SCOTT LUDWIG: Poi-soning a ‘Native Son’ of Hawaii

I grew up as the son of a naval officer, and every three years our family was asked to relocate to wherever the U.S. Navy wanted dad to be next. So although being born in Virginia, I spent equal amounts of time as a boy in Holland, Rhode Island, Hawaii and Florida as well.

Of all the places our family lived, it was Hawaii – specifically, Oahu – that was my absolute favorite. It provided the perfect setting for, quite literally, a childhood of enchantment. I discovered I was pretty adept at golfing on the golf courses in Pearl Harbor. I found out I was equally in-adept at surfing on the waves of Waikiki Beach.

But whatever happened, I still had the time of my life – so much so that when we found out dad’s next port of call would be the Sunshine State, I cried. True story.

All that to say this: I was just as much a “native son” of Hawaii as I was any of the other places I lived as a boy. I’ve had opportunities to return to the 50th state three times since becoming an adult. My wife and I took our sons to Maui when our oldest graduated high school. Then, just the two of us, Cindy and I, spent time on Oahu for a vacation (although she will tell you it was so I could run the Honolulu Marathon which, technically, is true).

And, just recently, we spent a week on the Big Island, or as it is officially called, the Island of Hawai’i. All seven days were spectacular. We experienced sensational warm weather accompanied by gentle ocean breezes. We took in a number of wonderful local attractions, including the Hulihe’e Palace, the Hawai’I Volcanoes National Park, the Hilo Farmers Market, and the Heavenly Hawaiian Kona Coffee Farm.

We went on a whale-watching excursion and saw five humpback whales battling to determine who would be the female’s “primary escort.” I mention that just to prove to Cindy I was actually paying attention to what the tour guide was saying.

I haven’t mentioned the food yet because I wasn’t sure how to put it into words, but I’ll give it a shot nonetheless. Cindy thought the meals were terrific, particularly the garlic shrimp and the spicy coconut mussels with lemongrass. I mention it to prove to Cindy that I was paying attention to what she found to her liking.

For the most part, I enjoyed my meals as well, especially the ones accompanied by
beer from the local Kona Brewery. However, there was one meal that didn’t come close to living up to expectations, and that was the buffet-style meal served at our luau. (Yes, we did the tourist thing and attended a luau; Cindy’s idea, not mine.)

I’ll begin with what I enjoyed: the raw salmon salad and the Kona draft. I would have been fine had the menu stopped there. Only that wasn’t the case. There was more. That being said, here’s what I didn’t enjoy, in order from least to most offensive:

No. 3. The Kalua pork. Did you know how Hawaiians cook a whole pig? The pig is covered in layers of banana leaves and cooked over hot river rocks that are heated by burning wood. So far, so good, right? Here’s the kicker: The pig is buried in the ground, just like they did to dead cowboys in the Wild West 160 years ago. If that remotely sounds appetizing to you – because it was by no means appetizing to me — there’s a slight chance this next one will as well.

2. Coconut cake. Trust me, it’s not the one that comes to mind when you think of coconut cake. The coconut cake served at the luau – and it’s a stretch to call it “cake,” but that’s what the server called it so I’ll go with that – was a one-inch cube of what appeared to be white congealed lard that tasted about as much like coconut as I look like Paul Newman. Make of that what you will.

But this next one is at the top of the list for a reason, because I tried it when I originally lived in Hawaii – and the other two times I returned to the islands as well. The outcome was the same every time: utter revulsion.

Therefore, still holding the No. 1 spot on the list is (drum roll) … poi.

What is poi, exactly? Glad you asked, although you might not be. Poi, or popoi, is a traditional staple food in the Polynesian diet. Poi is made by mashing cooked taro (a local root vegetable) on a wooden pounding board, although pulverizing would be a more accurate verb to describe the process of producing it. Ultimately, it is turned into something resembling the green slime dumped on unsuspecting guests on Nickolodeon.

And, yes, it’s every bit as unappetizing as it sounds.

Poi comes in a variety of colors, but ordinarily it’s a bluish-purple – approximately the color of a light bruise on your arm. The taste is hard to describe, mainly because I’ve never actually eaten any spackle to compare it with. But I imagine it must be pretty close, because our tour guide at the Hulihe’e Palace said she always thought it must taste like wallpaper paste, which probably tastes a lot like spackle.

I was the only one in our party of four at the luau who had the courage to taste any poi, so you just have to take my word for it when I say it’s the most revolting thing you can possibly put in your mouth unless you’ve been a contestant on “Survivor” and had to consume raw fish eyes.

I have always thought of myself as a Native Son of Hawaii, but now I’m beginning to have my doubts. I’ll never eat poi ever again. That is, unless someday someone in a white uniform in a Hawaiian assisted-living facility shoves it into my mouth and I don’t have the capacity to resist. In which case, aloha – because I’ve been poi-soned.