The Restorative Power of Mie Rebus

A terrible thing happened on Sumatra. I lost my sense of taste.

The days leading up to our departure from Kuala Lumpur were frantic - too much to do and not enough time in which to do it, lots of stress and not enough sleep. Three days later in Bukittingi my body, taking advantage of the inhospitable climate (alternating heavy mist and monsoonal downpours) and my sudden weather-enforced inactivity, conspired against me and cooked up a doozy of a cold.

Still, I hung in there - Dave and I cruised food markets in Bukittingi and around, visited villages to learn about gula aren (palm sugar) manufacture, and watched men and women turn cassava, bananas, tapioca starch, big green leaves of a sturdy variety of spinach, and all manner of ingredients into an astounding variety of keropok (deep-fried crackers). But as the hours wore I began to be present more in body than in mind. Reviewing my notes from those days, I find that some of the things I saw and ate are clearer on the pages of my notebook than they are in my memory.

One afternoon, digging into a gorgeous lunch of rice and curries, I realized with dismay that my tastebuds recognized only salt and hot, a demoralizing moment for a woman who truly travels to eat. When my stomach told me my hunger was sated I headed, defeated, back to our hotel and climbed into bed.

I woke up the next morning still hazy, but determined to revisit Bukittingi's sprawling market. It was Saturday, one of the town's big market days (the other is Wednesday), and at noon we'd be leaving for Maninjau, a village ninety minutes west. We headed over, stopping at a pondok kopi to fuel up with a glass or two, and then wound our way around and through the market, up and down stairs and in and out of dim interior spaces, Dave snapping away while I harassed vendor after vendor with my few words of Indonesian ('Ini apa namanyah?' - 'What is this called?').

As I was making my way down a particularly narrow, slippery aisle, things went black. It might have been for lack of food, or because it was hot and I hadn't drunk any water for hours; perhaps I was still feeling the effects of my cold. Clinging to a metal rail, I lowered myself to my haunches and rested, head between my knees. "Let's go get something to eat," Dave suggested.

Food didn't appeal, but getting some air did, and so I climbed - slowly, with plenty of rest stops - the two steep flights of cement stairs separating the market's lower area, where most of its fresh goods are sold, from it's middle level, where fruit and dried fish sellers share space with textile and housewares vendors and food stalls.

The kind, motherly smile on the face of this vendor lured us to her covered stall. As I lay my head on the cool plastic covering her wooden table Dave ordered a glass of teh susu (tea with milk) for me and a serving of mie rebus (lit. 'boiled noodles') for himself. As I gingerly sipped my tea he commented on my coloring. "Green or gray, hard to tell in this light."

'Mom' had misunderstood our order and our mie rebus arrived in duplicate. Certain that I'd never been less hungry, I warily eyed my noodles. But I was pretty sure I couldn't feel any worse, and that some food in my stomach just might help. With spoon and fork I cut poached egg into pasta, mixing in the thin pink rice crackers perched on top and the cloudy broth pooling the bottom of the bowl, and ventured a small bite. The flavors came on strong and clear, the warmth of nutmeg mingled with the outright heat of red chile. And - hallelujah! - I could taste every nuance.

Eating with increasing gusto, I dipped into the accompanying bowl of rendang, tiny white beans and a small chicken thigh thickly cloaked with a dark, Mexican mole-lookalike sauce. I tasted chiles and lemongrass, galangal, cloves, coriander seeds, cinammon, onions, and garlic. Savoring every bite, I polished off the meat and legumes and then scraped leftover sauce into my bowl of noodles; I left that bowl clean too. I hadn't enjoyed - or tasted - a meal so much in three days.

Obviously enjoying our enthusiastic appreciation of their house specialty, the vendor and her husband sent us on our way with smiles and waves. As we walked back to our hotel to pack I finally felt better or, at least, getting there. It probably wasn't the mie rebus; more likely, my cold had simply run its course (though Dave swears that the gray/green cast faded from my skin as I ate).

If it's the last thing I do I'll return to Bukittingi and ask that vendor to share her mie rebus secrets. Everyone needs a guaranteed restorative recipe in their repertoire.

Pondok Nasi Goreng, middle level, Bukittinggi market, Sumatra. Early morning to late afternoon.

Comments

[Cupcake]

Great story. So the mantra to feed a cold and starve a fever must be correct after all(hmm ... or was that the other way around? Or was that feed a fever and feed a cold???).

Try teh halia (milky tea with ginger in it) next time - that's also a good cold blaster.

Cupcake

[Sui Mai]

I knew there was a reason my mom insists on macaroni cooked in chicken broth with a poached egg and ham!

Oh, and one of my personal favorites to get over a cold?

Hot lemon coke with ginger.

Soothing, sweet and zingy, always makes me feel better!

Sorry you were feeling poorly!

[ET]

Hi Robyn

Sorry to hear abt yr cold..but agree that piping hot mi rebus does wonders ..cant say I have partaken of this particular variety but sounds interesting..in any case prefer the great spread of Nasi Padang get well soon!