in the fire hut

i remember studying about hinduism and india in my 20's. i was fascinated by it all. i used to take notes about all the strange manners of the lifestyle, so exotic, so different than what i knew. i was so curious about the origins of these behaviors...what did it all mean? how did it fit together to make one "whole"? and now here i am, living in the stories i read 40 years ago! so the small fire hut on the family compound where the female head of the family makes a fire each morning in the hand built earthen stove that her husband built for their marriage years ago, is where my cooking lessons take place each morning. 

i had passed by the small dark hut many times, but either the old wooden door had a nail hanging on a string "locking" it, or no one was inside when the door was open. but one day i came at 7:30 a.m. and there she was, sitting on the low mantle, with her stone mortar and pestle grinding the chilies, and i asked if i may enter, she nodded. and that is how the cooking lessons began. i would stand there in the dark, with just a bit of sunlight streaming through the slits of the bamboo wall, and watch her fry the fish, steam the rice, prepare the spices, and make some soup and vegetable for her, her husband, and their 43 year old son that works on the farm with them. 

it is an honor and a pleasure to watch her work. she is a very down to earth, simple, hard working woman. she uses her knife well, she works efficiently and ecologically. the black sooty rags, pots, and  counter are only a testament to years of cooking with fire, and not to cleanliness, since she always washes everything before using it. fresh water is in a big earthen pot in the corner, where the little faucet fills it daily. a large green handled plastic cup is used to dip into the earthen pot and add water to the pot for soup, or to rinse the mungbean sprouts, or to fill up the pot that is steaming the rice. on the countertop/mantle is a plastic bowl for all of the dishes being used that will need to be washed later outside the door while sitting on the floor with some liquid detergent that drains off the leftovers to the pig. another plastic bucket is on the floor where anything that can enrich the taste of the food the pigs get, is poured into it; cooking water, coconut water, rinsing off the grinding stone from the sambal, and another plastic bowl with some water where each utensil is casually dipped in to rinse off, and also for rinsing her hand from salt or other foods. 

all work is done with only her right hand actually touching the food. the left hand is used just to hold the garlic as she cuts it, or to pull the stems off the chilies, etc. (since that is the hand that is used to wipe themselves in the toilet so it is not used for food or receiving things). even when she wants to check how the taste of the soup is she will take the ladle in her right hand, then switch it to her left hand in order to touch the soup with a finger and placed on her tongue to see if it is good. there is no tasting going on, since food is only eaten after it has been offered first to god. so no noshing here. she uses her sense of smell in order to check if something is properly spiced! the cats and dog also use their sense of smell and come wandering into the hut every now and then to see what has been thrown on the dirt floor for them to lick up (brook, the dog, loves the fish bones and scares the cats away in order to get first choice at them).

the grinding stone is where all of the spices meet in order to be mashed together depending on what she is making; small spicey red, green or yellow chilies, garlic, shallots, ginger, salt, shrimp paste, white peppercorns, lemongrass root, msg, and some other roots that i do not know the names of. there is usually some leaf, vegetable, chicken, fruit, fresh grated coconut, banana leaf for roasting or steaming foods, or spice from the garden that is needed for the meal. the rest of the ingredients (fresh fish and vegetables) are brought daily by her son in the morning market according to her request,,,each day a small plastic bag that has just enough for that day. since there is no storage space, other than some hanging plastic bags with spices in them, and no refrigerator, and only fresh food is used, there is no need to buy more than for today. by my standards, the amount of food he buys is less than for one western person eating one meal!

during the 2 weeks that i sat and watched nyoman preparing the food for the day i learnt a variety of balinese dishes. their traditional food is based on a big pot of steamed white rice, without any salt or spices in it, and is accompanied by small dessert sized bowls with several kinds of fried fish, sambal, fried onions with coarse salt, a little pot of water based vegetable soup, and some cooked vegetable, ALL very spicey. this is all put in a separate small room, that is part of the house, unlike the fire hut which is separate, and sits there from morning till night. whenever someone is hungry, he goes to the small room, which is also locked so the cats and dogs won't get to the food that sits out, takes a plate, a large portion of rice, and a tablespoon or so from the little dishes, sits down alone somewhere outside or crouching in a corner inside this room, and with his right hand, mashes together a bit of the room temperature, spicey food with a large portion of the rice, and flicks this ball of food into his mouth, without touching fingers to mouth. after they eat, they rinse their plate outside at the little faucet. end of meal.

since nyoman is not a talkative woman in any case, and also does not know any english, we usually would spend this 1/2 hour cooking lesson in silence. i would just try and stay out of her way in this tiny fire hut, and she would elegantly flow with me as an obstruction in the middle of the kitchen without concern. after a few times of standing and watching her, she placed an old metal folding chair in the space between the low countertop and the stove, for me to sit and watch her as she ground the herbs with the stone, or fed the fire with the coconut shells, stems, branches, thus controlling the fire as only one with years of experience could do so conscienciously. it was only when her youngest daughter in law was in the kitchen on sunday morning instead of nyoman, that i realized that it isn't so easy. 

dewi married the youngest son, number five, 7 years ago, so she is the one that needed to spend a month after the marriage, on that same metal folding chair every morning, learning how to cook just like her mother in law. even though she lives in a city in an apartment with gas burners in the kitchen, she still needs to know how to cook with firewood, and to be able to help her mother in law, and to be able to feed her husband food just like mama makes. i asked permission to watch her preparing the food yesterday. she agreed, but i don't know whether she was nervous, or just inexperienced, but what seemed so simple and efficient with nyoman, was quite involved for dewi, just getting the wok to sit level on the top burner was a challenge, and the flames flying out of the fire and igniting the straw rice strainer that was steaming the rice, and the frying oil splattering, and the simple gliding movement of removing the fried food from the wok right into the small dessert bowl, were all cumbersome and demanded effort, as did keeping the fire going properly. it was only then that i realized how nyoman is such a no-nonsense woman, everything is in moderation, top quality, done efficiently, quietly and perfectly cooked. 

whatever food is left over from the day before is refried for a few minutes, and may have some new spices added to it for variety. it is only at the end of each cooking class when i return to my own modern kitchen in my house further on at the compound, that i see all the mess i make, and clatter of dishes, and things that fall as i move them from the cutting board to the wok, and i can appreciate the peaceful presence that nyoman emits. she always fills a little doll size pot with some of the soup and fish that she has made for them, so that i can taste what she has cooked. in the beginning when i declined, because it was chicken and i am vegetarian, i saw how her face fell in disappointment and confusion. the last thing i wanted to do was offend her. after that she always made a point of including something that did not have meat in it, so that i could also eat the food she made. and when i was done cooking my meals by me,, i always brought her the same little doll size pot, filled with my own improvisations, that were without frying, and left still colorful and crunchy with life, instead of the grey/brown colored foods that make up the usual balinese meal. fresh cut up vegetables or salad, is not part of their culture. nor are desserts. what typifies their way of eating, in my opinion, is what typifies the balinese in general; a spicy lightness of being. they live outdoors, are usually quite thin, the weather is warm, and they are poor as far as having money or owning possessions. so food is just something from your surroundings to nourish the body for a few hours, and then you eat again. it is not entertainment, it is not a social event, it is not costly, and it is of no ones concern what you are eating and when. i spend at most $1 a day on food...and am having fun learning how to cook like the balinese. and love those red hot chili peppers!