cherry

The term "cherry" in Hawaiian Pidgin is borrowed from mainland American car culture and vintage slang, where it originally described a vehicle in pristine, mint condition. In Hawaii, the usage expanded beyond just cars and motorcycles to describe anything that is flawless, highly desirable, or exceptionally cool. A freshly shaped surfboard, a perfectly cooked plate lunch, or a brand-new pair of slippahs can all be described as cherry.

It is most commonly used by local men, mechanics, surfers, and older generations who grew up in the 70s and 80s, though it remains widely understood across the state. While it is a positive compliment, it is strictly informal slang. Using it in a professional setting or formal writing would be inappropriate, but it is the perfect word to use when admiring a friend's newly restored Toyota Tacoma or a perfectly glassy wave.

Clifton slammed the hood of the '89 Toyota pickup, sending a cloud of red dirt into Kimo’s face. "I telling you, the engine stay cherry! Just need one new alternator, maybe some duct tape for the radiator hose, and she go!" Kimo was busy coughing up dust while Tony hung halfway out the passenger window, frantically trying to roll it up because the handle was stripped. "How this thing cherry?!" Tony yelled over the grinding sound of the starter. "The muffler dragging on the pavement since we left Kaunakakai, and I swear I smell burning hair!"

"You guys get no vision," Clifton muttered, finally getting the engine to turn over with a deafening backfire that sent three feral chickens scattering into the kiawe bushes. They were parked on the empty west-end road at sunset, the perfect stretch to test the truck's top speed, assuming it didn't explode first. Kimo scrambled into the bed of the truck, slipping on an empty bag of sweet bread. "Just drive, stupid! Before the sun go down and we gotta use your phone flashlight for headlights!"

Clifton threw it into gear, and the truck lurched forward with a violent shudder. The dashboard lit up like a Christmas tree, every warning light flashing in unison. "See?" Clifton grinned, slapping the cracked steering wheel as they hit a staggering thirty-five miles per hour. "Runs like a dream. I told you guys, cherry!" Tony just buried his face in his hands, praying the brakes worked better than the windows.