Aloha From My Kitchen: Hawaiian Banana Bread (No Nuts, No Regrets)

Ever since we got home from our anniversary vacation, I’ve had Hawaii on the brain. Not in a cute, wistful way. More like a full-body possession. If I could replace all my socks with flip-flops and start answering emails with “Aloha 🌺,” I would. I haven't tried, but I'm pretty sure my boss wouldn't be into it.

But can you blame me? The Garden Isle sticks with you. Kauai is like that friend who visits for a weekend and somehow leaves half their stuff behind — only the stuff they knew you’d grow attached to. That salty ocean breeze? That wild rooster crowing at 5am like he’s got things to do? And the banana bread muffins at the hotel breakfast that I’m pretty sure were made by angels disguised as pastry chefs? I’ve been dreaming about those muffins. They were golden. Moist. Fruity but not too sweet. Basically breakfast perfection in a paper wrapper.

Even better? Ken doesn’t like banana bread. He really doesn't do fruit (ARFID is weird).  To which I say: More for me, sucker. I got to have two muffins, and honestly, that might have been the peak of our 25-year marriage. (Just kidding, honey. Probably.)

So anyway, we come home. The roosters are gone. The ocean sounds replaced by the sound of the air conditioner when we go outside to slowly enjoy the morning. And worst of all… no banana bread muffins.

Cue: Island Fruit Withdrawal. IFW. Not saying it’s a real medical condition, but it’s real to me. The cravings were intense. I started looking suspiciously at regular bananas like, “Why can’t you be more tropical?”

But then — like the magical coconut-scented miracle it is — Pinterest came through. Turns out, Hawaiian Banana Bread is a thing. Not just a Kauai hotel breakfast miracle. Not just a tropical fever dream from my sunburnt subconscious. A thing. A bakeable, eatable, crave-quenchable thing.

So naturally, I had to make it immediately.

Now, here’s the thing. The recipe I found called for nuts. But my pantry was fresh out of nuts. What I did have was a bunch of overripe bananas, a can of crushed pineapple from that one time I thought I’d make piña coladas (never did), and an urgent craving to be back on the lanai with a muffin and no responsibilities. So, I made do. No nuts, no regrets. But you — you do you. If you love the crunch, throw in some macadamias or walnuts. Or coconut! Go wild. You’re basically in Hawaii already. Spiritually, at least.

Hawaiian Banana Bread (No Nuts, No Passport Required)

Ingredients:

• 3 ripe bananas, mashed

• 1/2 cup crushed pineapple (drained but not bone dry — a little juice is good!)

• 1/2 cup melted butter (or melted coconut oil if you’re feeling extra tropical)

• 2 eggs

• 3/4 cup brown sugar

• 1 tsp vanilla extract

• 2 cups all-purpose flour

• 1/2 tsp baking soda (go 1 tsp if you're not at altitude like I am)

• 1/2 tsp salt

• Optional: 1/2 tsp cinnamon (not traditional, but hey, neither am I)

• Optional: 1/2–3/4 cup chopped nuts (macadamia or walnuts work great)

Instructions:

1. Preheat your oven to 350°F (175°C). Grease a 9x5 loaf pan or line it with parchment if you're fancy like that.

2. In a large bowl, mash those bananas until they look like something you'd never willingly eat on their own. Add in the crushed pineapple, butter, eggs, brown sugar, and vanilla. Stir until you’ve got a lovely tropical sludge.

3. In another bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, salt, and cinnamon (if using). Resist the urge to dump it all in at once. Your kitchen doesn’t need a flour explosion today.

4. Combine the wet and dry, folding gently just until you don’t see any dry streaks. If you’re adding nuts, this is your moment.

5. Pour into your prepared pan, smooth the top, and if you’re feeling extra, sprinkle a little raw sugar or shredded coconut on top for flair.

6. Bake for 55–65 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out clean and your house smells like an island getaway. Let it cool in the pan for 10 minutes, then remove and cool completely on a wire rack. Or, you know, slice it warm and eat it with butter while standing over the sink like I did.

The Verdict

Was it the same as those hotel muffins? No. It was better. Because this time, I didn’t have to put on pants or make polite conversation with anyone. And I still got two slices because Ken still thinks bananas are gross. (I know. I married him anyway. Love is weird.)

Also, can we talk about how pineapple in banana bread is GENIUS? It adds this bright little pop of acidity that cuts through the richness and gives it just enough tropical sparkle. Like banana bread put on a lei and started dancing the hula in your mouth. You get what I’m saying.

So now, whenever IFW strikes — and trust me, it will — I know exactly what to do. I go to the pantry, pray there's a can of pineapple hiding behind the pasta, and get to work. And you should too. Because the island banana bread is calling your name, my friend. Don't leave it on read.

P.S. If you want to go full island fantasy, make a little coconut glaze: stir together 1 cup powdered sugar, 2–3 tbsp coconut milk, and a splash of vanilla. Drizzle it over the cooled loaf and pretend your kitchen is a beachside café. Bonus points if you throw on some ukulele music and shout “MAHALO!” when you take your first bite.

P.P.S. This freezes beautifully. Which is super convenient if, say, you happen to eat half the loaf and panic about your life choices. Just wrap the rest in foil and toss it in the freezer. Or don't. Again — you do you. I support your journey.

P.P.P.S. If Ken ever suddenly starts liking banana bread, I will consider it an act of betrayal and immediately start hoarding muffins in a secret stash behind the flour canister. Just saying.

Now go forth and bake, my island-loving friends. Aloha and banana bread forever. 🌴🍌🍍