
Chef Makoa
Ahimaʻa Puaʻa (Tahitian Earth-Oven Pork)
Tahitian puaʻa cooked in the spirit of the ahimaʻa, the earth oven of maʻa Tahiti, wrapped in banana leaf and held low and slow until the meat gives in two fingers.
A cooking platform built around craft, culture, and the stories behind what we eat.

Created by
Hawaiʻi's deep leaf bundle: pork and salted butterfish wrapped in lūʻau leaf, sealed in ti, and cooked slow until the taro leaf turns silky and the meat gives.
Back home in Hawaiʻi, Hāloa sits at the edge of this bundle before the pork does. Hāloa is our elder brother, the kalo, the taro plant our people trace kinship to, and laulau is one way Hawaiʻi wraps that kin close: lūʻau leaf, the young taro leaf, around pork and salted butterfish, then lāʻī, ti leaf, around the whole thing for the imu, the Hawaiian earth oven.
I learned laulau from aunties who didn't measure much, just looked at the leaf and knew. Too small, add another. Too thin, stack it deeper. No blame the taro if it bites your throat because you rushed it. Raw taro leaf carries that sharpness, so you cook it all the way until the green goes dark, soft, and glossy, and the fat from the puaʻa, the pork, runs through the salted fish and leaf.
This is Hawaiian food, not a generic plate from some blurry ocean. Still, the cousins are right there. Sāmoa has palusami, Tonga has lū sipi and lū pulu, the Cook Islands have rukau, Tahiti has fāfā. Same leaf-and-richness gesture, each island its own hand. One ocean, one canoe, one root, but no mushing the cousins together.
If you have an imu, lay these bundles beside the kālua puaʻa and let the ground do the work. If you don't, we bring it forward into a Dutch oven or tight roasting pan, honest and unfussy. Eat what you have. Keep the leaf, keep the time, keep the respect.
Laulau belongs to Hawaiʻi, where lūʻau leaf, pork, and salted fish were wrapped in lāʻī and cooked in the imu for chiefly and family gatherings long before the dish became a plate-lunch staple. The leaf parcel has cousins across the Polynesian Triangle, including Sāmoan palusami, Tongan lū, Cook Islands rukau, and Tahitian fāfā, all tied to taro as a canoe crop carried by voyagers across the Pacific. After mission and plantation life changed Hawaiian eating, laulau kept moving, from imu ceremony to foil-wrapped home kitchens and lunch counters, proof that deep food can live in the everyday.
Quantity
2 pounds
cut into 12 chunks
Quantity
6 ounces
cut into 6 small pieces
Quantity
36 to 48
thick stems and ribs removed
Quantity
12
thick center ribs trimmed, or use banana leaves plus foil
Quantity
1 tablespoon
or coarse sea salt, plus more to taste
Quantity
1 cup
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| pork shoulder (puaʻa)cut into 12 chunks | 2 pounds |
| salted butterfish or salted black codcut into 6 small pieces | 6 ounces |
| young taro leaves (lūʻau leaf)thick stems and ribs removed | 36 to 48 |
| ti leaves (lāʻī)thick center ribs trimmed, or use banana leaves plus foil | 12 |
| paʻakai ʻalaea (Hawaiian red sea salt)or coarse sea salt, plus more to taste | 1 tablespoon |
| water | 1 cup |
Rinse the salted butterfish, then soak it in cool water for 20 to 30 minutes if it is very salty. Taste a tiny flake. You want it boldly seasoned, not harsh, because that salt will season the pork and leaf from inside the bundle.
Pat the pork dry and toss it with the paʻakai ʻalaea. The pork should look lightly sanded with salt, not crusted. Let it sit while you ready the leaves, so the seasoning starts moving into the meat.
Strip the thick stems and ribs from the lūʻau leaf so it folds without tearing. Wipe the lāʻī clean and soften each ti leaf over a warm burner or in hot water until it bends easy. Raw taro leaf can bite the throat, so remember the law here: the bundle must cook until the leaf is fully dark, silky, and tender.
Lay 6 to 8 lūʻau leaves in a cross, smaller leaves in the middle, larger leaves outside. Put 2 chunks of pork and 1 piece of salted butterfish in the center. Fold the taro leaves over the filling like you're closing a hand around food for somebody you love, tight enough to hold, not so tight the leaf splits.
Set the lūʻau bundle on 2 softened ti leaves, glossy side in, and fold them around it to seal. Tie with kitchen twine, strips of ti, or wrap in foil if you're cooking in the oven. The ti leaf perfumes and protects; the foil is just the weeknight helper.
For an oven version, set the bundles seam-side down in a heavy Dutch oven or roasting pan, add 1 cup water, cover tight, and cook at 325F for 3 hours. Don't keep opening it. The leaf needs time to give up its bite, the pork needs time to soften, and the butterfish needs time to melt its salt through the whole bundle.
Let the laulau rest 15 minutes before opening. Peel back the ti, then split the lūʻau leaf at the table. The leaf should be deep green-black and glossy, the pork soft enough to press apart with a spoon, the butterfish tucked through it in salty, rich flakes.
1 serving (about 200g)
Culinary guides, cultural storytelling, and the editorial depth that makes cooking meaningful.
Discover Culinary Explorer
Chef Makoa
Tahitian puaʻa cooked in the spirit of the ahimaʻa, the earth oven of maʻa Tahiti, wrapped in banana leaf and held low and slow until the meat gives in two fingers.

Chef Makoa
Sāmoa's faʻi umu is the starch of the hot-stone oven: green bananas baked in their own skins until tender, peeled warm, and eaten with fresh peʻepeʻe.

Chef Makoa
Aotearoa's Māori hāngī: pork, chicken, kūmara, potato, and pumpkin lowered over hot stones until the meat pulls soft and the roots drink in the earth-oven richness.

Chef Makoa
Hawaiʻi's kālua moa is the smaller cousin to the whole imu pig: salted chicken wrapped in ti leaf, cooked low until the meat pulls soft, with enough juice for rice and poi.