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That beautiful tree at left graced our driveway until the landlord realized it posed a liability problem. Coconuts bouncing down our long, steep hill could cause major damage by the time they crossed the street below at a hundred miles an hour. Rather than just pick the coconuts before they fell, his solution was to cut whole tree down. A bit like cutting your head off to avoid haircuts, if you ask me. On the bright side, we found ourselves in possession of three dozen young coconuts.
First, a quick coconut anatomy lesson. They are protected by two outer layers, a fibrous yellow-green husk around a hard brown shell. Inside the hard shell is a third layer, the meat, and then a central cavity containing watery coconut milk. The "milk" at this point is not nearly as thick or rich as the canned stuff; that takes a few additional steps after extraction. A Hawaiian riddle describes the coconut layers, ʻEkolu pā a loaʻa ka wai. He aha la ia? "Three walls to get to the water, what am I?" The answer of course is ka niu.
The younger a coconut is, the softer the meat will be, the more milky liquid it will have and the better it will be for drinking. As the coconut ages, the milk is absorbed, the meat firms and it grates more easily. Our batch was right in the middle, with plenty of milk and good flesh.
If the coconuts you buy at the supermarket are brown and hard with bits of fibrous hair, then the outer husk has already been removed. Let's assume for now that it hasn't and you're trying to figure out how to get this puppy open. These football-sized nuts are tough, able to bang around on ocean currents for thousands of miles before washing up on distant sandy shores to sprout. With proper technique though, they can be opened in just a few minutes.
Method One: A Sharp, Pointy Stick
The traditional Samoan method for husking secures a strong stick in the ground, pointy end up. They jam the coconut onto the spike and work it around until the husk falls away, then poke the stick into one of the eyes to drain the liquid. Sharp objects and I don't do well together, so this method would be a recipe for disaster. The only thing I can imagine piercing is my hand.
Method Two: A Sharp, Pointy Machete
The guys at the swap meet whittle away one end of the coconut with a machete until they can lop off the end and stick a straw in the top. Three bucks gets you one, ice cold. This method sounds promising, but again we have the sharp object problem. Whacking a hard, round object with a big knife takes practice. Besides, my machete is duller than a butter knife.
Method Three: The Best (Especially for People Who Hurt Themselves on Sharp, Pointy Things)
My preferred method for husking a coconut is far more primitive yet equally effective.
Grab a young coconut in two hands, stem end facing down. Think of something you're really pissed at, then lift the coconut to shoulder height and smack it down onto the driveway. Watch out because the nut can bounce unpredictably and leave a nasty bruise. Pick the nut up, turn it around 180 degrees so that the point is facing down this time. Embrace your inner rage and hurl it at the ground. Didn't that feel good? Repeat this process, smacking alternating ends of the coconut on the ground until the outer husk splits in several spots. Grab wedges of the outer husk and peel them away.
Now you should have a brown, hard-shelled coconut. We can do this the neat way, or the fun way. The neat way is to take a hacksaw and slice the coconut in half. Remembering my penchant for injuring myself with sharp implements, I wore heavy leather gloves while I sawed a few. It takes a while, so be patient. The only reason you'd want to hacksaw your fruit is to get two nice coconut shell bowls. (Dry them in the sun then sand them down.)
If you couldn't care less about pretty coconut bowls and just want the treasure inside, we can use the fun way: more banging. Whack the coconut against the ground again, just hard enough to crack it. Have a mixing bowl nearby and drain all the milk into it. You should then be able to work your fingers into the crack and pry the shell open. Congratulations, you're all done except for cleanup.
...now what? The milk can be strained, chilled and sipped, on it's own or mixed with other juices or rum. Scrape the meat out with a sturdy spoon and use it in recipes that call for grated coconut, or just break off chunks and chew on them. In the next few days I'll provide a recipe for thickening your own coconut milk suitable for cooking. The variations are endless.
It kinda doesn't matter what you do next. This is one of those times where the journey can be more fun than the destination... you just husked a coconut!
These vibrant orchids flourished out on the lanai despite my complete and utter neglect. It's January and "wild" orchids are blooming...
I love Hawaii.
There's a trick to cutting mango. The key is to have a clear idea of what you want and how to get there, otherwise you'll end up with a pile of and slippery, mangled mess and disappointments. In this, mangoes are a lot like life.
Hayden mango, fist-sized.
The average mango is roughly the size of a fist with an inedible outer skin, juicy meat and a large oblong pit. The temptation is to peel it (easy enough) then start carving away at the yummy flesh until reaching the pit. DON'T DO THAT. Ripe mangoes are juicy. As soon as you get that skin off, juice will start dripping all over your hands, down your wrists, around the cutting board and making everything slippery sloppy as you hack towards the pit. Ripe mango is soft, so gripping the flesh tighter just mushes your precious fruit, aggravating the situation. If you're at all like me, you'd give up near the end and just suck on the pit to get the last bits, with juice now running down your chin as well.
Let me show you a better way...
Slicing from tip to stem... see the flat pit inside?
Stand the mango on the stem so you're looking down at the tip. See how it has an oval shape? Slice straight down along the longer direction, just off center. You'll be able to feel the flat pit as you cut. Keep the blade as close as possible to the pit all the way to the bottom. Make a second cut along the other side of the pit, so that you are left with two near-halves and a narrow disc of mostly pit and skin.
This is the cool part. Cross-hatch the flesh with the tip of the knife, taking care to cut clear down to the skin without cutting through it. Hold the mango half in your hands with your thumbs on the edges and your fingers against the skin. Press on the skin to flip the mango inside out. Check out those pretty cubes! Finally, cut the cubes away from the skin.
Maybe this technique was self-evident, but I didn't know it until I was taught. Now I pass the trick along so that you too can impress your friends and family with your mango cutting prowess. Here are a few ideas for that newly cut mango:
Beautiful, aren't they? You might not even recognize these little pink packages if all you've ever had is lychee from a can.
Lychee (Litchi chinensis) originated in South China and Vietnam but are now cultivated throughout most sub-tropical and tropical climates. In Hawaii, they were first introduced in 1893 when Mr. Ching Chock planted a tree at the corner of Nu`uanu and School Streets. Isn't it funny that we know the exact location and variety of the first planting? These days that intersection is bounded H1, a gas station and TCBY -- without a lychee tree to be found.
Hawaiian lychee are grown predominantly on the Big Island where the finicky trees are most likely to get the optimal combination of wind, temperature and water they require to produce fruit. Even without fruit, the trees are a beautiful hardwood tree with dense, evergreen foliage. But hey, I wouldn't be writing about the tree if not for its luscious fruit.
The ping pong ball sized lychee pictured above from the KCC Farmer's Market a few weeks ago are larger than usual. Sizes are more commonly in the jawbreaker range. Unlike ping pong balls and jawbreakers though, eating lychee has nutitional benefit. These close cousins to the longan and rambutan are packed full of vitamin C and potassium, so you can feel good about popping back a few.
To eat, break open the thin skin of a lychee and pop out the translucent flesh within. The texture is similar to a grape, but sweeter and smelling faintly of rosewater. In China, these pearly gems have rightly been called the King of the Fruits.
Sadly, the local lychee season is now waning, lasting from roughly June through September. If you can still find local lychee in the market, grab them fast because they're on the way out.
Further reading:
→ Nutritional information from the USDA
→ Lychee can thrive in your own yard from the Honolulu Advertiser
Some months are better forgotten. The last six weeks have been a rollercoaster ride: my sister's wedding, a 90th birthday bash for Dzia Dzia, several weeks on the mainland sleeping on someone else's pillow, a strategic shift at work, a new employee to train and a move from Liliha to Palolo Valley. We survived, and even enjoyed the time, but schedules were disrupted and with them, the easy rhythm of writing.
This blog was the main casualty. Days then weeks passed where there was neither space nor energy to write. The more time that passed, the harder it became to start up again. Like something from Little Shop of Horrors, maona called out, "Feed me!" as it grew larger and more oppressive. Life is too short to stress about a hobby, so I let go and relaxed. The blog could wait. I'd start writing again when I was ready. Someday.
Yesterday was the kind of weather that brings people to vacation in Hawaii. Blue skies, fluffy clouds, warm temperatures, but with a gentle trade wind to stir the air. It was the perfect day for a trip to the Saturday Farmer's Market at KCC.
Walking among the aisles, I remembered everything I like about this market. It's a bustling but friendly place, with just the right mix of high-end and down-home. Do you want to buy the same Nalo Farms mixed greens featured on the best menus in Honolulu? Check. A batch of fresh lumpia? Got that, too. Joan Namkoong was there, autographing copies of her new book, Food Lover's Guide to Honolulu and generally being charming. Everywhere I turned, it was about good, fresh food.
And that's when the spark struck. Food is my mistress, and I love letting people in on the details of our affair. Saturday morning at KCC stirred up that enjoyment again and got the creative juices flowing. Already I've got dozens of ideas bouncing around my head, clambering to see the light of day.
I'm back.
A pleasant crunch on the tooth with mild saltiness, good for both poke and salad. Unfortunately Grasilaria salicornia limu is also non-native. Lacking local predators, it spreads unabated, smothering entire coral reefs and crowding out local species like limu manauea. This particular specimen was pulled from He`eia Kai as part of an effort by the fishpond there to contain and reduce the spread of of the problematic limu throughout Kaneohe Bay.
They say Grasilaria salicornia isn't as flavorful as manauea, but it's nothing to turn up one's nose at either. Today's "containment" will be tomorrow's meal.
Further reading about invasive limu and He`eia:
→ History of He`eia Fishpond
→ Fishpond symbol of ingenuity - In relation to history, and it's importance to today.
→ Alien seaweed choking reef off Waikiki Beach
Next month will mark the last planting of Del Monte pineapples in Hawaii, bringing its century-old operations here to an end. (Dole and Maui Land and Pineapple still will remain as the state's two large pineapple producers.) Next month's plantings won't be fully harvested until 2008, but I can't help wonder if we'll eventually see a day where it becomes difficult to buy fresh pineapple in Hawaii.
The Honolulu Advertiser provides far more detail on reasons, timelines and impact on the community.
Other Ma`ona pineapple posts:
→ How to cut pineapple like a local
→ Ginger Pineapple Sorbet
→ Pineapple facts
→ Caramelized Pineapple Over Ice Cream with Toasted Macadamia Nuts
Let's say you've read up on the amazing utility and versatility of ti leaves and are now itching to get your hands on some for a recipe. That's when it strikes you--you've never seen ti leaves for sale at the local supermarket.
The best way to get ti leaves is local style: from a friend or "uncle." They grow in people's yards or--and you didn't hear this from me--along the sides of some public roads and parks. (Mālama the plants! Don't take too much.) Look for large, outer leaves, free from major blemishes and with a healthy green color. Grab the stem near where it joins the trunk and pull downwards. Never yank sideways or upwards as this can break the plant trunk.
Most florists will also have ti leaves on hand to sell, already cleaned and ready. It's not as satistfying to buy leaves from the florist, but sometimes convenience wins out. If you live in a different state, don't worry! Banana leaves can be substituted for ti leaves without adverse effects. Check the freezer case of larger Asian supermarkets for bundles of frozen banana leaves.
Now that you have a handful of ti leaves, we need to get them ready for use. It's easiest to wash them with the stem still intact. The stems tend to be dirty and often harbor ants. Once they're all clean, we're going to "de-bone" them to make them more pliable.
Pick up a leaf (lā`i) and hold it in front of you, tip (wēlau) towards the sky and shiny side facing away. Hold your fingers against the bone (`iwi) of the leaf about 1/3 of the way up from the stem (kumu), from the back of the leaf. This sounds confusing, but look at the position of my hands in the photo and imagine where the index fingers are pressing.
Holding the leaf
Bend the leaf forward towards you to crease the bone then bend it sharply away, pushing with your fingers against the bone to cause it to snap and separate from the leaf, trying not to break through the leaf. Run your fingers down the shiny side of the bone towards the stem to cause it to separate from the leaf. It's normal to ruin a few leaves as you practice, but you'll get the knack of it.
Removing the bone
Always prep a few more leaves than you need, because a few will inevitably split or tear along the way. If you don't need every single leaf for your recipe, use the remainders as table decorations or as bedding on a serving platter. If you're not going to use your leaves right away, you can freeze them for later.
Next up: recipes for laulau and baked fish wrapped in ti leaves.
This post is a continuation of my long-neglected Hawaiian luau series.
Who are you, momi apple? When my friend brought you to me, she said only that you were once kapu to commoners like myself, reserved exclusively for the ali`i. Google hasn't been helpful in learning anything substantial about momi apples. Do you go by other names?
Most fruit start as flowers then grow to something entirely different, but you're retained that youthful floral essense. I taste it in every bite of your dense flesh. If I close my eyes and breathe deeply as I chew, I can imagine standing in a lei shop surrounded by blossoms. The flavor also reminds me a little of peach and something else... mango? You share the same broad, flat pit as the mango, the same softball size and the same orange meat. Perhaps you're cousins?
Whatever you are, momi apple, we must arrange to do this again. But how will I find you if I don't know who or what you are?
Working its way into every aspect of traditional Hawaiian life and wrapping each in big, green glossiness, the ti plant is a mainstay of Hawaiian life and cooking.
In traditional Hawaiian culture, the ti plant (cordyline fruticosa or ki in Hawaiian) is believed to have powers as a protection against psychic evil. It was often used as a ceremonial symbol of "The Law" standing firm in the face of evil. Leaves would be rubbed or slapped against people or homes to purify them. Unlike most native traditional Hawaiian plants, ti is not associated with any particular god, but is instead used in religious ceremonies for a whole pantheon of dieties.
Even today, groves of ti plants are often planted near houses, both in the belief that they would bring protection and good luck, but also for their utilitarian value. The mature, glossy leaves grow to six inches wide and several feet long with a strong and flexible central vein. Besides serving as amazingly versatile packaging, using the attached stem as a tie, the leaves had many practical uses. Strung along a length of rope and wrapped around the waist, ti leaves create a popular variety of hula skirt. Knotted and woven together they serve as sandals for walking across rough volcanic paths. In the absence of pili grass, they can be used as thatch for one's hut. Stems were woven together for a quick and simple rope. The ti leaf also has medicinal properties as a laxative. There's an old Hawaiian saying, 'Ai ke ki, ki, ki: a hi, hi, hi!. I could go on and on, but I think you get the idea: ti leaves are versatile.
This all has relevance to food-- I just took my time getting around to it. In old Hawaii the ti root was steamed in an imu then chewed like sugar cane. In times of famine, that same steamed root would be mashed, watered down and drunk. If they only resorted to this in times of famine, I think we can imagine how poor it tastes,
The root could also be brewed into a potent liquor called ʻōkolehao that became popular among visiting whaling ships. Although I've heard third party reports of this practice continuing today, no one I've found has personal experience. Brewing spirits from ti root could be a dying art, or it could be so foul that you'd only attempt it if you were a crazy haole sailor or dying of starvation.
Today, the long, broad leaves of the ti plant are used to enclose food prior to steaming or baking in an imu. They can also be used as a bedding during presentation, or as a purely utilitarian way to wrap and carry ingredients.
Next up: acquiring ti leaves for use in cooking, then a laulau recipe wrapped in ti leaves.
This post is part of my Hawaiian luau series, and was updated January 2006 based on readers comments below and August 2007 as I learned the name for the ti-based alcohol.
As a kid, I preferred fruit to candy. These days though... well, it's pretty much the same. Give me fresh fruit at the peak of the season, and it sweeps me away to a Happy Place.
Lychee is one of those fruits in peak season at the moment, with a bumper crop on the Big Island bringing prices down around town. The metallic, syrupy lychee in the canned fruit isle doesn't hold a candle to the delicacy of fresh lychee. Breaking open the red skin reveals a silky, translucent gem of a fruit. Don't be fooled by the photo at left. Those lychee are closer in size to golf balls than raspberries.
Mango season is also ramping up and lasts now through August, giving you plenty of time to try new ways to use your mangoes while they'll taste their best. I've got my eye on the chutney from that article. Before you dive in to cooking with mangoes, The Honolulu Advertiser answers a question I've had for a while: how does one cut a mango without turning it into mango mush? Handy photos are provided.
Speaking of fruit cutting, the Star Bulletin describes, also with handy photos, how to carve your garden variety papaya into an elegant crown shape. It sounds cornier than it is. Everyone will be envious of your cutlery-fu if you show up to the dinner party with a papaya crown.
Moving right along to the next fruit to catch my attention, a housemate recently brought home a bunch of "cuban bananas." I can't tell you much about them. The variety is new to me, and Google wasn't terribly helpful this time. The peel is a muted magenta-- very unusual. The banana itself is rosy peach, tasting faintly of strawberries with a very creamy texture that feels like it is melting on your tongue. Has anyone heard of cuban bananas? Where can I get more?
Finally, check out this soursop from our backyard. It's the size of a large honeydew and weighs several pulpy pounds. Green-brown skin pulls easily away to reveal a moist white interior. The flesh is divided into pods, similar to jackfruit or durian, some of which contain inedible black seeds. If anything is likely to turn someone off to soursop, besides the ever-so-appealing name, it'll be the slightly slimy texture. The flavor is mild, with a primal sweet/sour combination that speaks directly to the basic taste receptors on my tongue. It defies description, but if you held a gun to my head, I'd guess describe it as milky pineapple and strawberry. So tasty. I'm heading off to my Happy Place now.
The Dole Plantation is a gaping maw of tourist kitsch, a commercial blackhole designed to suck tour buses in and draw from them every last cent. But the Pineapple Demonstration Garden portion of the plantation, though small, is worth a look. Heading north from Honolulu to the North Shore through central Oahu, you'll drive right by the plantation. It's worth a fifteen minute stop to check out the demo garden.
Smooth Cayenne pineapple
Criolis pineapple
Pho Lang Tuang pineapple
Saigon Red pineapple
Pho Lang Tuang Pineapples
A star
unknown variety
Pineapple bloom
They're beautiful, aren't they? Here are a few fun pineapple facts:
- There were 31,000 acres of pineapples grown in Hawaii in 2004.
- One third of the world's pineapple comes from Hawaii.
- You can grow your own pineapple plant by twisting the crown off a store bought pineapple, letting it dry for 2-3 days, then planting it.
- The pineapple is not a single fruit as generally assumed, but a cluster of 100-200 tiny fruitlets.
- It takes two years for a pineapple plant to produce, and each plant typically produces at most two pineapples in its life.
- The pineapple is originally native to Brazil and Paraguay. Sailors brought them to the West Indies long before the arrival of Europeans, although it was White merchants who first introduced it to Hawaii.
- Pineapples are the only edible members of the bromeliad family of plants.
- Of the hundreds of varieties of pineapples, Smooth Cayenne is by far the most prevalent. Three other varieties are gaining in popularity: Red Spanish pineapples have a tougher skin that make shipping easier; Sugar Loaf pineapples are very large and heavy; Golden Supreme pineapples have lower acid and more sweetness.
I've also written in the past about how to pick and cut a pineapple.
At some point in your life, you will very likely be faced with a pineapple cutting.
Although this is a very weighty event, the key is to remain calm. It is at this moment, when face-to-face with the prickly Ananas comosus, that the children are separated from the adults, the tourists from the veterans. Everyone will be watching to see what you're really made of. The pineapple was introduced to Hawaii in the 16th century, giving residents several hundreds years to practice their cutting techniques. With the tips below, you can make a valiant effort to catch up.
