Mainland Lu'au

As, to the Mayans, humans were born from corn, so Hawaiians were born from taro, the essential staple food of the ancient Hawaiians. The young leaves of the kalo plant (aka taro) are called "lu'au," a word that also means to gather and celebrate while eating lu'au, a dish made with those leaves, coconut milk and chicken or squid.

It's a word we use casually in Hawai'i, often with little thought to its roots, indicating not only the shows with fire knife dancers and hula in Waikiki but the family gatherings celebrating graduations and birthday parties in our backyards. To me, the word lu'au is only jarring when taken out of the context of Hawai'i.

I was born into a state of perpetual homesickness, my heart and my family rooted in two island territories, Hawai'i and Hong Kong. As a child, I was raised in both places, and if you ask me where I'm from I'll say "Hawai'i Hong Kong" in a single twice-aspirated breath, like my homes are one conjoined place.

Now living on the mainland and away from either side of my family, my homesickness and comfort-food cravings manifest themselves into shoyu chicken over rice, congee topped with smoky kalua pig, Spam musubi, spring rolls and wontons fried until crispy golden brown and then drenched in vinegar. I codified the food memories of my youth for Poi Dog, a restaurant in Philadelphia that, during the pandemic, also became a memory. Opening the restaurant forced me to approach dishes and flavors less haphazardly. The dishes I grew up on had to be turned into recipes and taught to line cooks to be replicated over and over and shared with the inhabitants of my new mainland home.

Fresh taro leaves, especially the young ones traditionally used for lu'au, are often difficult to come by on the East Coast (though sometimes found in Caribbean markets). But I found a suitable replacement for them with collard greens. At Poi Dog, we rotated a variation of "lu'au" dishes, making it with chicken, pork and squid. For special events, we topped it with quick pickled chiles and pork floss (fried, dried and shredded seasoned meat), dressing it up like Chinese congee (rice porridge). Making it allays my homesickness for both Hawai'i and Hong Kong.

Collards are rich in antioxidants and nutrients like potassium, folate, vitamin K (which helps you absorb calcium) and fiber, necessary for gut health. It's a dish I often make for my private-dining clients, who are often athletes or follow strict diets. It has become a sort-of secret weapon, since I can make it for nearly anyone following a specific dietary pattern—it's gluten-free, dairy-free, vegan and more.

It's also a dish that can be made far in advance and frozen into lazy weeknight dinner portions. Blend it into the consistency of congee and it will scratch that itch of being a warming thick porridge. Leave parts of it unblended and it will be infinitely more satisfying on your Thanksgiving table than creamed spinach. I like to thaw it to eat alongside rice and a rotisserie chicken from the store. And whenever I take a bite, it tastes like both of my homes.