Indonesian stuffed bread (Martabak)

Martabak has been a dish that has haunted me for decades. The first time I had the dish was in Chicago, decades ago; it has been a flavour that I have never forgotten. Over the years, I have had the opportunity to have it again very occasionally while I travelled to Asia. Most recently, while I was in Georgetown, Malaysia, I had to have this dish again. I got to enjoy it at the fabled Hameediyah Restaurant. More on this here.

Martabak is an ancient dish, one that has travelled across the globe, evolving at every stop. The earliest versions have been recorded in Yemen. The word Martabak is derived from Arabic "mutabbaq," meaning "folded", which is characteristic of the dish. In Yemen, the dough is kneaded to a very elastic consistency, and then stuffed, usually with a savoury filling, though sweet fillings also exist, and cooked in a pan with oil.

But Martabak decided not to stay only in Yemen, the port of trade, for much of the Arab and African world. It travelled to India, where it morphed into the Indian parotta. The filling stayed mostly the same, but the way the dough is treated changed, resulting in a thicker but flakier bread. The bread assimilated into Southern India, particularly among Muslim populations along the Western coast of Tamil Nadu and Kerala. A variety of Muttari or Malabar Baida Roti is made by the Mapilla community of Kerala, and Kari Veechu Parotta among the Tamil Muslims.

Side note: I would visit my parents, who lived in Kochi, Kerala, while I was a student in the US, and would long for the parotta seller to make his egg parotta with duck eggs no less. It was a show and a feast every time. Only today, as I write this post, do I understand the story behind this lovely dish made by these streetside carts today.

The parotta travelled to Malaysia and Indonesia with the migrant Tamil workers, called Mamaks, in a continual Eastward journey. In Singapore, it stayed quite the same, but upon reaching Indonesia, it changed again.

In Indonesia, an Indian trader named Abdullah bin Hasan al-Malibary married a local woman and adapted to local tastes. The heavy spices were lost, instead scallions, egg, and the thinness of the wrapper became important.

I knew as soon as I took my first bite of Martabak in Georgetown that I would eventually make this dish, understand the dough's stretchiness, grasp the technique, and enjoy it again.

If I have to say so myself, this was a valiant effort. Mind you, I probably am the only Indian who has yet to make the common Indian chapatti, so I was apprehensive about rolling the dough and creating the delicate packages. To my rescue came my maid, who hovered for a while watching, sighing exasperatedly behind my shoulder, until she could take it no more.

She worked with me on the dough, adjusting the texture and showing me how she kneads it with the heel of her palm and how to get the moisture right. Rolling the dough out to be almost see-through thin was a lesson for her, too, but we accomplished quite a good Martabak, in my opinion.

The trick is the periodic kneading of the dough to make it very elastic; the gluten molecules need to be released and form strong networks, forming a very resilient dough that tends to spring back. Once the package is stuffed, I recommend you cook the Martabak immediately for the best results.

The Martabak is rich, the meat delicious between the thin fried pastry. The dipping sauce adds a wonderful pop on top. The flavours of the stuffing are well-rounded, but it is a dish that fills you up. The pastry is where the magic happens, light and flaky, wrapping (more like cuddling) the meat filling.

To me, Martabak is more than a fantastic dish; it is a story that needs to be told so we can understand how the dish has migrated with communities and adapted to local environments. Martabak is a survivor; it migrates and adapts seamlessly, taking on nuances to accommodate local palates, yet remains the same at its core. Yes, it is a fantastic snack, one I will always want again (and then again), but its history is layered and rich, just like the flaky pastry and the rich meat stuffing.

This cookbook is so much more than a collection of recipes. It is a history of a culture and its contributions to the world's cuisines. Anissa Helou has travelled extensively to research this cookbook, which is evident in the introduction and each recipe. Filled with historical notes and tidbits, I can sit and read this cookbook as if it were a novel.

For more recipes from the fabulous cookbook, click here.

Ingredients:

For the dough:

2 cups all-purpose flour

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 tablespoon oil + as needed

1/4 cup water

For the filling:

3 tablespoons oil

10 shallots, sliced thinly

10 oz. ground mutton/goat (can substitute lamb)

1 bunch scallions, thinly sliced

2 teaspoons Madras curry powder

1/2 teaspoon white pepper

1/2 teaspoon palm sugar

Salt, to taste

2 eggs, lightly whisked with a pinch of salt

To fry:

Ghee

For the dipping sauce:

3 oz. palm sugar

1-2 cloves garlic, minced

3-4 bird's eye chillies, minced

Juice of 3 limes,

Salt, to taste

Method:

For the dough:

Mix the ingredients for the dough until it forms a dry dough. Make sure the dough is not too sticky; it will loosen up with time. Knead for 3-4 minutes, cover and let sit for 10 minutes.

Knead the dough again for 3 minutes, then form 7 small balls. At this point, the dough must be very elastic, the glutens well formed and the dough pulling back well when stretched. This ensures the structural integrity of the dough needed later. If the dough is not ready, knead it for 3 minutes, then set it aside again.

Coat each ball with a generous layer of oil. To do this, pour the oil into your pan and coat each ball generously, then repeat with each ball. Cover and allow to sit at room temperature until needed.

For the filling:

Heat the oil in a wide, deep frying pan on medium-low heat. Add the shallots and sauté for 3-4 minutes until the onions are very soft but not coloured. Add the meat and cook, breaking it into fine crumbles. Cook for 12-15 minutes, until the meat is cooked through and beginning to brown.

Add the scallions, curry powder, pepper, sugar, and salt, and cook for 2 minutes, until the ingredients are heated through and well incorporated into the mix. Remove and cool completely. When cooled, add the whisked eggs and mix well. Set aside.

For the dipping sauce:

Mix the ingredients well, taking care to dissolve the sugar completely. Set aside at room temperature for the dipping sauce to integrate its flavours.

To assemble:

To assemble the martabak, lightly dust a work surface, remove a ball and roll it into a very thin circle. You need to roll it as thin as possible; the magic of the martabak lies in its thinness. This is why you need a very elastic, strong dough as described above.

Add four tablespoons, or more, of the cooked meat to the centre of the dough, spreading it out quite a bit into a rectangle. Fold the dough over the meat filling from the four sides, creating a tight rectangular package. I like to roll the dough lightly to seal the edges. Dust again and set aside. Repeat with the remaining dough balls.

NOTE: It is best to cook the martabak as soon as it is formed. The dough tends to get wet and sticky with time and can fall apart. I made these, dusted them heavily with flour, and stored each wrapped in butter paper, which seemed to work for 4 hours.

To fry:

Heat a large frying pan with a generous amount of ghee. Add the pastry to the pan and fry on medium heat. Allow one side to cook for 3 minutes and flip when it is nicely coloured. Repeat for the second side. Repeat with the rest of the martabak.

Serve as soon as they emerge from the pan with the dipping sauce on the side.