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In Hawaii, food is more than sustenance — it’s a shared language that connects us to each other and the past. When beloved local traditions begin to fade, it’s not just businesses that close but a part of our collective identity.

Recently, Pearl City’s iconic “Manapua Man” announced the end , serving his last manapua this week. For many of us, this marks the closing of another chapter in a long-held tradition, one that I felt deeply when Mr. Tran, Kalihi’s own manapua man, passed away in 2019.

Growing up in Hawaii, the manapua man was more than just a street vendor. He was a fixture in our daily lives, someone who brought the community together.

These vendors, often working out of modest white vans or trucks, did more than just sell food — they provided a sense of connection and continuity that went beyond their culinary offerings. The manapua men and women became part of the fabric of our childhoods, shaping our sense of place with each simple transaction.

I grew up in Kalihi, where Mr. Tran was our manapua man. His white Chevy van, always parked near Kalakaua Gym, was a symbol of comfort and joy. I can still remember the sound of the van pulling up, scrambling to gather $2.50 for fried noodles, pork hash, and a soda.

But it wasn’t just the food that drew us in — it was the entire experience. The sense of community as kids from Kalihi Kai Elementary, Kalakaua Middle, and Farrington High lined up for an afternoon snack. The warmth of the van’s engine still running, the feeling of anticipation, and the kindness of Mr. Tran, who always made sure we had something to eat, even if we didn’t have enough money. He wasn’t just a vendor; he was part of our lives.

When Mr. Tran passed away, it wasn’t just a personal loss for those who knew him — it was a loss for the entire Kalihi community. Generations of children grew up visiting his van after school, and his absence left a void that couldn’t easily be filled.

Now, with the closing of Pearl City’s manapua truck, I’m reminded again that these closures mark not just the end of a business but the end of a tradition that helped shape our connection to our neighborhoods.

What makes this moment even more bittersweet is that five years after Mr. Tran’s passing, I’m now a father of two. As much as I cherish the memories of my childhood, I’m saddened that my kids won’t get to experience what I did — growing up with a local neighborhood manapua man, waiting eagerly for that white van, and sharing simple, delicious food with friends. These experiences shaped my sense of community, and it’s hard to think that this tradition might slip away for the next generation.

The manapua man wasn’t just selling food — he represented a connection to something deeply local. In a time when chain stores and fast-food joints dominate the food scene, the manapua man was a reminder of the small, family-run businesses that once thrived here.

These vendors symbolized hard work, resilience, and community. They carried on the legacy of the original manapua men, Chinese laborers who began selling steamed buns (char siu bao) to supplement their income during the plantation days.

Fast-Paced Lifestyles

But as times change, so do the rhythms of daily life. Food trucks and vans like Mr. Tran’s and Pearl City’s manapua man are increasingly being replaced by the convenience of drive-thrus, national chains, and delivery apps.

Our fast-paced lifestyles leave little room for the slower, simpler joys of waiting in line at the manapua van, chatting with the vendor, and enjoying a meal that was as much about the experience as it was about the food.

It’s easy to think of these closures as inevitable. Times change, and businesses come and go.
But what makes these losses particularly poignant is that they reflect a broader shift in our local culture. The manapua man wasn’t just selling food — he was fostering a sense of community.

Whether you were an elementary school student looking for an afternoon snack or a grown adult craving your favorite childhood foods, you could always count on the manapua man to deliver a sense of home.

As we say goodbye to these beloved vendors, we should take a moment to reflect on what they represented and how we can preserve that spirit. It’s not just about the food; it’s about the connections they fostered and the sense of community they built.

While modern fast food might satisfy an immediate craving, it will never replicate the joy of hearing the manapua van pull up to your street or the satisfaction of seeing a familiar face behind the plexiglass case.

These closures remind us that our local food traditions are fragile and need our support. As I raise my children, I hope they will still find ways to connect with their community, even if the food scene looks different from my own upbringing.

By supporting local businesses and sharing stories of the past, we can ensure that while the manapua man may no longer roam our neighborhoods, his spirit will live on in the hearts of Hawaii’s people.

To all the manapua men and women across Hawaii, thank you for the memories. And to Mr. Tran, thank you for being a part of my childhood and for bringing comfort to our community. You will never be forgotten. I only wish my kids could have known you the way I did.