Feasting in Ubud, Bali
Whether or not you’re a fan of Thanksgiving’s origins, the importance of this traditional day is ingrained in all of us Americans from the start. It’s a time for feasting and family and food comas. Old-fashioned casseroles and decadent sleep-inducing dishes that we wouldn’t dream of eating on any other day but this one hallowed Thursday when our bellies are happily obscured by cozy sweaters and stretchy pants.
Of course, travelers know Thanksgiving is just another day everywhere else in the world. I can easily draw parallels between America’s custom and those of others, especially idiosyncrasies surrounding food—one of my favorite things to talk about. It expresses so much about a culture.
A recent dinner in Bali got me thinking about how family comes together over meals. My boyfriend, Keith, and I were lucky enough to indulge in the Four Seasons Resort Bali at Sayan’s super-private Sokasi chef’s table experience, a seven-course treat of Balinese ceremonial fare. It’s named for sok, meaning basket, and nasi, meaning rice—a staple of every household, consumed daily.
Not only was the food itself special, the environment was too, by the rushing jungle-lined Ayung River, under an undulating candlelit bamboo shelter designed by Bali’s hyper-creative Elora Hardy. Even better, because he was right in front of us finishing off and plating soulful dishes that had been roasting, steaming and baking for hours and hours, I got to pepper the charming Chef Joni with questions. Before other guests arrived we snuck a peek at the pièce de résistance: babi guling, or suckling pig. Joni described this as “the most favorite dish in Bali,” a must for ceremonies surrounding a baby’s birth. The anticipation I felt for the penultimate Balinese classic matched my enthusiasm for a perfectly juicy turkey.
On this Indonesian island, women and men slave over hot, open fires to prepare flavor-rich, time-consuming dishes as Americans do for major occasions. The difference is, the lush Hindu destination has a bewildering amount of holidays. It seems there are ceremonies happening constantly, and there indeed are. There are ceremonies for marriage, death, pregnancy, purification, temple renovations, and teeth filing, a coming of age sort of rite for teens.
Each of these occasions, and countless more, have their own particular dishes. “We cannot make what food we want to eat,” Joni explained, “we must go to the priest and ask what to make. It’s made for the ceremony, but we can take it back and eat it later.” To be Balinese means having an encyclopedic knowledge of cooking. “We don’t stick to a recipe book at home, we just make it,” Joni said. That practice starts early, not just at an early age (around seven), but early in the morning. Markets open at 3 a.m. daily and close by 9 a.m., before many Americans have even finished their coffee.
Keith and I devoured dish after dish, each one building on the complex flavors of the last. Ayam timbungan, featuring chicken marinated for four hours spiced with fragrant ingredients like galangal, wild ginger, lemongrass and garlic, and baked in a segment of bamboo, is made for ceremonies in West Bali’s Tabanan regency. We ate chargrilled baby corn in the most delectable sauce (jagung pangang), and whole duck (bebek betutu) buried underground in a clay pot, young banana leaves and palm fronds, and slow-roasted for 12 hours. An innovation on klengis, a dish using coconut pulp left from the process of making coconut oil, was surprisingly addictive. “It’s a lost recipe here,” said Joni of the tedious procedure. “People don’t like to make it because it takes a long time to prepare—even my mom never [taught] me.”
With each generation, I realize, what’s passed down is distilled more and more. Even in Bali, alive with ceremonies, there’s a struggle to rites—and recipes—for the future. It makes me wonder, what is the essence of a culture that’s most important, most worth preserving? At Sokasi, our dinner was coursed out, but typically everything is eaten together—like Thanksgiving. What’s considered rude in the U.S. is standard practice in Bali: eating with one’s hands (the right, to be precise).
You won’t find dining tables in Balinese villages. On this island paradise, sitting down for meals with family is not customary. Interestingly enough, that’s slowly changing, thanks to an unlikely source. “Because of Instagram, people see pictures of sitting together with family,” Joni said. “Before it’s not waiting for parents, if you are hungry you just go to the kitchen and eat something.” Growing up in my household that would certainly not fly. “Now,” added Joni, “because of the pictures they want to sit together. Social media is good for that at least.”
I agree with Joni on that point. This time last year I gathered with my sister, cousin, and close friends around a plastic table with our feet in the sand—and surf, actually, it was high tide—to eat grilled fish on the beach in Bali. It was delicious and we were thankful. As I write this I’m preparing to help cook a very classic Thanksgiving dinner with my immediate family in Nairobi, Kenya—turkey, stuffing, cranberry and all. I know I’m not alone in feeling that however much tasty food amplifies the enjoyment, the best part of these traditions is sitting and eating it with people you love. So for Balinese who are newly discovering this experience, I’m very happy.
Further reading: If you find yourself at a JW Marriott during the next couple months, pick up a copy of their magazine to read “Spice Stories,” all about fabulous ingredients from around the world that you might begin finding on menus at home.