By Paul Honda
hondareport@aol.com
Friday, Sept. 22, 2006

Farging a/c. Damn it feels good.

Nothing against the scorching rays of sunshine that fry the pavement of Ala Moana Boulevard and Nimitz Highway. None. I like sun. It is warm and reminds me that there are deprived people in frigid regions who consider 50 degrees unbearably sultry.

Still, now that I'm sitting in a brand-name coffee shop, lounging on furniture that is begging to be slept on, I can say only one thing with completely conviction: Farging a/c.

Not long after the interview with Coach Coach, shortly after a stop by Rainbow Drive-In (God thank you for consistently pretty-good-but-not-incredible chili plates that take me back to da olden days) and another to pick up 15-dollar binoculars at Ala Moana, I can plop off my black Chuck Taylors, kick up the feet (no odor, fyi) and gulp down my "zen" ice tea. Shoot, if I knew it was this cheap ($1.75), I'd get the tea a lot more than my favored vanilla frappucino.

For whatever reason — I'm not in a complaining mood, so screw it — this particular shop makes me chill out literally and soulfully like no other. Good memories of this place. Friends with guitars who can really sing. Scripts mapped and written out, regardless of who is being piped through the sound system. (Today, it's Bob Marley. Last time, Ella Fitzgerald. You can probably figure out where I'm at now.)

Something about the aroma of freshly ground coffee brings me peace. Of course, it wouldn't be a peaceful state of mind if there were no a/c. I don't drink coffee, though I gave it my best shot in 1991, no pun intended. While I lived in Kona, friends came over to view the Eclipse (yes, capital 'E'), a once-in-a-lifetime experience that I recall once every 15 years. While my friends were staying in my tiny, blistering-hot (note the common theme of insufferably hot weather) studio — six of us to be exact — they became concerned that I had not yet become a member of the fresh-coffee cult.

True, Kona is king of coffee in Hawaii. I even met a few great coffee farmers during my years there. But drinking the stuff made no sense for me. I was, still am, a borderline insomniac. (Does going to bed after 2 a.m. regularly qualify me?) Back in those Kona days, I normally got up at noon. Think about it. Noon. 50 yards from the beach. Kailua-Kona. Ninety degrees. A pot of boiling hot coffee just didn't fit in the equation.

Of course, I jumped on the coffee-bean bandwagon. Got myself a $20 bean grinder. Began trying different beans from across North and South Kona. Purrty interesting. Then my friends went home to Oahu. That bean grinder collected dust from that very day and eventually rusted. I ended up tossing it into the garbage when I moved back to Honolulu seven years later.

The fascination with coffee never quite dissipated, though. I always find it remarkable how beans differ in taste and acidity from one neighborhood to another on those rich slopes of Hualalai Mountain. The idea of exporting beans in my spare time sounded like a good idea. I never followed up on it, though. That's the difference between a novice coffee fan who doesn't even drink the product and a true java connoisseur.

The aroma is unmatched. In fact, Jamoca Almond Fudge is still my favorite flavor of ice cream. You can only get it, however, at Baskin Robbins. They close every night at 10. That probably has saved me an additional 15 or 20 pounds of flab. I've always maintained that if Jamoca Almond Fudge were a woman, she would be Halle Berry. Sweet, rich, smooth and a little bit nutty. I mean, crunchy. Whatever ...

So the white clouds, thick and dense, roll past the highway overpass, blue sky unspoiled. The rumble of Harley Davidsons and delivery trucks is muted by whirring coffee bean grinders and small talking patrons. I can hear them, but I can't hear them. I'm under the hypnotic spell of coffee aroma and a/c, and that's just right for me.

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