'Daluman', Bali's popular drink and its intruiging tale

Let me tell you the tale of daluman; that mysterious leafy-green drink that is revered by the Balinese. Have you tried it?

Take a stroll to any local market early in the morning and you will find it on sale. But in Ubud, the drink is no less intriguing than Ibu Jarni, the woman who sells it.

Enter the Ubud market on Jl. Monkey Forest, through the narrow alleyway on the western side, weaving your way past rows of sarongs, hydrangeas, kangkung (water spinach), durian and coconut leaves and you will find her amongst a team of food sellers: Three grandmas selling rice with assorted side dishes on one side and Ibu Jarni, the daluman seller on the other. You could call it a "breakfast of sweethearts".

But let me point out that this is not a breezy caf* scene, with alfresco tables and chairs with the delicious hum of cappuccinos frothing in the background. This is Bali-style (and I'm not talking about that fancy interior design book-style either*).

What you will find is a row of low tables tended by a team of Balinese grandmas with the style factor being wrapped-up in the oddly coordinated towels they wear on their heads. And if you are seeking local gossip, this is the place to hear all of Ubud's news, a bustling, shoulder-to-shoulder "hot-spot" of the verbal kind where you can garner all the details on what is happening in this vibrant town.

Opposite these culinary divas, sits the queen of green tonics, the goddess of leaf and laughter. Ibu Jarni started selling daluman in Ubud nearly thirty years ago, when she was in her early twenties. She is an Ubud Market institution, a barista of sorts, except that her coffee beans are leaves and the brewing is a matter of mixing not pouring.

Sitting on the tiled veranda of her bedroom overlooking a small, unpaved compound that lies behind Casa Luna in an area known as Jungut, I asked her: "What made you pursue a career as a daluman maker?", knowing the answer before it was delivered.

She laughed in an almost helpless manner: "Sing ngawang (I don't know why).
"We had to eat and I had to support the family. We had two children and my husband was not working. We are poor people," she said.

It's called survival, I thought to myself. Simple as that*
I looked at the other buildings around us, each painted chalky white with faded wooden duck-egg blue shutters; old-school Bali, of small modest abodes made for a smaller generation, when life was less complicated.

Ibu Jarni's day starts around five in the morning when the roosters start crowing in alarming unison and the dogs begin grumbling. You can imagine her silently sweeping the compound, preparing the daily rice and the daluman leaves in the stillness of dawn.
"You have to wash them twice," she said energetically. "And then you "pijak-pijak" (scrunch) them."

Her words were accompanied by robust hand gestures, the confident movements of a woman who knows her leaves, arms firmed by a rigorous daily work-out.

She laughed in that quirky manner I have grown to love. A few years ago, when I used to lead eager tourists in and out of narrow aisles, up and down the rickety stairs on a magical market tour, Ibu Jarni was one of the highlights (nowadays my cooking-class staff do the tour for me).
To say she is eccentric is an understatement -- and don't you just love lively village folk* Wasn't it Jack Kerouac who said he only liked the company of colorful people? And colorful she is.

I listened earnestly to the process of making daluman. The leaves are left to steep in water until they have formed a jelly-like mass. While this organic transformation is taking place, Ibu Jarni prepares the roasted coconut milk and palm sugar syrup that will be mixed with the wobbly leaf mixture.

"Coconuts and palm sugar are expensive nowadays. But I always use palm sugar from Dawan (Klungkung). It has the best flavor and is not bitter."

Her dedication in using the finest ingredients sets her apart from the rest and in Ubud we all know that Ibu Jarni's daluman is the most delicious. After an hour, the leaves have set into a glossy pool of dark-green jelly.

But it is not just the flavor of the drink that makes it so wonderful. It is the performance that accompanies each glass. Ibu Jarni is a Shakespearian actor of sorts and serves each daluman with all the pomp and ceremony it deserves. While seated at her small table, she tosses in the daluman mixture and adds a swirl of coconut milk and palm sugar with a dazzling exaggeration that would make Bette Davis weep with pride.

When I visited Ibu Jarni the other day at the market, she gave me one of her heartfelt Bali embraces, arms slung around my waist.

And on close inspection, I realized we are close in age but separated by a lifetime of hardship. There is a hint of melancholy in her eyes, a certain loneliness that lies beneath her smooth skin.
Sometimes I have bumped into her at the temple, usually on her own and remembered thinking then, how strange it was to see her without her table, like a forlorn actor without a role (the way I remembered Ronnie Corbett, on-stage and off-stage, in my days as an usherette, but that's another story).

I have enjoyed a long illustrious relationship with daluman, ever since I was introduced to it in the mid 1980s at the wood-carving gallery of my husband, Ketut, in Mas village.

I remember waiting each morning for the daluman lady to stroll through the gates. She would arrive as regular as clockwork, carrying a small wooden table balanced effortlessly on her head laden with daluman and other assorted ingredients.

On the polished red terrazzo steps she would set-up shop and the staff would crowd around her to buy her green potion and to share a few obligatory jokes about girlfriends, boyfriends and other dubious subjects.

She would mix daluman in a small glass, top it with a drizzle of palm-sugar with a few spoonfuls of roasted coconut milk and then stir it proudly, the spoon tinkling confidently against the glass.
As I drank her precious potion, reveling in the aroma of roasted coconut milk, she would eye me with curiosity. She had never sold this drink to a western person before, she told me, and in time we grew fond of each other. I became very attached to this delicious, awesome-looking drink that cooled my entire being. I enjoyed the feeling of it working its way down to my stomach, leaving a path of calm and satisfaction.

The daluman lady loved to tell me the virtues of this popular drink. It's good for pregnant women, she would tell me, saying that it also helps the baby "pop out". It cools a hot stomach, is full of vitamins and helps you maintain a youthful complexion. The list grew longer with every passing month. Nowadays, I have been told that it is being tested as a preventative for stomach cancer.

In the meantime, I drink daluman as often as I can and sip the tender care that Ibu Jarni offers. I guess that's what you call a holistic experience.

When you are in Ubud, don't forget to drop into the market to say "hello" to Ibu Jarni. I am sure she will charm you.