The New Go-To Condiment: Sambal Matah

Ingredients for Sambal Matah

Ketchup was so eighties.  Salsa so nineties.  Sriracha so aughts.  Just when I thought there could not possibly be a new go-to condiment worthy of this decade, sambal matah- an addictive mixture of fresh shallots and chilies- entered my life.  This vibrant side-dish-meets-chili-sauce is so vibrant, aromatic, and versatile I want to eat it with everything from scrambled eggs to steak.  Really, I would eat it with about everything but chocolate cake.

The good news is whipping up this potent dish at home takes little more than some elbow grease for chopping and a bit of market sleuthing to find a couple of less common ingredients. 

Sambal, broadly defined, is any chili based condiment coming out of Indonesia, Malaysia, Sri Lanka, and Southern India.  These sauces and salads range from cooked to raw and might include garlic, coconut, palm sugar, ginger, tamarind, and kaffir lime, among other common regional ingredients. 

Sambal Matah Marinating

Throughout the island of Bali several forms of sambal prevail.  At Kafe Batan Waru in Ubud, a plate of three sambals is brought to the table on request, the level of hotness defined by three different sized slices of lime.  But among the mélanges of chilies, garlic, and spices I ate throughout that island, the one I kept asking for again and again was the strikingly different sambal matah.

Sambal matah is a sort of raw onion salad made of thinly sliced shallots, garlic, bird’s eye chilies, lemongrass, shrimp paste, sugar, salt, and kaffir lime.  When the flavors of this spicy salad mix and mingle the result is a harmonious, gripping burst of Southeast Asian flavors.  In Bali I ate this by the heaping spoon full alongside grilled turmeric chicken, fried tilapia, crispy duck, and banana leaf steamed fish.  I wouldn’t think to stop piling on the sambal until my lips had gone numb from the tingling spice. 

Grilled Tuna with Sambal Matah

Making this at home I made two important substitutions.  One: Balinese shrimp paste was going to be hard to find but I could still get the same umami affect from a hearty splash of Vietnamese fish sauce.  Two: fresh kaffir lime leaves (which every recipe I found called for) are also pretty difficult to source.  I bring dried kaffir lime slices and leaves back with me from South East Asia whenever I’m there.  They last forever and only need a little hydration from hot water and they are ready to go.  I found several sites available for shippingin the United States offering dried kaffir lime leaves at reasonable prices. 

Everything else- a pile of shallots, garlic, lemongrass, fish sauce, sugar, lime juice, salt- is all easy to find in most markets.  A little chop, chop, chop, some gentle mixing, and quick sit to let the flavors meld together and this condiment is ready to go. 

Beyond Asian food samal matah could pair well with smoked salmon, grilled sausages, or even a simple summer tomato salad.  Bye bye, ketchup.  Adios, salsa.  See ya, sriracha.  My new slather-on-everything condiment, sambal matah, is here to stay. 

Sambal Matah

Time: 30 minutes

5 slices dried Kaffir lime or 2 dehydrated leaves

8 shallots

3 cloves garlic

4-8 Bird’s eye chilies, depending on desired hotness

2 lemongrass stalks

1 ½ tsp. Vietnamese fish sauce

1 ½ limes

1 tsp. palm sugar, raw sugar, or brown sugar

½ tsp. Kosher salt

¼ cup vegetable oil

Pour hot water over Kaffir limes or leave and let sit for 10 minutes to rehydrate. 

Peel shallots and thinly slice crosswise.  Peel garlic and finely chop.  Discard stems on chilies and finely mince. Using the blunt edge of a chef’s knife, whack the lemongrass along the length of the stalk to bruise.  Remove tough outer layer.  Thinly slice white part of the lemongrass.  Finely mince the slices.  Into a large bowl mixt shallots, garlic, chilies, and lemongrass along with fish sauce, the juice of 1.5 limes, sugar, and salt. If using dried kaffir lime leaves, remove the woody spine then finely mince remaining leaves and add to the bowl.  If using dried slices, finely mince the whole slice and add to the bowl.  Stir in vegetable oil and gently mix the shallots with the rest of the ingredients so everything is well coated and evenly distributed.  Let the mixture sit for at least a half hour before using.  Store in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to a week.



Amy Powell is a food and travel writer based in New York City. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell

Fishing for Truth in Balinese Cuisine

Tilapia from Lake Batur, Bali

 Prior to a big trip, you can usually find me curled up in a chair intensely studying a guidebook on my destination.  I like to know what I’m getting into.  Seemingly unimportant things, for instance that the population of Namibia is 80% devoutly Christian, can prove useful at some point, say when a corrupt cop is trying to trap you into paying a bribe for a made up traffic violation and you appeal to his Christian sense of forgiveness when assuring him that you “are only human, God knows we make mistakes and we can only ask to be forgiven.”[1]  When the factoids help get me out of trouble, I’m glad I studied up.

This past trip to Bali I did some guidebook reading, to understand the layout of the island and also how the culture there would differ from Java, where we had been last summer. I was surprised to read a line on cuisine asserting that fishing is not a traditional part of Balinese culture and thus fish not a part of the local diet.  Historically, this text claimed, Balinese have viewed the ocean as unclean and have preferred land animals, like duck and pig, to the gifts of the sea.  If this were true, it would be the first island I’ve been to where an abundant source of food available right out a people’s door is not used.

It was true we did not see many fishing boats during our two weeks, save for a few mid sized vessels off the coast of Candidasa, but we ate fish nearly everyday.  Given that the fish was listed as local, someone was fishing.  Mackerel in curry, local tuna cooked in banana leaf, and mixed seafood satay; when it came to eating, fish was everywhere.

Young Fishermen in Pekutatan

It would be possible to conclude that demand for fish has evolved from tourists, the source of 80% of Bali’s economy.  But a trip to Lake Batur had me questioning that assumption.  The lake rests at the eastern slope of Mt. Batur, Bali’s only still active volcano.  Three hundred feet deep at the center, the lake was formed from the collapse of what was once a much larger mountain.  Now the lake and rich volcanic earth feed an active agriculture business in the caldera.  The lake also supports tilapia, a thriving business for some locals, including our hiking guide who supplements his guide income with a small fish farm. For two meals during that visit we dined on "lakefish", tilapia deep fried and smothered in Balinese sambal.

Wrapping up our trip on the west coast of the island, we stayed near a small town, Pekutatan, a Balinese fishing village.  At sunset on this deserted strip of black sand beach it appeared that fishing was exclusively traditional.  No boats patrolled the coastline just solo fisherman untangling nets in the setting sun and fathers with fishing poles, thigh deep in the tide side by side with their sons. At dusk the small boys were sent in with the days’ catch, a dozen fish for each set of small hands, and I imagined a mother waiting at home to cook up a fresh fish dinner.   

Guidebooks can be invaluable for basic information, but hotel listings change, restaurants come and go, and sometimes the local people change too.  There may have been a time where fishing was not a part of Bali’s culture or economy, but it is now.  And judging by the tasty results, that’s one guidebook claim I was happy proved wrong.

Amy Powell is a food and travel writer based in New York City. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell

---

[1] This actually happened less than one hour into our two-week road trip in Namibia.  John’s expert use of that factoid got our “fine” reduced to US$20.

Beyond the Book: Ubud, Bali

Spanish Mackerel with Yellow Curry and Fern Tips at Batan Waru

 I had heard many great things about Ubud, the artistic heart of Bali.  And then I saw one thing that scared me: a very long trailer of Julia Roberts biking through unnaturally green terraced rice paddies as the lead character in Eat, Pray, Love.  A popular book plus a Julia Roberts movie could only spell the eminent demise of anything vaguely authentic about a place. I could only hope I made it in time, before the city was entirely consumed by tourists.

John had been raving about Ubud as he had visited on several occasions, pre-blockbuster movie.  We settled into a villa at Pertiwi Resort, a charming hotel in the heart of town.  Walking to dinner that first night, we batted off several children and a few sad looking women begging for handouts.  John insisted it had never been like that, in the years he had been coming to Ubud he had never seen beggars.  This was not a good sign. 

But as our days continued, there was little else about which to complain.  Aside from the hoards of day-trippers coming to scoop up bargain souvenirs at the labyrinthine central market and feed the residents of the Monkey Forest, there was much to love about this town.  To begin with, we were able to load up on good wine for the duration of our trip at an excellent little store appropriately called “Wine Shop”.  (It is visible as you drive North into Ubud on Jalan Pengosekan about 200 meters before the sharp left onto Monkey Forest Road.)  There we found a decent collection of Australian wines, some costly French Bordeaux, and the lowest prices on liquor in the city.

Slow Roasted Goat at Ary's Warung

The best surprises came at dinner where beyond the Aussie bars with Dave Matthews cover bands, we discovered there is sophisticated dining to be had.  Ary’s Warung is the sort of restaurant that sticks out like a pair of Manolo Blahnik strappy sandals in a closet full of flip flops- it is just too sophisticated looking for its surroundings.  Maybe that’s why no one was there except for two or three tables the occasions we dined at Ary’s.  Too bad for everyone else, because the food is mostly exceptional.  Slow roasted goat in Indian spices, steamed duck Balinese style, beef cheeks Rendang- these are the sort of dishes that would cost a fortune at a trendy restaurant in the West, but here, no entrée was more than $15.

Noodles with Five Spice Chicken at Lamak

Another favorite, and equally empty restaurant: Lamak on Monkey Forest Road.  You can hardly tell Lamak exists from the street, but inside the room opens up to reveal two floors of spacious, comfortable tables with open walls looking out onto the surrounding foliage.  The female chef is doing refined versions of Indonesian food like Mie Goreng with five-spice chicken at lunch and a dinner menu that spans the globe for inspiration.  Our best dishes included a smoked tea infused duck broth with duck tortellini and a coconut laced opaka ceviche to start, and a plate of butterfish medallions surrounded by a riot of flavors from crispy lentil patties to sweet tomato chutney. 

Pepes Ikan, Fish in Banana Leaf, at Batan Waru

For more everyday eating we frequented the busy Kafe Batan Waru.  Indonesian and Balinese classics are clearly crowd pleasers and they do them well.  Extra sambal is necessary as they dumb down the spice a bit, no doubt to suit most Western palettes. But on request, the staff kindly brings out a plate of sambals with three levels of hotness from which to choose.  Some of my favorite dishes here were specials, like the Spanish Mackerel in Yellow Curry Sauce with fern tips.  A bit much for lunch but somehow I found room. 

Oh yes, and for the art lovers there’s plenty of that in the galleries scattered around town.  For traditional dance and music there is at least one show a night going on somewhere.  And for those who are chasing a more holistic than hedonist experience, there are more than enough organic cafes and yoga clothing stores for that set too.  For people who like to straddle the worlds of indulgent eating and healthy living like my boyfriend and I, there’s daily yoga classes at Taksu Spa open to all levels and even a decent gym, Ubud Fitness Club, where for $5 you can cram in some reps before heading back to Batan Waru for a lunch of fish steamed in banana leaf and a watermelon juice. 

There may now be occasional beggars, and I’m sure that many yoga shops did not exist five years ago, but Ubud is a surprisingly charming place with a level of sophistication mixed with tradition that should appeal to many kinds of people.  It certainly appealed to us- we liked it so much the first time we came back again a week later. 

Amy Powell is a food and travel writer based in New York City. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell

Better Bebek: A Taste of Balinese Duck

Bebek Pelalah at Bebek Bengil, Nusa Dua

 Ever since I first learned to cook the perfect seared duck breast at cooking school, I’ve been hooked.  Skin scored in a cross hatch, cooked low and slow until the fat renders, the skin dark caramel and crisp, and the breast the dusty rose of medium rare.  Sliced thin on a diagonal with little more than maybe a slick of jus or vinegar spiked gastrique, it is a hard dish to improve upon. 

At least, it seemed hard to improve upon until I tasted my first Balinese duck.

In the last nine days in Bali I have eaten duck at no fewer than five meals, each occasion no less interesting and often more delicious than the last. 

It helps to start with an excellent product.  Balinese duck, or bebek, is smaller than what we are used to finding in the West with a noticeably lower fat layer- presumably ducks don’t need so much insulation in tropical climes- and an intensely meaty flavor that is rich without tasting gamey.

The restaurant turning out one of the best examples of this local specialty and winner for most creative restaurant name: Bebek Bengil.  The translation, Dirty Duck, has no relation to the sanitation at the restaurant that, at the Nusa Dua location, was a bright, airy pavilion with comfortable low tables and piles of cushions-  ideal for eating cross-legged on the floor while watching the surf. 

Bebek "Betutu" at Ary's Warung, Ubud

Bebek Bengil deep fries its ducks, sold by the half, and serves them with an array of spicy sambal and rice.  But it was the Bebek Pelalah that blew me away on a later visit.  Fried like its plain counterpart, this half duck comes artfully displayed, breast and wing stacked up against the leg portion, and covered in a traditional Balinese sauce of stewed tomatoes, chilies, and spices.  It has all the textural appeal of the plain fried duck with a deep and nuanced sauce so addictive I continued to lick the bones long after the last shreds of duck meat had disappeared.   

Fried is not the only technique the Balinese employ in preparing duck.  At Ary’s Warung in Ubud, duck leg and breast had been long simmered in a broth redolent of the local spices- nutmeg, cloves, chilies, black pepper- in an homage to the island’s famous whole steamed duck betutu.  The textural affect was the opposite of the fried duck- all the flavor of the other in the meat but so tender it melted on the tongue. 

The strange thing I realize now, that for all the duck I’ve eaten this trip, I have yet to see one running wild.  Perhaps the heavy rains of the past week have kept them away from the terraced rice paddies where I’m told they like to hang out. Wherever they are, I am sure they’re enjoying the idyllic free-range life because who, man or beast, could not live well in paradise?  And judging by the consistently tasty results, these Balinese ducks have a very good, very delicious life, all the way to the end.

Amy Powell is a food and travel writer based in New York City. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell