Politics Hawaii with Stan Fichtman would not have existed without its co-founder, Brandon Dela Cruz, who, back in 2016, encouraged me, Stan Fichtman, to take ownership of the politicshawaii.com domain. Since then, the blog has published many pieces, yet Brandon chose to write only one himself.

And it will be the only one we will be able to show, as he passed away suddenly on November 10, 2025.

Brandon was a master of food. He understood it, celebrated it, and helped elevate it—particularly through his work with L&L Drive Inn (now L&L Hawaiian Barbecue), which grew into one of Hawaiʻi’s largest restaurant brands under his watch. Fittingly, the one piece he wrote for Politics Hawaii was about food, its history, and L&L’s place in that story.

As part of our in memoriam for Brandon, and in recognition of his role in the creation of this blog, we reissue his original piece here, faithfully reproduced.

Please enjoy.

A Celebration of Hawaii Casual Cuisine – L & L at 70

By Brandon Dela Cruz

In a get-together with the esteemed owner of this blog, I brought up the fact that L & L turned 70 in 2022. In his typical, “heh, now ain’t that somethin”‘ response, he casually asked me to provide some retrospect into it. I told him that I’d oblige his request with something better – I’d write about it.

In thinking about my tenure with the company which spans from the early 2000s and the legacy Hawaii brand known as L & L, it is incredible what has occurred. L & L has ushered a way for the cuisine of Hawaii to be enjoyed by the masses and has made a way for “Hawaii Fast Casual Cuisine” to become a thing internationally! To start, it behooves me to pay homage to the lineage of how the cuisine has gotten to where it is now. It is a cuisine that has changed, grown, added-onto, influenced, inspired, and evolved over many years to how it is L & L presents it through its roughly 220 locations in the present day.

Before the arrival of Captain Cook, Hawaii’s cuisine was primarily that which was offered by the indigenous people of the islands. Native Hawaiians cultivated their cuisine from many natural sources that spanned from the land to the sea including coconut and seaweed. From these sources, they would create a variety of dishes such as pork cooked from an underground oven called an “imu” that we now know as kālua pork. Pork and poi which was their main staple made from the Taro root. Perhaps the most well-known Hawaiian cultural cuisine offering is poke, or raw fish seasoned with a variety of condiments like sea salt and limu (a type of seaweed).

In the mid-18th century, Hawaii was discovered by explorers from the west and became influenced by their customs and practices. Eventually, western business and commerce entered the area and ushered in Hawaii’s agricultural age. During the time that shaped this era of the islands, an influx of immigration from a variety of places around the world would occur to support the various opportunities in the bustling industry. Immigrants from China, Japan, the Philippines, Puerto Rico, and other parts of the world converged in the mid-1800s through the early 1900s to work in sugar and pineapple plantations providing labor support.

Plantation work was physically intense and required workers to have proper nourishment. Many of them would bring their lunches in portable tin containers featuring the ethnic tradition of their origin. For example, the Japanese would have teriyaki-based meats while Filipinos would have dishes like chicken adobo. What was common among the largely Asian labor force in terms of cuisine was that many of them included rice with their meals. Naturally, the people who worked together shared their meals and with that their lives. Many of them became family to one another, being away from the loved ones of their place of origin, many thousands of miles away.  The celebrations of life extend beyond the workplace and include gatherings of the families of the workers, becoming the impetus of Hawaii’s large number of people who are of multiple ethnicities. Not to be remised, the gatherings of the workers became the extension of the sharing of the cultures, which many times included food. The rich Hawaii tradition of comingling various ethnic foods on one table found its true footing during Hawaii’s agricultural years.

Hawaii’s agricultural economy eventually saw a shift towards other economic opportunities as western culture, particularly that of the United States of America came into the mix. Still, the collective heavily Asian-influenced society at the time remained with the local island culture, especially with its food traditions. The urbanization of Hawaii ushered in economic opportunities, especially in the form of restaurants. A popular type of restaurant that emerged from this was the okazuya restaurant which became the marketplace for the “evolved” version of the cuisines shared among the local island communities. Okazu, meaning “side dish” in Japanese provided a variety of offerings that customers could choose from to create their own custom meals. Similarly, eateries like okazuya restaurants would offer “pre-packed” offerings in the form of bentos, taking a page out of the Japanese tradition of the bento-box, but with a Hawaii-influenced twist. While Hawaii’s local community continued to transition into the new post-agricultural economy, American influence, especially through Hawaii’s role in World War II, became more prevalent in many facets of Hawaii life. The local Hawaii cuisine was also subject to this as its cuisine would pop up in the form of hamburgers, hot dogs, french fries, and what is now known as Hawaii’s favorite food – SPAM®. In addition to the already established okazuya restaurants, other eateries that took on the American “drive-in” concept emerged.

While many drive-in restaurants offered popular American treats, these places also offered a new take on popular Hawaii cuisine, that affectionately became the plate lunch. Back then, one could find hearty mash-up flavors like chili on top of spaghetti with a hot dog alongside more traditional and basic dishes such as roast beef on the menu. Plate lunches would vary on side accompaniments, but rice and macaroni salad remained the most popular serving with the main entrée of choice. The plate lunch menu evolved the Hawaii tradition of blending various flavors that had something for everyone in the community.

There were many drive-in restaurants around Oahu. One of them was a small shop called L & L. Primarily known for its milk offerings as L & L Dairy that started in 1952, the outlet eventually transitioned out of the dairy business and into a local eatery that served Hawaii’s collective ethnic & American cuisines fused in plate-lunch form.

In the mid-1970s Eddie Flores and Johnson Kam took over L & L and, in the years following, would make innovations to the plate lunch such as offering smaller “mini plates” as well as offering “healthier options” that replaced the carbohydrate-heavy white rice and macaroni salad with green salad brown rice. The duo also duplicated their successful restaurant formula across many of the islands, eventually overflowing into the continental United States in 1999 under the name “L & L Hawaiian Barbecue.” The “Hawaiian Barbecue” term was coined by Eddie Flores, Jr. who shared with me in my early years with the company that he created the term to help people identify with the food easier.

The bold move by Flores and Kam to introduce a regionally known cuisine, mainly confined to Hawaii to the continental United States didn’t come easy. Flores masterfully led L & L’s branding and franchise business approach at the corporate level in Hawaii while Kam courageously led the on-the-ground effort, taking the risk to open in unestablished cities and markets; eventually splitting his time between Hawaii and the areas where he opened locations.  To support the growth of L & L, Flores and Kam found others who were interested in the franchise opportunity they co-founded.  They became the franchisees of L & L who open and spread the presence of L & L franchised restaurants across multiple locales and states.

In many of these areas such as San Diego, the Bay Area, Seattle, etc., L & L found a cult-like following of many Hawaii local “kama‘aina” turned transplants to the continent who longed for a taste of home. In fact, their affinity to Hawaii and the L & L brand is an integral part of the success of the brand; and they still are L & L’s most loyal customers to this day. They are also our greatest ambassadors, constantly sharing freshly cooked, large-portioned plates with friends and family who are not familiar with the flavors of Hawaii.  But let me tell you, once they get their friends to bite into a SPAM® musubi (a block of sauce-flavored white rice topped with a slice of SPAM® and wrapped with a piece of nori seaweed), or a loco moco (hamburger and gravy topped with egg covering a bed of rice), they’re hooked!

L & L Hawaiian barbecue outside of the islands offers “Hawaii fast-casual cuisine” with a similar menu to that of its Hawaii counterparts such as the BBQ mix plate, chicken katsu, and kalua pork. Eventually, the SPAM® musubi was added after strong demand from local kama‘aina (the term referring to residents who live/once lived in the islands) who yearned for their favorite Hawaii snack. Eventually, L & L would grow from a single outlet in Los Angeles and find its popularity among many cities throughout California and beyond.

The trail that L & L blazed through the early 2000s to now continues to be the inspiration for a variety of restaurants that have developed their own Hawaii-influenced cuisine to follow. Still, L & L continues to be the leader in sharing Hawaii’s quintessential local Hawaii cuisine with the world. This includes celebrating the history, traditions, and years of diversity, and community that is an integral part of it. And reflecting on the 70-year history of the brand that started as a local island dairy to becoming the most well-known vehicle for introducing Hawaii cuisine to the world, it has been an honor of the ride that continues the commitment to bringing authentic, Hawaii-rooted, intricately infused multiethnic flavors with the world with a spirit of Aloha; celebrated with every delicious plate lunch that is brought into the world to enjoy!  Cheers!

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Brandon Dela Cruz is the Director of Marketing for L & L Hawaiian Barbecue.  He has been with the company since the early 2000s and has seen the growth of the company from several dozen to over 225 locations throughout several U.S. States and Japan.

Over the first weekend of November 2025, a shutdown that had seemed locked in place began to move. Senate Majority Leader John Thune signaled the chamber would remain in session to work toward a deal, and by Sunday night, procedural votes to advance a proposal cleared 60 votes. For many, the shift felt sudden — and welcome.

But to this blogger, it quickly raised a question: Why did the standoff collapse when it did?

Shutdowns, at least in the modern era, have not been, at the end, about policy differences. They are contests of will. They function as controlled brinkmanship, where each side pushes until the other decides the political cost is too high. For decades, shutdowns have tended to last only until furloughed federal workers miss a paycheck — at that point, pressure builds, and someone relents.

This shutdown pushed beyond that familiar boundary.

As October turned to November, the consequences widened. Universities with federal grants began asking whether they would be able to draw down funds. State agencies braced for disruption in reimbursements. And then came the most consequential signal: the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program quietly indicated that benefits could be delayed if the shutdown continued.

Once SNAP entered the conversation, the shutdown moved from abstraction to reality. It became the most visible and personal. And it became political in a way no member of Congress can ignore.

With the White House recognizing this, instead of stepping back, it chose to, instead, double down and escalate by outrightly freezing benefits, scaling down airport operations, and allowing the possibility — and the optics — of hardship during the Thanksgiving holiday.

Democrats, meanwhile, were relying on a traditional pressure sequence: that these same constituencies would demand Republicans end the shutdown and restore Affordable Care Act subsidies. In other words, the expectation was that the public reaction to suffering would force the Republicans to blink.

But last week, the underlying calculus became clear: Republicans were willing to let that suffering occur – Not just rhetorically, but openly and deliberately, signaling that they could and would hold their position even as visible harm emerged.

In a game of one-upmanship, no matter what the competition is, once one side shows it has no escalation limit, the dynamic changes. At that point, the shutdown is no longer a negotiation — it is a question of endurance. And Democrats, most likely seeing this as of late last week, reached the conclusion that the White House and Republicans in both chambers were ready to carry the shutdown into the stage where hardship was not only predicted, but televised and widely felt.

Yes, the White House was prepared to go that far, and in breaking, Democrats declared they were not.

So the shutdown did not end because a genuine compromise emerged, in the viewpoint of this blogger. It ended because the escalation curve broke open, and only one side was prepared to continue up it.

In any standoff like this — whether in Congress, collective bargaining, or foreign policy — the same rule applies: The side without limits wins. Boiled down, the narrative that carried the action to end the standoff was as follows,

• Republicans made it clear they would allow real, public pain.
• Democrats would not.

Everything else, including the “win or lose” discussion that is now coming out about this, is commentary.

This humble blogger never expected that two schools tied to different chapters of his life — one where he attended in Hong Kong, and one that sits at the heart of Hawaiʻi’s identity — would be fighting lawsuits at the same time.

Yet here we are. Hong Kong International School (HKIS), where this blogger spent part of his youth in the early 1990s, and Kamehameha Schools, an institution deeply intertwined with Hawaiʻi’s history and identity, are now both in court.

One is accused of drifting from the mission it was founded upon. The other is accused of holding to its mission so tightly that it may now violate the law. Different places, different histories — but both face the same question: how does an institution stay true to its purpose when the world keeps changing the rules around it?

That was the first thought when news of the Kamehameha Schools lawsuit broke on Monday, October 20, which reminded this writer that this is not just a Hawaiʻi conversation. Around the world, elite private schools, often founded with a moral or cultural purpose, are being challenged over who they serve, how they operate, and whether their missions still align with the legal and social expectations of today.

Let’s start with the alma mater – HKIS.

HKIS was founded in 1966 as a partnership between the Lutheran Church–Missouri Synod (LCMS) and business leaders in Hong Kong. The founding promise was simple: an American-style, Christian education open to all children, not just the privileged.

But as Hong Kong became an international financial hub, the school evolved with it. Expatriate executives moved in, companies paid school tuition as part of compensation packages, and local business elites began sending their children there, too. By 1990, HKIS was already seen as a school for the well-off — a place where classmates were the children of Citibank, Northrop, and Price Waterhouse executives. The message was unspoken but clear: if you had the means, you could go.

Over the decades, HKIS became one of the top international schools in Asia, with multi-campus, state-of-the-art facilities, and tuition that climbed higher each year. Today, it holds billions in financial reserves and is building a student activity center with tennis courts, swimming pools, and even an indoor golf simulator.

And that is exactly where the lawsuit begins.

The Lutheran Church–Missouri Synod — the same church that helped found HKIS — is suing the school, claiming it has drifted from its original mission. They argue that HKIS was never meant to be a luxury institution for the elite, but a Christian school open to all backgrounds. Instead, they say, it now serves only a narrow, wealthy segment of society while accumulating large surpluses and cutting the church out of its governance. Their hook? They have rights to the land under the Repulse Bay campus, of which they would like to repurpose the place for another new American high school, which the Synod visualizes as better alignment to the original HKIS mission, as they see it.

In short, HKIS and those who run the school are being accused of mission abandonment.

Kamehameha Schools, as we will see next, is being accused of the exact opposite — mission protection at any cost.

Kamehameha Schools’ story is one most people in Hawaiʻi know well. Established in 1887 through the will of Princess Bernice Pauahi Bishop, the last direct descendant of King Kamehameha I, it was created to educate Native Hawaiian children at a time when their future was uncertain. This was not after the overthrow — it was before it. Pauahi saw the decline of her people firsthand: their population was shrinking, their language and culture were being pushed aside, and foreign interests were growing in power. Her decision to leave her vast estate for the education of Hawaiian children was not mere philanthropy; it was an act of legacy, protection, and quiet resistance.

Today, Kamehameha Schools is being asked a very different question than HKIS. Not “Why did you abandon your mission?” but rather “Can your mission still be legal in the United States?”

Challenges to its Hawaiian-preference admissions policy aren’t new — they’ve been surfacing for decades. The legal groundwork was laid in 2000 with Rice v. Cayetano, when the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that limiting voting in Office of Hawaiian Affairs elections to Native Hawaiians violated the 15th Amendment’s ban on race-based voting restrictions.

That decision didn’t touch Kamehameha Schools directly, but it sent a warning shot: ancestry-based preference, even when rooted in history and restorative intent, could be seen under U.S. law as racial discrimination. Challenges to Kamehameha soon followed, but were either settled out of court or not pursued further. However, it was known that there would be another challenge; it was only a matter of time before that happened.

And now, that challenge has arrived.

In October 2025, Students for Fair Admissions — the same group that ended affirmative action on the mainland — filed a lawsuit in federal court in Honolulu against Kamehameha Schools. They argue that a private school giving preference to Native Hawaiian children violates federal civil rights law. Kamehameha Schools answers just as directly — that this is precisely what Princess Pauahi established the trust to do, that they take no federal money, and that the school exists because her people were once on the brink of disappearing in their own homeland.

This debate isn’t new. What is different is the moment we’re in. National leaders are actively reshaping civil rights law, and in the process, redefining what “fairness” means in America. Whether intentionally or not, this shift risks overlooking — or forgetting — why Kamehameha Schools was created in the first place.  

So here we are — two schools, worlds apart, facing the same kind of reckoning.

HKIS is being accused of drifting from its mission, trading its Christian roots for prestige and exclusivity. Kamehameha Schools is being accused of the opposite — holding to its mission so tightly that it now collides with federal law. One is charged with forgetting why it was founded. The other is being challenged to remember. And at the heart of both lawsuits sits the same question: who is a school really for, and who gets left at the door?

In the end, the missions of these schools haven’t really changed — it’s the world around them that has. Laws shift. Ideas of what’s fair shift. What people expect from private institutions — whether in Hong Kong, London, Boston, or right here in Honolulu — shifts too. And now, schools like HKIS and Kamehameha find themselves in a place their founders probably never saw coming: having to explain whether what they were created to do still has a place in today’s world.

This isn’t about condemning either school or dismissing the purpose they were built on. Far from it. It’s about recognizing something larger at play — that missions born in another time are now being judged by the standards of this one. And whether we like it or not, that conversation is no longer just local. It’s global.