From Samoan turkey tails to Hawaiian plate lunches, a food truck brings Polynesian comfort food to Kansas City

Independence is home to one of the Midwest’s largest Samoan populations. That’s why, off Highway 291 and 23rd Street in the Tractor Supply parking lot, you can find Cameron Maluia tossing kalua pork, pineapple sausages and turkey tails into Styrofoam to-go boxes from his food truck throughout the week.

Uce Kitchen serves all kinds of Polynesian comforts, including the Hawaiian-style plates more commonly associated with franchised establishments like Hawaiian Bros or Mo’Bettahs. Classically served with a scoop of macaroni salad and white rice, Maluia’s plates come with kalbi short ribs or sticky, garlicky chicken. He welcomes the comparison to Polynesian food, and he welcomes the idea of having more Polynesian restaurants in the area. But if you follow his food truck long enough to order something you’re less familiar with—say, turkey tails or sapasui (Samoan chop suey)—you’ll see why he describes Uce Kitchen as the “Samoan cousin” to those larger Hawaiian plate lunch chains.

Maluia fell into the classic Covid story, he was laid off during the pandemic and needed to pivot, find something else to do. His wife, Anita, who works behind the scenes of Uce (pronounced oo-seh) Kitchen, says that it’s common in Samoan culture for men to do the cooking at family gatherings. With Maluia already experienced in cooking for large groups, he decided to bring his family’s recipes to Independence’s larger Samoan community, first as pop-ups, then as a food truck. As for the truck’s name, “Uce” is Samoan slang for “bro,” derived from uso, meaning “brother.”

Maluia compares his Samoan food to soul food, saying it has the same “oomph” or depth of flavor often associated with it, due mainly to the cooking techniques and seasonings he uses. He tries to change up the menu once a month, but it almost always includes turkey tails, or mulipipi. In Samoan cooking, turkey tails play a role similar to oxtails in Black soul food. Slow-cooked until rich, fatty and tender, they are staple served in a multiple of ways. Other traditional Samoan dishes include the faʻalifu faʻi (bananas cooked in coconut cream) and fai’ai pilikaki (mackerel cooked in coconut cream). Maluia’s sapasui is made with povi masima (think Samoan corned beef), which he travels all the way to San Francisco to source. Because these menu items require more labor, Maluia says cooking Samoan food requires “all hands on deck,” meaning his wife, mom and sister all help.

“I tell my customers my momma and my wife and sister are making [the Samoan food],” says Maluia. “So that’s what you taste. People say, ‘Man, it tastes like my mama made it,’ and I say, ‘’Cause my mama made it.’”

Maluia’s Samoan food is what makes his food truck a true treasure, but other Uce Kitchen menu items—like the Hawaiian plate lunches you’re probably more familiar with—are a worthy pick, too.

Anita, who is originally from Hawaii, says it was the island food she missed the most when moving to the mainland. The Hawaiian plate lunch, a popular meal originating in the late nineteenth century among Hawaii’s immigrant plantation workers, often of Japanese, Chinese or Korean descent, is comparable to tacos served with beans and rice. With a scoop of macaroni salad, a scoop of rice and a protein typically tossed in a sweet-savory Asian condiment glaze, it’s one of those meals that’s universally meant to be. Uce’s garlic fried chicken plate is the most popular, but there’s something especially satisfying about eating the fatty edges of kalbi short ribs between bites of creamy macaroni salad, tossed in no shortage of Hellmann’s, and white rice sprinkled with furikake. Between the chicken and ribs, Maluia says these are the menu items that draw in customers without a doubt. Wherever he’s posted, the aroma of sweet grilled meats is hard to ignore.

“We don’t have the prettiest trailer,” says Maluia, “but you can smell it.”

Sometimes, embracing another culture means eating canned meats, and Uce Kitchen wouldn’t be a Polynesian food truck without some Spam. The rectangular pork slices, which became extremely popular in Hawaii during WWII when food was being rationed (apparently Hawaii has the highest per capita consumption of Spam in the U.S), are served with an egg your way, topped with green onions and a dome of rice. There’s also the loco moco plate, which Maluia asked—before he knew who I was—if I’d had before. The dish starts with white rice, gets layered with two hamburger patties and a fried egg, and is smothered in sweet brown gravy.

“It’s a Hawaiian hangover meal,” he says. 

Maluia asked, he explained, because, it’s typically something only those in the Polynesian community would order. As I dug through layers of gravy, egg yolk, beef and rice, I suddenly found myself wishing I had been sipping heavily on gin and tonics the night before. The savory feast would bring an anemic back to life in no time.

The pineapple pork is sweet and juicy with a wonderful snap. Along with povi masima, this is another ingredient Maluia travels to San Francisco for (Maluia says the brand name is a secret, though anyone in the Polynesian community out West would recognize it). He also buys taro leaves there, as they’re harder to find in Kansas City.

As for future plans, Maluia says he’s content with the flexibility the food truck life offers. He positions his truck outside Tractor Supply, a location he originally chose because he was buying propane there about three days a week. Uce Kitchen also offers catering and prepares food at the Ennovation Center in Independence, a nonprofit business incubator that Maluia credits with helping him and his wife learn the ropes of food trucking.If you’re looking to host a celebration, Maluia also caters luaus with a whole pig roast. Uce Kitchen can often be found at local festivals, too. Look for the big guy with tribal tattoos; maybe he’ll hit you with a shaka, or hang loose sign, like he did for my son. Keep updated with Uce Kitchen on Instagram and Facebook @ucekitchen.

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