A journey in search of Balinese cuisine

A journey in search of Balinese cuisine

By Risa Permana Deli

DENPASAR, Bali (JP): The cultural activities that the Balinese
are generally engaged in, whether or not in relation to efforts
to lure tourists, seem to neglect the most essential human
activity: eating.

Thousands of photographs about Bali describe its offerings but
rarely its cuisine. There has never been a morsel of explanation
that behind Bali's amazingly charming cultural wealth, the island
has a long culinary tradition.

Bali is now part of the world tourism map but Balinese cuisine
has yet to make its way onto the international culinary map. Look
at Kuta. You can easily find European dishes -- French and
Italian in particular -- either in small restaurants seemingly
hiding in muddy alleys deep into the interior of Kuta, or in posh
restaurants like Fabio, The Maccaroni and Uns, where the dishes
are served in as sophisticated a manner as they are in their
countries of origin, never without knives and forks, and wine.

Wine, the privilege of French cuisine, is now even produced in
Bali. It maintains a touch of romanticism in the European
culinary tradition.

In the past few years, there has been a great penchant for
Thai cuisine. The ubiquitous presence of Thai restaurants across
the island seems to tip Bali further off the international
culinary map. A systematic check on standard restaurant menus
shows a gourmand that it is next to never that Balinese cuisine
occupies top billing. You will most likely come across fried rice
and gado-gado (vegetable salad with peanut sauce).

Bali's culinary situation is worsening with an influx of
victims of Jakarta's riots migrating to this island and opting to
run a restaurant as their livelihood. Easily available now is the
delicacy of chicken noodle soup Pancoran style, oxtail soup or
chicken porridge; none, unfortunately, bears the mark of Bali.
Where must one go then to find specific Balinese cuisine?

As an adventurer, I never make a tourist guide my main choice
when looking for the unique aspect of a place. Where do I start?
So, one bright and hot day, I went to a bookshop in an imposing
shopping center, which must have been built thanks to Bali's
flourishing tourism. I found only one book on Balinese cuisine,
published by Periplus in three editions, English, Dutch and
French.

That made me change my course and I tried to have more belief
in what I had heard from some Balinese people. I had often heard
of Ayam Betutu (roast chicken), but was also told that this dish
is offered only in a traditional rite.

I began to ask some friends about Balinese dishes. They
mentioned lawar (mixed vegetables teamed with meat and often
fresh pig's blood), and babi guling (roast pig). In my previous
trips to Bali, I had often eaten lawar, thin slices of pork or
beef served with a plate of rice and sate lilit (meat wrapped
around bamoo sticks). So I decided to find out more about babi
guling. On an island where cows are held sacred, babi guling must
be a delicacy. A friend whispered to me the location where I
could find this dish. Somewhere in Gianyar Market.

Places are generally easy to reach in Bali as the government
seems to have generously constructed the infrastructure, enabling
people to go freely around the island. A trip to Gianyar would
certainly be an easy one to make. So, one wet twilight, I set off
for this location in a hired car that I had used all day to scour
Ubud with a friend.

Busy market activities as night fell seemed to greet me when
the car stopped before the market. Like any other traditional
market across the country, the first thing that catches your eye
is the confusion; then the food stalls in tents crowding the
front of the market. I searched from one end to the other. Not
all the tents announced what they had to offer. I was verging on
utter despair, as it seemed to me that all the tents offered
Javanese or Muntilan dishes, but no Balinese food, when the
friend accompanying me indicated with her chin a food stall
somewhere amid the tents. I was doubtful but my friend took me
there confidently.

There was nothing special in sight except a roast pig with a
few pieces cut from its back. The pig was on the table right
before the diners. I was reminded of Peter Greenaway's film, The
Cook, the Thief, His Wife and His Lover. There was no Richard
Borihnger, the cook, but the roast pig on the table was as shiny
and mouth-watering as what he offered by the end of the film. At
the same time, I saw how everybody became a gourmand, enraptured
by the delicious taste of the dish. A lady wiped her mouth,
finding the dish too hot, while her husband was busy helping
their sweating daughter eat her meal.

I watched the server's delicate movements as she prepared the
rice on each plate delicately using the tips of her fingers.

These supple fingers seemed to be dancing, moving from one
food container to another. First came the steamed rice, cone-
shaped, and then a piece of sate lilit was placed erect following
the slope of the rice cone, slices of pork were placed precisely
at the top of the rice cone, then a fried spicy chunk of beef and
a jackfruit dish with its sauce poured round the top of the rice
cone -- all this seemed to emphasize the esthetics of the entire
movement of preparing a plate of rice.

Then the same fingers tore a small part of the crispy skin off
the roast pig to be placed, again, at the top of the rice cone.
So, the entire dish-serving rite Balinese style was complete. And
the girl would repeat the entire rite for each diner.

Then a middle-aged women collected the plates and took them to
the diners. There was no "Enjoy your meal" or "Bon appetit", an
expression one can hear in virtualy every restaurant in Bali. The
sate lilit was eaten first, followed by the crispy pork skin and
then the sauce and the rice.

Suddenly, I realized why the lady next to me and her daughter
found the food too hot. Even for me, the sauce, which gave the
entire taste and aroma to the rice and all its parts, was indeed
too hot. Perhaps, chili is cheap in Bali. I was choked but this
did not stop me from satiating all my eating passion. The pork
was a bit tough but we were not alone. Just like any other diner,
the two of us were fighting hard to dispel our hunger and
curiosity as gourmands.

It began to rain heavily and under the tables a number of
dogs, just as anthropologist James Dananjaya had described, moved
around and smelled my bare feet. I saw my friend, like earlier
diners, leave nothing on her plate.

Delicious! I could find no better word to explain what I had
tasted that afternoon. Compared to other delicious meals we could
have, the Rp 10,000 we paid for this dish was amazing. I was
relieved that amid the invasion of foreign dishes in Bali, I
could still find the dignity of a culinary culture, which,
ironically, was saved by street-side food vendors.

It was getting late when I left the market, and the glow from
the kerosene pressure lanterns in the food tents left an
extraordinary reflection on the roast pig. My mind went to a
painting by Goya.