Chili commotion clobbers country
Chili commotion clobbers country
JAKARTA (JP): Any one who thinks red chilies are just a spice must have missed the media screaming about the soaring price of the little things. It was the talk of the country last week.
I didn't know and had never bothered to ask the price of red chilies before. All I cared was that the hot stuff was on the table to spice my favorite dish.
My indifference turned into concern when the guys at the top started talking about the price. I couldn't believe that a kilogram of red chilies could set me back as much as Rp 14,000 (US$6).
Just like cement, the escalating price of red chilies soon ignited controversy. Accusations were flung at distributors. They were accused of stocking up in anticipation of the coming Idul Fitri holiday. The distributors blamed the farmers for not adjusting their harvests to meet increased demand during the fasting month. The farmers then blamed the rain that caused the floods that caused their crops to fail.
The head of the National Logistics Agency blamed them all, and launched a market control program by dumping red chilies at low prices and threatening to import chilies if the price stayed high.
The market operation, according to television news, resulted in a sharp price decline.
At the market, however, the price stayed high. Housewives have full-out arguments with vendors, claiming they should get the price announced on TV. But of course the vendors insist on selling at their own price.
Vendors inevitably end the argument with: "Then buy it at the TV station!"
The chili commotion struck my home. My wife, instead of going to a supermarket, went to a traditional market at Kebayoran Lama where she got a 60 percent discount on ground red chilies.
"The secret of buying red chilies at a reasonable price is being at the right place at the right time," she bragged. "I went to the market late in the afternoon. At this time, vendors are ready to go home and they usually sell at a generous discount."
Things were great until I smelled something funny in the kitchen.
"Just what are you cooking?" I demanded.
My wife, beginning to smell the same thing, explained that she was cooking rendang (meat cooked in a special combination of spices, mostly red chilies). The dish seemed to be the source of the smell.
Further investigation unveiled that the ground red chilies my wife had bought were mixed with grated carrot. The mixture looks all right, but smells and tastes extraordinarily bad when heated.
"What happened to the right time and the right place?" I joked.
My wife didn't answer. I knew she was still furious.
"Now, let's look at the bright side," I said. "If you hadn't bought the chili and carrot mixture, we wouldn't have known what carrot smells like when heated. Maybe we can invite RCTI to cover the incident."
My joke was like a red rag in front of a bull.
"If you can't say something good, then don't say nothing," she retorted, mimicking Eddie Murphy and completing the series of cliches we had banally bandied about for the last ten minutes.
"I tried to save money by going through the hassle of the market and what do I get? You and your stupid comments."
"My god, what did I say?"
"What haven't you said?" she snapped.
That shut me up. The argument could have become fatal.
I just can't stop thinking how something so simple can ferment into a national problem. First the scarcity of cement, then fertilizer, and now chili. What next?
Hopefully a scarcity of people who talk nonsense.
-- Carl Chairul