I was casting about the kitchen in search of something for breakfast this morning (okay, this noon; I get so few opportunities to sleep in these days that when they present themselves I tend to go overboard). On weekdays my typical breakfast fare is pretty spare—a salmon patty, toast and coffee—but on the weekends I often feel free to let my hair….okay, my scalp….down and eat whatever I want. Often that’s exactly what I have most weekdays because it’s easy and it tastes good, but today I was in the mood for something a little different.

I started by microwaving a bowl of leftover brown rice, then topping it with one of the aforementioned salmon patties. Feeling that the package was lacking a little oomph, I threw caution to the wind and plopped a fried egg on top; take that, arteries! Finally, looking for the coup de grease, I uncovered a container of homemade turkey gravy Margaret had concocted the previous week. What the hey, I warmed up a little of that and glopped it over the whole thing.

I had, unwittingly, created a Northwest Loco Moco:

For those unfamiliar, a Loco Moco is a form of surfer snack particular to the Hawaiian Islands. Most often served out of “Roach Coach”-style lunch wagons that perpetually crawl the parking lots of the more popular beach parks. In its purest form a Loco Moco consists of a pint- or quart-sized paper or styrofoam contianer filled with steamed white rice, topped with a hamburger patty, a fried egg and a gravy of dubious pedigree.

Tremendously popular in my youth, the Loco Moco fulfilled the three most basic requirements of surfer cuisine; it was cheap, filling and above all, cheap. Having never been a surfer myself, I have eaten perhaps half a dozen Loco Mocos in my time growing up in Hawaii. The majority of them came from one or another of the aforementioned roach coaches; at least two of those I was unable to finish despite my hunger and my alley-cat stomach—they were fully that nasty. One of them, easily one of the best, was eaten at the late, lamented King’s Coffee Shop in McCully. And recently, I sampled a bit of Margaret’s outstanding Morimoto Moco when we visited his restaurant in Waikiki:

Overall, my personal riff on the Loco Moco theme was tasty, and certainly filling. But there was something a little off about it. Perhaps there was something, well, disingenuous about the tarting up of a proletarian island delicacy like the Loco Moco that bled a little of the flavor out of it; call it the California Pizza Kitchen Effect.

Whatever may have been missing, I’m not sorry I tried it out. But next time I think I’ll try to recreate the authentic dish….minus the roaches.