Why We Put Sambal On Everything And How We Can Change That
Many years ago, I had this conversation that changed my way of enjoying things. Real story 🙂
I was shooting for a big well-known chinese food restaurant (I shoot commercial work too) – I shot meals, roast ducks, dimsum pods, and everything in between. The chinese malaysian head chef was helping me getting the dishes prepared and we became good pals, since he was always beside me on the three day shooting time.
One time, at a lunch break, he said to me, “I actually hate cooking for Indonesians.”
“Why?” I said, rather surprised and a bit offended.
“Because, y’know, you guys put sambal on everything.”
“Immidiately after a dish is served, even before you tasted it, you will ask for sambal and you will put a spoonful on my creation.”
“Often you will also put some pepper, and even some soya sauce.”
“I feel like all my hard work is for nothing. All the things I’ve learned about cooking and all the thoughts I’ve given into creating that dish goes unrewarded.”
“Yes the pay is good here, but I want people to taste and cherish the food as I, the creator, have visioned and prepared. So you would taste it first as it is, and know that’s how that dish was supposed to be like, according to me, the chef.”
“But most of the time, most people wouldn’t know what’s that like. Everything is only hot now because of that much sambal they put in.”
“If it’s not hot enough for them, of course they could add some sambal later. But at least try it first. Appriciate what I created first.”
– – – – –
We do, don’t we? 🙂
We never give the chef, or shall we say: the artist, a chance.
We do whatever we want with this dish, since we thought, “Hey! I paid for this!”
But, as you’ve heard just now, the chef probably is peeking through the service door, and more often than not, will turns his head and walks away in dissapointment.
And for us, though there is no crime committed here, we lost the chance to enjoy a vision.
A creation with a lot of thoughts behind it.
I cook. And I know when I cook, I put a lot of thinking on making the meal to taste as it is now, and I want for my guests to at least take a sip first.
Since that day, on every new dish that I ordered, I never put anything on it. I try to take a bite and try to understand what the artist behind this meal is trying to tell me.
Even if in my opinion it’s not salty, hot, or sour enough, I still try to understand what he is saying. I said to myself, “Maybe this is how he intended for the meal to be like. Try to savor it.”
And everytime I cherish that bite, there seems like a connection between me here in the dining room, to that artist that is busy in the back kitchen.
“I get you, Sir,” I say.
Can we try that instead?
There’s an unintentional follow up to this post, titled And Why We Don’t Have Album Revisions