It’s… BAMBOO BEN at TIKI TOM’S! OMG! OMG! OMG!!!

Not long ago, I had the pleasure of going to the newly revamped and built out Tiki Tom’s in Walnut Creek, California. Tiki legend Bamboo Ben (Bassham) had been the man behind the beautiful creation and I just fell in love with the place. Wow! Wow! WOW!

I decided to do a post about the place. How could I not? Darrin DeRita, the bar’s owner, had been so kind to show me around and his daughter had been such a great hostess. The thing was, I couldn’t remember the daughter’s name. I remembered it was a multi-syllabled name, and not uncommon. Jennifer? No. Margaret? Uh-uh. It was on the tip of my tongue, but I just couldn’t get it out.

There was only one way to get help with this, without playing my hand to the DeRita’s that I was doing a little blog post on them—and that was to ask The Man himself, Bamboo Ben.

I was sure someone like Bamboo Ben would completely ignore me. But, through Instagram, I sent him a note, raved about the place, and asked the name of Darrin’s daughter. I included a photograph of Darrin and his daughter to prove I had really met them.

I didn’t expect a reply at all, but the next day, I had a link to Steffani’s Instagram page (Steffani—DUH! Of course!) and he also sent a bunch of tiki-esque emojis.

I wrote up my piece and posted it. I shared it with family and friends via email, then sent it out on Twitter. I also decided to forward it on to Bamboo Ben. After all, he had done the place and helped me with Steffani’s name. He probably wouldn’t bother reading it though, I thought.

A day or two later, he wrote back — briefly — and seemed to be pleased with what I had written. He had also re-tweeted it on Twitter.

He had also promised to post this on Facebook, and sure enough he did.

WOW!

I was fanboy (albeit, a middle-aged one) geeking — BIG TIME! At risk of his losing interest, I wrote him again (addressing him as he had labeled himself, “Mr. Press Whore”) and shared some of my other write ups, especially the one on the nearby Kona Club, which he also designed and built and that is also a big favorite of mine. I also asked a few questions, like how many bars had he built anyway?

I didn’t hear back that day or the next. I thought I had already had my 15 minutes (more like seconds) of Bamboo Ben’s attention and that was it.

Then, the following day, I got a response. He said he had done 44 commercial tiki bars. Wow!

I responded but that went nowhere. I let the thread die.

And then I saw this:

November 4th? Hmm. I was literally less than a week away from moving to Washington state. The movers were set to come November 2nd or 3rd (they gave themselves the option of coming either day) and we (Mom, Erich –both of whom came down to help me pack–and I) were leaving the 4th. Mom was flying home, but Erich and I were heading to his place in San Leandro on the 4th, before heading out of state on the 5th. Could we possibly go to this shindig on my last night in California?

I followed the instructions and tried to reserve us a spot at Tiki Tom’s. At first it showed us a variety of reservation times, but I realized it was trying to book a party of 3. The system still thought Eric from Costa Mesa was with us as he had been the first time we had gone. I corrected the number back down to 2 and suddenly the place was booked. There was no seating for a party of 2 or less. Swell. I asked Erich if he could think of anyone in the area we knew that would go that night, but he drew a blank. Oh well. It wasn’t meant to be. That was okay.

I later stumbled on the message thread with Bamboo Ben I had on Instagram. I told him I knew about the upcoming party at Tiki Tom’s. I explained how I tried to get there but how we were thwarted, but wished him a swell evening anyway.

And then, the tiki gods smiled on me. Bamboo Ben wrote back the next day saying, “Talked to Darren the owner and You’re on The Bamboo BEN Personal Guest List!! See you Thursday!!!”

OH. MY. GOD.

I immediately ran (well, hobbled…) down the hallway to tell Erich the news. He seemed less than thrilled. (He’s not the tiki nerd I am. Bamboo Who?) I think he was looking forward to spending the evening at his house before taking off to the Great Northwest. (Yes, he is coming with me and staying up there until early January while I get settled in.) But now, it was one last California tiki time…and we were guests of Bamboo Ben himself. How freaky tiki cool is that?

Mom, when I told her, was more excited for me. She is completely clueless about anyone in tikidom, but she has heard of Bamboo Ben and knows he’s a big deal.

Of course, I also had to gush a thank you — middle-aged fanboy-style — to Bamboo Ben. He sent some laughing emojis as well as other tiki-esque ones.

The 4th arrived. The movers had packed up the contents of my house and hauled it away a few days before and we had made the first leg of the journey to the Bay Area. It was my last night in California—and I was so excited about the evening ahead.

Erich went with me, but didn’t seem to happy about it. We found a great parking space just around the corner from the bar. We’d arrived a few minutes before 8, but I didn’t think that’d be a problem. What was a possible problem though, was that I didn’t know how Bamboo Ben had listed me on his guest list. It occurred to me that he didn’t know my name. Was I listed as “The Tiki Tourist” (as I am known on Instagram)? “Monster A GoGo” (as I refer to myself here and on Twitter)? I wasn’t sure, so I pulled our conversation on Instagram up and had it ready to show whoever was asking for our reservation.

The place was hoppin’ when we walked in. Before long, the hostess walked up to the podium and asked about our reservations. She looked familiar–but not, if that makes any sense. I tried to explain that we were on Bamboo Ben’s guest list and showed her my phone with our conversation thread.

“Let me ask my father,” she said. “He handles stuff like this.”

“Steffani?” I asked, thinking she looked like the hostess from last time, owner Darrin DeRita’s daughter—but not quite.

“No,” she said. “That’s my sister. I’m Brittani.”

She went to go ask her dad–or someone–what to do with us. The place was packed. Maybe there wasn’t a place for us after all? Brittani soon came back. She said they had seats for us, if we didn’t mind sitting at the bar.

I really hadn’t expected to be seated anywhere but the bar, actually. Heck, I was just thrilled to get in.

As it turned out, the only two seats left in the house, were at the bar–at the lowered, handicapped section. That was completely unintentional–but also strangely apropo. While I’m not in a wheelchair (yet), I was probably the least able-bound person in the place. The patrons at the bar were seated at least a foot above us. Instead of being insulted, I found the seating hilarious. I joked that it was like we were at the kids’ table at Thanksgiving dinner.

When Brittani seated us, she mentioned that Bamboo Ben was standing just a few feet away. I, of course, had already spotted him. But, of course, I was too shy to say anything to him. Besides, he was talking to someone else and I didn’t want to intrude.

As we sat there waiting to order, Darrin came over to chat with us a bit. He remembered me from my visit earlier and he had really liked the write up I had done on the place. Bamboo Ben had sent it to him. That was very kind of him to say so. And then he said that our first round of drinks was on him. Wow! So very nice. Erich and I both ordered the Ohana Punch, which I had been very impressed with during my first visit there. The Ohana Punch is something the DeRita’s created on their own. It is so deliciously different from any tiki cocktail I’ve ever had before, made from coconut, walnuts, and apples.

We also got some puupuus to go with it, the Chicken Karaage and Lola’s Lumpia.

I had flagged Brittani down and asked if I could get a shot of her and her father together.

I’m glad she took the time to chase him down and posed for the photo, because the place really was busy and the staff was racing around making sure everyone was well taken care of.

Erich kept nudging me, trying to get me to go and speak to Bamboo Ben. There always seemed to be someone at his table. I did manage to slyly sneak a picture though…so I could send it to my mom. Ha!

I knew I’d talk to him sooner or later. I just didn’t want to be pushy. Besides, sitting at the bar gave me a chance to look the place over some more. Bamboo Ben had done such a great job on the place. There are all sorts of details waiting to be discovered.

One thing I hadn’t noticed before was the dripping jug of moonshine. Sure, it was just a simple prop, but it was also one of the many magical elements Ben had incorporated into the bar.

We finished our drinks and food and ordered another round. This time, we ordered Rhum Rhums.

While we waited for the drinks to appear, this kid came over and wanted to know if we wanted to see a card trick. Sure. I’m not sure who he was, but his card trick was kind of cool (and I have no idea how he did it).

Again, Erich nudged me to go see Ben. He had been talking to some guy, but the guy had left. Still, I hesitated. I got the feeling he was considering going to the bathroom—and sure enough, that’s where he headed. I wasn’t about to follow him in there.

When he returned, a few other people came up to him and eventually left. When he was finally alone with the two ladies he had been sitting with all evening, I went up to him to thank him for getting us in that night.

It only took him a moment before he realized who I was. We started talking and… I froze. I completely blanked. All of the things I had wanted to ask him had completely left my mind. I was star struck like a total dork. I was able to answer his questions and I, at least, remembered to ask if I could get a photo with him. But otherwise, I just stood there shaking my head like a giant bobble-headed idiot.

There were copies of the flyer laying on the table. He offered to sign one for me. He didn’t know my name and asked for the spelling. Instead of “Shawn,” he decided I should be “Shag”–like the awesome artist. “Aloha, Shag” he wrote and signed his name. Then he sent me over to see Otto Von Stroheim. Otto was DJ-ing the party that night. Aside from spinning tiki tunes, he is known for creating the legendary Tiki Times magazine, writing several tiki books, and for starting Tiki Oasis — the annual conference/festival of all things tiki held in San Diego every year. Before sending me over, though, Ben decided to enhance Otto’s picture…with a little doodled mustache and goatee.

As soon as Otto ended one musical track and got another record spinning, he signed my picture. He noted the vandalisation of his likeness and that the photo was made out to “Shag”. I explained that it had been Ben’s doing. So Otto very carefully blacked out Ben’s eyeballs before adding his signature to the bottom right.

When I got back to my seat, our Rhum Rhums were not there yet. Erich was talking to this guy. I’d seen the fellow around the bar area a good portion of the evening. I wasn’t sure who he was. The bar manager, perhaps? He was telling Erich about this small batch of liqueur he had made, Negroni. He had made it in the little barrel on the shelf in front of us and he wanted us to try it. It was awesome. It was strong—you could tell there was alcohol in it–but it was also very complex and thoroughly delicious.

After we’d enjoyed the Negroni, the fellow wandered away. I asked Erich about him. Apparently the guy had asked Erich if he needed anything and he had mentioned we were waiting for drinks. The guy checked on them and our order for the Rhum Rhums had gotten lost. The guy, Rick, turned out to be Darrin’s brother and the co-owner. Who knew? But he and Erich had gotten to talking and Rick had wanted to share his wonderful concoction.

A few minutes later, Rick returned. This time, he brought us each an O’Mally’s Escape to try. This was really fascinating. Apparently the mixture of ingredients for the drink is very dark. Milk is added to it. The milk absorbs the dark color, removes the alcohol taste (but not the kick). The drink is then strained several times before leaving this amazing, clear liquid that is deceptively non-alcoholic tasting–but can knock you on your butt. Wow!

Later, Darrin came by to talk some more. He’d noted that Rick had been chatting with us. We told him that he’d shared the Negroni and O’Mally’s Escape. He said his brother had really gotten into the whole cocktail making thing, and was “like a mad scientist in his lab.” I had to applaud Rick’s creativity and passion. The drinks were incredible. I wish I had gotten a better photo of Rick. The only one I got was severely blurred.

Our Rhum Rhums came. As we sipped them, we realized it was time for us to be getting back home. We had a heck of a long journey ahead of us the next two days. Erich, initially a curmudgeon about the whole evening, had changed his tune. He’d really had a great time. “Darrin and Rick, they’re so nice,” he kept saying. And they were, incredibly so.

Finally, it was time for goodbyes. Bamboo Ben was very courteous and friendly (and I was still tongue-tied. But, zowie! I’d gotten to meet him. I was so thrilled.). Darrin was ever the gracious host and he thanked me again for my silly write up on his place. We also got our tiki nerd on a bit and talked about some of the mugs in his awesome collection. Rick, with his incredible potions, couldn’t have been kinder. When Erich and I left, we felt almost as if we had spent the evening with great, old friends. It truly was a remarkable time and I felt very positive about Tiki Tom’s future.

Later that night, I sent Bamboo Ben one last thank you for the incredible evening.

It truly was a tiki-riffic way to spend my last night in the state where tiki originated. Aloha, California. I will miss you.

CHEERS!