Lesung Tales
It is quite a cute, whitish, typical Aussie set of mortar and pestle, isn’t it? For only 7 dollars, I finally owned something that I never cared before. As I was grinding this mixture of ginger and garlic for the next daring attempt in my kitchen, I remembered the traditional alu and lesung made of stone in Binjal. The last time I checked, my family still used the same broken alu and the same worn-out lesung for so many years (my Ayoh should think of getting new ones for my Ummi as a Valentine’s gift). When I was a kid, I used to listen to the familiar melody of grinding sounds from the kitchen while Ayoh and I were sitting comfortably on the couch in the living room, complaining about our growling stomachs and waiting to be served. Raised in a typical Kelantanese family, I was expected NOT to go near the kitchen while foods were being prepared. Here was a simple rule of thumb in my household – leave all the grinding mess to the women. The men? Just sit back, relax and eat.
Yep, there were some unwritten rules that a pampered boy like me learnt back home – kitchen was only for girls, for women, for sisters, for housewives, for mothers, for grandmothers, for the dainty Eves to serve the hungry Adams. It was a NO NO NO place for boys, brothers, fathers, grandfathers or great-great grandfathers. Unfair? Well, at least my Ma never complained about that. She would just condone to my spoilt attitude while nagging over my sisters for being so fat and lazy and not trying hard enough to help her out in the kitchen. I adored my Ma for treating me like I was the hungriest animal in the world. My Ayoh? I would never imagine my father doing that cooking stuff in the kitchen. It’s almost a sinful thought! After Ma passed away and before Ummi came into the picture, he was just helpless and clueless in the kitchen. Come to think of it now, my Ayoh and I were alike in this respect – we were the Kings of the house.
So here is my confession – my family never taught me how to cook. Never. For the record, I had never been a kitchen-friendly person until I was about 28. It was high time when I realized that I had no one to listen to my demanding stomach. I was dumbstruck to acknowledge how stupid I had been when it came to cooking. It hit me real hard to admit that, for the previous 27 years, I had been a lazy dumb-ass who only knew how to walk lazily to the kitchen when dinner was ready, swallow the food like a starved lion, burp a little and leave the kitchen immediately. I began to wonder how on earth my Ma came out with those wonderful dishes all those years. I started to appreciate the arts of cooking. So I taught myself with some little things that had always done their wonders to my growing tummy. Turmeric. Lemongrass. Cinnamon. Stuff like that.
I remember feeling so ashamed of myself when my sister patiently taught me how to fry an egg or how to mince an onion or how to clean a fish in a decent way. I cursed myself when I realized that I didn’t even know how to handle a rice cooker though I had been feeding billions of rice into my mouth for as long as I could remember. I was angry, frustrated and dejected when some of my single friends invited me for dinner and told me that they prepared all the sophisticated foods by themselves. But my intelligence was utterly insulted when I first learnt how to use alu and lesung. I was like, excuse me, can we just a blender? “No, Mie,” my sister said. “The taste is not the same. It’s not authentic and honest anymore.” So I followed my sister’s advice and started to love the authenticity and honesty that a mortal and a pestle could bring.
My worst lesung experience happened when I invited my dear blogsahabats for lunch at my rented house in Gombak. I said to them, “You’ll love my Ayam Gulai Darat!” It was actually my first attempt to cook such a thing in my life. So I grabbed a bunch of dried chillies and muster my energy to grind them beautifully, trying hard to be authentic. My hands were achingly hot after one hour of a tumbuk session. I could feel the tears dancing in the corner of my eyes. I cursed myself again. Be honest Hilmi, I told myself. When lunch was ready, I proudly presented the so-called Ayam Gulai Darat to my blogsahabats. I knew something was terribly wrong when everyone was asking for water. Oh my God. It was extremely hot and spicy! But my blogsahabats were too kind and thanked me for the “lovely” treat. Maybe I was not honest enough. But I swore to God that I would not try a complicated Kelantanese cuisine again until I really knew what I was doing. My cooking skill at that time, if there was any, was just pathetic.
So here I am in Melbourne, starting a new love affair with cooking again. Most of the time, I will be singled out by my own ignorance and thrilled by whatever outcome of my own cowboy recipe. It is a new and exciting domestic pastime that fills up my PhD chaos with some culinary dignity. It’s a such a delight to see what sort of damage that my clumsy hands could do in the kitchen. I enjoy trying out some new western recipes I learn from TV or the internet. But what thrills me the most is to see the ugly results of some Kelantanese recipes I recently learnt from my sister. Please don’t blame me. I am just a naive Melbourne boy who is trying very very hard to revive my childhood – my lesung childhood.
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“Raised in a typical Kelantanese family, I was expected NOT to go near the kitchen while foods were being prepared.”
Is this true? even to wash dishes?
Hmmm, must be though for the wife and/or the only daughter in a Kelantanese family.
*juga hanya tahu memasak bila tinggal sendiri…:)*
Ik.. to be honest, I learnt to wash my own dishes later when I became a teenager. My Ayoh sometimes washes his dishes too now. That’s how it works in my family. I don’t want to generalize. Maybe it’s only the idiosyncratic trait of my family.
Mi, at least you admit it and know how to do it now. Hope you will not inherit it to your future descendant.
Pasti juga berlaku dandi kalangan keluarga dari negeri lain. Mungkin lanjutan dari pegangan tok nenek moyang “yang lelaki sudah penat membanting tulang di ladang/sawah, yang perempuan tugasnya di rumah”, as a simbol of respect to men barangkali. [this is my personal opinion only].
Harap mereka juga mengubah tradisi ini….tak salahkan membantu meringankan tugas sang isteri…and the respect will always there for sang suami.
Things change these days, ik. Househusbands are becoming a trend. Actually my friend who made those sophiticated foods is a Kelantanese. You see, he got a kitchen-friendly childhood, unlike mine.
Mi,takpe still got time to practise. Guys masak kan lagi sedap even just campak2, kekadang tak perlu latihan amali yg lama pun. My brothers nyer masakan selalu je dpt pujian Ibu rather than my masakan.(boring but admit it..haha).
*nak rasa gulai ayam darat’pedas’ Cik Mi
*
Errr…lesung tak kasi nama ke? Pipit? You know…lesung pipit! Imagine you telling your friends: I’m going to use Pipit to make sambal belacan today. har har har…*evil laughs*
My Mama managed to get one of those stone ones from the Asian shop. Some sambal delights that she’s come up with using that mortar and pestle are worth the $28 she paid for it. Like your story of gulai darat…must be excruciating for you, mate.
When are you coming to Sydney again? Those Uyghur girls been asking…. purrr…meow!
I call my lesung batu Michell, and the alu is Obama haha…
Lucky your mama found the stone ones. Couldn’t find it in Melbourne.
Say to the Uyghur girls, the time will come… the time will come…
wow. australian lesung looks so..’unlesung’. :p
ahaa i’ve been waiting for this story to be published here. at last! hehehehe
Dear Jihe,
What made you think that i would publish this story? I don’t remember giving any hints about lesung in my previous entry. You must be dreaming of lesung in your sleep
LOL i meant the super pedas gulai darat story laaa. xbesnya mimpi lesung. baik mimpi gulai darat. haha :p
haha… me too. i’d prefer to dream of gulai darat than the stony lesung!
Salam,
Mie, gamoknyo buleh duduk di negorilah, pedas semacam
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entahlah Mie, keluarga saya jauh merantau jadi emak asuh kami semua (lelaki dan perempuan) ke dapur. pesannya, kalu emok takdok nanti kamu nok make ghapo!
Betul tu Aliff. It’s all about family upbringing. You were lucky
nice lesung u got there .. so white and clean!! ok lepas ni, write abt being stung by jelly fish ok. i want to see “the mark” errmm got mark right?
The lesung has done its wonders in my kitchen hehe. Yup, you’ll see the “jelly” mark soon
Have a wonderful adventures with your recipes!
I always remember that my mother used the ‘batu giling’ (yes! you read it right, ‘batu giling’!!) to make the chilie paste her weekly house chores, although she actually hate to cook (yes, you read it right again, she hate to cook!). She made the chilli paste for one week concumption and keep them in the fridge.
We ‘org n9′, use the chille paste a lot in our extra hot dishes. When I asked her, why I did not see other house in Seremban have the batu giling [I was too naive that time to think that ONLY MY MOTHER still stubbornly (she indeed a stubborn person) used the 'batu giling' instead of cili boh (the ready made chilli paste) or blender], she said the exactly reason of your sister told you- not authentic and the same.
Now she is too weak to grind the paste, and her children are all grown up, my parents opt to buy ready made food from restaurants.
Dear Azrai,
You mum is the epitome of all the good ol’ lesung stories. I won’t forget the yummy dishes your mum cooked for me those days.
Yeah, as time passes by, we the young generation would prefer a modern short-cut way like cili boh and my favorite brahim’s ready-made paste, instead of grinding our way through for authenticity.