After contacting representatives from the Department of Health, the Mayor’s Office, and the Better Business Bureau, it has become apparent to me that I will be receiving very little help regarding my complaints about the Abramo Meat Museum. Since the officials of Lahaina have shown that they have no interest in addressing this public hazard, I’m writing this letter-to-the-editor in the hopes that it will save at least one family from going through the ordeal that we have over the past few days. What was supposed to be a dream vacation has turned into a bloody nightmare. No matter what you’ve heard, or how fun you might think it would be, I urge everyone to stay away from this dangerously run disease factory.
For almost 20 years it had been a dream of mine to return to Lahaina with the extended family. Four generations of us have been married along the beautiful beaches, and I wanted to share my love of the people and this wonderful place with my daughter and her family. When we finally found a time that worked for everyone after all these years, it seemed like fate was finally on my side. Everything was spectacular for the first few days, until my grandson heard about the Abramo Meat Museum from the concierge at the hotel. He was obsessed. All he could talk about was visiting the “monument to all things meat.” Since I’m a fan of all things kitschy, I offered to take the kids and give my daughter and son-in-law a day to themselves. It was one of the worst decisions of my life.
I knew something was wrong immediately, but didn’t trust my instincts. When someone walks into the museum they are greeted with a sign that reads like the preamble to a manifesto: “Meat, the life giving flesh from tasty animals, has contributed to the welfare of man since the dawn of time. The muscle and sumptuous fatty tissues have supplied us with the protein we needed to build empires, and the energy necessary to construct the wonders of the world. Take a walk with us now down the road of meals past, back to the very first hunt and learn why we celebrate special occasions with a big juicy steak and not a salad.”
The museum does have an impressive collection of meat and butchery related objects, but it was not the delightfully quirky homage to meat that I was expecting. Instead, I found the exhibits to be full of misinformation and have an alarming seriousness to them that made me uneasy. While I was looking at a collection of blood-stained cleavers on the wall, my grandson asked if he could take his little sister to Oxtail Junction, the kids area of the museum. I told him to go ahead. That was my second huge mistake of the day.
After a few more minutes of looking at various butchery tools in display cases, I turned the corner to find my grandson staring at a mural with his mouth wide open. It wasn’t until I was standing next to him that I realized what it was we were looking at. This section of the museum was dedicated to stories of failed expeditions and people who were forced to practice cannibalism in order to survive. The mural was a horrific depiction of the Donner Party along with the recipe for something called, “Pioneer Meatloaf.” My grandson looked at me and asked, “If we get lost can we eat Trisha?” Before I could tell him that we would not be eating his sister, or explain that it was highly unlikely that those starving pioneers brought a meat grinder with them, I heard my granddaughter crying.
I found her in the kids area standing in front of a working meat slicer with her doll in one hand, and the doll’s feet in another. Sitting a few feet away was an obviously inebriated employee in an ill-fitting uniform with a star on his chest, and a ridiculously small hat. “I’m Sheriff Short Rib,” he croaked. I asked him how he could let a 4-year-old turn on a slicer and ruin her doll. I screamed at him about how irresponsible it was to have a working meat slicer in an area designated for children. His only response was, “We’d all have more fun if we followed the rules,” and pointed to a list on the wall. I couldn’t speak for a few seconds because I was so furious, but my anger disappeared when I saw my grandson run into the room chasing another little boy with a knife.
Before I could scream for him to stop, he smacked the other child in the back and yelled, “Tag!” It was then that I noticed the first child also had a knife. I stopped the pair and asked what on Earth they were thinking running around with knives like that, and they pointed to the next room were a number of children were chasing each other with various butchery tools. I turned to the sheriff and asked if he planned on doing anything about it, and he yelled out, “We’d all have more fun if we followed the rules,” and gestured vaguely to the list on the wall.
It was the final straw. I told my grandson that we were leaving and turned to get his sister. That’s when I noticed poor little Trisha was standing in front of the sausage casing machine, eating the mix straight out of the extruder, with a line of children behind her. I shrieked, and my grandson asked how many sausages I thought we could make out of his sister. To be honest, I don’t remember leaving. The next thing I recall is walking through the parking lot, carrying Trisha, and warning anyone who would listen, not to go in the museum. However, unbeknownst to me, I was not done dealing with the fallout of our 20 minute visit.
It was only a few hours later that Trisha started to become violently ill. While her brother asked me if I thought she was still safe to eat, I got directions to the nearest hospital. The doctors say it was the most aggressive case of food poisoning they had ever seen. I had to call my daughter to cut her day short, it was so severe. For the next 3 days they nursed Trisha back to health, and I had to explain to my son-in-law why his boy was suddenly obsessed with eating his sibling. When we called the museum to complain, they denied all responsibility saying Trisha was probably suffering from, “the meat sweats.”
Betsy Kaukau, a health inspector from the Department of Health, is the only official to take our concerns seriously so far. She says she will do everything she can to make sure another family doesn’t have to go through what we have. I’ve also contacted a lawyer and we’re looking into any, and all legal options. In the meantime, it is my hope that this letter forces other Lahaina officials to take action, and serves as food for thought to anyone thinking of visiting this disaster waiting to happen. In short, the Abramo Meat Museum is rotten to the core.
