The image of Hawaii meant to touch the hearts of potential tourists is the golden, empty beach at sunset, mai tais by the infinity pool, a hula dancer under a moonlit coconut tree.

The image of Hawaii meant to touch the hearts of those who live here is almost always people eating.

The formula goes something like this: handsome multiracial, multigenerational family, a spacious backyard with landscaped areca palms and red ti leaf, a tutu teaching the keiki how to sew a lei and everybody sitting at a long table laughing and eating.

Sometimes it’s green ti leaf and red croton. Sometimes it’s at a breezy beach park with everyone’s backs turned to the waves so that the ocean can be in the background. Sometimes it’s grandpa teaching the kids to play ukulele. The food is in nice, though unobtrusive, serving dishes. If kids are pictured, they’re eating fruit — something brightly colored and juicy, but not overly messy. Everything is slow motion and glowing.

That’s what the ohana trope looks like in commercials, whether they’re selling juice or cars or Internet service or a political candidate.

Not that that’s bad; but wouldn’t it be a kick if someday, someone walked into an ad agency and said, "Hey, what if we do something different and depicted a typical family gathering instead of a poetic one?"

First, the party would have to be in a garage, with wobbly card tables and mismatched chairs jammed in with bikes, camping gear, soggy boxes of Christmas decorations, rusting exercise equipment and a buzzing fluorescent light fixture full of dead lizards flickering on the ceiling. The washer and dryer, also occupying space in the garage, must be, of course, both in use during the party. There needs to be a dog under the table licking toes and snuffling for scraps and an overflowing rubbish can that started out only for recyclables but ended up with everything, plus one guy grumbling about having to pick through greasy noodles to dig out the bottles.

Every food item would need to be in a takeout aluminum vat covered with sheets of hopelessly wrinkled tinfoil. One aunty must be designated fly swatter, swishing a shredded ti leaf tirelessly throughout the duration of the party. The kids, who have rejected the fruit, are instead shown elbow-deep into bags of Doritos, their mouths stained with fruit punch smiles.

It’s not the pretty image with the backyard and the resort landscaping and the photogenic food, but the garage party connotes an extended family that is hardworking and practical. Their backyard is too small for parties because there’s a second house there for the grandparents. They’re not spending a ton of money on a caterer, but they still know how to put out a spread and have a good time.

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Reach Lee Cataluna at lcataluna@staradvertiser.com.