Far be it from me to discount the popularity of roti canai, a crispy flatbread usually paired with dhal, or the simplicity of bubur and yoo tiao, savoury rice porridge and fried-bread snack. But the sheer indulgence of a creamy, coconutty pile of rice alongside punchy sambal and crunchy anchovies, is another Malaysian dish that everyone can enjoy. It's also a dish that isn't relegated to only one time of the day; it can be eaten for breakfast, lunch or dinner - even supper!
Every family has its own nasi lemak recipe, but each one has sambal. Sambal is a bright, spicy Malaysian chilli paste that is traditionally served with ikan bilis (dried anchovies), but it can be cooked with any protein of your choice. I love sambal sotong (squid sambal) and sambal udang (prawn sambal). Sambal babi, which contains pork, is popular with non-Muslim Malaysians.
SAMBAL RECIPE
Perfect sambal
In Malaysian culture, kids learn basic kitchen skills, like cooking and chopping, by helping their families cook. To learn how to make nasi lemak, considered Malaysia's national dish, my siblings and I used to prepare the rice, cook the sambal, peel the eggs and chop the veggies at my mum's place during Eid. She would open our home to anyone who wanted to come over and enjoy authentic, home-cooked Malaysian food.
The centrepiece of nasi lemak is the rice. Fragrant coconut milk is the first element that takes what is an already much-loved grain to another level. When I was a kid, I remember watching my mum prepare nasi lemak by arranging coconut milk (the kind that you used to only be able to find in Vietnamese groceries) and pandan leaves (something that is still difficult to source) beside the rice cooker.
When preparing the rice, which in my family is usually basmati, it's important to wash it thoroughly. This ensures that the rice grains are fluffy and separated when cooked. The water should run clear when you pour it out.
Coconut cream-soaked ice topped with sambal, roasted peanuts, crispy anchovies and a hard-boiled egg wrapped in a fresh banana leaf. Source: Getty Images
Then comes the coconut milk. Seeing the chunks of coconut milk dispersed among the uncooked rice was oddly satisfying, and so was rinsing the used can with water to remove the residue and adding that to the rice. The final fragrance to finish it all off would be the pandan leaves. These are sweet, soft and almost vanilla-y leaves that would be added to the rice in strips, to infuse it with a pleasant aroma.
Once the rice was under control, all attention would be diverted to the sambal. It packs a flavour punch that isn't for the faint-hearted. It's made up of a combination of dried, long chillies that have been soaked overnight in bowls or containers around the house, aromatics like garlic, ginger and shallots that tend to stubbornly stick to your fingernails, and a bit of sugar and tamarind for sweetness. These are blended together and then poured into the hot oil.
Watching sambal curdle is like saddling up for an extreme sport and experiencing all the fun and nervous energy that builds up along the way. The oil bubbles and splutters like a geyser, spitting on clothes and the kitchen backsplash. As it cooks, the oil separates from the chilli, the vegetal rawness falls away, and the sambal deepens from a fire-engine red to a jammy brown.
Watching sambal curdle is like saddling up for an extreme sport and experiencing all the fun and nervous energy that builds up along the way.
Of course, it isn't nasi lemak without the additional accompaniments. Fried anchovies and peanuts give the dish a bit of crunch, a bit of salt and even more savouriness. A boiled egg or omelette alongside sliced cucumber mellows it out. Any leftover sambal and rice would usually become a nasi goreng and be placed in the fridge for later.
It takes about two hours from start to finish to bring this well-rounded meal to have a personality of its own.
Adam & Poh's nasi lemak recipes
Nasi lemak
I associate it with such happy times from my childhood, times of celebrations and karaoke parties, outdoor picnics in the backyard with friends from all walks of life, a house cramped with too many people drinking copious amounts of sweet tea and chatting into the night.
Now that I'm older, nasi lemak is a time capsule that I love to make since it transports me to simpler times – times when me and my siblings used to share nasi lemak, wrapped in banana leaf and brown paper, with each other on day trips out of Sydney, everyone taking their share and me appreciating just how important this labour of love really is.
