Poi Is An Acquired Taste Essential At Hawaiian Feasts

It's grayish, smooth, pasty and virtually devoid of aroma or taste, except for a hint of sweetness. Yet one spoonful is all you need to decide whether you like poi.

Like it or not, poi is an essential staple of the Hawaiian meal. And if you're going to sit down for a Hawaiian feast, poi is a must.

You may have first encountered this notorious starch at a luau, served alongside succulent roasted pig, leafy green lau lau (pork and fish wrapped in taro leaves) and salsa-like lomi lomi salmon (diced tomatoes, onions and salted salmon). You probably took a quick sniff, poked at it a couple of times, then looked around at the reaction of others before tasting it yourself. That's understandable.

Poi may not immediately please the palate like, say, chocolate cake, and to tell the truth, many locals aren't taken with it, either. It's definitely an acquired taste. Yet the Hawaiian meal is incomplete without it.

Poi is made from the root of the taro plant. The root is cleaned, then steamed or boiled, the skin peeled off and the remaining corm pounded into a paste-like consistency with the help of added water. If made just right, it's thick enough to be consumed with two fingers - the traditional method.

Poi should be enjoyed soon after it's prepared. Although Hawaiians also relish sour poi (poi that has been left to ferment a bit), this is not recommended for the beginner. People have been known to douse their poi with milk and sugar, but I consider this a mortal sin - a lot like smothering filet mignon with ketchup.

I'm a poi lover and can remember being fed poi at a very young age. (It's often served to infants in Hawaii because it is nutritious and easily digestible. And it looks and smells a lot like baby food!)

Yet, I can't explain why I love it. It's one of those things that I grew up eating and appreciating - a kind of comfort food that brings me back home. Like rice in Asia and bread in Europe, poi and taro are steeped in cultural tradition. Still, sacred taro patches that once covered the islands have given way to development, though demand for poi has never waned.

The next time you're at a luau and you're served a bowl of fresh poi, stay open-minded, try at least a spoonful and appreciate this delicacy.

P.S. If you're hungry for some poi in Seattle you can find it on occasion at Uwajimaya stores, flown in fresh from Hawaii. Add about 1 cup of water to the packaged poi until it's creamy in consistency.

(Eleanor Mitsunaga is a news assistant at The Seattle Times.)