Closer to home

Having gastronomically roamed the globe this year, it was time to rest my weary taste buds on Saturday and reconnect with something closer to home; kai.

Maori cuisine is, for the most part, pretty plain although, to their credit, Maori have a few pungent delicacies such as rotten corn (kaanga wai) and shark liver (ate mango) that would challenge even the Chinese. You’ll hardly be surprised to learn that I’ve tried rotten corn a couple of times (it’s perfectly eatable in a stinky, foul cheese or fermented tofu kind of a way). I’ll confess to being a bit intimidated by the shark liver but I haven’t ruled out the possibility of giving it a go one day.

Hangi food is arguably the best known aspect of Maori cuisine and I’ve always loved it. I grew up in Palmerston North and the school I went to probably had only one or two Maori kids out of roll of 300 or so. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, every couple of years a corner of the rugby field would get dug up for a hangi.

I remember a great sense of excitement as the hangi was opened, and the evocative aroma of hot earth and steaming sacks, mingled with food. All these years later, that smell still takes me right back to Russell Street primary school circa 1970!

I also love the way hangi food is cooked using a technique that, apart from a few modern twists (using metal hangi baskets and hessian sacks), has been unchanged since time immemorial.

Unfortunately, I rarely get to eat hangi food but seek it out wherever I can. For years I’ve been muttering about making a hangi, and even have a book that gives step-by-step instructions, but – to pardon the pun - it’s gone into the ‘too hard’ basket.

 As is often the case, fate intervened to put things right by way of a hangi making workshop in Auckland Council’s Matariki festival’s programme of events. I enrolled like a shot!

As the workshop drew near, I wondered what the day would hold and wondered who else would be interested enough to dedicate an entire Saturday to the cause. Would there be lots of foodies? Or would there be just me, and a handful of balding, ponytailed whiteys intent on deep and meaningfully connecting with their inner Maui?

Arriving at Te Tahawai Marae, Pakuranga, I was pleased and surprised to note the paucity of ponytails amongst the 30-strong group. We were a diverse bunch, with participants ranging in age from fresh-faced university students, through to a lovely but very doddery old man whom I feared wouldn’t survive the day.

After being welcomed onto the marae, we were asked to say where we were born and what our heritage was. Talk about United Nations! Apart from a handful of kiwis, participants were born all over the globe, including China, Malaysia, Singapore, Japan, Nigeria, Iraq, Spain, France and Portugal.

We were split into three groups and took turns at different aspects of preparing the hangi: food preparation, fire preparation and weaving.

Me weaving a nikau thingy.

The food was standard hangi fare, albeit using far better quality ingredients than is often the case, thanks to the sponsor, New World’s generosity (thought I’d give them a plug).

Into the hangi baskets went: pork, whole chickens, spuds, kumera, pumpkin, bread stuffing and whole cabbages (cut out the core, put butter, salt and garlic in then put the core plug back in.).

The workshop was incredibly well run by three Maori men, who showed us everything from the mechanics of preparing a hangi pit and the food – through to how to weave table decorations and hangi pit covers from nikau fronds.

Intriguingly, we were also shown how to create fire by rubbing Mahoe sticks against koikomako wood. It looked like really hard work.

Unearthing the hangi.

We concluded the afternoon by learning a waiata (song), which we sang to guests who joined us for dinner.

As it happened, judging for a rewena competition was also held on the marae. Rewena paraoa, a Maori specialty, is bread made using a potato water starter. A kuia (female elder) told us about making rewena and showed us a sample from a friend’s starter that had been kept going for 53 years. It smelled delicate – very subtly yeasty.

Better still, we got to try the entries. They were both delicious, but the one made using the starter with the impressive lineage was streets ahead in its sophisticated taste and texture.

Hangied pork and cabbage
ready to come out of
the ground.

After a full and interesting day, it was at last time to eat the object of our attention. The hangied food was lovely; delicately flavoured, wholesome and hearty – and utterly unpretentious.

I knew I would enjoy the workshop because I love hangied food. Yet, in a funny way, the hangi dinner wasn’t necessarily the star of the show.

One way and another, every single aspect of the day combined to create a far richer and more fulfilling experience than I could have anticipated.

As is often the case, food was the unifying factor, but what made the experience so special was our hosts’ willingness to so openly share their culture with us – and our collective willingness to be open to and partake in that knowledge. Maybe I’d better go and grow a ponytail.

Yummy, yum!