Settling in to the new neighborhood I received an invitation to go to a barbecue. One of the local businessmen said he owns a cottage near the beach. His family and a few friends were going to barbecue a couple of chickens and asked if I would like to come along. Of course I was delighted.
So one morning in July we all traveled into the mountains to travel to West Lombok. I had traveled in this direction once before, but never quite as far. The area is famous for its surfing beaches. 
The road winds along the top the mountain and the vistas are spectacular. Indonesia has so many beautiful areas the local people hardly notice the splendor. I, on the other hand, am always stunned at the magnificence of this country.
West Lombok is a little drier than Kuta Beach which is on the south. It must be in the rain shadow of Rinjani Mountain, the central volcano that soars to 13,000 feet. So the vegetation was not quite as lush, but everything was very rural.
We arrived at his cottage, a very nice bamboo and grass roof structure that was set well back from the beach. 
It too had a wonderful view of the ocean. I discovered that my host owned quite a bit of land, including several villages, a coconut grove, rice fields, and wide variety of fruits and vegetable crops. As soon as we arrived, the local men and children watched from a distance. 
Obviously they all had been born and raised within a few kilometers of the cottage and were naturally curious to see how the rest of the world lives.
For some while we ate oranges, bananas and other fruit grown on the property. 
A beekeeper brought up a dozen bottles of honey, which was wonderful with rice crackers.
Now I've been to quite a number of chicken barbecues in my life and up to this point everything was not extremely unusual, give or take a few native Indonesians and a breathtaking view. However the announcement by my host that he would start the barbecue suddenly sent the party in a new direction.
It seems that over 200 chickens are raised in the brushy vegetation that surrounds the cottage. The caretaker feeds them but the chickens and baskets are provided for the roosting chickens to lay eggs. So the first order of business was to catch a couple of chickens. Obviously these chickens were not wrapped in plastic and kept in a refigerator. In fact refrigerators are found only in hotels. Everything the local people eat is fresh - or in this case still living in the wild! No one believed than I could possibly eat chicken that has been dead for a week. But I wander from my story.
Apparently the accepted way of catching chicken is to use nylon fishing net, draped from the bushes. Several men send the chickens running from the brush and are supposed to be captured by the nets. I watched and listened as a large number of chickens were herded up the hill towards the net. 
With a sudden flurry of action the chickens hit the net and flew in every direction. I was unable to get a clear picture of the action - I trust you can imagine the scene.
I guess the chickens had been tipped-off about the old fish net trick, because they were all able to escape the trap. This enraged the caretaker who had little time for wise-ass chickens. I presume he knew that these chickens did not go the gym and work on their cardiovascular strength. Armed with this knowledge the chicken-keeper took off running past the cottage, down the hill, across a rice field - chasing a flock of chickens.
I would have never guess it possible but in time the chickens became very tired of running allowing the man to gain ground. 
Finally with a bound he grabbed one of the chickens and brought it proudly back to the picnic. His assistant proceeded to catch a second chicken in the same run-em-down style.
The process of bringing a chicken from a creature that looks like an animal to something that resembles the chicken found in a supermarket takes a strong stomach. The neck of the chicken is cut around his spinal cord. 
In this way the animal bleeds to death but the head stays attached. As you will soon see, barbecuing a chicken with head attached has its advantages - especially when you don't have a grill.
After the obligatory flopping around the bird was ready to be dunked in a boiling hot bath. 
This loosens the feathers somewhat. The task of pulling feathers out by hand is laborious. The task is repeated everyday in developing countries around the world. I have no idea how chickens are "de-feathered" in the USA, I assume a machine does most of the work. 
Sorry, I cannot tell you first world countries manage the task.
Finally the chicken looks like the variety I had observed all my life. The presence of the attached head and claws were reminders that a short while ago the animal was running wild. The insides were removed the bird given a thorough cleaning. Finally a sharp stick was rammed from the bottom right through the head and the chicken was ready for the fire.
At this point we piled into a truck for a walk on the beach while the chicken cooked. 
Just in case anyone doubts that beaches still exist where you have "all the beach to yourself" - I provide these photographs of proof. A beautiful sandy beach perhaps 2 miles long that was totally empty in the middle of the day. This is Indonesia, all 70,000 islands. An uncountable number of beaches many who never see a tourist. 
Unbelievable, but much of the South Pacific is remains hidden away from all except the most venturesome traveler and the native inhabitants.
We returned to the picnic. The chickens were being cooked over a mahogany wood fire. Now the chickens looked delicious - golden brown and juicy. 
Finally we settled down to eat rice, chicken, boiled leafy vegetables and a wonderful chili paste augmented by bottled hot sauce. Everyone ate with their hands - which is the custom throughout Indonesia. A spoon was offered to the Western guest, but I chose to dig in with the rest of them.
Massive amounts of food were served including desert. Tapioca (from the root of tapioca bushes) mixed with coconut and rice is cooked in many different ways, some I found too bland others too sweet. Quite honestly by desert I was eating to be polite anyway. I was stuffed. The Indonesian word is basu - which the dictionary defines as fulfilled.
Turning to leave I noticed two people stomping on what looked to be brown sticks. These are soy beans and the stomping removes the shell from the bean. I know the US grows massive amounts of soybeans and it is used in many products besides soy sauce. But I had no idea what soybeans looked like - a sad statement of the times we live in.
Anyway, it all looked like great fun - so I joined in. 
And so my story of Indonesian style chicken barbecue, ends with a picture of me playing tourist and helping out the local farmers stomp on their soybeans. The end to a delightful day.
Now, venture on with me to the next chapter:
A Day in the Life.. |