Food Network star Guy Fieri was in town last week shooting segments for his show "Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives," or 3D, as the cool kids call it. He visited places like Rainbow Drive-In, the Poke Stop, Hank's Haute Dogs and the fish auction.

Solid choices, but the blogosphere lit up with dozens of other suggestions. He could hang here for an entire season and not get through all the down-market delights Hawaii has to offer.

Like the tempura shrimp musubi at Shirokiya. It's shaped like a Spam musubi but a batter-fried shrimp is secured under the nori where the Spam should be, the tail hanging jauntily out the back, daring you to eat it. Just one is enough for a meal, even for a chunky guy like Fieri.

He could do a whole show on Waikane Store sushi and boiled peanuts and how the mosquitoes out that way are so savage, they threaten to carry you off as you walk from the car, but nobody cares because the food is so addicting.

What's so great about Fieri is that he's game for trying just about anything. He's not one of those TV personalities who make the overblown "I can't believe you eat Spam!" face in a forced attempt at humor.

He comes across as congenial, enthusiastic and genuinely interested in learning about new things. Even though he's an accomplished chef, he's the opposite of a culinary elitist. He goes into the kitchens to see how things are made. Sometimes he gives it a try himself.

But he lets his guests be the experts on their own food. He doesn't try to out-cook them or explain over them. He has a really nice touch with the noncelebrities of the culinary world.

Which is why, of all places, he'd be so awesome at Kauai's Hamura Saimin.

As popular and beloved as that place is, the mood in there is something between glum and sulky. There's no chat-fest at Hamura's — maybe because the place is so small, everything you say can be heard by everyone in the restaurant so it's best to stay quiet.

The cooks are serene and silent. The wait staff uses as few words as possible, and even "May I help you?" is often replaced with a silent lifting of the eyebrows.

Perhaps it's because of all the lulling steam in the air. Maybe the broth has sedative properties. Or maybe enjoying the saimin is such an intense sensory experience that words are unnecessary.

In any case, to have that loud, puppyish guy barreling through that stoic kitchen, asking questions, flipping noodles, slurping broth, that would be hilarious.

Or disastrous. Never mind.