An Adventure to the Market and a Fried Chicken Feast

An Adventure to the Market and the Fried Chicken Feast June 24

 On Sunday we had a great morning joining Widia at the HKPB church just beyond the seminary for Sunday School before church.

The Bible passages used in church we recognizable, that is, the books and verses were  actually some of the same in our lectionary series. Not that we recognized them when they were read in Indonesian, or when the minister preached about Job for a long time in Indonesian. But we could read in our Bibles and try to guess what was being said.

As had been arranged several days before, we gathered at home after church and waited for Siska to come over, so we could go to the market together and get ingredients for the chicken feast. As we approached the house we saw and heard the weed wacker and knew that our grounds were being trimmed, just as they were the first Sunday of our residence last year. The worker uses a gas powered, metal blade tipped trimmer to cut all the grass and also the scrubs. He trims and shapes everything but the trees. The trimmer is a wicked machine and the worker wears a motorcycle helmet for protection. Something bad must have happened to him in the past. It has to be really hot with that helmet on. 

I should add that the grass mountain is right outside our bedroom windows!

After the guy trims the neighborhood then he rakes / sweeps the grass into a huge pile. This being Indonesia, he then burns it! No composting here! Remembering what happened after the grass trimming last year, we asked Marnala to instruct the worker not to light up the grass pile today.  Last year we were practically smoked out of our house for several hours as the smoldering pile sent thick smoke through our windows that can’t be closed. Success! The worker did not light up the pile, and maybe we can light it up as we leave for Berstagi on Wednesday. Two days should be long enough for the smoke to clear.

Siska and Nancy enjoy the bumpy ride on the microbus.

Siska arrived at noon, as did Marnala, Anna and Esra. The entourage was growing. Esra returned home and we headed to the front of campus to catch the microbus. As usual, one pulled up literally within seconds and we were off. These rides which seemed so long last year, cramped up uncomfortably in a hot van, now are very short. We are tickled when we big Americans fold over and literally crawl in, and the native Indonesians sitting inside don’t slide over or make room to keep us from climbing on top of them. Maybe they are so shocked to see us that they just freeze. Who knows. I’d think they’d quickly slide to the back just out of a sense of self preservation.

We arrived at the market and marched through a series of narrow alleys and aisles between stalls. There were enough people to make navigation difficult, but nothing like the crowds we’ve experienced in the past, when you had to push your way through.

The transactions went quickly. It didn’t seem like Marnala ever did  any negotiating (maybe that’s just for non-food items) and we quickly found the vegetables, spices, bananas, and then it was time for the chicken. Siska went directly to one of many different chicken vendors, which I took that as a good sign of an ongoing relationship (top quality chicken).

I assume the guy sold both raw dead chicken and fresh live chickens, as he had cages with live chickens on top right next to his counter. Awesome merchandising! Perhaps Siska had phoned ahead (?) as the vendor had a whole chicken, plucked and waiting, no head or feet thank goodness, waiting for us. Siska asked him to cut it up, and asked me how much we wanted.  A kilogram seems to be what everyone orders for everything. He chopped it up into big pieces and then weighed it. Of course it was more than a kilogram, and being a great merchandiser, he cut off a big chunk of the breast (that we wanted) and took it off the scale. If we wanted that part we had to get the whole chicken. That wasn’t hard, we’d just have more leftovers. Of course I didn’t know that everyone was joining us for the chicken feast, making leftovers very scarce. Evidently raw chicken juice isn’t viewed with the same trepidation here as in America, and the vendor set the plastic bag containing the chopped up chicken down, right into the chicken juice, before handing it to Siska. When we returned to the house I had to emphasize that the raw chopped chicken should be isolated from raw chopped pineapple…which they did, but kind of scratched their head over my requirement.

With chicken in hand, we made a stop at the pineapple section and Siska and Marnala quickly agreed on a very large one. It turned out to be good but not out of this world delicious. Next time we will have to request two smaller ones. Siska bought some frozen French fries from a “normal” store outside the market before we jumped in the microbus and returned home. Marnala arranged for the microbus to deliver us directly to our front door, which is about  500 meters from the front gate of Nommensen.

Back at the house, Esra rejoined the group and a cooking frenzy began immediately. That’s when we realized that we were going to eat this huge meal in the mid-afternoon (rather than American dinner time), and that everyone was going to be joining us. It took about an hour for Siska to create her tastyy treat of fried chicken, French fries, and sliced tomatoes.

I liked the way Siska cooked the chicken first without any coating, then added the coating and deep fried it a second time. The result was chicken cooked through and through, with a very crispy skin.

The whole gang gathered in our tiny little kitchen with the big wok snapping and cracking with what seemed like a gallon of boiling oil.

Marnala cut up the pineapple in her expert style, with Jacob watching her every move, while Anna assisted in the breading of the chicken.

Nancy and I tried to stay out of the fray and sat a safe distance away in the living room.

Just like on the Iron Chef television show, plates of food began materializing on our dining room table, and soon the feast was on. Jacob said the prayer and then everyone paused. We weren’t sure if they were waiting for me, the Papa, to take food first and take the first bite. The pause didn’t last for long but it was noticeable. I must have stepped in because soon everyone was gorging themselves and conversation ceased.

Afterwards Nancy joined the contingent in the kitchen to clean up. In Batak tradition I am not allowed in the kitchen, so I continued to enjoy my spot in the living room.

Many thanks to Siska for her fine shopping and cooking of the feast. She is a great friend to have, and will always be remembered as the leader of the brave first group that came over to introduce themselves to us last year.