all about creating something that feels fresh and unexpected.”
Local chefs, like Fatto a Mano owner James Orlando, utilize the culinary incubator to showcase their gastronomic offerings.
At Hana Kitchens, chefs collectively rise to the challenges of an evolving food industry.
進化する外食産業。シェフたちはそれぞれが直面する問題を 〈ハナ・キッチンズ〉で解決している。
Walking through the winding hallways of Hana Kitchens, a culinary incubator in downtown Honolulu, I ready myself to embark on a gastronomic exploration. On any given day, the intoxicating aromas of buttery cookies, herbaceous spices, decadent chocolate, or umami-rich pasta sauces may waft through the air. The atmosphere is calm yet electric as each business settles into its designated kitchen space to begin a busy day of cooking. On the day of my visit, sourdough rises in one kitchen in preparation for Fatto a Mano’s evening cooking class while the savory lamb kebabs and koftas at Middle Eats await pickup from
a food delivery service. An array of local chefs work side by side at the steel countertops and sizzling stovetops, offering up a mix plate of cuisines that mirror Hawai‘i’s cultural and culinary diversity.
Founded in 2021 by Joe Di Condina, Hana Kitchens is a state-of-the-art facility featuring private and shared kitchens of various sizes; two ghost kitchens designed for made-to-order delivery items; and a chic midcentury modern show kitchen for cooking classes, pop-up restaurants, private dinners, and content creation. The designated Class-A commercial kitchens are certified to meet stringent public health standards while also accommodating complex cooking activities. In the artfully designed show kitchen, for example, guests learn to cook a diverse array of cuisines and culinary techniques, from homemade pasta to lau lau.
For Di Condina, the company represents the fulfillment of a lifelong dream, combining his professional expertise in food, marketing, and real estate. Born and raised on the East Coast, he grew up immersed in the restaurant industry, learning the trade from his father, a restaurateur who instilled in him a profound passion for food and business. He leveraged his industry knowledge to scale beverage brands like Rockstar Energy, playing a pivotal role in its branding, marketing, sales, and distribution.
Di Condina’s success led him to explore real estate, beginning his career as a realtor in New York City. Love eventually led him to Hawai‘i, where he settled with his Honolulu-born wife to start a family. Although he knew he didn’t want to open a restaurant, he still dreamed of creating a community space to contribute to the local culinary scene, a vision ultimately manifested into Hana Kitchens.
When the space opened amid the pandemic, it was at a pivotal moment for the food industry. Businesses both locally and globally were struggling to navigate the economic challenges caused by Covid-19. With dine-in services halted, many restaurants focused on delivery operations or closed their doors entirely. “[The pandemic] changed the landscape of the food industry,” Di Condina reflects, explaining that while food delivery services were well established in major metropolitan cities like New York City, they had yet to gain widespread adoption in Hawai‘i. “The pandemic was the catalyst to get people to order delivery. It made owners realize they didn’t necessarily need a brick-and-mortar to run a successful food business.”
In the midcentury modern show kitchen, guests learn to cook a variety of dishes, from homemade pasta to lau
lau.
Hana Kitchens
As any restaurateur can attest, running a restaurant is no easy feat. While the industry has seen workforce and sales growth since the pandemic, a 2024 report by the National Restaurant Association revealed significant difficulties: Ninety-eight percent of national operators cited higher labor costs as a pressing issue, with over a third reporting that their restaurants were unprofitable in 2023. Among other barriers were rising food costs and a shortage of employees to meet customer demands. In Hawai‘i, these challenges are further amplified by disproportionately high rent and maintenance costs for brick-and-mortar operations, along with labor shortages.
For business owners like Tom Walker of ‘Ohana Nui Cookie Company, support systems like Hana Kitchens have become a valuable asset. Walker faced numerous obstacles in previous kitchens, including inadequate space and equipment. “In the baking industry, you usually deal with humidity issues, but as an island-based business, you also have to contend with limited facilities, people, and ingredients. Everything is premium, so you have to manage your resources,” he says. In 2022, Walker moved from his original kitchen on Queen Street to Hana Kitchens, where he has been producing his Hawai‘i-grown macadamia nut cookies since. The switch has allowed him to follow his dreams while reducing any overhead investment. “You can really focus on creating,” he says. “Having the freedom to develop new flavors and products, or pivot or reinvent yourself, is a gift.”
Talia and Kelly Bongolan-Schwartz, owners of Tali’s Bagels & Schmear, also attribute part of their success to Hana Kitchens. After starting the business in 2021, developing recipes in their home kitchen and selling small batches via Instagram, they joined the community space to scale their production. There, they expanded their menu offerings and produced products for sale in the local farmers market scene. By 2023, Tali’s Bagels & Schmear outgrew its open-air stall and opened two storefront locations in Honolulu and Kailua, where customers can savor the Jewish comforts of its bagels, bialys, schmears, and sandwiches. The duo continues to produce at Hana Kitchens, which has allowed their business to evolve and their ideas to innovate. “Joe has been vital to our success. He always asks how he can help expand our business and offers support. He wants everyone to be successful, which is really amazing and rare,” Kelly says.
Over the years, Hana Kitchens has welcomed nearly three dozen tenants, including Banán, the Local General Store, Little Sparrow, Milk Market, and Dos Jefes. In
addition to premium workspaces, Hana Kitchens also offers comprehensive marketing services, including professional photography and videography, and fills its website and social media platform with content showcasing the cuisines and personalities found in its kitchens. “I’ve always had a special place in my heart for small businesses,” says Di Condina. “I really enjoy working with owners and supporting their growth.”
On this particular Friday night in November, the show kitchen is abuzz with anticipation for a sold-out pizza-making class led by Fatto a Mano owner James Orlando. As the class begins, Orlando distributes rounds of his prized naturally leavened sourdough pizza to each guest while sharing stories about his culinary journey. Before long, the room is filled with laughter as participants try their hands at kneading and stretching the dough, eager to learn a new skill and savor the fruits of their labor. If food reflects culture, history and heritage thrive under newfound models of collaboration in the skilled hands of the chefs at Hana Kitchens. Tomorrow brings another day of expressing culture through food, another chapter in the islands’ ever-evolving culinary story of influences from near and far.
Images by Ohno Toshio and courtesy of Tradman’s Bonsai
Like his company’s meticulously crafted bonsai, Teppei Kojima’s life is a story of growth borne from adversity.
念入りに手入れされた盆栽のように、
小島鉄平さんの人生もまた、逆境の中で 培われた成長の物語である。
The location of the Tradman’s Bonsai operation is a heavily guarded secret. Located an hour’s drive outside of Tokyo, the compound functions as the company’s headquarters, but it’s as much a haven for the flock of bonsai producers who have found refuge within its hallowed walls. Here, under the guidance of founder and CEO Teppei Kojima, they’ve found a new life’s purpose: perpetuating the centuries-old craft of bonsai in daring ways.
Kojima greets me warmly upon my arrival. The 43-year-old’s personable self-assurance is palpable as he flashes me a broad smile, stylishly attired in his signature black glasses and a well-tailored pair of tapered trousers. Tattoos peek out from under his shirt collar and sleeves in swirls of dark ink.
On any given day, workers dressed in black from head to toe can be found tending to the compound’s orderly forest of bonsai trees, a fraction of the 20 full-time employees that comprise Tradman’s tight-knit crew. Each wears a golden signet ring identical to the one on Kojima’s pinky finger, engraved with the company’s goyomatsu (Japanese white pine) logo. Employees are gifted the ring upon joining the Tradman’s family, a symbol of their commitment and a nod to Kojima and the four childhood friends who comprise his inner circle.
Rows and rows of bonsai stretch the length of the courtyard. Some stand barely taller than a foot.
Others stretch upward with undulating branches like dancers caught mid-motion. Those displayed against the compound’s walls are part of a private exhibition that Kojima explains is inspired by ryu (dragons). There are pots decorated with carvings of a crawling dragon or graffitied with brash brush strokes. “Look at this one over here,” Kojima says to me through an interpreter, gesturing to a particularly angular trunk. “This is the dragon’s eyes; this is its snout.” The body of the dragon— the bonsai’s trunk—runs parallel to the soil’s surface, curving fiercely over a rock in a masterful feat of bonsai craftsmanship.
Bonsai is the art of depicting the majesty of nature on a small scale. Using techniques such as pruning, pinching, and grafting, trees and plants that would reach full size in the wild are manipulated to grow no more than a meter high. Branches and trunks are shaped with patience and meticulous care into simulacrums of wizened trees—time’s unceasing passage represented in miniature. The art form has been around for over a thousand years, imported from China and refined by practitioners of Zen Buddhism. Each plant can take years to mature into its desired form, and the most valuable sell for hundreds of thousands of dollars.
With Tradman’s, Kojima has brought a distinct swagger to the craft, incorporating a new playbook to appeal to younger generations. Today, it is one of the most sought-after bonsai brands in Japan, if not the world. Over the years, Tradman’s has lent bespoke bonsai to streetwear brands, such as Bape, Nike, and Kith, and collaborated with Levi’s to produce denim wear inspired by the clothing worn by bonsai growers. It regularly leases bonsai for display by the likes of Aston Martin and Porsche, the bonsai’s elegantly lit branches showcased at upscale events with a grandeur befitting the finest works of art.
Kojima attributes this success to a maverick approach shaped by his unconventional path into the industry. Born to young parents on the outskirts of Chiba Prefecture in Kashiwa, Kojima had a rough upbringing. Money was tight—the family frequently went without electricity or gas—and he and his brother spent several years in a child welfare facility early in life. The administrator of the facility was a keen bonsai grower, inspiring in Kojima a love for the art form that stayed with him even after he and his brother were back under their parents’ roof.
Growing up, Kojima and his friends earned a reputation for stirring up trouble on the streets of Kashiwa. Yet even as a wayward youth, he had a big heart. In middle school, Kojima met his first love and pursued her relentlessly. Her family disapproved of the
More than just a brand and business, Tradman’s serves as a haven for the tight-knit crew of
bonsai producers who have found refuge within its hallowed walls.
relationship, condemning Kojima as a troublemaker, and the two were forced to part ways. It would be many years before they were reunited.
Throughout his adolescence, Kojima continued down a path of defiance, skipping school with his friends and provoking run-ins with the police. “You could say we lived the kind of life that people might call delinquent,” he says. “But in a way, we had our own sense of values in that. Those experiences, even the really tough ones, shaped me.”
Hardship followed Kojima into young adulthood. Not long after he lost his mother at age 17, Kojima took a job at a local pachinko parlor to support his family, quickly working his way up the ranks and becoming manager within a year. “I realized then that I could do whatever I wanted if I put my mind to it,” he says.
Kojima began saving up to open his own clothing shop, an aspiration ignited by a pair of Levi’s 501s he was gifted when he was a teenager. Roped into paying off his parents’ debt, however, it was a Sisyphean task, and things at home were just as challenging. After a heated argument with his girlfriend, Kojima stepped out for fresh air and a cigarette. When he came back inside, he discovered she had taken her own life.
Kojima’s close friends acted as his lifeline in the difficult months that followed, never leaving his side as he endured some of his darkest times. “I found out later they thought that if I was left alone, I might [take my life] too,” he says.
One of these friends later earned enough money to start a business selling vintage clothes imported from overseas, and he employed Kojima as a buyer. Kojima felt he’d found his dream career. Then, a buying trip abroad at 31 led to a fateful encounter that changed his trajectory.
“One of the people I was working with heard I was Japanese and decided to show me his bonsai,” Kojima recalls. Unpruned and painted garish colors, “they were unlike any bonsai I’d ever seen,” he says. It left an impression on Kojima, who decided that same night to launch a bonsai business. He knew from the start that he wanted his childhood friends to join him in building the company.
Untethered to tradition, Kojima realized he and his crew could market their creations through untraditional means, using Kojima’s pre-existing connections with rappers and fashion designers to repackage bonsai for a trendier market. “I wondered what would happen if I mixed street culture with bonsai, the traditional Japanese art,’” he says. The result was Tradman’s Bonsai, launched in 2015, which marries contemporary Japanese street culture with bonsai’s centuries-old tradition. One of the company’s first events was a street party, music blaring from loudspeakers as Kojima and his team shaped bonsai on the side of the road.
Today, the company shares the art of bonsai through brand collaborations and gatherings at its Marunouchi store. “It’s all about the presentation,” Kojima says, gesturing around the Tradman’s compound, where bonsai are lit with reverence and poised dramatically on custom plinths of gray concrete. “Displaying bonsai in spaces like this has never been done before. Collaborating with highend brands like Dior or Cartier was previously unheard of in the bonsai world.”
Instead of the filial ties of a traditional bonsai clan, Tradman’s has a system of chosen family. This approach colors every aspect of the company, from everyday gestures to the care with which Kojima selects members of the team. Prospective employees must move close to Tradman’s remote headquarters and train at the complex on their own time. Across eight years, the company boasts a 100 percent retention rate, a testament to the culture that Kojima has cultivated here.
“Tradman’s is unlike anywhere I’ve ever worked,” says Tsubasa Taniguchi, Tradman’s project manager. “If we’re having problems in love, in our personal lives, he’ll get us one-on-one in his office and have a proper chat. He really cares.”
It’s a culture as firmly rooted in moral character and family values as skill. “Life is interesting precisely because of its ups and downs. The hardships, the joys— everything together,” Kojima says. “I want everyone to live with that same mindset. No matter what happens, don’t give up. I’ve lived that way, and I think that’s why I can now spend my days smiling with my family.”
Today, that family not only includes the men of Tradman’s but also Kojima’s first love, Shizuno. Twenty four years after they met in middle school, she and Kojima reconnected, married, and now share three children together. “Everyone here [at Tradman’s], they’re my family,” he says. “I’m the father, and my wife is their mother. We’re there to look after everyone.”
expanded under the name Matsubaya Co., Ltd, with the aim of bringing bonsai to a modern audience through gatherings and brand collaborations.
Bonsai
A decade after Tradman’s founding, Kojima’s appreciation for his country has also come into greater focus. For years, he admired other cultures and brands from overseas, not realizing that incredible traditions and customs had been in front of him all along. His aim is for others to have the same realization, too. “I want to break the image of bonsai as an elderly persons’ pursuit,” he says. “That’s why we collaborate with these high-end designers, streetwear brands, and more— we’re showing everyone that bonsai are cool. I want Japanese people to be proud of our own heritage.”
Out of the many bonsai at the Tradman’s facility, there is one Kojima holds most dear: a goyomatsu named “501,” a tribute to both Levi’s 501 denim—a staple of the vintage fashion he loves—and the gang of five he and his close friends formed in middle school. Known for the soft, silvery foliage that it grows in clusters of five needle-like leaves, the bonsai’s branches each hold a nest of feathery needles as full and round as a cumulus cloud on a warm, sunny day. Together they conjure all the strength of a stately pine, and yet there is something airy, even buoyant, about the tree’s lush crown. Within its graceful asymmetry lies a resounding will to live, to persist, and to find beauty in the struggle, against all the odds.
Many hands pitch in to restore the abundance of the historic North Shore region.
歴史あるノースショアの豊かな自然の回復のために 尽力する人びと
Northbound on Route 803, the 5.9-mile stretch of rural highway leading from Wahiawā to the outskirts of the North Shore, one is hit with this scenic vision: grand Mount Ka‘ala kissing the highest clouds to the left, a breadth of farmland to the right; collectively their vastness recalls the creation story of Papahānaumoku and Wākea, the parent couple of the islands’ ruling chiefs, and their abundant domain of fresh water springs, streams, fertile soil, and native plants.
This ‘āina momona (fertile land) is Waialua. Once rife with unceasing stretches of lo‘i kalo and loko i‘a, O‘ahu’s most northern moku (district) extends from coastal Ka‘ena Point up into the Ko‘olau Mountains and back down to Waimea Bay. This storied land, where ali‘i (chiefs) were birthed and then ruled until their departed spirits leapt into the sea, are eight ahupua‘a (subdivisions of land): Ka‘ena, Keālia, Kawaihāpai, two distinct acreages of Mokulē‘ia, Kamananui, Pa‘ala‘a, and Kawailoa. Today, without every islander sharing the kuleana of mālama ‘āina (responsibility to care for the land), like Native Hawaiian society traditionally mandated, entire fields, mountains, and waterways have become overrun with invasives. From up high one can see the extent of strawberry guava encroaching upon indigenous and endemic trees and plants.
Despite this, there are many committed folks chipping in to safeguard further degradation. Beyond the locked farm gates, homes, and businesses in and around Hale‘iwa Town, these farms and organizations make it their daily responsibility to be stewards of the land while offering something unique to a community fighting endlessly against more development.
Makai
Mālama Loko Ea Foundation
Tucked behind the surf shops and popular eateries on busy Kamehameha Highway in Hale‘iwa, the loko pu‘uone, or sand dune fishponds, of Loko Ea and ‘Uko‘a quietly sit. The two have weathered centuries of wear from king tides to floods to modern-day development. Under the highway runs an ‘auwai kai that delivers fish from
the ocean to these spring-fed ponds, which are connected by underground caves. The brackish water environment is home to pāpio, mullet, and ōholehole, which swim alongside native a‘ia‘i, endemic ducks, coconut trees, kī (ti plants), and kalo (taro). Tiny bubbles rising to the surface show the ponds’ bounty of phytoplankton, which create oxygen and food for fish.
In 2007, the Waialua community asked landowners Kamehameha Schools if it could get back into these fishponds to restore them. When community work days began a year later, Kamehameha Schools eventually approached two dedicated volunteers, James Estores and Benson Lee, to start a nonprofit. One of the men, a heavy equipment operator, had the vision back then for the dredging being done now. Fifteen years later, Mālama Loko Ea is about a decade away from reaching its goal of reconnecting the ahupua‘a of Kawailoa, meaning “the long water.” Working with traditional aquaculturist Buddy Keala, the nonprofit studies tides, cloud cover, and wind patterns every day to understand how the loko pu‘uone operated precontact. After they are finished dredging Loko Ea, the next step will be to reconnect it with its sister pond ‘Uko‘a, resulting in a fully functioning 135-acre fishpond that will produce an estimated 500 pounds of fish per acre every year. Each decision the nonprofit makes is carefully calculated to serve the community and Laniwahine, the kia‘i mo‘o (water guardian) of this space.
“We’re super mindful of our place and our responsibility and how it looks to our community,” executive director Rae DeCoito says. “We work hard for them.” Annually, Mālama Loko Ea hosts 400 community volunteer events and welcomes 80 schools, reaching over 9,000 students from Mākaha to Lā‘ie. One of the organization’s greatest strengths is instilling the values of mālama ‘āina in the next generation. Its climate education coordinator Honu‘āina Nichols is a perfect example. Fresh out of college, the 23-year-old is actively building a climate plan for Waialua and taking steps to make Loko Ea a resilience hub. “Our watersheds and wetlands are incredible at mitigating sea level rise, especially our kuapā (fishpond wall),” Nichols says. The organization is also driven by the knowledge that fishponds also combat climate change by acting as “carbon sequesters,” meaning loko i‘a not only provide food, but also reduce the amount of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere.
kula Petal Mettle
Laarni Gedo’s Chevy pickup leads the way ahead of a billowing cloud of red dust. We arrive at a dirt road dividing 35 acres into two parcels: one for flowers, one for bananas. Gedo sits near her mother, Norma, who is taking a short break. “She’s a workhorse,” Gedo says. “She’s here four to five hours every day. Then she goes home and works in her own garden.” The two women operate
Petal Mettle, an organic farm that Gedo designed while she was caring for her dying father. “Growing flowers really connected me to the natural cycle of life,” she says.
In the garden, ornamental kale sprawls across the soil like an octopus searching for prey while an ‘a‘ali‘i shrub stands unbothered, blocking the wind. There are rows of fuzzy, coral-like celosias in pink, white, and magenta; dahlias in deep reds and purples; marigolds the color of autumn leaves; and multiple species of spiny amaranth ranging from crimson to burgundy. Not the tropical flowers that Hawai‘i florists typically carry, Gedo’s harvest aims to offer something different: blooms just as beautiful as their mainstream counterparts but that are also medicinal and edible. Beyond bouquets, Gedo sells tiny blossoms to chefs for garnishes and makes wellness products, including a buzz button tincture for dental hygiene and a facial toner made of witch hazel, butterfly pea flower, and sage.
Gedo appreciates the relaxed pace of Waialua compared to town, where she lived when she moved to O‘ahu in 1992. Originally from the Philippines, Gedo and her parents moved to California in 1990 before continuing to O‘ahu. When her military father got assigned to return to California, Gedo stayed put. When Gedo’s father passed, Norma returned to O‘ahu. Gedo runs the farm and floral business, making deliveries, bouquets, and wellness products, while Norma, a lifelong farmer, performs the neverending task of pulling weeds. “She is employee of the month every month,” Gedo says.
Cafés, florists, event companies, and hobbyists make up the bulk of her business in Waialua. Sometimes a barter system prevails for this tight-knit community. During the pandemic, the owner of Haleiwa Bowls doubled his order of edible flowers when the owner learned business at Petal Mettle had slowed. A mile away at Wicked Hi Cafe, Gedo leaves a bucket of bouquets near the register with a QR Code. If a customer is inspired to buy, they choose what they like and pay via Venmo. In exchange the café gets a bouquet of their own—usually something wild, sprawling, and brimming with otherworldly shapes and textures.
At 9:00 a.m., sun already radiating above, we strap on helmets, sunglasses, and seatbelts and conduct a radio check. Once the safety precautions are pau (done), we crank up our 4×4 ATVs and the adventure begins. “Our focus has never been about thrills,” asserts Keola Ryan, co-founder of North Shore Eco-Tours, hinting at the deeper focus of our impending excursion. “We want to have fun, but we also want it to be an educational experience.” A kumu hula (master hula teacher) and University of Hawai‘i instructor of Hawaiian Studies, Keola and his wife, Tasha Kawamata Ryan, who holds a Ph.D. in STEM education, began leading mauna (mountain) tours and work days in 2012. To keep a light footprint, they keep groups to a max of 10 people and only lead them up twice a week. As an educational and cultural entity, they present the ‘āina that these groups trek through a Hawaiian lens.
Beginning in ATVs or military trucks, the couple leads groups past farmlands of all types. Kahuku Farms has mango, papaya, longan, and calamansi orchards, along with long rows of tuberose and pongamia beans, a possible new source for biofuel. Kō Hana Rum also grows sugarcane here. At the top of the Ko‘olau Mountain Range, about six miles from town, is the ‘Ōpae‘ula Trail, named after an endemic red shrimp no longer found here and one of the trails created to access the old water system. The Ryans announce themselves and the group to the Kawailoa forest with an oli (chant). When they feel a gentle breeze on their skin after a moment in silence, they lead the pack ahead. Throughout the hike Keola continues to model how to behave. He snacks on invasive strawberry guava, being mindful to not spit out the seeds and cause new growth. He clears the trail of invasive guinea grass with his machete and points out which plants to weed and which to let be—a tiny sprout of koa only four inches tall, for example. He stops frequently along the path to introduce the group to trees, plants, streams, and summits amid 15,000 acres of conservation land, referring to them by their Hawaiian place names. After crossing the ‘Ōpae‘ula Stream, the couple stops the tour at a freshwater pool for a light lunch,
encouraging everyone to jump into the water to cool off. Relics of Waialua Sugar Company—its old cogs, telephone poles, and water pump—surround the banks. A house, built on Dole property just off Twin Bridge Road, is perched overhead. Base camp, a former Palama Settlement campground seven miles up the mountain, is where North Shore Eco-Tours stages and hosts work days throughout the year. They consist mostly of university students, Boy Scouts, high school kids, and hālau hula in the lead up to the Merrie Monarch Festival, offering a quiet place for dancers to train. From this grassy knoll scattered with endemic ‘ōhi‘a and naupaka kuahiwi, one can see the Kawailoa ahupua‘a and watershed. The streams of Kawai‘iki and Kawainui merge here to form the Anahulu River system, once abundant with water and now eerily dry.
On the way back down we do a little off-roading in ATVs, where we plow through 10-foot high guinea grass as far as the eye can see. Along the way, drivers and passengers can hear their tour guides through loudspeakers. While the vantage point on the mauna gives visitors a sense of how abundant Waialua is, this sweeping view also serves as a reflection point. Occupying the spaces in between the last of the ‘iliahi and dwindling koa tree forests are 1,000 acres of Monsanto farmland, military helicopter landings, the tunnels and reservoir system built along the watershed by Waialua Sugar Company to divert water to sugarcane fields, and the ubiquitous Dole properties that seem to roll on for miles along Helemano Ridge. By the end of the tour, guests have had a well-rounded experience, seeing O‘ahu as more than just a place to live, work, and play, but as an island with a layered and complicated history. “They appreciate the place and islands much more afterward,” Ryan says.
With dizzying and breathtaking variety, Voodoo Plants’ stunning hybrids will put a spell on you.
目もくらむほど多彩で息をのむほど美しい
Voodoo Plantsの驚異のハイブリッドフラワーの魅力と魔法
Translation by Kyoko Hamamoto
訳 = 濱元恭子
To put it lightly, these aren’t your momma’s hibiscuses. The common island flower, in the hands of O‘ahu-based floral outfitter Voodoo Plants, packs an explosive punch with colorful blooms of psychedelic proportions—a far cry from the monotonous red-andyellow varieties one readily associates with Hawai‘i imagery of yesteryear. Voodoo’s versions are electrifying: two- or three-toned things with a visual ferocity that’s almost physical, like the feeling of being burned or thrust forward at high speed. Imagine a stirring, deep-red center that gives way to the most mesmerizing lavender edged in a simmering hot pink that softens to pale yellow. Or a soft,
Malulani Pia Kaitoku and Ryan Kalaniakea Quick started Voodoo Plants in 2020 and specialize in psychedelic hybrid blooms.
silky shade that swirls in as lilac and swirls out a velvety gray, with sleek, creamy white petals and a golden stamen rooted in a shock of deep raspberry magenta that is so saccharine you can almost taste it.
Then, there are the hibiscus flowers’ shapes, which have their own sartorial flair. Some balloon out in undulating waves like layers of fluffed silk in a petticoat. Others proffer just a single layer of petals, each smooth on one edge with a wisp of a ruffle where it overlaps with the adjacent petal, creating a natural seam as delicate as a lace-edged skirt. It’s no wonder that the Voodoo name has been generating buzz. Otherworldly and outrageous, these are botanicals that demand your attention. “We love to see the joy from people and the shock factor when people react to these flowers,” says co-founder Ryan Kalaniakea Quick, who started Voodoo Plants with Kyrsten Malulani Pia Kaitoku. “Once you have a hibiscus, [you go] out every single morning just to see which flower is opening. It kind of just gets you up and gets people excited.”
In the realm of botany, some things take time and fastidious care to bloom, while others seemingly sprout with abandon when you least expect it. Some very special, unusual, and unique phenomena, however, require a little bit of both. So it was for Voodoo Plants.
The duo’s journey into the floral industry began as a simple hobby during lockdown in 2020. In a time of unspeakable transition, amid the chaos of a global pandemic, prodigal islanders Kaitoku and Quick found themselves knee-deep in soil, nurturing an unexpected passion that would bloom into something truly extraordinary. First they started with cultivating “weird” vegetables, Kaitoku remembers, the sort you’d never stumble upon at the local grocer, like purplegreen tomatoes. With practically no knowledge about horticulture, Kaitoku and Quick planted all the seeds they owned, thinking only a few might sprout. To their surprise, every vegetable seed sprung to life, sparking a curiosity that led the self-taught beginners into the wild and winsome world of tropical floriculture.
That course eventually led to the protean realm of the queenly hibiscus. “[It] just became our obsession,” says Kaitoku, attributing their fixation to “the showy flowers and all of the different combinations you can do. There’s just a whole range of colors.”
Experimental hybridization quickly followed, and the dyad began combining different varieties into brilliant detonations of pigment like two artists playing with paint. With no formal training (Kaitoku’s background is as a chef, Quick’s is as a landscaper), they relied on trial and error, fueled by a passion for exploration and a healthy dose of YouTube tutorials. Together, they approached their newfound hobby unbound by convention or expectation. Their efforts soon bore fruit, as their unique hybrids began to garner favor within the local community.
Voodoo Plants has received an outpouring of support for their creations, beloved by island flower enthusiasts and gardeners. The visual intensity of these moody and melodramatic blossoms also makes them ideal for showstopping lei and flower art, and with Voodoo’s bloom box, which comes with a variety of statement-making stems, makers can let their imaginations run wild.
As for the future, the duo have big plans. They’ve recently expanded Voodoo’s operations, purchasing a patch of land in Waimānalo that they want to convert into a U-cut flower farm, nursery, and community gathering space. Lining the road at the front fence of the property
At the floral farm in Waimānalo, guests can view vibrant hybrids borne out of Kaitoku and Quick’s pandemic-era home experimentation.
are their notable hybrid hibiscuses; inside sit a cluster of plots with a variety of other blooms, where chickens cluck cheerfully around the perimeter. At the back of the property, a cleared field is the site of a planned grove for another iconic local flower. “We’re going to dive into plumerias now!” Quick exclaims.
With more growth in sight, Voodoo Plants doesn’t plan to abandon its work of slinging singular and strange florals and concocting unusual hybrids for its ardent fans anytime soon. “It’s our passion. We’re very natureoriented, very outdoorsy people,” Quick says, describing the practice of tending to flowers and cleaving close to the land as a form of therapy. And when nature’s your medium, the opportunities for growth are endless. “Once you think you’ve seen them all, you see another, and you just fall in love all over again. The list goes on with the varieties that can be made.”
by Yuna Yagi and Andrew Faulk 写真 = ユナ・ヤギ、アンドリュー・フォーク
Text by Laura Pollacco
Images
Ichijiku pulls on the threads of a cherished craft to weave something new.
Translation by Eri Toyama 訳 = 外山恵理 〈イチジク〉は人々に愛されてきた伝統の糸で新しいものを 織りあげる。
Down a narrow, nondescript road not far from Yoyogi Park, the unassuming exterior of Ichijiku Gallery belies the treasures within. On first glance, you’d never guess that through the glass doors and up a flight of steps awaits a prized collection—not of gold or jewels, but of kimono fabric.
There are few cultural costumes more recognizable than Japan’s kimono. The garment has transcended its literal meaning, “thing to wear,” to become a revered form of iconography. Despite its enshrined significance, however, kimono culture is fading. Textile arts associated with the kimono, from the production of Ōshima-tsumugi,
Ichijiku’s suits are a timeless luxury that stands apart in today’s world of throwaway trends.
a fine Japanese silk, to the textile dyeing technique katazome, are in drastic decline, threatening the loss of thousands of years of crafting knowledge. The survival of these art forms may now depend on one thing: whether or not they can adapt.
Some may balk at the idea of changing something as traditional as the kimono, wishing instead to keep Japan’s cultural costume in stasis. Others, like Ichijiku’s founder, Aaron Mollin, know change is necessary to keep kimono craftsmanship alive.
Ichijiku began at a crossroads in Mollin’s life. At 34 years old, he left behind a career in law and was retracing his steps from his days as a college exchange student in Kyoto. “I had the opportunity to examine my life and think about what I wanted to do next,” Mollin says. He was in search of his ikigai, his sense of purpose—a future that could weave together his creativity and his admiration for Japan. Luckily, Mollin still had connections in the city, leading him to a serendipitous meeting with a former restaurateur from Kyoto’s Gion district.
The answer to Mollin’s search was quite literally laid out before him in the form of an extraordinary 30-piece kimono collection. Over the course of three hours, the restaurateur relayed every story and technique behind her vast collection of traditional garments before handing it all over to Mollin for the inconceivably low sum of 5,000 yen, approximately 50 dollars. For Mollin, it was a eureka moment. “Clearly, I had not shown kimono the requisite amount of attention. I had no idea just how incredible they were,” he says. If he, a long standing Japanophile, had overlooked the history and craftsmanship behind kimono, he was certain that others had too.
Simply reselling the garments wasn’t enough for Mollin. Instead, he was determined to create something new. He discovered a few instances of suits made from kimono, but he was baffled to find that they featured only the subdued tones characteristic of men’s kimono fabric. Nearly indistinguishable from a traditional wool suit, they preserved none of the kimono’s ornateness nor the intricate embroidery or dyeing visible on the women’s kimono he had procured. He decided then that Ichijiku would stand as a keeper of craftsmanship, creating bespoke apparel that exalts the beauty of one of Japan’s most iconic garments.
At first, Mollin was turned away by tailors in both Japan and his home country of Canada, all of whom were unwilling to deconstruct the garments, finding them cumbersome and unlikely to yield the right amount of
Utilizing vintage tanmono and the skills of contemporary artisans and textile designers, Ichijiku is committed to perpetuating Japan’s traditional textile craft.
fabric for a suit. Then, just as he was ready to give up, “when I believed it to be impossible,” he says, a fortuitous meeting with a Japanese tailor showed him a new path. He was advised to consider tanmono instead, the bolts of narrow-loomed cloth used to make kimono. “I realized that these kimono have a life before they become kimono, and it’s in the form of the fabric,” he says. A friend in the kimono industry provided him with a roll of tanmono produced by his company, one woven using a technique known as Nishijin-ori. “In addition to the fabric being symbolic of the strength of our friendship, it also provided me an opportunity to learn about how durable kimono fabrics could be—and that certain weaves, like Nishijin-ori, could be used for suiting,” he recalls. “From that roll, the first Ichijiku suit was born, and it was a thing of beauty.”
This process became the brand’s blueprint. Today, Ichijiku’s offerings are made almost entirely from women’s kimono and tanmono, transforming traditionally feminine garments and fabrics into suits and bomber jackets. That isn’t to say his brand is men’s only. Though the suit jacket is inherently more popular among men, Mollin has always thought of his brand as unisex. The common thread among his clientele is “a deep appreciation for art and fashion,” he says. “They want something unique, and they have no issue with standing out from the crowd—if anything, they prefer to.”
Ichijiku’s well-appointed showroom in Shibuya feels less like a store and more like a stylish living space—that is, until Mollin pulls back a large sliding door to reveal Ichijiku’s proverbial treasure chest. The store’s back wall is adorned with millions of dollars’ worth of tanmono, rolled, stacked, and ready for inspection. Alongside them are mannequins showcasing Ichijiku’s impeccably tailored suits.
“Every single tanmono here is one I have personally selected, that I have been immediately attracted to,” Mollin says. While sourcing, he prioritises fabric he’s never seen before, or regions and techniques new for the brand, in hopes of building “the most diverse collection of kimono fabric in the world.” Mollin takes immense pride in his understanding of the fabrics, discussing certain rolls with excitement and taking great care when handling the tanmono he has collected over the years.
“We don’t waste any fabric here. Even the smallest scraps we keep, and we create these pieces,” he says, gesturing to the scarf wrapped around his neck. Atop a base of red silk, scraps of leftover tanmono are stitched together with gold thread, a nod to kintsugi, another revered Japanese art form. The scarves function as “memories of past pieces that we’ve made,” Mollin says. “Every one of these was a roll of fabric we have turned into a jacket and given a new lease on life.”
Though sustainability is a pillar of the brand, Mollin knows that working exclusively with vintage fabric isn’t the most sustainable approach for ensuring the longevity of the industry itself. “If you’re just focusing on vintage fabrics, you’re not really supporting any of the existing fabric makers,” he says. Beyond sourcing vintage tanmono, Mollin has increasingly worked with established and emerging kimono fabric makers, forming relationships with artisans from Kyoto, Amami Ōshima, and other culturally significant regions.
Reminiscent of the Japanese concept of “unmei no akai ito”—the red thread of fate that connects two individuals who are destined to meet—an Ichijiku garment is a tangible link between its wearer and all who have had a hand in the garment’s creation. Entwining the past, present, and future of Japan’s textile culture, each piece is a wearable embodiment of everything Mollin is striving to achieve: an ode to traditional craftsmanship and a bid to ensure the continued survival of a cherished craft.
Rocket Ahuna’s latest collection invokes the raw majesty of his native Kaua‘i.
Styled by Puna
Produced by Aja Toscano
Hair and Makeup by Risa Hoshino
Hair and Makeup Assistance by Jayel Saito
Photography by Nani Welch Keli‘iho‘omalu
Designed by Rocket Ahuna
Joon
Among the storied peaks and lush scenery of Limahuli Garden and Preserve in Hā‘ena, Kaua‘i, designer Rocket Ahuna unveiled his most personal project to date: Limahuli, a collection for spring/summer 2025 inspired by the pastoral landscapes of his childhood and an ode to his home island of Kaua‘i.
On Lei Wann (left), pre-dyed ‘ōahi dress. On Pa‘ula Chandler (right), model’s own pe‘ahi lau.
The collection featured looks such as a tailored palaka suit, a neon orange mu‘u draped over foliageprint camouflage pants, and a lau hala-inspired woven silk bodice. It was a mix of rugged island aesthetics and graceful demi-couture pieces peppered with Easter eggs from Ahuna’s Native Hawaiian heritage—an emerging signature of the designer’s fledgling brand. “The Rocket Ahuna garment will give you kaona (hidden meanings),” Ahuna says. “It will give you layers.”
On Ginger Lacock, hunting mu‘u and camo cargo pants.
On Tahaki Papke, hau “cape” suit.
On Noah Saint Laurent, brown palaka doublebreasted blazer.
On Nativa Law, hīnano wedding dress.
As his sophomore ready-to-wear collection, Limahuli was a means for the designer to expand his repertoire while staying true to his vision for a Hawaiian-led brand. “I’m learning how to create more of a range for myself,” Ahuna says. “This is a continuation of my admiration for the place that I’ve grown up with, but now I’m curious to adapt these ideas into something more for the rest of the world.”
On Keani Olanolan, two-scale gingham mu‘u with leg-of-mutton sleeves.
In the 14 years since the release of Jiro Dreams of Sushi, the documentary film that highlighted the precise devotion of sushi master Jiro Ono, whose Michelin-starred restaurant operates out of a Tokyo subway station, omakase sushi counters have proliferated across the U.S. But few cities have quite the range of Honolulu’s omakase, where you’ll find sushi chefs holding court in sports bars and The Ritz-Carlton, and background soundtracks that range from pop music to worshipful silence. Joining an already robust à la carte sushi restaurant scene, about two dozen omakase-only counters have opened in Honolulu in recent years. Here are two among the most lauded, where the sushi chefs obsess over the rice and vinegar as much as the seafood, and where the service matches the quality of the fare.
Sushi Sho
“The sushi counter is a really intimate space for the chef and customer,” Yasushi Zenda says through a translator. “There’s nothing else [like it] where you could make sushi with your bare hands and then serve it to the customer and see their reaction.” It’s this intimacy that drew Zenda to apprentice at sushi restaurants in Tokyo since he was 16 years old, eventually following Keiji Nakazawa—“one of the most influential sushi masters in the world,” the New York Times declared—to Sushi Sho in Hawai‘i.
At Sushi Sho, chef Yasushi Zenda utilizes Edomae-style techniques to elevate the restaurant’s omakase offerings.
Nakazawa was renowned for reviving Edomaestyle sushi, finding that old techniques once meant for preservation, such as pickling and aging fish, also concentrated and developed flavor. Nearly 30 years after debuting his first restaurant in Tokyo in 1989, Nakazawa moved to Honolulu, interested in the challenge of working with Hawai‘i’s local ingredients. The 10-seat counter he opened in The Ritz-Carlton Waikiki Beach quickly became one of Honolulu’s hardest reservations to snag. When he left a few years ago to open a New York City location, Zenda, whom Nakazawa used to call “the scientist,” took over.
Nakazawa’s spirit still guides the details at Sushi Sho. The procession of about 25 courses (for $400 a person) alternates between small bites and sushi. In one of the first dishes, lengths of Japanese sardine are wrapped around julienned cucumber, ginger, and heart of palm, then sliced like a maki roll, revealing a cross section resembling a stained-glass window. Fluffy shreds of crab are topped with powdered, vinegared egg yolk. The monkfish liver is paired with a shaving of pickled baby watermelon, picked at the size of a plum and marinated for three years—a foil to the liver’s lushness. Fillets of greeneye fish, its skin crisped with heat, are dotted with pops of finger lime. And then, as part of the okonomi section—if the first act of dinner is the chef’s choice, then the second is the diner’s, with à la carte add-ons—twoweek aged bluefin tuna belly, exemplifying the Edomae techniques Sushi Sho is known for.
Particularly attentive sushi connoisseurs will note that the vinegars in the shari, or sushi rice, change in relation to the fish. A richer fish, such as chutoro, requires a bolder red vinegar, while delicate crab meat is paired with a lighter white vinegar. Throughout dinner, Zenda’s support chefs frequently call out for a new batch of shari from the back kitchen to ensure it is always at the perfect temperature.
Since helming Sushi Sho, Zenda has made small adjustments here and there, mostly by instinct—changes barely noticeable to the casual observer. His relentless experiments have resulted in cooking the rice (a blend of Yumepirika from Hokkaido and Tamaki from California) with a combination of Evian and Contrex mineral waters, which he says gives the shari a slightly firmer texture and keeps the flavor in the grains. He notes the difference in the taste of tuna each year—this year, he finds it sweeter than previous years, when it was more acidic, and adjusts its preparation accordingly. The
F black cod, which he served glazed and sprinkled with sansho pepper when I went, he initially found below his exacting standards. He went to Santa Barbara and spoke directly with the fisherman, convincing him to undertake the ike jime method, a series of steps meant to quickly disrupt the fish’s brain and spinal cord and quickly bleed out the fish, which helps preserve the flavor and texture of the flesh.
Other changes are in subtle displays of showmanship. Behind the counter, the chefs now toast strips of nori over a small charcoal fire, and they chop fish finely for the tuna tartare in front of guests. It’s particularly delightful to watch them chill and slice the slippery, glistening noodles made from kudzu flour, which was among the dessert options on the night of my visit. “I want the customer to enjoy the taste and also enjoy watching,” Zenda says. It’s the reason he was drawn to sushi in the first place, and he uses the space to close the distance between himself and his diners even further—but not too much.
“Part of sitting at the counter is the little nervousness between customer and chef, the tension,” he says. While a chef in an open kitchen faces the vulnerability of having every movement scrutinized by the diner, so, too, does the diner. I found myself seated next to three regulars who could have easily become rowdy and taken over the atmosphere of the room. And yet, while they were clearly enjoying themselves, they kept their voices low. The chefs, modeling attentiveness and respect, brought out the same in us, the diners.
Zenda says he’s always “looking for the spaces in between”—the space between what an ingredient is and what it could be, the space between courses, the space between customers. The quality he puts forth is undeniable, but it’s this extra attentiveness that elevates the meal beyond food to an art form and act of exquisite hospitality.
Sushi Gyoshin
During the day, on busy Pi‘ikoi Street, Sushi Gyoshin lies hidden behind an unmarked black door. Only in the evening does the restaurant announce itself, the name printed discreetly on a noren curtain that owner Hiroshi Tsuji hangs outside the entrance just before the first seating. Inside, the sushi counter seats eight, a slim altar where diners go to worship, for “Gyoshin” means “fish god.”
I am welcomed almost immediately with Tsuji’s signature monaka—two crisp wafers cradling seafood that might include finely diced toro or Hokkaido snow crab topped with uni. The $150 set of 15 courses then progresses through a series of seasonal appetizers: in the winter, perhaps shirako (cod milt) combined with kudzu starch to create a soft and creamy tofu, or in the
spring, firefly squid, each the size of a thumb, bathed in ginger sauce. Between the first act and procession of sushi, Tsuji displays the fish yet to come: blushpink slabs of toro and silvery kohada, its skin glinting in the light. The fatty yet firm kinmedai arrives with its skin lightly torched, and sweet and crunchy mirugai is finely scored and belted to a lozenge of rice. Throughout Tsuji’s omakase are modern flourishes: a dab of caviar on a prawn, saba smoked under a dome and unveiled with a dramatic swirl.
Tsuji is the sole chef at Gyoshin, which he opened in early 2024. He grew up in Toyama, on the west coast of Japan, and was drawn to the “stature of the sushi chefs,” he says through a translator. Throughout his 20-year career, he learned sushi and washoku (traditional Japanese cuisine), with its emphasis on harmony and seasonality. He intended to go to Europe “to become a better chef,” he says, but then a friend working at Rinka in Hawai‘i reached out to him, asking him to come. “Right away,” he told his friend, without hesitation.
After about five years working at Rinka at Ward and Yoshitsune in Waikīkī, he decided he wanted his own small space where he could develop a relationship with his diners. At Gyoshin, there is little separation between customer and chef; we are close enough to hear the satisfying crack as the nori is sliced, close enough to see the edges of fish flesh curl up as Tsuji scores it. It can feel like a one-man show, but it’s not merely a performance. Tsuji’s devotion to the sushi is clear. For his shari, he mixes two varieties: Sasanishiki for texture and Nanatsuboshi
As owner and sole chef, Hiroshi Tsuji dictates Sushi Gyoshin’s repertoire of omakase with modern flourishes.
for sweetness. He then seasons the rice with a blend of three different vinegars, ranging in maturity from three to ten years, to achieve his desired level of acidity. “The shari defines the quality of the experience,” he says. “If the neta (topping) is good but shari is not prepared with proper care, the sushi will not be delicious.”
At Kuilei Place, every element has been carefully considered.
Customizable interiors, environmentally friendly design, extensive amenities, and a premier location allow residents of the one-, two-, and three-bedroom homes to thrive. In each residence, natural light and floor-to-ceiling windows create a warm and welcoming space. Our commitment to sustainability shines through with Energy Star lighting and appliances, centralized solar hot water heating, EV car sharing, Level 3 EV fast charging stations, and an innovative greywater treatment system.
Experience
Elevated Island Living
Homeowners can indulge in a variety of gathering and recreational spaces, including reservable barbecue cabanas, club rooms, and penthouse level private dining suites –one of which features its own karaoke lounge.
Beyond our community, residents enjoy easy access to a wealth of historic neighborhoods, schools, and recreational destinations such as Kapi‘olani Park, Waikīkī, and Kaimukī.
