Polynesian restaurant resilient through trial, changes

PROVO — The little red restaurant on Columbia Avenue doesn't look like much. It's a squat cinder block building with shiny concrete floors, paintings of palm trees on the walls and the unmistakable smell of imported spices and fruit that hit like a wall before the door even closes.

But for owner Sweet Voice Crichton and a growing population of Polynesians in Provo, Sweet's Island Restaurant is more than a place to eat authentic island food. It's a cultural institution — a home away from home.

But because of a shooting in July, Crichton is afraid her restaurant of 13 years carries the label of an unsafe place, and she says that it's taking a toll.

"I think it scared everyone," Crichton says. "At lunchtime, we used to have people in a long line waiting for an order. After that incident, we hardly have anyone coming anymore. It ruined our reputation."

The July 24 shooting occurred during a luau, the kind of luau Crichton hosted regularly at her restaurant for years on Saturday nights, with food and dancing, no alcohol, and lots of young people crammed into the restaurant's little dining room. She wanted to provide a place for "good, clean fun," and saw her restaurant as the perfect spot to bring the community together.

But that night, a misunderstanding about football prompted a fight between two men, and one of the men hit the other in the face with a gun. The fight spilled outside, where the two wrestled over the gun, accidentally firing it at one point. A woman was shot in the leg in the ordeal, but no one was severely injured.

That's the kind of thing that could happen anywhere, says Provo Sgt. DeVon Jensen, who oversees the community oriented policing unit and gang activities. That it happened at Sweet's doesn't say anything about the restaurant's reputation, he says.

"The fact that it is Polynesian food and we have Polynesian gang members in Provo, there are going to be people sometimes that are in gangs that frequent the place because they like that kind of food," Jensen says. "But that doesn't mean it's a gang hangout, or that it has that reputation."

Nevertheless, Crichton, who is part Hawaiian, Tongan and Samoan, says it's time for her to move on. Beginning in January, her 27-year-old daughter will be taking over the business. The new business will be in the same little building but will have a new name, new recipes and a fresh makeover for the younger generation, leaving any old stigmas behind.