(FORTUNE Small Business) – Hawaii used to terrify me. Not the Hollywood Hawaii of Jack Lord and Elvis. No, I was scared of the chain-hotel Hawaii they give away on game shows. Of those rows of swarthy tanners laid out by the pool like cannoli in a bakery, those nighttime luaus with picked-over buffets. That Hawaii is for the black-socks-and- sandals crowd. Not me.

I vacationed in Romania and Malta. Friends returned from Hawaii with tales of secluded condos and volcanoes, but I wasn't tempted. Then one day, I changed my mind. I would test myself in the heart of darkness. "To the destructive element submit," Joseph Conrad advised, and though he wasn't talking about vacation planning, I booked a stay on Maui's Kaanapali Beach, a crowded strip of hotels that's about as mass-market as it gets.

Almost every hotel chain worth its shower caps has a property along that beach. I stayed at three, and what I discovered may have altered my vacation schedule forever. The Sheraton Maui left me alone to gaze at the sapphire ocean for hours. The Westin Maui laid before me the most exquisitely inventive plate of food I've ever seen. The Hyatt Regency Maui combined the lushness of the tropics with a degree of fawning service rarely seen in countries with stable currencies. And I didn't attend a single luau.

Built in 1963, circa Beach Blanket Bingo, the Sheraton is the oldest hotel on Kaanapali, but it remains as classy as Tina Turner. You don't stand in line to check in--a concierge discreetly takes a credit card imprint and escorts you to your room. Long ago, someone smart divided the property (six buildings that run from the top of a cliff to the beach) into what seems like several small hotels. Honeymooners and others intent on romance get suites far from the splash of the pool. Families get big living rooms and pullout beds. Students, meanwhile, cram five to a room just a short stagger from the poolside bar.

For those who favor architectural excess, there's the Westin: Hawaii as interpreted by those who built Vegas. A massive waterfall cascades behind the check-in desk. A flock of flamingos basks by the pool. So I had modest expectations when I encountered the sushi bar. But there, as hundreds of tourists trundled past, I was treated to one of the single finest meals of my life.

Skip ahead if you're squeamish, because what follows doesn't sound as appetizing as it tasted. Sushi master Shoji Namatame carved tail meat from a live lobster--"It has to be live," he said when I cringed--then plunged it into icy water. Moments later, after the bobtailed crustacean had been banished to the kitchen to be steamed, Namatame served me the raw meat in its shell. It had the texture of a raw oyster and a flavor that can only be described as lobster a la Picasso. The dish cost $50, but I'd fly to Maui just to have it again.

Finally, I stayed at the 815-room Hyatt. Tropical foliage along the outside corridors gives it the feel of a small, intimate hotel, though at times it sounds more like a game preserve. Exotic wildlife such as penguins, swans, and cranes make their homes amidst the resort's 40 acres. I sat by the pool, read a book, sipped my rum punch, and shared the scene with a blue macaw. I finally understood the appeal of mass-market Hawaii. I shall return, but not immediately. First I have to try Disney World.