Another stay-in night on the balcony. Last night was the big dinner out, tonight was the opposite: small paper container, plastic fork, socks, no shoes, the sound of the ceiling fan and the evening. Picked up dinner from Maguro Bros on the way back from the beach.

Maguro Bros is this tiny take-out-only place in Chinatown run by two guys who flew straight in from Japan. You walk up to a window, you point, you pay, you leave. That's the whole experience. Except — and this is the part — the tuna is absurd. Proper ruby-red ahi with that clean metallic snap, and tuna belly that you can basically spread with a breath.

Sixteen bucks. For both. Tuna belly sashimi and a sizeable ahi poke with rice. In Oahu that's not a meal, that's witchcraft. Same plate anywhere on the mainland is easily forty. And they grind the wasabi for you — real root, not a green paste out of a tube — which I will now be insufferable about at home.

Ate it on the balcony watching the last of the light come off the buildings. No music, no TV. Just dinner, a cold beer, and the ocean doing its thing a few blocks away. Some of the best nights of this trip have cost me almost nothing.