Thanksgiving Day in Honolulu

Think of a picnic on this day in our climate – the thought is enough to induce chills !

To my great regret I could not be at two places at one time, and, as there was another number on the program for this day – a “luan” or feast for indigent Hawaiians – I betook myself at an early hour of the afternoon to Home to witness the ceremony from beginning to end.

Arriving in good season there was opportunity for making various observations.

The “laying of table” is by no means a neglected art with the Hawaiians. A grassy strip of lawn is thickly covered with “tie” (pronounced tea) and fern leaves, plates and bowls are tied up most dexterously with these tie leaves, which are smooth and seem particularly adapted to their various needs.

The bowls were filled with “poi” – a pasty substance prepared from the taro plant, the latter being their staple product, every part of which is used for one dish or another. This plant belongs to the caladium family, and the butt only is used for this national dish.

Each plate contained a generous supply of roast pig, which is, indeed, a rare delicacy, prepared after their fashion. The modus operandi follows :

                 Odd form of oven.

An oven of stones is arranged out of doors and heated, some bowlders, also well heated, are placed inside of the carefully prepared pig, the latter is wrapped in tie leaves (the latter imparting a fine flavor to the meat), and the bundle entrusted for about seven and a half hours to the slow and steady heat of this model stove.

The accessories to the pig and poi were seaweed and a preparation of kukui nuts[1], very salty and a fine relish to the poi, which is without any seasoning and rather tasteless (varying in acidity from day to day as it ferments) ; sweet potato was the vegetable served.

After the vigorous ringing of a large bell our old friends, lame, decrepit and many of them blind, but all decorated with leis (wreaths) filed out and got into position. Sitting down on the floor may be easy enough, but the getting down is a serious performance for rusty joints, and it took them some time before the weary members would fold under properly.

A short prayer having been offered by one of their class, they all entered the contest with a vigor and relish that did one’s heart good.

As our native brethren believe in loyalty to their ancient customs, their fingers did service instead of modern table appurtenances, and it was curious, as well as interesting, to observe their etiquette.

Their poi was of two-finger consistency – that means it was thin enough or of just such thickness that two fingers were necessary to manipulate it to the mouth – the first and second digits are thrust into the bowl and twisted out in such a manner that a large mouthful is the result – the process being repeated as long as contents hold out. With equal dexterity they separate the meat particles and pick the bones of their favorite roast pig.

            No Fear of Microbes.

The microbe theory has evidently not reached the ears of these children of nature ; at any rate they do not trouble themselves about anything so abstruse, for one pitcher of water was passed to any one whose thirst made itself manifest, and I noticed how carefully the left-over poi was scraped out of bowls, only to be consumed later on by attendants.

It was intensely fascinating to follow their actions, and volumes could be written about their various personalities ; but one blind man, who had lately taken unto himself a wife, much older than himself, and, perhaps, an Indian squaw, seemed to mostly interest the few chosen spectators.

This worthy disciple of Hawaii must have dieted especially for the occasion. It was ludicrous to see him, after he had finished his own portion, reach over to his wife’s side and slip away a big mouthful of poi or pig. She did not mind it until she observed the attention it was causing, when she gently remonstrated, and, and he very courteously desisted from further appropriations.

           Little Trouble to “Clean Up.”

Not the least interesting was the conclusion. As the old folks were helped to their feet – which the majority could not do unassisted – the attendant very skillfully rolled up this mass of leaves, patch by patch, the bowls and plates having previously been denuded of their verdant dress and set aside, and the debris carted away. In a few minutes everything was absolutely clean. Not a vestige was left to betray the previous location of the festive board.

One old native became ecstatic and chanted to a child as though his very soul’s existence depended upon keeping it up without taking breath – the little one, evidently being accustomed to such demonstrations, did not seem to mind the snapping of fingers, waving of arms and grinning and howling like one possessed. These chants are called meles, or olioli, according to the intensity or kind of emotion expressed.

Note: the original article was typed with French punctuation spacing style, I kept it that way.

  1. at least, that’s what I suppose the author meant, as the words were not decipherable. ↩︎