Niki. Birthday. September. There is only one thing she would want and I being the legendary legitimizer of abstract sensations came to the conclusion that Nasi Lemak will satiate every birthday desire for my Peruvian dream machine. She is a fan. That much I can say. On her part, it took a little bit of getting used to and just like all things exotic, it grows on you if you give it a chance. And so, Nasi Lemak worked its way into her crave factory by default. Putting together this fabled dish takes time/ adventure, and my schedule can only yield so much.
After making this a couple of times in the past, I have developed a routine of execution that spans a total of three days. It begins with securing a kilo and a half of prawns, which is the crucial and I might say star ingredient if we were to heed my mom’s recipe. Niki has tried every other Nasi Lemak variation that has graced her path and she always exclaims that this specific concoction is a nostalgic bliss factor for herself, the birthday princess. Nostalgia here being the first ever experience of a spoonful of coconutty rice with a spicy sambal sauce, following the textural complexities of fried peanuts and deep fried dried anchovies, prepared by yours truly in the early dating years of 2017. This ranks among the best, similar to Indonesia’s Nasi Uduk and among other Malaysian mouthwatering numbers like satay and beef rendang. My quest is now to make it a Limaysian thing, combining Peruvian ingredients and the timeless recipe.
Monday, September 12: I wrap up my classes with an intention. Besides somewhat trying to concealingly get away from Niki, who was telecommuting on said Monday, I elaborated with conviction that I was going seaside to try a fisherman’s bowl of ceviche. Mondays are the usual days when I get to eat what I what I solely want, without infraction from the señora/ita. I throw on my jacket and head out into the gray afternoon. As I walked towards Canaval y Moreyra, a cold wind blew up Avenida Republica Panama, so I zipped myself up and threw the hood over my head. I knew the cold at the beach was going to be unforgiving at this point. So where was I going? Not like I haven’t previously insinuated. It wasn’t for ceviche I can assure you that.
When putting cost and distance and playing that to effect, it turns out that Mercado Pesquero Artesanal de Chorrillos is and always will be the best preference. I have tried other fish markets such as Terminal Pesquero Villa Maria del Triunfo, but it is a mythological adventure getting there and besides, they sell out in a shrimp’s heartbeat. And traversing further, I end up on the corner of Panama and Canaval to get the 7607 to Agua Dulce in Chorrillos. I pulled out S/2.50 (USD 0.65) from my wallet and dropped it in the driver’s palm and said, ‘Agua Dulce’. Nothing to it really. I sat back and window surfed for a bit, watched the neighborhoods evolve and dissolve, paying special attention to restaurants I ought to remember.
I got off at an elementary school bustling with kids and parents/ gatekeepers/ babysitters (three blocks away from Agua Dulce). Chorrillos gives you the vibe and the hustle and bustle of a uniquely Peruvian fisherman district without the upscale polish of San Isidro and Miraflores. It is realer in the sense that people are real and you have that looming sense of danger, which gives you that vivacity to live in a way that purely relies on your instincts. For me, that thrives in the pursuit of being human. Not protection, which eliminates your senses. I skipped over dog poop on the sidewalks of Agua Dulce and I made my way down the hill towards the fish market. It was about 1 in the afternoon and doubt engulfed me perpetrated by the fact of not securing the prawns I had come all this way for. As I hopped over a chain and sliced through the main parking lot with determination, a couple of caseritas threw me a look of curiosity as I entered the market. I exclaimed that I needed a kilo and a half of prawns and providentially, one caserita was graceful enough to indulge me. The prawns were fresh and tantalizing enough for the purchase and I agreed to the price of S/60 (USD 15.54). I rushed out, climbed up the hill and throttled for the main avenue and following this to Avenida Defensores del Morro to catch the 31 back to Canaval y Moreyra, debating the continuing freshness of prawns constantly.
The second run was at the Ebony supermarket in San Borja. I opted for this over the ubiquitous Tottus because they have the kind of peanuts with red skin on, exactly what I need to garnish and texturize the main attraction. Usually, I would pick up some lemongrass here too, as it is the only place that sells them with the thick stems intact (besides the markets that are at this point, out of the way). Nowadays, I just harvest my own from the huge pot growing on my balcony. The advantage here is that I could head to PlazaVea which is on the next block (a major supermarket chain in Lima) and pick up some Basmati rice and a whole coconut that would need serious cracking and squeezing. The agony assigned to the task is underrated. Now, it is not that you can’t find coconut milk in Peru. There are bounteous Asian supermarkets like Mercado Capon and even, Wong (a supermarket chain) that carry a variety of brands like Aroy-D and Chaokoh. But nothing beats squeezing your own milk from the teat of nature. And as far as authenticity goes, perfection is worth striving for.
Tuesday, September 13: I shouldn’t really be taking time off for something like prep, but my two lengthy arms can dance only so much from extremity to extremity. Getting a decent number of shifts in the morning tested out to be the implicit measure to balance the economic/ gratification ratio, as it does bring me joy, fortunately, upon completion, the cooking does. Hence the gratification element. I wrap up the morning’s load of work and head to the kitchen first, to deshell and devein the prawns. I cling wrapped bowl in prior image and refrigerated the translucent nuggets, certain they would be pristine when the 14th creeps up.
Intermission: Niki is a queen who reigns supreme on several grounds. One being knowing exactly what she wants as a gift and a strict decree of not spending anymore on anything else but said gift. This year, it was something nice but manageable. A little token from the heartlands of Peru to serve her as a memory when she moves later on next year and also, to last her a potential leather-lasting infinity.
After peeling the prawns, I hoped in the shower and shot out the house, on foot, toward Renzo Costa in San Isidro. I entered and found exactly the purse I wanted and told the monsieur this exactly. I had him box it, gift wrap it and bag it and I was on my way again, on foot, back to the apartment as I had to…
…crack the coconut. So what I do is use the back of a cleaver and whack the thing over the sink, continuously rotating it to distribute the damage. However, this bad boy required excess force and a little more time to give. Once I see a little water seeping out, I collect it in a bowl and refrigerate it. When I’m sure the coconut is watered out, I twist it to release the two halves. With a paring knife, I sliced little rectangles through the coconut meat, lodging the knife between shell and meat to release sliced rectangles. As easy as it is to detail the process, it demands a fair bit of muscle and tyranny. The whole affair lasted a grueling 45 minutes. I’m sure some coconut masters have this process down to seconds but, I, with a lack of tools and experience can only yield so much in so little. The meat goes in the refrigerator cling wrapped.
The sunset painted the skyline outside my window a monochromatic peach. The last chore was to head out again, this time, to cross the bridge into La Victoria so I could pick her cake up at Maria Almenara. After scouring the display for a solid 5 and not being able to make up my mind, I asked the lady at the counter for the option which wasn’t the sweetest. She told me to go with Cheesecake de Frutos Rojos. She advised well, and it turned out to be a cake magnificently attuned to Niki’s taste buds. Well, obviously, I didn’t know this at the time, crossing the bridge back into San Isidro, my mind micromanaging itself to the point of implosion. I came home and placed the cake at the back of the refrigerator and threw bags of vegetables over it.
Wednesday, September 14: Plans have a way of turning itself on its head so I like to somewhat sketch a plan to avoid the brimming dismay it could potentially eclipse a situation in. The sketch entailed waking up, setting up cake in the next room, get my parents on Zoom so we could sing Niki happy birthday from the top of our lungs. However, reality programmed a different agenda: Niki woke up at 5 am to punch out some numbers in Excel for work and I slept ’til 6 and all surprise elements went out the window. Although, I did wish her happy birthday at 0000 hundred hours. I kissed her on the forehead, she blushed and went straight back to sleep. As I crawled out of bed, her voice screeched ‘where is the surprise?’ and ‘I want my cake’. I told her to shut up and go back to work. I did what I had to do without concealing much and she was seemingly pleased with the whole affair.
Now. I had the day off. After the birthday song and shoving cake in both our faces and after the family laughing themselves off their chairs, I propelled to the kitchen and prepared the coconut for the blender. Meanwhile, I put a pot of boiling water on the stove for the chilies (aji panca/ aji amarillo) [I mentioned soaking them overnight, but this here is a shortcut] so they would be ready in time once I’m through squeezing the last bits of coconut milk out of the grinds. I throw the coconut water and coconut pieces into the blender and let the machine do its thing. I pour the blended goods into a bowl through a strainer squeezing the milk out in progressions, adding hot water to maximize yield. I needed to do this in a couple of batches as not to overload the blender’s capacity.
I dropped a handful combination of chilies into the water as it reached a rolling boil and threw the lid on, immediately turning off the fire. While they soaked, I carefully placed belacan (fermented shrimp paste which I had scored from a Malaysian buddy who left the country a year ago) in foil and folded it up, all reminiscent of the good old days. I held the foil over the stove burner with metal tongs and roasted it ’til the fragrance of the shrimp gods emanated from the source. The stank from this mother of shrimp goddesses will make the invisible pigs in your apartment squeal. Just open them windows.
Shrimp also being a running theme here, I removed the prawns which I refrigerated the day before to bring it to room temp. Now that the coconut’s done, the belacan’s pretty well activated and the chilies are soft and flaccid, I commenced chopping and dicing the ingredients for the sambal: onions, garlic, lemongrass, ginger (galangal if you can find any in Peru, believe me the blue ginger is elusive) and candlenuts (all the way from Malaysia/ macadamias or cashews would potentially work).
Now all that good stuff in the two images above and belacan would be blended to a radiant pulp which should hue between bright orange and a pale red as these chilis scream dominance in the paste. Mom always said blend until you can’t see the seeds. This should be quite a process as non-industrial blenders overheat a tad bit. But the logic is firm, no seeds discernible. Once the blender is warm to the touch, I cut the next set of onions in large vertical chunks (they need to be chunky as it is essential to the texture of the sambal) and smashed the base of one lemongrass stem (after a thorough wash). A generous amount of oil goes into a large pot and in goes the onions and lemongrass. I stir fried them until fragrant and translucent. Once we get that waft of oniony goodness, we dislodge (gently) the contents of the blender into the pot. Make sure to wash the sides of the blender down with a little bit of warm water and pour that into the pot too.
Tout de suite, I get to working on the rice. Five-hundred grams of Basmati (this is my personal choice) washed until water runs clear. Drain well and pour the coconut milk into the rice cooker. I like to toss a few ginger slices in there. Add salt to taste. Stir fry some thinly sliced onions and throw that in there with oil and everything and lastly, we get three leaves of pandan, tie ’em into a large knot and toss that into the rice cooker pot. Smash one more lemongrass stem and watch that fall and splash into the coconut milk. Make sure to adjust the coconut milk to rice ratio using the finger rule after ingredients are added. Now, smack that button and let the rice cooker do the rice cooking thing.
Back to sambal, I should have actually continued to stir this as it could burn at the bottom. It was bubbling furiously when I came back to it and I knobbed the heat to medium low, checking to see if the bottom is righteous; it was. The smell of the sizzling paste was the second coming. This needs to cook through really well, until you see pockets of oil floating on top. It is generational knowledge that if this doesn’t happen, you need to add oil along the sides of the pot. I started off with about 6 tablespoons and only needed to add a touch. Once the paste was cooked through, I scooped the prawns into the sizzling pot, and now, because prawns cook fast, things move along a little faster, so: make sure to have tamarind juice (tamarind pulp soaked in warm water) and salt/ brown sugar ready. The prawns will deposit water into the sauce and the sauce needs be at a pasty consistency before prawns are added. After prawns are cooked, salt bae in a generous amount of salt to taste and about a teaspoon of sugar to neutralize the spice. Allow for sugar to dissolve before finishing by pouring in the tamarind juice through a strainer. Let that simmer for a bit and we good.
In Malaysia, this would ideally be served on a heated sheet of banana leaf. I am assured that banana leaf is abundant in Peru just as bananas are and consequently, some of the Amazonian dishes utilize banana leaf in their steaming procedures. Since the focus on this birthday lunching experience is the taste and not presentation, I let a couple of minuscule details slide and presented to Niki in our own cherished way, to celebrate her birthday and also, somewhat magnificently, the evolution of our relationship, the Nasi Lemak that has bonded out palates eternally (or at least today). The prawns gave off the perfect gelatinous bounce, coated with that spicy savory sweet sambal that tingles on the virgin tongue on that first bite. The coconut rice complemented the intensity followed by the textural diversification of hard boiled eggs, peanuts and deep friend anchovies. Only use the cucumbers to neutralize the palate. It all came together in perfection. Just like our hearts. Just like the memory that lives on in them. Just like another nostalgic piece of that elusive transcendental experience. Life.
