Along with my parents and siblings, I became a seasoned traveler and eater, going from the finest, world class dining establishments in five diamond hotels such as Ritz Carlton, Four Seasons, Aman Resorts and Mandarin Oriental to frequenting hole-in-the-wall restaurants only locals have known for decades. I ate Indonesian Rijstaffel in its finest presentations on delicate China with linen tablecloths and I ate Es Campur and Bakmi Baso on the streets of Jakarta and Surabaya, (the latter experiences when my mother was not around as she would be terrified of my contracting some dreadful malady from dirty water). The duality of such opposites became an addictive drug to me, each experience offering its unique set of flavors, scents, sounds, and emotions.
In my later teenage years, I experienced many of the most painful and trying moments of my life, losing my beloved grandfather and several other treasured family members. Those devastating losses shaped the course of my spirit and life irrevocably, often manifesting in the strangest of ways. In the kitchen, I began an insatiable quest for acute flavors, emotionally familiar aromas, recreating recipes that were the favorites of people I’d lost forever. Aside from photo albums that were sometimes too difficult to look at, the recipes were all I had left to feel their embrace, to hear their laughter and the happy noises of loved ones eating together. From those early years until today, food has become the only viable bridge between those living in the present and those who have passed on.
Every time I miss my grandfather (or my uncles, aunts and cousins) I begin to cook his favorite dishes, many of which were Indonesian. From classic Indonesian Mapo Tofu (Mun Tahu) to Chicken Rice Porridge (Bubur Ayam), I often spend hours in the kitchen, creating one dish after another, as a silent offering to someone I love, who happens to be a little far away. I chop garlic at lightning speed, laughing to myself as I hear their voices, “add more garlic…you can never have too much garlic.” On my hands and knees, I maneuver the stone mortar and pestle to grind the red chili peppers, watching the ghost of my aunt showing me exactly how to bend my arm to get the right pressure. And when I’m done cooking, when I’m done trying to make each dish a little better every time, I sit down with those loved ones around me today, sharing a wonderful home cooked meal. I give thanks for this new happy moment. For just a second, I close my eyes, I smell, I taste, and I am there again with the people who live in that most treasured place in my memory.
People who are unfamiliar with Indonesian cuisine always ask me “what is it like?” and I can only vaguely describe it as somewhere between Thai and Indian cuisine. It shares Thai cuisine’s penchant for the intensely spicy and salty, and India’s passion for rich curries. Really though, Indonesian food has its own unique range of flavors, ingredients, and techniques. Indonesian cuisine’s unabashed use of fresh herbs and spices (such as garlic, turmeric, shrimp paste, Kaffir lime leaves and galangal) contribute to dishes that are fragrant and flavorful.
To have a complete grasp of Indonesian cuisine, it’s imperative to understand that, from west to east, there are dramatically differing ingredients and techniques used in preparing meats, seafood, and vegetables. They stem from cultural history and traditions that existed long before modern day restaurants and fancy kitchens.
The beautiful island of Bali is famous for its fresh seafood, which is no surprise considering the local abundance. But Bali differs from the rest of the nation in its culinary treatment of fresh seafood and meats. The ever popular Bumbu Bali refers to any seafood or meat that is first marinated in a rich coating of sweet soy sauce and a garlicky thick, red chili paste before grilling on an open air flame. What results is a succulent, sweet, and savory grilled meat or seafood dish with just a hint of spiciness.
Moving slightly west to the east coast of the main island of Java, is the metropolitan city of Surabaya and its surrounding neighbors, such as Malang. This eastern region is famous for its incredible desserts, including: old fashioned mocha cakes whipped up by grandmas in batik sarongs using butter; sweet and fluffy breads that make you forget all about calorie counting and the kind of ice cream cakes I had as a child that make me now desperately wish I could turn back the hands of time.
On the west coast in the capital city of Jakarta and its neighbors, we find yet another kind of indigenous Indonesian cuisine—rich curries simmering in old cauldrons, spicy fruit salads made with stone mortar and pestles and dishes that reflect the influences of foreign migrations into Indonesia in centuries past.
It’s the commitment to using fresh ingredients, organic ingredients before the word organic became a fancy marketing gimmick; it’s the fearless and bold use of herbs and spices and the relentless clinging to traditional methods that all come together to shape this spectacular country’s unique and exotic foods.
Happy Cooking
Dina Yuen
A Few Tips and Techniques
The best way to ensure success in creating delicious Indonesian cuisine is getting organized and staying that way. Many of the tools and ingredients necessary in an Indonesian kitchen are now widely available in all Asian grocery stores and even in many Western markets. It’s always a good idea to start off by investing the appropriate amount of time, effort, and money to purchase good quality ingredients and tools so that you don’t end up wasting time or money.
Using a Mortar and Pestle Though we have modern day conveniences, such as food processors and blenders, there is nothing quite like using traditional tools. Out of all the mortar and pestles in existence, the Indonesian stone version is my absolute favorite. While using this tool does require a little physical exertion, the unique textures and flavors that result are well worth the effort. Make sure that the surface of the mortar is dry before placing the ingredients on it. When working with garlic or fresh chili peppers, a helpful trick is to sprinkle a little salt and/or sugar on top before mashing. The salt and sugar act as an abrasive helping to break everything down. Never pound the pestle in an up and down motion like you would with a meat pounder because of splattering. The Indonesian pestle has a curved structure, designed for angled and long strokes. Be firm with each stroke of the pestle against the mortar, almost as if you’re dragging the ingredients along while firmly pushing down. You should also use a spoon to scrape the ingredients into the middle every so often so that you don’t end up with a mess around the perimeter of the mortar. When finished, simply rinse the mortar and pestle under warm water and allow to air dry.
Using Fresh Ingredients I think it’s important to use fresh ingredients whenever possible. In modern times, it can be tempting to purchase what appears to be easier alternatives in the form of canned, jarred, or frozen goods, but authentic Indonesian cuisine demands fresh ingredients to produce its array of complex flavors and textures. There are, however, certain preserved ingredients that are acceptable as substitutes for particular recipes without seriously compromising the integrity or quality of the dish. Ingredients such as coconut milk and palm sugar (gula jawa) are easily found in Asian markets in canned or packaged forms.
Working with Coconut Milk Coconut milk has a much lower burning temperature than many other liquids. When cooking with this rich liquid, remember to keep a close watch on it so it doesn’t burn or boil over in the pot. Whether you’re cooking a curry or a stew, it’s important to stir often to avoid any ingredients sticking to the bottom of the pot or wok. If you use coconut milk to cook rice in a rice cooker, make sure to mix the rice gently with
