Belacan: The paste that binds us all
Hishamuddin Rais
The year before last, I was invited for a meeting by the Secretary-General of the Culture, Arts and Heritage Ministry.
The ministry was keen to produce a documentary on our heritage, and the secretary-general wanted some filmmakers to pitch some ideas that could be developed into a documentary.
When my turn came, I pitched the idea of belacan (shrimp paste). The entire group of sober-looking men-in-black broke into laughter. Deep in their subconscious, I was taking the mickey out of them and poking fun with my smelly belacan.
Fortunately, I was able to detail the aroma of belacan by using French cheese as my metaphor. Not that any one of them was deeply into wine and cheese but it was enough to convince Madame Secretary-General that my idea needed to be followed up on.
Two weeks later, I was called by Finas (the National Film Development Corporation) to follow up on the project. I was well prepared to meet the men-in-black. After a late morning tea, we began to dwell upon my belacan. I wanted to have an hour-long documentary or even longer, but Finas could only back me up with RM50,000 and a half-hour documentary.
What? I almost dropped my plate of mee goreng (fried noodles) on my lap. I could not believe what I heard. It was the mother and father of all insults. Not to me - a poor, unemployed geek who had been released from prison - but to belacan - our national heritage.
They had failed to accord the necessary respect the belacan should command . To them, it was just another mediocre proposal. I left the meeting sad and disappointed. I had failed to enthrone belacan in the seat of Koh-I-Noor via the door of Finas. (Editor's note: the Koh-I-Noor is the most famous of legendary diamonds).
Those men-in-black had little understanding of the belacan's significance. To me, belacan is part of our national heritage - our warisan.
Banjaran Titiwangsa, A Famosa, Sungai Pahang, Batu Caves and Bukit Cina are all our warisan. Like belacan, these "monuments" were there before us to give the meaning of our existence; the sign of our identity - our Malaysianess.
If there is anything that can be shared by Malaysians, at home or abroad, without any prejudices, it would be belacan. Citizens could be engaging in emotional debates on the DEB (National Economic Policy), Bahasa Melayu or Bahasa Malaysia, Kongsi Raya or not to Kongsi Raya. But at the end of it all, they would end up eating nasi lemak, enjoying their rojak, slurping mee hailam, digging into roti canai banjir or indulging in kari kepala ikan. Somewhere, somehow, all these dishes have that little portion of belacan gelled into them.
One is not a thoroughbred Malaysian foodie if one is not able to identify the aroma of belacan. Walk through any kampung (village) or any housing estate around noon or early evening; one would not miss the aroma of fried garlic, ikan masin (salted fish) and of course, the smell of belacan. The aromas are the prophecy of a good meal in Malaysian homes.
It would not be a Malaysian kitchen without a portion of belacan hidden somewhere in the bakul (basket) or cupboard. The Malay, Indian, Chinese, Sabahan and Orang Asal are all united under the banner of belacan.
It is unnecessary to debate the importance of belacan as part of our national psyche. Like oxygen, we take it for granted. It is there all the time in our kitchen. Because it is there, we almost ignore how important it is to our cuisine.
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Spices galore. Apart from belacan, these are the other
ingredients which make for delicious Malaysian food |
Belacan is not an egoistic being. After being grilled or fried, it sacrifices itself - unseen and unrecognised - unlike kicap (soya sauce) or hot lada api (chillies) that make their presence felt. One would never hear someone saying over dinner "Gulai ini tak cukup belacan" ("This curry lacks belacan"), like they do with salt or chillies. I have much respect for the belacan. Let me tell you the deep secret of my belacan adventure.
My grandmother showed my mother how to apply belacan in masakan Melayu (Malay cooking). As a male in the matrilineal
society of Negri Sembilan, I was not allowed to mess around in the kitchen. But I
managed to watch how my late mother made her sambal belacan and her sambal petai. That belacan knowledge was so valuable, it became my second passport when I journeyed the world.
I re-developed and reconstructed the belacan into a seducer.
During my travels, I mastered the art of making sambal belacan. Sometimes I added tomato, white wine, sherry, garlic, ginger, or lemon juice into my sambal concoction. Whenever I held a dinner party, I would direct my guests to my sambal belacan as a talking point.
My sambal belacan never failed me. It was magic.
Sambal belacan is indeed alluring. There is just something in the aroma of those little dried prawns and geragau (shrimp).
The geragau could be from Kuala Kedah, Mersing, Malacca, the South China Sea, Langkawi or Kalimantan - they are all from the same family. They are all united after being pressed into belacan paste. How lovely it would be if we were all pressed together, united in a box and marketed to the world as Malaysia United.
Maybe I should revisit those men-in-black at Finas and pitch another story about the belacan. Or take that fifty grand and start a belacan factory in Bangsar.
Hishamuddin Rais is a filmmaker and foodie who loves his belacan.
