Kenangan dalam Makanan

27th
Jun. × ’17

Raihan Lubis

Aku terlahir dalam keluarga Mandailing tulen. Ibuku bermarga Nasution dan ayahku bermarga Lubis. Kedua orangtuaku –dan juga aku- lahir di Medan, Sumatera Utara. Sehingga, walaupun kami bertumbuh dengan makanan khas Mandailing, persinggungan masakan-masakan Mandailing dengan kuliner Melayu Deli khas Medan – tak dapat dihindari. Salah satu kuliner Melayu yang akrab di lidah kami sekeluarga adalah roti jala. Tak hanya suka memakannya, kami sekeluarga juga mahir membuat roti jala. Bahkan, umiku (ibu) – selalu kebanjiran pesanan roti jala jika lebaran atau hari besar lainnya tiba. Begitulah, roti jala bagi kami- panganan yang bukan hanya makanan yang kami sukai sekeluarga, tapi juga makanan yang turut menghidupi kami- sekeluarga.

Dalam keluarga kami, roti jala ini dimakan bersama kari. Kadang-kadang kari kambing, terkadang juga kari ayam. Mungkin karena dimakan bersama kari, kami sekeluarga makin menyukai makanan ini. Sebagai orang Mandailing, makanan yang berempah seperti kari tak asing buat lidah kami. Mungkin karena Kerajaan Cola dari Hindia Selatan di bawah pimpinan Rajendra Chola sekitar tahun 1030-an menyerang Kerajaan Panai – yang merupakan kerajaan para nenek moyang orang Mandailing. Sehingga bisa jadi, usai penyerangan – orang-orang dari Kerajaan Cola bermukin di tanah para nenek moyang orang Mandailing ini dan kemudian menularkan beragam rempah kedalam masakan Mandailing.

Roti jala. Foto: Raihan Lubis

Untungnya, tidak begitu susah mencari rempah-rempah kari pendamping roti jala ini, karena banyak dijual bebas di pasar dan juga supermarket. Hanya daun kari atau daun temuru atau daun salam koja yang memang harus ekstra mencarinya. Itulah kenapa kami selalu menanam pohon ini di rumah di mana kami tinggal. Kalau dulu ketika di Aceh tidaklah sulit mencarinya, karena hampir tiap rumah menanamnya. Mencarinya di pasar juga tidak terlalu sulit. Ketika tinggal di Ubud Bali, kami menanamnya. Begitu juga ketika sekarang tinggal di Bogor, kami juga menanam pohon yang memiliki daun beraroma kuat ini. Dulu ketika kami belum menanamnya, kami biasanya meminta daunnya pada keluarga yang sudah terlebih dahulu tinggal di Jakarta dan menanam pohonnya. Atau juga membelinya di pasar Minggu- di mana banyak komunitas Aceh menjadi pedagang. Tapi baru-baru ini, aku melihat pohon salam koja yang sangat besar di pinggiran Stasiun Pasar Minggu Baru.

Tambahan lainnya selain dengan kari, roti jala ini kami santap bersama acar nenas yang dicampur bersama timun dan juga wortel. Nenas, timun dan wortel dipotong bentuk dadu dalam ukuran yang kecil. Potongan nenas, timun dan wortel ini kemudian dicampur dengan sejumput garam, gula, perasan jeruk nipis dan juga cabai merah segar yang dihaluskan- untuk menambah tekstur dan cita rasa. Acar nenas, wortel dan timun dalam makanan ini menimbulkan letupan kesegaran dan rasa asam manis yang pas- ketika kari yang hangat dan pedas bersatu dengan roti jala yang empuk di dalam mulut. Ketika memakannya, lidah dipastikan akan terkecap-kecap. Ada sensasi meledak-ledak- karena seluruh sisi lidah mengeluarkan rasa kecapnya. Tak hanya itu, acar juga memberikan tampilan yang lebih berwarna pada kudapan ini ketika dihidangkan. Bagi umiku – makanan tidak hanya harus enak, tapi juga harus sedap dipandang guna menerbitkan selera bagi sesiapa yang akan memakannya.

Roti jala dan kari. Foto: Raihan Lubis

Roti jala yang berjaring-jaring seperti jala ini, terbuat dari tepung terigu, yang dicampur dengan telur, susu dan juga mentega. Diaduk dengan air sehingga berada pada kekentalan tertentu. Dan karena kemajuan teknologi, aku menggunakan blender untuk mencampur adonan. Sementara umiku, meski ada teknologi yang makin memudahkan dalam mengaduk adonan, umiku tetap mengaduk adonan dengan adukan telur manual – karena begitulah resep ini diajarkan secara turun temurun padanya –umiku tak hendak mengubah metode pembuatan. Tidak sah rasanya bagi umiku jika tidak sesuai sebagaimana dia pernah diajarkan.

Jika adonan sudah terlihat licin dan tercampur rata, maka adonan dapat dicetak menggunakan cetakan khusus yang memiliki beberapa lubang. Biasanya lubangnya terdiri dari 3, 4 atau 5 lubang. Semakin banyak lubang pada cetakan, membuat jaring-jaring roti jala semakin cantik. Cetakan biasanya terbuat dari plastik, stainless atau kuningan. Adonan yang keluar dari cetakan ini, langsung dimasak di atas pan anti lengket. Dimasak dengan api kecil agar tidak gosong. Jika sudah matang, maka roti jala segera diangkat untuk kemudian dibentuk – dapat berbentuk segitiga atau digulung bulat seperti kue dadar tergantung selera. Di keluarga kami, dibentuk bulat seperti kue dadar. Karena terasa lebih penuh tampilannya dan lebih mantap jika digigit dalam balutan kuah kari dan acar.

Bicara soal cetakan roti jala ini, aku punya cerita khusus. Cetakan milik umiku (ibuku) sepertinya sudah berumur puluhan tahun. Sementara, cetakan roti jalaku, usianya lebih tua dari usia anak pertamaku. Dan cetakan roti jala milikku akan kubawa kemanapun aku pindah rumah. Jadi, boleh saja aku berpindah dapur dari Aceh ke Bali, kemudian ke Aceh lagi, setelah itu boyongan ke Jakarta kemudian ke Bogor, tapi cetakan roti jalaku tetaplah berada manis di rak piring dapurku.

Tidak hanya cetakannya, segala perlengkapan memasak roti jala ini harus bersih dan kering. Bahan-bahnnya juga demikian. Air haruslah dimasak dan dibiarkan dingin sesuai suhu ruang. Dan jika adonan siap untuk dimasak, maka dibutuhkan kesabaran dan konsistensi dalam membuat besarnya ukuran roti jala.

Bagiku, memasak resep-resep masakan yang diwariskan keluarga ini, seperti sebuah ziarah kepada para leluhur. Gigitan dan setiap kunyahan seolah membawa kita pada ingatan-ingatan tertentu- seperti ketika kita mencium bau sesuatu. Kenangan-kenangan terkecap bersama cita rasa dan aroma Dan ketika aku makan roti jala bersama kari dan juga potongan-potongan acar asam manis pedas ini, aku akan selalu merasa berada di dapur rumah masa kecilku- dimana aku dapat melihat almarhum papaku sedang membantu umi sambil sesekali menggodanya. Begitulah – makanan adalah sebuah kenangan.

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An unfinished story of the source of good food

26th
Dec. × ’16

Pabean Market and a thick layer of onion peels on the floor. Photo by the author

The fridge in my house in Surabaya is perpetually in a state of chaos. To describe it succinctly, it resembles a repository where a jumble of different kinds of food wrapped in plastic and paper are placed without a clear categorization system. Vegetables, butter cans, colourful candies usually used to decorate birthday cake, biscuits, sugar, dried fish, peeled onion, powdered spices… All are stacked up just like that, and definitely not neatly arranged. Unless we open up the food wrappings, it is impossible to know what is hidden inside it. I have the feeling that my mother is the only one on earth who can tell us exactly what are the items that have been loaded into the fridge.

But the whole house itself is always in a mess. For example, there are always things on our couch, so much so that it is difficult to sit down without our butts crushing anything. Various kinds of toys belonged to my nephew and niece are scattered throughout the floors. My oldest sister, together with her husband and their two children, are still staying with my mother. Some parts of the house are covered with dust. I think it is untidy because the house has doubled as a workspace from time to time.

In early 1990s, Mother initiated a furniture business. She served as the principal of an elementary school in Gresik, a small town not so far from Surabaya, and just recently retired as a civil servant in 2009. But she was, and still is, not the kind of person who is ever likely to rest up her hands. In all of her life, she has been in search of ways of increasing the family income. The nicely polished furniture were sometimes put inside the house alongside our own equipment.

The workers of the furniture business were our relatives from Jombang, East Java – my mother’s hometown. It seemed to me that both Mother and Grandmother had the habit of transforming our house into a shelter for all the extended family members. Mother and Grandmother would welcome them to our house, provide them with food, try to find them jobs, or if they were interested, enroll them in a school.

There was also the time when Mother ran/operated a bridal make-up service business. The cupboard containing Javanese bridal dresses is all that remains of it.. Now she occupies her post-retirement years by focusing on food business in accord with her cooking hobby. On the days when she has to finish orders, the kitchen is extended out to other parts of the house and everyone in the house is required to assist her.

One day, I approached her and complained about the disorderliness of the house, the fridge, and the kitchen; about however hard our attempts at re-arranging the furniture, they would soon back to their disorderly state. Each member of the family was absorbed into his or her own life trajectories and had little time to spend keeping the house neat and tidy. She responded, “It is not just our house, but a space to work. So it is alright if our fridge and kitchen are a bit dirty. For me, what is important is the appearance of the food when presented to those who order them”.

That is probably why I have always nurtured the dream of leaving the house, and being schooled in a good university somewhere in other parts of the island. Hence, I would have my own room as well as the freedom of arranging my things in the way I want. Confronted with an undesirable matter, most people would seek ways of distancing themselves from it, and projecting the hopes onto coveting things possessed by the others. In my case, there is always the fridge I have dreamt about, the kind of room I have always wanted and a house designed in a specific style I have longed for. When I was a kid, I used to bike around a luxurious housing estate named Sinar Galaxy near my house. I would then roam over its streets, pointing my finger at several houses which suit to my dreams. The house with gigantic pillars or the house with a big pool over there…

Reflecting on it now, it was a desire which was driven by the need to escape from the disorderliness of my house and it served as a base of my personal obsession with orderliness. Furthermore, it provide me with the impetus to develop my own life system.

There are always plenty of food at my house. This is one important thing which makes me feel happy to be home. Indeed, my mother is a great cook, and food made by her hands is always delicious. I went home two weeks ago, and she welcomed me with heaps of smiles and a plate of scrambled eggs and tofu, served with peanut sauce. She proceeded to tell me that she had cooked special fried noodles for me. A big bowl of fried noodles was placed inside a cupboard where she usually used to store her cooking ingredients. Again, the storage is also an untidy one. The plate looked unstable because it sat on a pile of food boxes, or what I thought were food boxes, although I could not really tell what was inside them.

The next morning, Mother took me to Pabean market. She always goes to this market if she needs to buy great quantities of ingredients. The market is divided into several lots in which each one is dedicated to sell a specific ingredient. We stepped our feet to a lot selling garlic, onion, and chili. The pungent smell of onions was in the air. Just like any other traditional market, cleanliness was also a matter in question here. Garbage was everywhere. I felt as if my feet were not stepping on a floor but on a thick layer of onion peels instead. While waiting for the customers, the sellers spent their time peeling onions and transformed the entire floor into the giant garbage bin. Casting our eyes on a display table, we found big round baskets containing high piles of peeled onions. They all looked neat. Then we went to the lot that sold dried fish. In each kiosk, I saw plastic bags and rubber armbands stuck into small holes in between the pillars of the kiosk. The colourful plastic bags and rubber armbands emerged from the holes… Laid on the floor were big round bamboo baskets with piles of various kinds of dried fish. It brought me a sense of pleasantness just by looking at them. They all looked neat.

If the floor of the market and the holes of the pillars were the backstages of the onion and dried fish kiosks, then the fridge and the kitchen were that of my mother’s. However disorderly the state that might occur in the backstage, all must arranged in an orderly way before appearing on stage.

On our way back, Mother was busy comparing the price of food ingredients in Pabean to other markets. She likes to shop at Pabean because she can save some amount of money.

Her thriftiness reflects on her constant refusal to eat outside. Surely she would reject the ‘anti-eating out’ label I have decided to give to her. In reality, however, there were moments where I clearly remember how she fiercely rejected the food cooked by the other food producers from outside. She always held the view that the food at restaurants or warung are overpriced, and the quality of the taste is often poor. I recalled taking my mother and a friend of mine to a restaurant in Jalan Kusumanegara, Yogyakarta, five years ago. My friend and I ordered two plates of fried rice, which cost us 40 thousand rupiah. Opon knowing the amount of money I had spent on fried rice, my mother’s face turned sulky. She finally did not want to order any kind of food at all, which in the end also made me depressed too. Until today I still fear for asking her to have a meal outside.

I thought I was embarrassed by her over-thriftiness. In hindsight, it was probably not the embarrassment that I felt but a predicament that arose from a circumstance where Mother rejected the food consumption system I have developed.

Mother always feels that I lavish money too easily on food. “I really do not understand why you have to spend great amount of money on something that would literally turned into shit,” she said. But she does not develop her frugal behaviour further into recycling practices as practiced thoroughly by Grandmother. Grandmother had the ability to transform yesterday’s leftover rice into crackers, broken bulb lamps into hanging plant pots, collecting used plastic bags or paper boxes.

Our family does not have the tradition of eating outside, but has a strong habit of traveling together on weekends. Going to the beach or the zoo used to be our weekly regular activity. We rarely ate in any stall at the beach or the zoo area however. Mother always brought some food for us from home.

As told by my mother, she and my father often had their meals in restaurants. Since giving birth to her children, she started to cook for the family. The habit of eating out gradually declined since then. The awareness of strictly controlling the finances of the family has then been manifested in regular cooking activities.

Not only has the family established itself as an institution subsisting the sustenance for all the family members, it has also set the value system about what food to eat and avoid. Mother’s cooking is the benchmark of how the family set their expectations on food. By anchoring her tastebuds to her long cooking experience, my mother has based her judgment about any kind of cooking produced by the other food providers. It is the connection to our mother’s cooking which has shaped the expectations and food preferences of this particular family. In my case, the experience of living and working outside the hometown not only paved a way of eating different kinds of food from what we usually have at home, but also to break the family taboo on food. Speaking about food taboo, my mother does not know that dog, snake, and pig in particular, has become acceptable food ingredients for me.

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