What happens when a love of tribal art, mid-twentieth-century pop culture, and good rum drinks all come crashing together? I had never asked that question before, but it was answered for me anyway in 1991, when I discovered my first vintage tiki bar. This, I thought, was truly the place for me. It seamlessly incorporated three favorite recreational pursuits—and in an amusing way.

 

james teitelbaum2006_4_44

What happens when a love of tribal art, mid-twentieth-century pop culture, and good rum drinks all come crashing together? I had never asked that question before, but it was answered for me anyway in 1991, when I discovered my first vintage tiki bar. This, I thought, was truly the place for me. It seamlessly incorporated three favorite recreational pursuits—and in an amusing way.

Spending the 1990s on tour with a variety of musical acts—alternately as a keyboard player and as a sound engineer—afforded me an opportunity to visit all the major cities in North America. During all these trips, the search for tiki was a constant. I began to share my discoveries on a Web site beginning in 1995. The site’s popularity suggested a book, which became Tiki Road Trip (Santa Monica Press, 2003).

After I had visited over a hundred bars, bowling alleys, restaurants, and strip clubs festooned with ersatz Polynesian fertility symbols, it became clear that a true tiki style could be quantified.

The sense of having entered a time warp to a bygone era is key, as is the patina that comes with remaining unrenovated (but not unmaintained) for decades. Actual tikis are mandatory, of course, but what isn’t present is an essential consideration as well. Televisions, neon beer signs, and loud music all take you right out of the fantasy of being in some unspecified far-off land.

The line between having fun with tiki and offending living Pacific islanders is a tricky one to walk. It is best to imagine an uncharted island group, somewhere west of Easter Island, north of New Zealand, south of Hawaii, and east of French Polynesia. It is here that we enjoy a dance that resembles the hula—but isn’t. We drink complex rum drinks and never mind that rum is a Caribbean concoction. We carve idols that resemble the deities of the Marquesas, Rapa Nui, or Hawaii—but not exactly. We sing songs about island life, though the indigenous music of any one real island has never been heard here.

 

james teitelbaum2006_4_44a

Like the actual Pacific islands, our fantasy archipelago is scattered widely, often with great distances between outposts. You’d need a talented navigator to help you find them all. Until you acquire one (hint: Tiki Road Trip), here’s a primer to the very best.

Mai-Kai Restaurant

Fort Lauderdale, Florida

Celebrating its fiftieth anniversary in 2006 (the big party is during