After work, I head to Waiahole Poi Factory to see how their poi is made, and of course, to pick up some poi supplies. I've been eating Hanalei Poi, and I love it, but at $8 per 1 lb container, it's more of a luxury item than a staple.
By the time I arrive, they're at the tail end of their operations, cleaning the last of the cooked kalo. I jump in to help. We're standing on both sides of a long trough, scraping the kalo to smooth the surface and dig out any knots. Because they don't strain the poi, it's essential to get the hard bits out, otherwise they'll mar the consistency of the final product. One guy says after a day of work, coming here and cleaning taro is "taropy." I've heard this many times from people working with kalo, and I've come to believe it. There's something especially soothing about smoothing out the imperfections in the kalo.
After the kalo's been cleaned, it's put through a mill, then mixed in a large Hobart with a little bit of water. Then my favorite part: the bagging of the poi. Hawaiians refer to their preferred consistency of poi as two-finger or three-finger poi. How about 2 lb poi? Paul Reppun, who runs the Waiahole Poi operation, digs his hand into the poi and in the same motions that one uses to eat poi with his fingers, balls up 2 pounds of poi and plops it into a bag. He seems to instinctively know what 2 pounds feels like in his hands. Each bag is weighed to make sure, and I'm amazed that he's never more than an ounce off. It's mesmerizing to watch.
I come home with six pounds of poi ($6 per 2lb bag) and some new ideas on what to do with it, thanks to Paul. Tonight, though, it's late, and I fix a quick dinner of fresh poi, smoked pork, and lomi tomato (Kahuku tomatoes, Maui onion, and green onions from the yard) with an Aloun Farms watermelon for dessert.
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