Pecel

Pecel is nothing short of a delight. In a country where I struggle to find enough vegetables to eat, pecel gives me almost a full cup of sprouts, spinach, and cabbage, along with white rice and spicy peanut sauce. In other words, I get to fulfill my childhood dream of living off of peanut butter and vegetables in a sense, and it is everything I dreamed it could be.

When imagining my post-Indonesia life, I felt myself filling with sadness every time I remembered that I would have no access to pecel. The sauce in particular is a cooking challenge.

I decide I would remedy this by hovering around my non-English-speaking pecel chef, hoping that in time she would impart her wisdom.

To begin, I sit down next to her behind the counter. She stares for a moment, then goes back to her work.

I tell her, "Mom, I want to learn." She stares some more, then goes back to her work. 

I pick up a potato and begin peeling, to show that I am actively ready to help her cook. There are no potatoes in pecel, but it is a start. She stares again, then goes back to her work.

I peel diligently.

She returns, laughing. "You're slow," she tells me in Indonesian.

"I am not!"

She peels with me, completing three potatoes for every one I complete. "You are not good at this," she says.

She eventually began the process of showing me how to make the sauce. Unless I find an easier method, I will not be eating pecel upon my return to the United States, as just step 1 of the process took hours. I gave up after watching for almost 2 hours, realizing that this could easily be a multi-day process in 100+ degree heat next to a fryer.

As a reward for my efforts, I have now been told in three different countries that I am bad at peeling potatoes. (Shout-out to Cees Meijer and my parental units.)

I maintain that I merely enjoy the steady process of peeling potatoes and see no rush in task completion.