For Malaysia’s Kristang Population, the Devil’s in the Curry
Text by Annie Hariharan
Photos by Farrah Ratnaike
Once a Portuguese settlement in Melaka, and then a fishing port, urban development has turned this area into an outdoor food court.
For Annushia Balavijendran, Christmas food is ghee rice and her maternal grandmother's devil chicken curry.
“None of this turkey and mashed potatoes for us,” she says. “It's always spicy and flavorful devil chicken curry with potatoes. Even our guests expect that when they come over for Christmas dinner."
Her late grandmother was part of the Portuguese-Malaysian, or Kristang (derivation of Christian), community who have lived in the state of Melaka, Malaysia, since the 16th century, when the first Portuguese expedition arrived and gradually colonized the region.
The Kristang community are a minority group in Malaysia with a distinct creole language, culture and cuisine. The devil curry is their signature dish and a combination of Portuguese, Indian and Malay flavors. But the version that Ms. Balavijendran knows and loves has evolved over centuries, starting with its name which used to be debal curry, or “leftover curry” in Kristang. It was a way for families to use all the leftover meat (usually pork), sausages and potatoes from Christmas day and make a hodgepodge dish on Boxing Day because nobody had the energy to cook after all that festivities.
Over time, this became the go-to dish on Christmas day, made with ingredients including onions, ginger, garlic, lemongrass, galangal, mustard and red chile. The unmistakable ingredient is vinegar, which gives devil curry its signature tangy taste.
Eventually, its name evolved from debal curry into devil curry, which people assumed was a reflection of the fiery red color. The name stuck.
Another evolution of the dish happened gradually in the 1970s and ’80s, when cooks used chicken instead of pork. Melba Nunis, chef and author of A Kristang Family Cookbook, recalls how her family used to make devil curry.
“My family has Kristang and Dutch background,” she says. “My father used to insist that we put the bacon bones in the curry for the flavor. And just like any curry, it will taste better the day after. The vinegar really helps preserve it and stops it from going bad, since a home refrigerator was not common back then.”
When Nunis opened her restaurant in the city of Kuala Lumpur, she swapped pork and bacon bones for chicken in devil curry to cater to the country’s Muslim majority, as well as other community members who are less accustomed to eating pork. She is practical about this change.
“Firstly, pork is more expensive than chicken in Malaysia, so it made more business sense,” she says. “Secondly, I wanted to open this restaurant to share Kristang food with as many people as possible, and it was easier to do that if I could get my restaurant certified as ‘pork free’ or ‘halal.’”
Many Kristang families have also made the same switch in their devil curry. As their links with Europe reduced, they were no longer eating ham and sausages for Christmas, which meant they could not use it as leftovers for a Boxing Day curry. Over a few generations, the why and what of the dish changed.
The devil curry is the Kristang community’s signature dish and a combination of Portuguese, Indian and Malay flavors.
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In the 1500s, Melaka was a bustling port and the capital of the Malay empire with strong ties with Chinese and Indian merchants. The Portuguese invaded the city-state in 1511 to control the spice route and were the first European colonizer, followed by the Dutch and the British. When all these different merchants, soldiers and explorers married local women, they created a blended yet distinct communityThe mix of Chinese, Indian and Portuguese communities and local Malay cultures resulted in the Nyonya, Chetti and Kristang communities, respectively.
In 1932-’33, the Kristang community turned a swampy sea-facing land in Melaka into a settlement for themselves. Here, one can find the Santa Maria, Monterio, Lazaroo, De Souza and De Mello families, with their unmistakably Portuguese surnames. They have always been connected to the sea, and many earn their living as fishermen, selling cincalok (fermented krill), agar-agar (jelly) made from seaweed or grilled stingray wrapped in banana leaf. Christmas, Easter and the Feast of San Pedro (patron saint of fishermen) are festive events in the settlement since the community is predominantly Catholic.
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In the late ’90s, I spent my first year of University in Melaka and arrived during the Feast of San Pedro. I remember the raucous celebrations for a saint, which was unlike anything I’ve seen in my own Catholic upbringing. There were decorated boats, parades, music, folk dancing and general merriment in the settlement. Most importantly, I got the sense that this was a unique community of people who have adapted and thrived on their own terms.
There are now signs of decline. The community represents less than 1 percent of the Malaysian population. In an ironic twist, the Kristang community, which historically formed through migration and intermarriage, is now dwindling because of migration and intermarriage. In absolute numbers, there are approximately 1,000 people living in the settlement today and an undetermined number who have moved away to other cities in Malaysia or to Singapore or Australia. UNESCO lists Kristang language as severely endangered and estimates only 2,000 people can still speak it.
Sheena Monterio grew up in the settlement but has since moved to Kuala Lumpur.
“My grandfather was a fisherman and my earliest memories are waiting for him to come back with krill so that we could make cincalok,” she says. “My grandfather would ferment it with a bit of brandy and there were rows of these jars in his house. Occasionally we would hear a loud pop because the gas from the fermentation will cause the lid of the jar to explode.”
This is now a thing of the past, as urban redevelopment and land reclamation have changed the shoreline and depleted the fish in the area. In its place is a food court.
Given this, some community members are focusing on not just preserving their food and its heritage, but promoting and celebrating it.
One of the challenges they face is that Nyonya food culture dominates as the prevailing fusion food from Melaka and has successfully transitioned into commercial ventures throughout the country. There are Nyonya restaurants in most major cities and Nyonya curry pastes on supermarket shelves. Because of this, people mistakenly group Kristang food under the broad Nyonya umbrella, even if it is not identical.
Another challenge is that Kristang food is often known as humble home food, just like ratatouille or matzo ball soup. Dishes such as devil curry, feng (spicy curry with pork innard), ambilla (ham hock tamarind curry with long beans), acar (vegetable pickle) and putugal (steamed tapioca dessert with shredded coconut) are simple fare, but the processes to make them are elaborate. This makes it difficult to promote in commercial restaurants. Even younger generations in the Kristang community may balk at learning their family recipes because really, who has the time and the energy?
It may be a matter of time before these dishes disappear from Malaysian kitchens.
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Sharon De Souza grew up in Melaka and is actively promoting Kristang food.
“My mum is Kristang and my dad is Nyonya, and I grew up eating food from both cultures,” she says. “From my mum’s side, we ate a lot of pang su si (pork bun) and curry pimenter (pepper curry). One day, I realized that my mum was almost 70, and she won’t be around forever. I really wanted to learn her recipes. She has a stack of handwritten recipes, but really, it takes practice and patience to master it.”
She is now a Kristang food consultant for a major boutique hotel in Malaysia and manages her own supper club in Kuala Lumpur to educate people about Kristang food. But she calls the latter “Nyonya supper club,” rather than “Kristang supper club.”
She chooses her battles well.
“Look, Kristang is not a popular term,” she laments. “There are also many people out there who never knew that the Portuguese invaded Melaka or that we have a small Portuguese-Malaysian community.”
She enjoys sharing her research on Kristang food and its etymology.
“The Portuguese brought pineapple to Melaka, which is why pineapple prawn curry and pineapple tarts are part of our cuisine. They also introduced the fermentation method for krill, which we now call cincalok.” Fermented krill can also be found in Macau, another former Portuguese colony, where it’s known as balichao.
It can be difficult to transition Kristang food to a wider audience if they are not used to the spice levels and flavor.
“Kristang food uses a lot of cardamom and coconut but some dishes are spicy. Devil curry must have that red color from the chile. I use about 40 chiles in my devil curry and if a guest asked me to make it less spicy, I would not know how. My mother used to say, ‘kalau Serani berak, rumput pun boleh mati.’” Loosely translated, it means “if a Kristang person shits, even the grass can die.”
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Melaka’s statue of Jesus Christ bears a striking resemblance to one in another former Portuguese colony, Brazil’s Christ the Redeemer.
There are many theories about the origin of the flavors in devil curry. The most popular theory is that the Portuguese army men who invaded Melaka had previously been stationed in Goa, India, and brought their taste for spicy and tangy curries to Melaka. This is why devil curry is a close relation to Goa’s spicy pork vindaloo, which is also influenced by the Portuguese and heavy on vinegar. The Melaka locals then added lemongrass, galangal and candlenut, which are more prevalent in Southeast Asia.
There is no commonly accepted recipe for devil curry, since each household will make it differently. Some may add cloves while others may add nutmeg. Some insist that it is not devil curry unless there are specks of mustard seeds, others use English mustard.
Ms. Balavijendran recalls how her late granny would start the prep for devil curry the day before Christmas, as the chicken needs to be marinated in the spice blend.
“It takes a long time and is a special occasion dish,” she says. “I never understood how some people can just decide to have it for a Sunday lunch when it requires 24 hours prep. My granny also always insisted on Colman’s brand mustard and would not settle for any other brand. Maybe that’s why it always tasted the same. Whenever I’ve tried devil curry in restaurants, it just never tasted like hers.”
According to Nunis, this was common feedback in her restaurant and one of the challenges in commercializing a homecooked dish.
“Some customers would taste my devil curry and say, ‘I can taste nutmeg or cloves, we never put that in our family’s devil curry.’ They’re right, because no two devil curries are identical.”
There are also health and safety requirements in a commercial kitchen that makes it difficult to replicate devil curry. A culinary kitchen may mandate that food is cooked à la minute. This means customers will never experience day old devil curry, when it decidedly tastes better.
The solution might be to encourage more people to learn their families’ recipes just as De Souza did. However, she cautions that the food requires extensive prep work, time and patience.
“I tell all the culinary students in the hotel that you cannot take shortcuts in Kristang food,” she says. “You’ll notice that there are no Kristang curry powder or premix. If my recipe says pound the spices or ingredients in a mortar and pestle, you need to do exactly that. The purpose is to press or bruise it to the point it releases flavor and juices. You cannot just chuck it in a blender, because a blender will slice the ingredients until it becomes a paste. Modern appliances are mostly designed for Western cooking and not as useful in Kristang food.”
If she had her way, she would commission a statue of a woman grinding spices in Melaka’s Portuguese settlement. “Kristang women deserve some recognition for all that backbreaking work in the kitchen!”
