In an age where diets have become so commonplace that a name recognition factor for healthy recipes has entered the cultural lexicon (Atkins, Shintani, etc.), the loco moco stands as Hawai’i’s true claim to unhealthy comfort-food fame. Many a local will voluntarily transplant themselves to the Bay Area to revel in Armistaud-Maupin dreams of embracing free-range beefs and ahi carpaccios, but upon returning to the islands, the first thing they crave is not a nalo green salad and a bottle of Menehune, but a loco moco. They practically beg to be driven from the airport to the nearest plate lunch place to scarf down its gravy sustenance.

History will teach us nothing

The birth of this dish is shrouded in more mystery than an episode of Lost, but legend has it that the loco moco was born in Hilo at the Lincoln Grill, which closed in the ’60s. The majority of reports indicate that the dish was created as a faster alternative to the bento. But many Hilo folks are also under the belief that the dish was born at CafÈ 100. Granted, that establishment’s menu boasts dozens of different types of loco mocos and its arguably a must-eat-at while visiting the Big Island, so perhaps that’s where the confusion was spawned. Conception by abundance.

What the word ‘loco’ means is questionable, the assumption being that it is either pidgin for ‘local’ or inspired by the Spanish word for ‘crazy.’ As for the word ‘moco,’ the prevailing belief seems to be that it was chosen simply because it rhymed. Very Hawai’i. What other state would come up with the phrase ‘Guarans ball-barans’ instead of simply saying, ‘It’s a sure thing!’

You like the sauce, eh?

The loco moco itself is a dish of simplicity. A gravy-covered hamburger patty laid in a bowl of rice with an egg on top. The egg is usually sunny-side up, and the gravy is usually lathered on the rice as well.

On O’ahu, debate is spirited on what constitutes the perfect loco moco. Traditionally, the dish is drive-in fare; mostly every local take-out or plate lunch place serves one–at the very least, it’s on the breakfast menu. From Zippy’s to Likelike Drive-In, all the way to the various small diners in downtown Honolulu, they all carry it.

Then there are the revisionist versions.

The granddaddy of the fine-dining loco moco is at the Pineapple Room, Alan Wong’s restaurant at Macy’s. The Pineapple Room version features a grilled hamburger patty with two eggs over their fried rice and veal jus, sprinkled with diced tomatoes and onions. The grilled consistency of the meat, along with the fried rice and a sauce that is too ritzy to be considered gravy, will make you think twice about its quick, cheap and easy origins.

And then there is–er, was–the loco moco at Ginza Kimuraya Tokyo Bakery at Kahala Mall which traded in the hamburger for fish. Sadly, this less fattening alternative, doused with a fantastic shoyu onion sauce, is no longer on the menu.

After a certain point though, one cannot deny the similarities between the non-revisionist versions. Aside from minor gripes, like how Zippy’s didn’t put gravy over the rice in the take-out container, your favorite loco moco really depends on who serves your favorite hamburger steak. The most controversial loco moco would be Anna Miller’s. This sauce is closer to cream of mushroom gravy than the usual type of curdling, oil-bubble brown gravy. Depending on your endurance levels and gluttony for fatty punishment, this can be viewed as either good or bad. The choice is yours.

Super Size Me

I myself have never quite been a fan of the loco moco. Being a person with a slight phobia of foods touching each other on a plate–watching people pile it on at buffets makes me a touch ill–the loco moco goes against all that I eat for. Little did I know how dangerous it would be.

For the assignment, I ingested a total of eight loco mocos within a two-week period, five of them on consecutive days. With an almost Morgan Spurlock/Super Size Me-like fascination, I watched as my gut expanded, my face filled out and my blood pressure sky-rocketed. Since there really was no other lifestyle change, especially in diet, I can only take an educated guess that it was a direct effect of loco moco ingestion. Also like the aforementioned documentary, there was also a point where even the thought of scooping one last mouthful of brown gravy-covered rice tinged with egg yolk yellow, resulted in a wave of nausea.

Suffice to say, I may never eat another loco moco again, or at the very least, until I lose the seven pounds of extra baggage.

But I can understand why others will.

If it isn’t eaten too often, there is something comforting about the simplicity of the dish. And the fact that it came from the Big Island puts it beyond the categorization of comfort food; it is a dish that is uniquely Hawaiian. Perhaps that is why returning residents always come back to it. Like the state itself, it’s a bunch of things that shouldn’t match, but they are mixed up together anyway. A melting bowl, if you will.

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