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.

Okay, so “American Independence Day” AKA “The Fourth Of July” was this last weekend, and tradition demands the grilling of meat over a heat source while standing outside wearing Bermuda shorts, black socks and sandals.

However, I made a commitment to experimentation with Polynesian Culinary Inspiration, and I mean to stick to it. And I don’t wear black socks.

The solution to this apparent dilemma? Cross-cultural foodie fusion!

I decided that what I need to do is to see how I could spice up the old standard hamburger with a Polynesian bite.

So I created a new spice blend out of ingredients from my Polynesian Culinary Pallet:

3 teaspoons sea salt
1 teaspoon turmeric
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon fresh ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon fresh ground white pepper

The other addition is a simple and painfully predictable one: grilled pineapple. But it has to be fresh pineapple! There’s no comparison to canned pineapple. They’re not hard to carve; slice off the top and bottom, then slice downward on all sides to remove the bumpy skin. They sell pineapple corers if you want a quicker job, but I used a long, thin knife to cut out and remove the core. Slice into 1/4 inch rings and grill over high heat for four minutes on a side. Set them aside.

Roll out about a pound of hamburger to about a quarter inch thick sheet and cut it up into 2″ squares, then season with the spice mixture. Grill these for two or three minutes on a side and serve with a ring of grilled pineapple on a toasted slider bun (we like the slider size because you can eat more of them without feeling guilty).

It’s the turmeric and ginger that really bring the island taste to the party. The two spices together, along with the undertones of nutmeg and cinnamon add a sweetness and tang that cannot be described. Coupled with the pineapple, you have a deliciously different burger. They’re best enjoyed in the flickering light of tiki torches and the sweet strains of slack-key guitar music, maybe accompanied by a fruity drink (umbrella optional).

Turmeric, by the way, is widely hailed by many in the health food sciences as a “miracle spice” for its anti-cancer, anti-inflammatory and pro-metabolism properties. I won’t go into a lot of detail here, but suffice it to say that I’m going to find a way to put turmeric in more of my cooking from here on.

It was only after serving these delightful burgers that I had the inspiration of putting Taro and Sweet Potato chips on the side. On one of my recent Polynesian ingredients junkets I discovered these potato chip alternatives along with other Hawaiian foods. Since both taro and sweet potatoes are starchy, tuberous root plants like the regular old American Russet tater, it goes without saying that they can be sliced up and fried the same way – but being staples of the islands, they fit right in with the other Polynesian food groups. And they’re really good; crunchy and salty and a bit spicy. Next time I’ll remember to have these handy.

Oh – and my choice of garb? Blue jeans with a red & white Hawaiian shirt. Once again, a cross-cultural win. Hope everyone had a great fourth!

Today we’re hopping an outrigger and heading down to Tahiti, where we’re going to be cooking up “Chevrettes a la vanilla et coco” (or Shrimp in coconut-vanilla sauce). As a bonus, we’re having ”Poulet Fafa” (or Tahitian Taro Chicken).

Tahiti is famous for its vanilla beans. They’re the most flavorful vanilla beans you can get, in my opinion. But to get them at the grocery store is to pay a steep price: our local markets sell one bean for anywhere from nine to fourteen dollars. Yikes! Buy them online and the price drops dramatically, but you encounter minimum orders and shipping costs, so unless you’re running a restaurant or buying for your extended family, probably best to stick to the local shops. Or do what I did: use Tahitian vanilla extract.

For the shrimp dish I used white shrimp, since they have a fairly versatile flavor base. The part I dislike the most about dealing with shrimp is cleaning and deveining. But once you’ve done a few, it goes quickly. The shrimp are simply pan-seared and seasoned, then set aside to finish in the sauce. The sauce itself is the real magic of this dish, brining the flavors of vanilla, coconut and rum together beautifully. The vanilla bean (or extract) is simmered with about ½ cup of rum (be careful here – all rums are NOT created equal! I used Coruba for its rich, tropical taste. Appleton or Meyers would work okay too) until the liquid is reduced by about half, and then unsweetened coconut cream is added and simmered until the sauce thickens. Add salt and pepper and stir in the shrimp. Simmer for a minute or two and serve.

The recipe recommends serving with sautéed spinach. I was not successful in my sautéing of spinach, and ended up making dark green mush instead of the crispy leaves I was hoping for. My mistake was in not drying the leaves well after washing them. The shrimp and the coconut-vanilla sauce was wonderful: not sweet, but aromatic and tropical; the vanilla was not overpowering but complemented the coconut perfectly. The recipe called for 1 cup of heavy cream as well, but I simply omitted that ingredient as I was not desirous of presenting my wife with another heart attack.

The chicken didn’t turn out as well as I’d have liked. I used medium sized pieces of white meat, pan-seared and seasoned. The taro leaves are the key to this dish. If you can find them, you’re fortunate. There are a few Asian markets out there who carry these, so be on the lookout (spinach will do in a pinch). Taro leaves MUST be treated before using them in any dish! Unless you want a mouth full of fire. Chop them up and simmer them for 40 minutes in saltwater to leech out the incendiary calcium oxalate. Rinse and squeeze dry before introducing into your dish.

I sautéed onions, ginger and garlic for a couple of minutes, then added chicken stock and the pan-seared chicken. After it cooked for a bit I stirred in the taro leaves and seasoned to taste, then finished with about ½ cup of coconut cream.

The chicken itself was rather bland, but the taro leaves in the dish gave it a warmth and depth that I was not expecting. In the future I’ll probably cut the chicken up into smaller pieces and marinate with lime juice and rice wine vinegar before searing. The recipe calls for 2 cups of onions, but I think it would work okay to scale that back to about ½ cup, and maybe introduce a small amount of chili pepper to the dish to give it a kick and some color. That, and I’d probably keep the chicken out of it until the last minute to retain the sear.
The two dishes went well together, each presenting a taste of coconut (prevalent in Tahitian cooking) but offering two different takes on it.

Next time I’ll post pictures. Promise.

E komo mai!

A couple of weeks ago, we embarked on a culinary journey across the Pacific Ocean, upon which we will be sampling new and unheard-of dishes created in sincere Polynesian style. I have selected the alliterative name “Tiki Tuesday” as a venue for disclosure of the success or failure of each weekend’s Polynesian-Style dinner over the course of this summer.

Last weekend’s dinner was a success, in that the food was all edible and my wife and kids enjoyed it.

On the menu:

Kalua Pork
Fried Plantains in savory coconut sauce
Tropical Fruit Salad

A note for my Kosher-observing readers: you may substitute chicken breasts or chuck roast for the pork; it should work about the same.

Now, real Kalua Pork (or “Kalua Pig” as it’s called) is traditionally prepared in an Imu, a makeshift oven that’s basically a pit dug in the sand and filled with rocks that have been heating up in a fire. The pork is wrapped tightly in Ti leaves and Banana leaves, set on the hot rocks and then buried to cook all day. What you end up with is a smoked, pulled-pork kind of dish. It’s amazingly good.

Since I think the homeowner’s association would frown upon my digging up the yard and cooking a pig, I had to figure out another means of cooking my roast. I chose a five pound pork roast, seasoned it with salt, pepper, ginger and allspice, and set it in a smoker for six hours.
This would give it the flavor I wanted. It rested overnight in the refrigerator. The next day I coated it in a mop sauce consisting of apple cider vinegar, sautéed sweet onions, freshly grated ginger and passion fruit syrup. Then I wrapped it in Taro leaves and Ti leaves (Banana leaves are not to be found anywhere in the metro area) and aluminum foil (to hold it together) and set it in a crock pot for ten hours on low, adding a cup of water to make sure it stayed moist.

Ten hours was the perfect cooking time. The result was a tender, moist, smoky and aromatic meat that could be pulled apart with a fork and made into a sandwich (one of my kids ate it this way) or just eaten as is. No sauce required.

The plantains were fairly simple. I chose three green plantains, peeled them (not an easy task) and cut them into ½ inch slices. These I fried up in 2 tbs canola oil, and seasoned with salt, pepper, garlic and paprika. About two minutes per side is enough to give them a nice browning.

I prepared the coconut sauce the same way as last time, only this time I didn’t bother with the corn starch, I used less milk and didn’t let it come to a boil. This kept it from curdling. Also, I added ¼ cup of mango puree and a half teaspoon of orange flower water to give it a tropical, floral note. This worked beautifully. I served the plantains with the coconut sauce. In retrospect I think I had a bit too much salt in the sauce, and the plantains were a bit bland on their own. Maybe they can be marinated.

The fruit salad consisted of pineapple, mango, kiwi and cantaloupe. Mangoes are strange; they have this wedge-shaped pit inside that’s hard to discern from the fruit itself. This makes it difficult to slice up unless you’ve done it a bunch. Practice makes perfect with these things.

For next week, I’m going to head back to cooking chicken, and see if I can amp up the vegetable factor. There are a few other ingredients I’m hoping to find around here: taro root, breadfruit and awapuhi.

A hui hou!