Here’s the Gravy on Loco Moco

There are meals you eat and then there are meals that eat you. Welcome to loco moco, Hawai‘i’s ultimate comfort food. Born in Hilo in the late 1940s and beloved across the islands ever since, loco moco is more than just a dish; it’s a cure-all, a reminder of home and sometimes the fast track to a full-blown kanak attack—that island food coma locals know well.

The formula is simple: a scoop of rice, a hamburger patty, an egg and as a finishing touch, usually brown gravy, but not always. Like much of Hawai‘i’s local food, it blends influences, adapts easily and shows up anywhere: diner counters, plate lunch spots, beach picnics, even your own kitchen on a rushed weeknight. And yes, it works just as well for breakfast as it does for dinner or a midnight snack if there’s leftover rice.

Traditionally, loco moco patties are straight-up ground beef, seasoned with salt and pepper. My kitchen here in Bend takes a little detour courtesy of my son, who works in the meat department at Whole Foods. He brought home hatch chile burger patties, and that became our base. The smoky heat of roasted chile folded into the beef adds just enough kick to cut through the richness of the egg and rice. Cooked medium-well, they keep their juiciness and balance the richness of the dish.

Rice is the foundation. In Hawai‘i, rice isn’t just a side; it’s every meal’s anchor. Rice carries the weight of everything on top, soaking up yolk, gravy or seasoning. Back home, it comes in scoops the size of your fist, sticky enough to be shaped by a spoon. You can always tell someone’s from the islands when they measure their rice with the knuckle trick — iykyk.

Ask three people how they like their loco moco egg and you’ll get three answers. Sunnyside up for the dramatic yolk spill. Over-easy for a gentle ooze. Over-medium if you’re feeding kids who think yolk is “eww.” For me, the yolk is the sauce that ties everything together. It’s comfort food wearing a crown.

Here’s where my household splits. My boys are gravy loyalists, rich and brown, poured until the rice practically swims. I get it. That’s the classic. But me? I go minimalist. A shake of furikake—sesame seeds, seaweed and salt—is enough. It keeps things lighter while still tying the flavors together. It also nods to the Japanese influence woven into Hawai‘i’s food story. One bowl, two approaches, same comfort.

The accepted origin story goes back to Hilo in 1949, when a group of teenagers asked a cafe owner for something cheap, fast and filling. The result was a hamburger patty over rice topped with an egg and drenched in gravy. The name “loco moco” came from one of the teens’ nicknames and the Spanish word for crazy.

According to interviews archived at the University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa’s Center for Oral History, the tale is more than legend. The Lincoln Wreckers sports club asked the owners of Lincoln Grill in Hilo to whip up a hearty but affordable meal, and loco moco was born. That one plate set the stage for decades of variations, kanak attacks and island comfort.

Every local knows the warning. Loco moco may start as comfort food, but finish the whole plate and you’ll be scoping out the nearest couch. That’s the kanak attack, the inevitable nap that follows a serious plate lunch. It isn’t just fullness, it’s part of growing up island-style. Eat too much and the kanak attack gon’getchu you, brah.

Cooking loco moco in Bend isn’t the same as ordering it in Maui or grabbing it at Zippy’s, but it’s the closest thing I have to teleportation. It’s memory in a bowl. It’s family on a plate. It’s proof that comfort food doesn’t need to be fancy, it just needs to be real.

Every time I cook it, my kitchen smells like home: rice steaming, patties sizzling, eggs frying. It all comes together in a way that bridges the distance between here and there.

Food trends come and go but loco moco stays. Maybe because it’s too practical to be pretentious. Maybe because it doesn’t ask for anything more than what you’ve got. Or maybe because Hawai‘i creates food that sticks to your memory as much as your ribs.

Seventy-five years after its invention, loco moco is still doing what it was meant to do: feed you well, remind you of home and leave you smiling. From Hilo cafe counters to countless kitchens across the PNW—where plenty of Hawai‘i ohana have planted roots — it proves the best food doesn’t need to be fancy, it just needs to stick.

This article appears in the Source September 11, 2025.