Cultural Roots: The Hawaiian Tale of Taro

Story and Photograhy by Craig David Long.

Waikiki is a boom town of hotels, resorts, and high-rises, attracting travellers with surf, sand, and sun. It’s hard to believe this tropical metropolis was once a marshy taro paddy. Yet, as it happens, the Honolulu beachfront neighbourhood’s name literally translates from Hawaiian to “spouting water”, denoting the natural rivers and springs that once flowed through the area and made Waikiki one of the most productive taro-growing regions in all the islands of Hawaii (until about 1907).

Although urban development, economic growth, and external influences have dramatically changed the way of life for many residents on Oahu, some traditional beliefs and cultural practices remain firmly entrenched. Taro—or kalo, as the root vegetable is locally known—has been a staple food for as long as Hawaiians have existed in Hawaii, and it is still revered as the giver of mana, or life force.

Taro—or kalo, as the root vegetable is locally known—has been a staple food for as long as Hawaiians have existed in Hawaii, and it is still revered as the giver of mana, or life force.

According to the “Kumulipo”, a folkloric Hawaiian chant, the gods Wākea and Ho’ohokukalani produced two children. The first boy, Hāloa-naka, was stillborn and buried; the second, Hāloa, became the first to live on the islands and is believed to be the one from whom all Hawaiians descend. And just as elder siblings take care of the younger in a Hawaiian ‘ohana (family), a kalo plant grew from Hāloa-naka’s grave to nourish Hāloa and the people of Hawaii henceforth. Although today it may be accepted that it was Polynesian settlers who brought Colocasia esculenta, the 50,000-year-old plant of Indo-Malayan origin, to Hawaii around AD 900 to 1000, the “Kumulipo” captures the significance of kalo in defining Hawaii’s cultural identity. Even the word for family, ‘ohana, is derived is from ‘oha, which are the shoots that sprout from taro tubers, evoking a sense of importance around family unity.

One might be surprised to learn that the Hawaiian luau has less to do with salty, succulent kālua pork and more to do with lū‘au, or taro leaves.

Furthermore, one might be surprised to learn that the Hawaiian luau has less to do with salty, succulent kālua pork and more to do with lū‘au, or taro leaves. The practice of this feast stems from wrapping laulau (taro corms, breadfruit, sweet potatoes, fi sh, and poultry) in lū‘au and baking them in a dug-out ground oven. The residue from the leaves has an earthy and somewhat bitter flavour not dissimilar to that of lotus leaf in the Chinese dim sum dish, lo mai gai (glutinous rice).

Once the taro corm is steamed or baked, it’s then “ready for ku‘i”, meaning it can be pounded into po‘i. The cooked taro is macerated with a heavy, wetted stone pestle until it reaches a sticky, doughy paste. Hawaiians rarely agree on how it is best enjoyed; general consensus is reached at two fingers thick, indicating how many fingers it will take to separate and hold a dollop of po‘i in one’s hand. The other consideration is whether to eat the po‘i fresh or let it ferment for anywhere from one to 100 days. As one local explains, “My grandfather would only eat his po’i once it had developed a nice, thick crust.”

Certainly, it’s better to leave experimentation to the kalo connoisseurs; a sampling of two fresh po’i reveals a personal preference for a greyish-yellow taro variety that is sweeter than its purple counterpart. But together in steamed form, along with two other varieties, the taro tastes fantastic tossed in a salad of breadfruit, sun-dried octopus and Ahi tuna, fiddlehead shoots, samphire (sea asparagus), several varieties of limu (seaweed) and a generous sprinkling of locally-harvested salt.

Despite the inspiration and abundance of fresh produce at Oahu’s bustling farmers markets, finding the bulbous root is more difficult than anticipated. But that’s not to say it’s missing altogether; local bakers have given rise to taro in bread form by incorporating taro powder, a packaged product derived from dehydrated po‘i, into their dough. The result is light and fluffy bread with a smooth texture and subtle nutty flavour.

Local bakers have given rise to taro in bread form by incorporating taro powder into their dough. The result is light and fluffy bread with a smooth texture and subtle nutty flavour.

The reality for many farmers, however, is that taro is expensive to grow. It requires extensive irrigation, and industrial rice, sugar cane, and pineapple production has diverted groundwater away from traditional lo‘i (taro fi elds). Not to mention that dietary changes have supplanted demand for taro. Hawaii, today, accounts for only one per cent of worldwide taro production, the rest being cultivated primarily in Asia and Africa, with Nigeria as the top producer.

Yet Hawaiians new and old are reinvigorating taro. Last year, James Beard Award–winning chef George Mavrothalassitis of Honolulu’s Chef Mavro restaurant celebrated the 20th anniversary of the Hawaii Regional Cuisine culinary movement by preparing a “Greatest Hits” menu that included delightful ahi and caviar tartare in ponzu sauce on a snappy, grounding taro chip.

One of Mavrothalassitis’s protégés, Chef Mark Noguchi recently opened the He‘eia Pier General Store and Deli, a waterfront food shack in quaint Kaneohe, Oahu, where he caters farm-to-table foods to the local palate with sides like kalo macaroni salad.

At Honolulu’s monthly Eat the Street food cart rally, trucks serve up grindz so ono they break da mouth (that’s Hawaiian slang for really damn good food). The All Kine Ice Cream Truck slathers haupia (coconut milk) ice cream between two puffy slices of toasted taro bread.

Jimmy Chan, founder of the Hawaiian Chip Company, is also cashing in on taro’s cultural cachet. At the company’s Honolulu headquarters, patrons can pull up seats at a row of patio picnic tables where made-to-order sweet potato and taro chips are fried-up in an instant—then it’s up to each individual to douse them in their favourite seasoning. The kālua pork, coleslaw and taro bun sliders here, too, are among the best in Oahu.

On Maui, Kauai, and the Big Island, chef Peter Merriman occasionally features taro croquettes and taro-patty burgers on the menus of his three eponymous restaurants. With such versatility, it may only be a matter of time before every component on the plate is somehow made with taro.

A shortened version of this article originally appeared in the Spring 2012 issue of NUVO.

Fashioning a Journey

Story by Craig David Long.

Few people ever witness firsthand the traditional Inuit, Sami, and Siberian territories that span our planet’s remote North—save for those aforementioned, who have made it their home, blending tradition and culture with the remote frozen landscape, for centuries. And though the Arctic Circle is among the most fascinating and breathtaking parts of the world, for the rest of us, it is mostly left to be imagined, or at least discovered in books, archival issues of Life and National Geographic or, these days, in scouring the Internet for images.

For David Neville and Marcus Wainwright, founders and creators of Rag & Bone, this was precisely the source of inspiration for their evocative fall/winter 2011 womenswear collection. “It started specifically with the Sami, and I don’t know why,” Wainwright reminisces. “I found a picture of these guys—I can’t really remember where—but it was incredible to see these people who lived in the wilderness and made all these incredible clothes. Then when you start exploring Siberia and the whole Arctic Circle, you start to see similarities between all the cultures. There were lots of elements in their clothing that were really interesting: the shapes, the fabrications, the skins, the use of shearling and cowhide and things like that.” The collection has an icy-white to vibrant-red and sky-blue palette, with geometric shapes and multilayered silhouettes, and it has been praised for taking fashion spectators on a formidable polar journey, juxtaposing elements of traditional costume with nostalgic seventies skiwear.

“The things that I think people feel, subconsciously, are luxury, are things created by really skilled craftsmen. It’s the same for anything—a pen, a lighter, a camera, a suit.”

Rag & Bone originated in 2002 after Neville and Wainwright discovered an old denim manufactory in Kentucky—and in many people’s eyes, their jeans are still what they are best known for. Although the denim workshop is no longer operating, from Neville and Wainwright’s perspective, it still represents the backbone of what they do. “The things that I think people feel, subconsciously, are luxury, are things created by really skilled craftsmen. It’s the same for anything—a pen, a lighter, a camera, a suit. If it’s beautifully made, it feels very luxurious, and I think it can’t really be beautifully made unless it’s made by a craftsman,” says Wainwright.

Since expanding their brand into men’s and women’s ready-to-wear categories in spring 2004 and fall 2005, respectively, Neville and Wainwright have dabbled time and again in themes of geographic, cultural, and temporal exploration. In previous seasons, the collection has expressed itself in the aesthetics of 1920s mountain climbers, Japanese futurism, and military cargo-wear. These sartorial escapades have taken them a long way from home, insofar as menswear is concerned, and in 2007, the duo won the Swarovski Award for emerging talent, and in 2010, the CFDA Menswear Designer of the Year award. Not bad for two self-taught chaps who first met in boarding school in Berkshire in the United Kingdom before aligning again in New York a few years later.

“It’s a New York way of dressing, with a very English point of view.”

Their British heritage and New York street sensibility have today conspired into a discrete design philosophy. “The fact that we’re English, and having gone to a very old English school, we grew up with a lot of tailoring and a real appreciation for that English way of dressing. It has a huge impact on what we do,” Wainwright explains. “But we’re based in America, so [Rag & Bone] also has a distinct American feeling. It’s a New York way of dressing, with a very English point of view.”

The yearning to work with master artisans has translated into several of Rag & Bone’s product categories, from suiting, to shoes, to accessories. “How we found [suit tailor] Martin Greenfield is an amazing story,” Neville says. “The guy is a proper old-school tailor, and they really make just beautiful handmade suits. There are [roughly] 180 different processes that the suit goes through to actually make it. It’s another example of this idea about authenticity.” The suits are sold exclusively at Rag & Bone’s SoHo and West Village boutiques, where they can be made-to-measure or bought straight off the rack.

Neville and Wainwright also sought out the 140-year-old Bollman Hat Factory in Adamstown, Pennsylvania, to collaborate with them on products that are made in the traditional method, but are contemporary in their styling and speak to the luxury consumer zeitgeist.

“‘[Rag & Bone is] a mix of yesterday and tomorrow,’ somebody said recently, and I thought that was quite cool,” Neville says. But, as Wainwright adds, “Yes, of course. But, I mean, you don’t choose a theme or project for its merits of being based in the past or in the future. You just pick something that you think is fun or cool or exciting to do. And then, inherently, just in the nature of what the process is, you come up with something modern. We’re not trying to be very avant-garde, doing fashion just for the sake of fashion, but we are constantly striving to make something new. I don’t think you can do that unless you understand what went before.”

From the Winter 2011 issue of NUVO. Images sourced from Style.com.