If you are already familiar with chopsticks, then you should have but little trouble mastering the elegantly curved and hollow ot-tundai sticks (pronounced "aht-tun-day", or, on the south island, "cheevers"). At first they just twist around when you try to use them, so it is wise to buy a set ahead of time ($39.95 at Cost Plus) and practice for a few weeks. Even an expert rarely completes a full meal of b'dang b'dang without one or more accidents of the ot-tundai, so it is wise to wear old clothes to the restaurant, or, more elegantly, come wearing an authentic b'dang b'dang apron/skirt/galosh, the handsome and practical b'dang glab, over your finery ($79.95 at Macy's). When the inevitable slip occurs, the polite guest will murmur, "yata tu, ot-tundai, st'ts aleelalyetta, ha, ha, ha." The ever-present waiters pleasantly reply "atoo pidd grein goh."
The first sauce, the aromatic b'dang talb-talb, comes in little white dishes (the colors of the dishes have great symbolic importance). Of course, b'dang talb-talb isn't really a sauce at all (even though it is called that) but is a finger dip. You must dip every other finger in it, that is the pinky, middle finger, and thumb of your left hand, then the index and ring fingers of your right hand. To dry your fingers, just wave them about or snap them, causing the fragrant droplets to fly about the room, perfuming the air with the scent of hibiscus and coriander. When it dries, the b'dang talb-talb leaves the permanent green/brown stains one sees on a properly broken-in b'dang glab. In a few weeks the stain will disappear by itself from your fingers. Unfortunately you do not share this lovely ceremony with the white-coated waiters since they are preparing the next five sauces.
A large pot of rice is brought in and positioned just out of reach in the center of your circular table. In front of you are placed small dishes with the five sauces. The sauces all look exactly alike, and so they are put in differently-colored dishes to distinguish them. The yellow-orange dish contains osalb-b'dang, a mild and piquant concoction decanted from a mixture of fermented eggplant and seaweed. The red dish holds p'tza, the prized and beloved liquid that results after cheese, garlic, anchovy, and pepperoni (showing the 16th century Italian influence on this island cuisine) have been mutilated by hand for days before being served. The orange-red dish contains olad-b'dang, a nearly poisonous mixture that is best avoided. It is used by the priests of the island to put themselves into a religious stupor. The orange dish contains soapy water, t'ide b'dang for rinsing your hands, the special soap (t'ide) contains a dye so that it matches the other sauces. This dye also complements the finger stains from the b'dang talb-talb, leaving one with a souvenir, if you will, of the meal. Lastly is the scrumptious and expensive saffron-essence derived h'h'd'b'dang, served in a red-orange dish. This is the first high point of flavor.
To eat this course, one reaches out with the ot-tundai in the right hand and takes an aliquot of rice and places it in the left hand where you form it into a tight ball. The ot-tundai are hollow as we said, and now you can understand the reason for their curvature, since you use them as a siphon to get the desired sauce onto the rice in your hand. Place the thin end of the ot-tundai into the sauce, gently sip on the thick end until the sauce flows. It is this step which explains why this round of sauces are all thin and watery, the later, thicker sauces would just get stuck in the ot-tundai. Remove the ot-tundai when sufficient sauce, usually a half teaspoon or so, has flowed into the rice and been absorbed by it. Until you are practiced, this another occasion to mutter "yata tu, ot-tundai, st'ts aleelalyetta, ha, ha, ha."
In the dim torch-light the exact difference between the red, the orange, the reddish orange, and the orange-red dishes is somewhat hard to make out. However errors, especially if you siphon some of the t'ide b'dang, are readily and instantly detectable, even by the inexperienced. Just say, "yata tu, ot-tundai, st'ts aleelalyetta, ha, ha, ha" when you spit it out. Another example: if you have an out-of-body experience, you have found the olad-b'dang.
Once you have found the sauce of your choice and siphoned it into your rice you take the sauce-saturated ball of rice from your left hand with your right hand and eat it. If you use too much sauce, the ball will fall apart and you have to start over again. It would be nice if they were to provide a small bowl for discarded rice, but it is not customary, and they get mad when I suggest it. Hence, I have no better suggestion than you use one of your shoes for this function, as they do on the islands. Of course, their shoes are a folded-over palm leaf, but the principle is the same.
Do not forget to rinse your fingers in the t'ide b'dang.
When the waiters have sensed that everybody has finished their rice balls, they will come and clear away the five sauces. The sound of snare drums, cymbals, and very loud shawms heralds a line of fanatically-garbed dancers of indeterminate sex (they are covered from head to foot in long, purple robes) doing the dance of the twenty-seven sauces, or t'ap b'dans. This lets us (and everybody else in the restaurant, if not the entire city) know that the second course has arrived. You are supposed to get stepped on, the room is small. Alternately, you may be sat upon by one of the musicians; this is regarded as a signal honor on the north island and a nuisance everywhere else.
In the next column I will explain how to survive the second course. To give you-if you will forgive the expression-a taste of what is to come, I will mention only that, mercifully, you eat with your fingers and put your ot-tundai in the ot-tundai pocket or g'dam dagnabot of your b'dang talb-talb-stained b'dang glab. See you next week!
Read on in Pshtwar B'dang
© Jef Raskin 1988