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 Polly Wanna Hangover? Then Blow Down To Kon Tiki. By Rebecca Cook SOME PLACES WIN over the weary reviewer simply because of their waggish combination of throwback themes, collegiate whimsy and splashy avian displays. In Tucson, this can mean only one location: the Kon Tiki lounge, on East Broadway Boulevard. For 37 years, this hurricane hotspot has lured dehydrated souls away from the heat and into the cool, dark confines of tropical shelter.
Why this craze caught on--along with the ensuing hula hoops, Hawaiian print shirts, mumus and plastic leis--is still one of the mysteries of modern times. Is there anyone out there who truly enjoys all their food drenched in the syrupy squalor of pineapple? Like all such popular movements of questionable aesthetics, the Polynesian theme has gradually slipped into the pages of history; and, just like fondue parties and disco dancing, now enjoys a renewed status in our nostalgic impulse to identify some simpler, better time. At Kon Tiki, however, the thatched past has never skipped a beat. The giant, stony mask of some Polynesian deity still glowers at passing traffic on East Swan Road. The footbridge at the entry way once traversed a bubbling stream, but now, not unlike the Santa Cruz, its blue-tile bed is dry and strewn with debris. The interior is a miracle of bamboo, a feature highlighted by wall sconces that resemble flickering torches. The most impressive design feature of the Kon Tiki, however, has to be the glassed-in aviary behind the bar, where six magnificent macaws in brilliant hues of red, green, blue and yellow strut their stuff before the stupefying gaze of the barstool faithfuls. These days, this is as close as the Kon Tiki gets to live entertainment. And though our hostess wore a mumu on our first visit, subsequent trips proved this costume to be the exception rather than the norm. Dinner or lunch is not the first thought that enters your mind when you walk through the doors of the Kon Tiki. That lingering odor of stale beer and smoke emanating from the perpetually humming bar inevitably dampen the appetite a bit. So let's be clear: These days, few come to Kon Tiki for the succulent pleasure of whole-roasted pig. The name of the game here is cocktails, cocktails, cocktails! Lots of them, some with names and ingredients so extravagant and perverse that any self-respecting thrill-seeker will be in his indulgent element. Kon Tiki is enormously popular among the college set, for whom this retro relic offers a titillating new experience. The extensive drink menu is a delight to peruse--like the 21-and-over equivalent of Baskin-Robbins. Small touches such as the inevitable umbrella perched atop some outlandish, blended concoction of fruit and rum complete the experience. Kon Tiki's bartenders don't scrimp on the alcohol in these toddies, either. They may be cloyingly sweet or appear in innocuous shades of blue and pink, and arrive in shapely glasses, but one thing's for sure: Throw these treasures down the hatch, and you'll most definitely find yourself out at sea. Those macaws get downright bewitching after a few piña coladas. Though admittedly not the primary feature of the establishment, it is possible to get some food at Kon Tiki. The menu probably won't generate raves, but in a pinch there's certainly plenty to fill the void. Appetizers and finger foods are popular choices to accompany the bevy of lovely beverages. At 60 cents a pop, the monkeys-on-a-stick--chewy, bite-sized chunks of teriyakied sirloin impaled on a bamboo skewer--will put some meat in your belly. They take a bit of chewing, but offer passable repast. A pupu tray with additional grilled meats, including barbecued ribs, crab puffs, nuts and pineapple, is another grazing possibility while you contemplate the wingspan of a military macaw. Sit-down meals are also offered, and a smattering of patrons were observed partaking in this option, even during the rowdiest bar times. We chose a quieter lunch time to sample Kon Tiki's kitchen, deciding that the ubiquitous pineapple chicken and a few of Polynesian ribs might make a suitable stab at evaluating the quality of a menu that includes several dishes featuring barbecue or teriyaki. While we weren't exactly wowed by our meal, we weren't by any means disappointed, either. Kon Tiki's kitchen has gone to some lengths to make the dining experience agreeable in all respects. The daily soup of lemon chicken was quite nice, a velvety mix of rice, carrots, onions and tender chicken in a thick commercial stock. The fresh banana bread that came with made a tasty sidebar to this opener. The pineapple chicken, a grilled breast served in a semi-sweet fruit glaze and capped with a sautéed pineapple ring, was fairly moist and tender but curiously lacking in flavor. Rice and steamed broccoli and cauliflower, which were thankfully not cooked beyond the pale, were inoffensive extras on the platter. The Polynesian ribs were to be served in a special island sauce, but instead we found them to be coated in what appeared to be a bottled barbecue gravy. Nevertheless, the meat was thoroughly cooked, moist and tender, and we couldn't help overhearing a lady at a nearby table wax poetic to the waitress about these same ribs.
Dessert was reduced to cheesecake only, which failed to spark
interest at our table. Had it not been mid-day, we would have
gladly switched to the drink menu for a little sweetness. Kon Tiki Restaurant. 4625 E. Broadway Blvd. 323-7193. Open 11 a.m. to 1 a.m. daily. Full bar, with several specialty drinks. V, MC, checks. Menu items: $2.95-$12.95.
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Anyone old enough to remember the '50s and '60s will recall the
luau phenomenon that swept the nation. Hawaii, newly admitted
to this glorious Union, was still novel and exotic to most Americans.
Perhaps the budding Hawaiian tourism industry was responsible
for introducing the islands to the mainland with the traditional
(and not-so-traditional) luau banquet featuring quirky and unappetizing-sounding
items like "poi" and "pupu."
