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Taste Jacqueline Koch

Spicy Sambal

Southeast Asia's snazzy answer for everything you want to slather

I thought I was done with school, advanced degrees and all that. But when I discovered that Harvard offers an anthropology course called "Food and Culture" I got excited about academia all over again. I even have a research topic: sambal.

So where do I sign up?

A fiery-spicy condiment, sambal culls and blends the tropical flavors of the Indian Ocean. In many respects, it is the salsa picante of Southeast Asia, smoldering away on the tables of Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore and Sri Lanka. As a condiment, a relish and a cooking sauce, sambal is the product of age-old trade routes, population migrations and the long, slow process of culinary evolution. It is the genuine taste of fusion.

Given the large swath of the globe sambal covers and the variety of influencing flavors, a "traditional" version would be hard to identify. That said, you can count on a generous base of chilies. From there, anything goes. Covering the one-to-five-star range, sambal can be a simple affair, a mixture of chili, lime juice and salt. Others are more exotic and complex, blending roasted candlenuts or shaved coconut, sometimes a molasses-like sweet soy sauce.

My first taste was in Indonesia, the nation called "the ring of fire," presumably for its ash- and lava-spewing volcanoes. But after tasting some tongue-scorching sambals, which are used as a condiment, dip and cooking sauce, I wondered if these were not the real source of the nickname.

Sambal is always on the table: in family homes, at food stalls and in restaurants. Even at the Pizza Hut! A smear of sambal is indispensable to spice up a plate of fried rice, a bowl of noodles and, well, the odd slice of deep-dish pizza.

As a newcomer to sambals, I was always challenged, not knowing exactly when to exercise caution. But I learned to distinguish a few standbys, which would frequently resurface on menus, such as the all-purpose sambal terasi. Lightly infused with the pungent flavor of tiny dried shrimp, sambal terasi adds a spark to soups, fried chicken, slices of cool cucumber or a simple leaf of lettuce wrapped around a sprig of lemon basil. As a cooking sauce, it's perfect for tossing with tender chunks of squid or bean sprouts and tofu in the wok.

Graduating onto regional specialties, I found myself drawn to the bold and mighty sambals of Sulawesi. A tangy, lime-colored blend of chopped green tomatoes and green chilies became a personal favorite, ideal for dipping fresh hot corn fritters. Yet my most valuable — and unexpected — sambal lesson was along the shores of North Sumatra's Lake Toba. Cuisine and an alpine botanical niche had collided, producing a little bowl filled with a milky-red concoction I'd never seen before. When I asked about the unusual color, the gracious cafe owner showed me the key ingredient and explained. It was a green peppercorn-like berry strictly limited to that region. On my fresh, grilled lake fish, that sambal soared to the top of my list — perhaps pushed up a bit by my knowing it would be a long way to come back for more.

Back in Seattle, I knew there would be no sambal at the Pizza Hut. Fortunately, jars of the sharp-tangy sambal olek and deep-smoky sambal bajak were easy to find in Asian sections of supermarkets. But I needed someone to help me make sense of the sambals I tasted in Indonesia.

At the Indo Café, perhaps Seattle's only Indonesian restaurant, I found Jakarta-born Andry Sander. Having learned his cooking secrets from his grandmother and mother (who hails from Manado in Sulawesi, prime sambal country), he clarifies why sambal plays such an important role in Indonesian food:

"Different sambals complement different foods." And variety is the spice of life when so many influences converge in one region.

As would be expected, sambal is an integral part of his menu: as a condiment and a cooking sauce. Serving a largely Indonesian clientele, he knows where the key to his restaurant's success lies.

"In Indonesia, good sambal means good food," he says definitively.

He serves up three homemade varieties: a powerfully addictive and subtle sambal terasi, Sulawesi's famed sambal balado — mom's own recipe — and thick, sweet soy sauce-based sambal kecap.

For the day I want to experiment at home, Sander shared a recipe. It's an easy, tasty yet tame introduction we could call Sambal 101. But the credit goes to Andry's mom, so we'll call it "Ibu Metty's Sambal Balado."

Jacqueline Koch is a writer and photographer living in Seattle. Barry Wong is a Seattle-based freelance photographer. He can be reached at studio@barrywongphoto.com.

Recipe: Ibu Metty's Sambal Balado

Sambal balado is used much like a barbecue sauce for grilling chicken and fish. Serve extra sambal on the side to sauce up the main course or to flavor vegetables, rice dishes and stir fries.

5 shallots, roughly chopped

2 cloves garlic, roughly chopped

8 to 10 Korean red chilies, roughly chopped*

1 large tomato, roughly chopped

3 tablespoons vegetable oil

1 teaspoon salt

2 tablespoons sugar

1. Blend the shallots and garlic in a food processor. Add the chilies and tomatoes and process to a thick sauce.

2. In a medium-size skillet or wok, heat the oil; add the sauce and cook for about 8 minutes, stirring the mixture so it cooks evenly.

3. Add the salt and sugar; stir and cook for another two minutes for the flavors to blend.

4. Swab meat or fish with the sambal, then wrap in aluminum foil and cook according to recipe directions. Once the meat/fish is cooked, give it another brush before serving.

5. If making ahead, allow the sambal to cool and store in the refrigerator.

*The sambal is spicy. To tame it, remove the chili seeds or choose a milder variety, such as Fresno. Chilies can be bought at Uwajimaya and other Asian markets.

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