There was a large crowd that morning at the market, as always!
A few years of Indonesian National Revolution had left the stalls sparse while prices kept rising. In colonial times, under Dutch domination, there was poverty, after Independence there was still hardship.
At mealtimes, our wives and mothers had to be creative to accommodate what little food and products there were. And believe me, when there is only cassava1 as an alternative to rice, our main staple, you have to be damned inspired to bring some diversity and flavors to the table. Not only they were making sure to fill our bellies, they were challenged to flatter our taste buds, like they used to.
Most of us were forced to sell or barter our goods, our clothes, those of our children, the little value in our possession, for basic foodstuffs or to improve the ordinary… The superfluous was for special occasions!
My wife was an alchemist. She had the gift for turning our frugal meals into gourmet meals. She knew how to cook cassava at many sauces; boiled, fried, with or without coconut, sweet, in small cakes. Sometimes seasoned with chili, the price of which also ignited. And every now and again served with some chicken, fish or eggs. Rice at the table was scarce as its price was exorbitant. It had increased tenfold in a few months.
This Independence that I cherished so much and for which I committed did not fulfill all its promises and did not feed my family, like so many others.
As a fitting way to mark our first Independence Anniversary, I decided that rice and a whole chicken would be served for dinner. I went by bike to the market with the firm intention of negotiating one kilo of rice and choosing the most fleshy chicken I would find.
On the way back, I stopped to drink some sweet black coffee, together with my friends. Sitting on the footpath, smoking cigarettes, one after the other. We talked about politics, the cost of living, our worries and our hopes too, the future of our children and our beloved Republic of Indonesia. May it be as sweet as the kretek2 we smoked with delight and which left on our lips a delightful sensation and an aftertaste of cloves. I headed back home after a few hours.
Without delay, my wife prepared the vegetables; water spinach, a few carrots, which she had traded with the neighbour for eggs freshly laid by our hens.
Our house was modest. It comprised three rooms; a small bedroom for my wife and me, a slightly larger one for our three children - Arief ten years old, Budi eight years old, Harum the youngest, five years old. The kitchen was the heart of the house. Even outside mealtimes we spent a lot of time there, playing dominoes while listening to the radio. And there was a fairly narrow courtyard after which was the bathroom.
Dinner had kept its promises! We had grilled chicken, sauteed vegetables with garlic, steamed white rice, served with a cassava leaves’ sauce. A Raja3 feast under the glow of the oil lamp, a legacy of the Dutch occupation.
Replete and happy, the children went to bed, while I cleared the coffee table and my wife put the leftovers aside. Away from insects, lizards… and pilferer cats. We had no refrigerator, maybe one day!
The house fell asleep peacefully as the city gave way to a disreputable nightlife. Streets filled with rats and hordes of stray dogs foraging for food.
In the early morning of the following day, while the children were still in bed, we took our time to sip an arabica coffee in silence and pensive. It was a bank holiday.
It was raining heavily, one of those tropical rains that turned the streets into small torrents. It was out of question to go anywhere. The heat and humidity were hard to bear despite the fan.
Such temperature would quickly turn the leftovers and we couldn’t afford it.
Determined that we would not waste food and to prepare a good breakfast for us all, she grabbed the wok which was on the shelf under the table and poured into it two tablespoons of coconut oil.
On the flame, it already released its delicious and tropical scent. In a snap, she chopped a handful of shallots, two seeded red chili pepper and a few garlic cloves, which she sauteed in the fragrant oil. It now filled the house with a mouth-watering smell. Then she added to this rich mixture a small teaspoon of terasi4 which would enhance the flavours, sprinkled it with a shot of kecap manis5. With a smile, she asked me to get three eggs.
Backlit, I could see the children’s figures coming out of their room, making their way to the kitchen along the wall, avoiding the rain. Guided by the tip of the nose, by the sweet and spicy scents.
We sat down in an arc, cross-legged, elbows on the knees, cheeks supported by the hands. She mesmerized us.
In a confident gesture, as she turned to give us a proud and tender glance over her shoulder, she incorporated into this bumbu6 the rest of the vegetables sliced into small pieces, the crumbled chicken meat and the cold white rice.
Using a wooden spatula, she would make the rice dance in the wok until it fried and dried to perfection.
Our impatience was growing! Without paying the slightest attention to it, as in a trance, she removed the wok from the stove and in a frying pan she poured the beaten eggs to make an omelet.
Using a tea bowl, she served five portions of this fried rice into blue and white enameled earthenware plates. Then added the last touch; a few omelette strips, a handful of fried onions and krupuks7 that she kept in a small metallic box.
She proudly invited us to enjoy her creation. The rice was brilliant, the colors appetizing and the balance of flavors made it a unique and succulent dish.
I was a million miles away from imagining that our youngest daughter, Harum, would be part of the Indonesian delegation at the International Fair of New York in 1964. Where she would cook the famous Nasi Goreng8 of Ibu9.
The Nasi Goreng figured for the first time on the menu of the Indonesian Theater Restaurant before it well-qualified for the title of Indonesia’s national dish.
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- Cassava - Tapioca
- Kretek - Clove cigarettes, a true national heritage.
- Raja - King
- Terasi - Shrimp paste
- Kecap manis - Sweet soya sauce
- Bumbu - Seasoning
- Krupuks - Shrimp chips
- Nasi Goreng - Fried Rice
- Ibu - Mum
