I first visited Bali almost 18 years ago. There were few things, physically for me then, to anticipate - the ride out to see the magnificent Tanah Lot Temple at sunset, wondered why, at an artist’s village in Ubud, did they paint such small detailed figures on a huge canvass, watch monkeys pester tourists for food at the Monkey Forest, an animal so revered they created and dedicated a entrancing Monkey dance, complete with chants of “chak, chak, chak” to it, and make a compulsory stop at Legian and Kuta for some local craft and sun tanning. All, nice but these were all “first time wonders” for me. But subsequent visits made, made me see “between the sights’.

What truly registered as the Bali experience and “brand” was the mysticism about it. The local folks had a healthy respect for visitors, something they considered god-sent as it meant success for the land and a source of income and work. They live in harmony with the natural unseen “spiritual forces” and make daily offerings of rice and flowers to appease them. They don’t rush through things and take enough time to execute their tasks thoroughly, something unenlightened city slickers call “slow”. Like how when I first stumbled upon Ibu Oka’s Babi Guling shrine at Ubud twelve years ago. I asked our driver if I could treat him to his favourite local meal and I was led to the back of the community hall where we had to wait in line in a queue, for what I did not know, as the stall was unmanned.]

Five fifteen minutes later, the little Ibu Oka, with a huge, stunningly well roasted 25 kilogram pig, balanced atop her turbaned head, made her way to the stall. We had to endure another 20 painful minutes of hunger, impatiently waiting for her to cut, slice, chop the entire animal and begin serving up each portion with a special sambal and rice. The sight was a visual treat and the eventual meal was a grand reward for our patience. I had to blog about her in 1998. I was still gushing about her food last year in this same column. But things have changed. Today, her little makan shrine, status quo maintained for authenticity and appeal, is packed with both tourist and locals and her huge team of ten, diligently serve up to six huge pigs each day, as fast as they can to a crowd that’s into crowds. But the compromise is evident and I am saddened. But, as fate would have I was cruising through Sanur and again, asked our driver if he knew of a good Babi Guling stall.

The old wood fired and suitable sooted kitchen operation
just behind the stall mesmerised me.

Next thing, I was tearing in to Ibu Cokla’s version. While I was easily won over by her rendition which came with a fresh stick of well marinated pork satay, crispy intestines, soft slices of moist meat, pieces crispy crackling skin, a lard and meat sausage with two types of sambal and a jackfruit, banana stem with pork soup, I was completely mesmerised in by the old wood fired and suitable sooted kitchen operation just behind the stall. The wood fired pot of sauce has smoke billowing out, lit by little shafts of light and a staff was patiently butchering the entire crispy skinned pig and a straw hat lady was patiently skewering a tub of satay meat. This is my new Babi Guling champion. Their boiled pork skin with jackfruit core salad and the superb sambal, completely kidnapped my sense of objectivity. I will be back soon at her newly renovated stall just beside at Jalan By Pass1, Gusti Ngurah Rai No 256, Sanur (tel 0361-287308).

Bali Jimbaran was and still is a tourist magnet, with it's row of bare basic seafood stalls that front the Muaya Beach.

But I won’t be looking forward to making a trip back to the now commercially charming Jimbaran coast for seafood. Yes, it was and still is a tourist magnet, it’s a little row of bare basic seafood stalls that front a beautiful Pantai Muaya (Muaya beach), near the Four Seasons Hotel. Your entrance in engineered - walk past huge glass troughs of fresh seafood on ice, select your desires and it is immediately prepped and thrown into the smoky grill with marinate painted on as it fires up, then they walk you towards the seabreeze by the shoreline to your table. This will floor and score with you- each table is candle lit and the breeze is absolutely hypnotic and calming. They operate only in the evenings and the whole beach is set with hundred of wood tables awash with candle light dancing in the wind. So captivating that you’ll loose your sense of judgment whatsoever of prawns that are shriveled, over-grilled and over sweet with kicap manis (sweet soy sauce), or grilled mussels that are so hard and rubbery you can actually use it as patch-ups for your shoe sole. You also spend the whole evening breathing an air quality that’s 100 PSI, thanks to the ubiquitous smoky coconut husk grills.

But then again, it’s all about the charm, a kind of charm I can’t quite taste anymore.