My Michel's
HUES OF TANGERINE AND INDIGO STREAKED THE SUNSET SKY, THE VIBRANT STRATOSPHERE PREPARING FOR ITS DAILY REPOSE AS IT CONJUGATED WITH THE EBONIZING, UNDULATING SEA—A RHYTHMIC SERIES OF ALABASTER BRUSH STROKES ON A CERULEAN CANVAS. This idyllic Monetesque setting played impresario to generations of romantics, establishing Michel’s at the Colony Surf as a principal venue in the long-standing narrative of love. The iconic establishment nestled on the white sands of Sans Souci Beach set the stage for my parents’ soirée en amoureux decades ago and on this evening, it was where my wife and I managed to cadge an intimate excursion of our own, a marital circumstance that felt as recurrent as lunar landings. It was unequivocal cause for my spouse to don her new cardinal frock while I dusted off my old Louboutins still soled in crimson, hopeful chromatic Freudian expressions of our undying love for each other.
As we paraded our glamorized incarnations onto the new, plush royal blue carpet, my eyes sought to recognize other contemporary refinements of a venue steeped in history—contrasting earth tones that underscored the entire space, including the creamy painted walls, plush banquettes furnished with lustrous bronze backs and chocolate-toned seat cushions, and wooden chairs upholstered with ecru basket-woven textile adorned with ribbon motifs, the hypnotic oceanfront milieu clearly inspiring the interior palette. A few elements remained as I recalled—the Rococo front table and bar furniture, and the turquoise-lined chargers at each table setting, vestiges of the restaurant’s past that were carefully assimilated, contributing a soupçon of cultivated ostentation to its refreshed modern design. Examining the renovations induced me to retrace my experiences in the 1980s merely for comparative purposes, but it got me delving deeper, fantasizing about the mise en scene my parents experienced years before.
When The Colony Surf Hotel’s designer/ builder John Barkhorn courted the charismatic Nicoise restaurateur Michel Martin to operate a restaurant ensconced at the secluded end of Waikīkī in 1962, it was an axiomatically different era with details inaccessible to me albeit my mother’s fleeting recollections of lavish presentations and anticipatory staff, two guiding principles that are constants today. After all, even though Michel himself remained to charm patrons at his eponymous restaurant for just the inaugural decade, he did establish a brand of fine dining associated with impeccable cuisine and an unparalleled standard of service, forging his prénom on the door for decenniums after his departure.
The restaurant subsequently espoused a few different suiters, each proprietor contributing to its amatory allure, from the commissioning of an Impressionist wall painting depicting ballerinas reminiscent of subjects captured by Edgar Degas, to the partial conversion of the restaurant into a chapel, complete with ecclesiastical yet tropically-inspired stained-glass doors, which were installed to seduce Japanese couples ceremonializing their nuptials. Most of my memories included the latter transformations as implemented by the most previous owner, real estate developer and business tycoon D.G. “Andy” Anderson. With Japanese company Watabe Wedding Corporation purchasing the restaurant in 2017, and further elevating its stylish décor, I was determined to forge a new joie de vivre with my wife.
The current menu, as envisioned by executive chef Eberhard “Hardy” Kintscher, continued to implement “French Continental approaches, avoiding all shortcuts.” However, his classic dishes incorporated regional ingredients and an acute sensitivity to the local palate, somewhat disparate from the canard roti a l’orange, tournedos Rossini, and frog legs sauté amandine found on the menu back in the 1970s.
Our amuse bouche recapitulated the steak tartare—a Michel’s staple once prepared tableside—a serenading bite of ‘ahi tartare floating in on a gondola of Belgian endive. The sweet, supple, minced local tuna mixture dabbed with a buttery aioli made a melodious duet with the crisp, balancing astringency of the chicory leaf.
Pleased with our first bites, we made a toast. My mild-mannered Cinnamon Old Fashioned handcrafted with suggestive hints of warm baking spice clinked glasses with her racy yet abstinent ginger ale, just as our appetizers arrived. The tender Helix Escargots Bourgogne were submerged in an herbed garlic butter perfumed with curry, and served with warm crostini, just as they were served almost 60 years ago. My wife let out a gratifying moan, initially tugging at my insecurities, as she relished the exotic aromatics, continuously plunging fragments of her toast points into every cavity of the escargot dish, including mine.
The lobster bisque, another original recipe that weathered the test of time, was sure to ignite the passion. Morsels of succulent lobster were flambeed with De Luze VS Cognac before being placed into bowls of blushing soup comprised of velvety cream scented with crustacean, a favorite memory that found communion with my significant other.
The vivid sky slipped into obscurity, leaving just the consoling sounds of the ocean’s currents in the distance as they caressed the shores with foamy effervescence. This signaled the transition to appreciate the décor of the restaurant, and more importantly, the sights of each other. As both general manager Philip Shaw and his successor-to-be John Hoffman both summarized when talking about the restaurant’s success, “It is about the setting which includes the view, the feel and look of the restaurant. The sound and energy of the ocean draws people in. It is soothing. It is the reason why we are in Hawai‘i.”
An entremet of bright Meyer lemon sorbet was then served to cleanse our palates, reinvigorating our longing for the entrees. My wife’s bone-in New York Café de Paris, dressed with a Cabernet demi-glace and a finishing herbed butter, was given crisp textures with fried onions that imparted a slight pungence to the extracted beefy presentation. The golden puff pastry crust enveloped my Beef Wellington to a perfect broil, infusing it with essences from the white chicken foie gras mousse. Truffled Madeira glazed the bottom of the plate, imparting caramelized nuances while an accompanying Sauce Cumberland and its ambrosial currants offered more berried overtures.
Our desires for savory satiated, we consummated the evening with our aphrodesiac desserts, the wispy yet crispy-edged Michel’s Chocolate Souffle and the feathery, bittersweet Chocolate Decadence Cake, under the incandescent glow of an abalone shell-crowned vintage brass lamp embraced by two mischievous cherubs who were stewards throughout our entire repast.
As my wife and I left, I realized that I just experienced the mystique of Michel’s that enchanted my parents and many before them. My wife pecked me on the cheek with a bid of gratitude, a sign I took as assurance that there were amorous adventures ahead, hopefully as colorful as the restaurant’s storied past.
Michel’s at the Colony Surf, 2895 Kalakaua Ave., (808) 923-6552, michelshawaii.com