No Mo' Poi?

By Phil Hayworth

As spring graduation parties, weddings and picnics bring families together around the traditional foods of Hawaii, poi — that most essential of Hawaiian foods — is almost always in short supply.

But scientific breakthroughs and creative marketing could soon make the notorious annual “poi shortage” a thing of the past.

“We’re in the advanced stages of developing a leaf-blight resistant hybrid plant that we think can yield 30 percent more harvest,” says Roy Yamakawa, a University of Hawaii agricultural extension agent on Kauai, where close to 70 percent of Hawaii’s taro is grown.

That’s good news, because it takes 14 months for taro to grow and come to market. By then, it’s been menaced by everything from pocket rot to insatiable apple snails to leaf blight. The terrible trio can wipe out whole acreages.

Hybridized taro has caught the imagination of HPC Foods, the largest producer of poi on Oahu and developers of the ultra-creative “Taro Brand” line of products such as taro flour, taro bread, pancake mixes, taro rolls and taro mochi. Today, HPC Foods is working with Grove Farm Company on Kauai on a model farm project in Koloa to grow taro on land formerly used for sugarcane. So after nearly 50 years of consistent decline, taro production could soon gain ground in Hawaii.

Ironically, even if supplies increase, “the existing poi market will most likely not be able to use all of the additional taro,” says Eric Enomoto, treasurer for HPC Foods.

For this reason, HPC is looking for alternate uses of taro and working on both taro supply and demand. Ever try a poi smoothie? Or taro bread? Or even taro pie? HPC Foods, along with other farmers and millers around the state, are experimenting with creative ways to appeal to the modern palate.

Fifty years ago, there were 14 million pounds of taro grown here on thousands of acres. Those were the good old days when poi cost 13 cents a pound at the market — or off the poi truck that cruised local neighborhoods back then. Today, poi is $3.50 a pound at the market — too much for most folks here who have become accustomed to other, far cheaper staples like rice or potatoes.

Last year, 420 acres produced only 5 million pounds, of which nearly 3.3 million pounds came from Kauai’s 250 acres. The rest came from Oahu, Maui and the Big Island.

Disappearing taro land has been supplanted with other crops. But much has been sold off by farmers. Picturesque taro land, if it isn’t protected wetlands, often grows condos and resorts more profitably than taro.

The poi industry has tight operating “margins,” says Michael “Bino” Fitzgerald, owner of Hanalei Poi Factory on Kauai. Hanalei, like nearly every miller in the state, pays $43 per 80-pound bag — just enough, Fitzgerald says, to maintain his farm and cover production costs.

Meanwhile, there is little automation in the business, and all taro is hand-planted and harvested, making taro an expensive, difficult crop, says Dr. Jim Hollyer of the UH’s College of Agriculture and Human Resources.

“We can’t use chemicals in taro land that is often a federal wildlife sanctuary,” Hollyer says. So the voracious apple snail, which some farmers here say is the biggest threat to the business, is attacked the old-fashioned way — with ducks, Hollyer says.

In summer months, when demand is highest and companies like the Hanalei Poi Company are asked to double their production, another obstacle emerges: indifference.

“Young people just don’t want to do the hard field labor anymore,” Fitzgerald laments.

Hanalei pays anywhere from $10 to $12 per hour — still not enough to attract young workers more interested in summer fun than money, Fitzgerald says.

Small operations, like that owned by Charlie and Paul Reppun in Waiahole Valley on Oahu’s Windward side, keep all the planting and harvesting within the family.

“We do all the work ourselves,” Paul says.

The Reppuns have worked two small lo‘i plots for many years and have long been proponents of the small-farm approach to taro.

“The more small lo’i you have spread out, the better it is,” Paul says, “for all the reasons that you don’t put all your eggs in one basket.” Diversity reduces the chance of the terrible blight, rot and snail trio from spreading.

And then there’s the politics of poi.

“You gotta have water to grow wetland taro for poi, and you gotta have access to running water,” Paul says.

The result quite often is a fight over water access rights that can have parties wrapped up in legal snarls for years.

But it’s worth it, says Reppun.

“We grow first for our own community and then sell to others,” Paul says.

“We’d like to see it again where there was taro grown for poi in every valley on the island.”

Until then, aficionados can expect little supply — and empty bowls — again this summer.