Category Archives: food

“Everybodeeeeeee loves the Hukilau,
Where the lau lau is the kau kau
At the big luau!”

Ekomomai!

You all know the song, right? Right? Of course you do. Well, according to this song, the “lau lau” is the food at the luau. Whatever else there is, you gotta have lau lau.

So what is it? It’s basically a variety of meats steamed inside a wrapper of taro leaves. Traditionally, it’s butterfish, chicken and pork. For my foray into this particular little delight, I opted against the butterfish and chose to stick with pork alone. But you could use chicken or fish (or beef, though I doubt it would be as yummy).

First, I hacked up a pork butt roast into little chunks. This was by far the most difficult part of the entire venture, as I worked to section out small chunks of actual meat, when in fact it turns out that pork butt is thickly marbled with fat and connective tissue. I spent quite a bit of time just trying to free the few little pockets of meat from their lard prisons. Next time, I’m using chicken.

I marinated the meat chunks in a blend of teriyaki sauce, pineapple juice, passion fruit syrup, liquid smoke and salt for about two hours.

For each lau lau, I laid out two ti leaves, then four or five taro leaves on top of that. Into the center of this I placed five or six meat chunks, then sprinkled a little shredded coconut on top. Here’s where you can get creative and throw in other things like coconut cream, fruit, onions or whatever you like.

Then I folded up the taro leaves to enclose the meat and wrapped it securely with the ti leaves. If done right, the ti leaves serve as the “foil” wrapper and can be tied up like a parcel. I used actual aluminum foil for those of mine where I failed the ti leaf wrap job, but it’s okay to use string as well (like the kind you truss a tenderloin roast with).

To steam these, I had to find a new piece of hardware: a 20 quart stock pot with a steamer basket built in. Once the water got to boiling I just laid these little meaty leaf bundles inside and let them get cooking for four hours.

The poi was another matter. Poi is taro root that has been steamed and mashed. That’s all.

I took a large taro root, peeled the outside, and diced the meat into 1/2 inch chunks. I steamed the chunks of taro for 25 minutes until they were tender, and then stuck as much of it as I could into a blender with a cup of water. I pressed the “puree” button, and the blender just groaned; it toiled not, neither did it spin. My wife took one look at the non-blending blender and said “That’s not going to work. It’s too much.”

I sort of got that notion myself.

However, since I didn’t have a mortar and pestle like the islanders do, I got a wooden spoon and started smushing it up myself right there in the blender. Eventually I did get it mashed to the point where the blender could take over, but even after repeated whirls through the blender it wasn’t quite the right consistency. I poured the glop out into a glass bowl and used a stick blender to finish the job, which it did nicely.

I seasoned the poi with my turmeric-ginger salt and set it aside for later serving.

I made some white rice and grilled pineapple to go along with everything.

So… the lau laus were excellent! I needn’t have bothered trying so hard to get the fat off the pork, since the cooking time was long enough that it pretty much rendered off anyway. The meat was tender and moist and succulent. The seasoning was just right – a smoky and slightly fruity flavor with the depth and warmth of the taro leaves coming through. I cautioned my kids not to try to eat the ti leaves, just the taro – but of course two of them had to try, and found out why you don’t eat ti leaves. It’s like eating a package of dental floss: nothing but thin, unyielding fibers.

The poi, was… probably exactly as it was supposed to be. Bland, gloppy, paste-like. It reminded me of a blank canvas: a perfect substrate just waiting for artistic expression.

I’ve heard it said that poi is an acquired taste, and I can vouch for that. Not to put it down, though – poi is an excellent starch to go along with the meal, providing a great source of fiber and nutrients without a lot of calories. It’s one of the few foods the body can readily digest even if you’re allergic to everything or are otherwise having trouble keeping food down. Some hospitals use it as resource for keeping people fed if nothing else is working.

My wife said she’d like to see a variety of poi flavors presented at the next feast, served in such a way as to be a condiment for dipping meat, shrimp or vegetables in. Banana poi, passion fruit poi, savory poi… the possibilities are endless with this food. One of my work buddies, my local expert on all things Hawaiian, says he has to put sugar on his poi to make it palatable. Maybe it’s like grits: everyone has their own way of eating it.

Anyway, we’ll definitely be revisiting this little treat.

Next time: Ahi Poke!

In my wild and crazy youth, at about the age of eight or nine, I decided I wanted to make cupcakes. My mother was away (working to keep her little family afloat) and grandma was left to tend to the beasties at home. When questioned, I assured my grandmother that my mother did indeed permit me make cupcakes, and yes of course I knew what I was doing.

Lies. I had neither permission nor knowledge of process. I had a vague idea that flour was involved, eggs, perhaps some milk, maybe some vanilla and sugar, and a few other things that must be close up in the spice rack. By my standard magical thinking, I figured the ingredients would probably know what to do and would get together to make something wonderful even without my guidance.

As you have no doubt guessed, the cupcakes did not come out good. They were stout, dense, doughy, salty, speckled grenades, fit for nothing other than composting or weaponry.

My intentions were good. I wanted something yummy, and I had half of a good idea going on. But good intentions and half a brain are not enough when it comes to things like cooking.

For this weekend’s Polynesian fare, my intention was to produce a delicious marinated chicken dish including coconut and macadamia nuts as a broiler finish. I also wanted to serve taro root and sweet potatoes, as these are staples of the islands as well and would make a great side dish. And for a vegetable I would again turn to taro leaves since that turned out pretty good last time.

Marinating has not always worked well for me. The point with marinating is to introduce some flavor into the target meat. I’ve not had a lot of success with this, particularly with chicken. This time, I wanted to be SURE the meat got some flavor. So, after cutting the chicken breasts into quarters I pounded them with the pokey end of a meat tenderizer. Then, I let them sit in a Ziploc bag with a blend of fresh shredded ginger and fresh-squeezed lime juice, for three hours.

Once marinated, I seared the chicken on both sides and let it simmer in coconut milk for two hours. Finally I topped it with a rum-pineapple sauce, coated it with crushed macadamia nuts and shredded coconut, and broiled it until golden brown.

The result was, unfortunately, rather intense. It was like getting shot in the mouth with a lime bazooka. Flavor infused: check.

The other problem was that I had too many flavors competing for attention. Rather than a symphony I had a cacophony: ginger, lime, coconut, macadamia, rum, pineapple and a couple other assorted notes all screamed at once, with lime out-shouting them all. Lesson learned: tone down the marinade. And stick to just a few key flavors, balanced to be harmonious.

Next time I’ll dilute the marinade by about two thirds, not bother with the initial sear or the coconut milk braise, and will coat with macadamia and coconut before baking in the oven until cooked through. Then after a quick broil for color I’ll introduce a light drizzle of the rum-pineapple topping. If I get it right, it will be a tangy and lightly sweet dish with an interesting texture.

As for the taro root and sweet potatoes: The lesson I learned here is that they do NOT bake well on a metal cookie sheet. The taro interacts with the metal and turns this ugly grey color. Rather than cube them and bake them, better to julienne and pan-fry them in canola oil.

My sincerest thank-yous to my wife and mother-in-law, who were very kind and gentle with their comments. My wife always provides truly constructive criticism, gently and helpfully pointing out where a dish took a wrong turn and proposing a better alternative to seasoning and cooking method. My mother-in-law, after graciously working through the entire meal, said: “Well, at least we won’t get scurvy.” This is true, grandma K.

I’ll probably revisit this dish before the summer is up, making the suggested changes of course.