How the pig gets cooked
Eighteen hours,
one pit, one uncle
who doesn't sleep.
Every imu job starts the afternoon before your event, and the fire doesn't come out until breakfast. Here's the actual rhythm of it — because if we're going to show up for your family, you should know what we're doing at three in the morning.
The cross-section
A proper imu is a layered thing. We dig a hole about four feet across and two-and-a-half feet deep, then build it up in the order shown below. Kimo does this by eye now, but it still takes four hours.
The day before, the day of
Dig or clear the pit
If we're at a venue with a permanent imu, we clean it out and check the liner rocks. If we're digging new, it takes about two hours with two shovels and one uncle.
Light the fire
Kiawe wood teepeed over newspaper and dry ti stalks. The fire needs to burn three-plus hours to get the river rocks to the right red-orange. Kimo calls it "the color of an ulua eye" — you'll know if you've seen one.
Salt and prep the pig
Hawaiian salt rubbed into the cavity and skin. Sometimes a little shoyu, sometimes liquid smoke if Kimo is feeling generous about shortcuts — purists say no. We say it depends on the wood.
Rocks ready, pig wrapped
Pig goes into a cage of chicken wire lined with ti leaves. Banana stumps split lengthwise go over the rocks to make steam. Pig on top, more ti, wet burlap, then soil — sealed completely so no smoke escapes.
Watch the pit
Any wisp of steam coming through the soil means a leak. Kimo patches it with a shovelful of dirt and a splash of water. He sleeps in the truck between checks.
Open the imu
Family is usually there for this part. Soil comes off, burlap gets peeled back, ti leaves lift away. Everyone gets quiet. The pig comes out, and Kimo pulls it apart on a big sheet pan with two forks while Mele mixes in a little more salt and some of the fat that collected in the bottom.
On the table
Kalua pig stays warm in foil pans over sterno. It goes out with the lomi, the laulau, the chicken long rice, the poi, the 'uala. If there's any left over — and there usually isn't — we pack it up for the family to eat for a week.
Things worth knowing
- We need space and permission. An imu is an open fire pit that smokes for hours. Your venue has to allow it, your neighbors should know about it, and we need a spot at least twelve feet from any structure.
- The wood matters. We use kiawe when we can get it cured, sometimes 'ōhi'a. Never anything treated, never anything resinous.
- Weather can push us. Heavy rain on Hāmākua side or high wind in Ka'ū sometimes means we start the fire an hour earlier or later. We'll let you know.
- The opening is part of the meal. If your family wants to gather at the unearthing, tell us — we time it so there's a moment for blessing or a quiet pule before the pig comes up.
Planning a luau?
Ten to twelve weeks of lead time, minimum forty guests. If the pieces line up, this is the meal we love most to cook.
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