
Chef Makoa
Baked ʻUlu Coconut Pudding (Hawaiian Ripe Breadfruit Custard)
Very ripe Hawaiian ʻulu, the canoe-crop breadfruit, mashed soft with coconut milk and sugar, then baked until the middle sets like a quiet custard.
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Firm Hawaiian ʻulu sliced thin, brushed with oil, and baked crisp with paʻakai ʻalaea, carrying the old canoe crop into a snack bowl for potluck, picnic, or game day.
The canoe brought ʻulu to Hawaiʻi because the old people knew a family needs food that can stand with them. Breadfruit isn't just a thing to fill the belly. It is one of the canoe crops, kin to the kalo and the ʻuala, planted into the ʻāina so the kānaka could keep eating from their own ground.
Back home, ʻulu can be steamed soft, pounded, roasted in the imu, fried crisp, or baked into chips like this for the table where everybody keeps reaching. Tahiti has ʻuru, the Marquesas have mei, Sāmoa and Tonga keep their own breadfruit trees too, and the atoll people knew how to preserve the crop when fresh food was hard. One ocean, one canoe, one root, and every island made the tree answer its own hunger.
This is the Hawaiian hand on it: firm ʻulu sliced thin, oiled lightly, salted with paʻakai ʻalaea, Hawaiian red sea salt, and baked until the edges curl and the centers snap clean. No need make it precious. It can sit beside poke, plate lunch, grilled fish, Spam musubi, or a cooler full of picnic food. Deep food can be everyday too.
The only hard part is patience with the knife and honesty with the fruit. Too ripe and it goes sweet and soft. Too thick and it chews. Pick a firm mature ʻulu, dry it well, give the slices room, and let the oven do its small work. Eat what you have, yeah, but treat it like kin while you do.
Breadfruit, ʻulu in Hawaiʻi, was one of the great Polynesian canoe crops, carried by voyagers from island to island along with taro, sweet potato, banana, and coconut. In Hawaiʻi, groves of ʻulu were once serious food security, especially in places such as Kona, where breadfruit trees fed whole communities before imported flour and rice pushed many deep foods to the edge of the plate. Baked chips are a contemporary kitchen form, but the root idea is old: a sovereignty crop from the canoe made shareable for the table people actually eat from now.
Quantity
1 (about 2 to 2 1/2 pounds)
peeled, cored, and sliced paper-thin
Quantity
2 tablespoons
Quantity
1 1/2 teaspoons
finely crushed, plus more to finish
Quantity
1/2 teaspoon
Quantity
1/4 teaspoon
Quantity
1
cut into wedges
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| firm mature ʻulu (breadfruit)peeled, cored, and sliced paper-thin | 1 (about 2 to 2 1/2 pounds) |
| neutral oil, avocado oil, or melted coconut oil | 2 tablespoons |
| paʻakai ʻalaea (Hawaiian red sea salt)finely crushed, plus more to finish | 1 1/2 teaspoons |
| garlic powder (optional) | 1/2 teaspoon |
| ground nīoi (Hawaiian chile pepper) or red pepper flakes (optional) | 1/4 teaspoon |
| lime (optional)cut into wedges | 1 |
Pick a firm mature ʻulu, green to yellow-green, heavy for its size, with a little give but no soft spots. If the fruit is too ripe, save it for steaming or dessert. For chips you want starch, not sugar, so the slices bake crisp instead of turning soft.
Set racks in the upper and lower thirds of the oven and heat to 350F. Line two large rimmed baking sheets with parchment. The parchment matters here because thin ʻulu slices like to grab the pan when their starch starts to brown.
Cut off the stem end, peel the ʻulu, quarter it, and cut away the spongy core. Slice the quarters as thin as you can, about 1/16 inch, using a mandoline if you have one. The slices should bend like thick paper. Thick ones will still taste good, but they'll eat more like roasted ʻulu than chips.
Rinse the slices in a bowl of cool water, swishing once or twice to wash off extra surface starch, then drain well. Lay them on clean towels and pat them dry until they feel matte, not slippery. This is the small step people skip, then they blame the ʻulu. No blame the taro, no blame the breadfruit either.
Put the dry slices in a wide bowl and toss gently with the oil, paʻakai ʻalaea, garlic powder if using, and nīoi if you want heat. Use your hands so every slice gets a light shine, not a heavy coat. Oil puddles make leathery chips.
Arrange the slices in mostly single layers on the prepared sheets. A little touching is fine, but don't pile them. Crowding traps moisture, and moisture makes chew. Give the ʻulu room and it will give you crisp edges.
Bake for 12 minutes, rotate the pans, and switch the racks. Turn the slices that are browning fastest, then bake 8 to 13 minutes more, pulling chips as they turn golden at the edges and dry through the center. Some pieces finish early. Take those out and let the stubborn ones stay.
Move the chips to a rack or a clean tray and let them cool uncovered until fully crisp. Finish with a pinch more paʻakai ʻalaea and serve with lime wedges if you like. Put the bowl in the middle of the table. This is snack food, not a museum piece.
1 serving (about 95g)
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