Sambal Trassi

The first time a Dutch child meets trassi, someone usually says: don't smell it yet, just wait until it cooks. This is good advice and poor scholarship. The smell is the story. Fermented shrimp paste is not polite. It announces the sea, salt, heat, and time before the pan has even warmed, and then, once it meets oil and chili, it becomes the deep savoury note without which the whole table feels unfinished.

The name already tells you the journey. Sambal is the Indonesian word for a chili relish or paste; trassi is the Dutch spelling of Indonesian terasi, fermented shrimp paste. Nothing about that name is trying to pass as old Holland, and that is exactly why it belongs so firmly to the Dutch table now. The Indo-Dutch kitchen is not decoration added later. It is a history of colony, return, memory, and family dinners where the rice was plain because the sambal was not.

But let me tell you a secret. The trick is not to make this fierce for the sake of bravery. A proper sambal trassi should be hot, yes, but also rounded: chili for fire, shallot and garlic for sweetness, tamarind or lime for sourness, palm sugar for balance, and trassi for that dark little undertow. Hou het altijd simpel, always keep it simple. Fry the paste until the raw edge leaves it, taste, adjust, and put a small jar on the table. Everyone decides their own courage.