Alana Kysar is back. Not just to Hawaii, but to her roots.
After nearly ten years in California, she returned to Maui to find the island unrecognizable in the best possible way. It hasn’t just grown; it has blossomed. Sugarcane? Mostly gone. In its place? A dense tapestry of citrus, coffee, and crops that used to be strangers here.
“I found a familiar mountain road lined with rows of citrus trees, coffee plants.”
Зміст
The Land Remembers (But Changes)
Kysar grew up driving up Haleakalā Highway past endless sugar fields. Now? She drives past kalo (taro) patches so vast they feel historic. The agriculture isn’t static. It’s shifting gears.
Old Kula was mono-crop heavy. Japanese farmers grew strawberries, one thing and only one thing. That rigidity is breaking.
Sumida Farms stays pure—watercress from natural spring water, grown with obsessive precision. Other farmers are rotating crops. Why? Disease prevention. Organic curiosity. A desire to work with the land, not just extract from it.
It’s messy. It’s organic. It’s alive.
Veggies Are Just Small Fruits
The result? Aloha Veggies. Her second book.
The premise sounds simple, right? Cook more plants. But there’s a barrier. Hawaii loves meat. So Kysar did the obvious thing: she made veggies approachable.
Her trick? Four variations per flavor profile.
Pick an ingredient. Say, cauliflower. Give four recipes. Maybe the picky eater hates one, loves two, and the adventurous soul makes all four over the course of a week.
It removes the “ugh, again” factor. You aren’t forced to repeat yourself. The book becomes a toolkit, not a commandment.
And let’s address the fruit situation.
“Lots of vegetables are fruits… I just expanded on the idea.”
If it grows on the vine, it gets in the book. The line between sweet and savory? Blurred on purpose.
The Non-Negotiable: History
Here is the rub. Kysar doesn’t want to “fix” Hawaiian food by adding kale. She wants to honor what came first.
Take laulau. Traditional wrapping isn’t optional. Tarot leaves. Then a second tea leaf. Then steam or bake. It is time-consuming. Deliberate.
“If you don’t honor what came before, you’re not exactly expanding… you’re just saying, ‘I’m doing this other thing.'”
This isn’t just technique. It’s respect. You cannot rewrite a culture without understanding the grammar of its history. Kysar gives the dishes space. They breathe on the page. They demand patience.
A Table of Merging Families
The best moment in the process? Her mother. And her mother-in-law. Making laulau together.
Two generations. Two backgrounds. One pot of steamed taro-wrapped ingredients.
The skepticism was real. Is this enough food? the doubt whispered. Then came the eating.
“I didn’t expect it to taste so good.”
That was the click. The moment a veg-forward dish stopped being a compromise and became a celebration. You taste the time wrapped inside the leaves. The care. The history.
The Road Forward
Maui looks different now. The farmers look different. The definition of local food? That’s different too.
Kysar isn’t trying to build a perfect balance. She’s building movement.
The goal isn’t to cook one recipe from the book and put it back on the shelf. The goal is to get lost in it. To see the strawberry fields fade and the watercress rise. To accept that food isn’t static, even if some wrapping methods never change.
What are we growing next? 🌿
