June/July, 1998
No. 035/VI/98

cover story

After The Boom
What future is there for
Bali's modern theatre
scene?

Warung Society
Bali has its own history of
communal philosophising
and coffee-drinking

Renaissance
Twenty years of Bali's
Festival of the Arts

beyond
bali

Sumbawa's Secrets
Photographs from
Kuang Amo

regular
features

Dangerous Times
Orchestrating a
cremation in Ubud

Home Grown
A preview of
the Quicksilver Pro

Adventure
Getting over a fear
of diving

Health and Beauty
Foreign aid for optic
health

Books
The Painted Alphabet
reviewed

Food
Two boutique hotels,
two top chefs

Fiction
'Our Moon'
by Mas Ruscitadewi

Jungle Drums

advertising index for
Bali Echo web site

THE DAMAI

We had previously found the The Damai Lovina Villas while out doing a survey on hunger. North Bali has been in the clutches of an extended El Nino, which has severely affected many parts of Indonesia.

The Damai's intriguing sign led us to the hinterlands behind Lovina to this gem of a hotel where the chef, Per Tostesen, was engrossed in preparing food for photographs to accompany the hotel’s cookbook. The Danish version of the book is due for release in May this year, and Periplus will later publish the English version.

The Danish-run Damai has only eight villas, set high in the hills overlooking the sea and offset by a rugged agricultural backdrop. The signs to the Gourmet Retreat, as it aptly calls itself, are small and elegantly understated. Not surprising then to know that the hotel's owner is an advertising executive. Invariably, those that notice the style are those who will like the place.

Per had been souschef to Paul Bocuse, the eminence gris of French cooking ("Sure he can be terrible to work with. But only to those like me who are just below him. Cooking is an emotional and competitive business.") before leaving to take up the job as Head Chef at one of the most expensive resorts in the world. This Carribean resort, owned by fashion whiz Krezia, was a frequent haunt of the late Princess Diana, along with various Hollywood names. "The guests paid $2000 per night, so we could afford to call Italy to have olive oil flown in, and to call Argentina for beef. But like all things it gets boring, and I was wanting to travel. I even thought of going back to France for a few years. But in 1996 first I went home to Denmark, and worked for the Godfather of Danish cooking, an eccentric character who has his own television show. I ran his two kitchens, but I was wanting to travel again. And winter was coming.

"One night a guest demanded to see one of the ‘cooks’. In cooking culture it is not allowed to talk to cooks, so I went to the front and asked the guy sitting there if there was any problem. He said what are you doing next January? I don’t know, I replied. Would you like to work in Bali? OK, I said. He didn’t know me, or the fact that I had made the food he had just eaten".

Per looks a little like a Danish Jimmy Sommerville, but his long legged girlfriend indicated that was where the similarity ended. His approach to food reflects the French and European tradition of fine sauces and generosity in flavours. "I like to use old-fashioned sauces, tasty and strong - my history is about that. But they are not all suitable for this climate. So we have taken a bit of French, Danish, Italian and mixed it with a bit of Bali - and it works. So I hope you are hungry. I like people who are serious about eating. I also need an audience for the food. Its hard to be inspired and creative if there are only two or three guests in the hotel".

"We have a small menu, but it has to be excellent. What we have here each night you would pay $100 each person in Europe. I am not kidding," he smiled as he departed to supervise the nightly production.

I retired to the bungalow to wash the long journey away and to change into something less comfortable. The delicate stone bungalow set on its own on the lower side of the hotel beckoned warmly. I found a bubbling spa set in a small but exquisite garden next to an outdoor shower. The room, elegant and richly decorated, was cool and comfortable with a Japanoise style table set over a sunken portion of the floor. After trying the bed (perfect for a doddery back like mine), I rose, inhaled the frangipani blossoms that filled a vase, tossed off the gear, and hopped into the cooling spa. I lay back and thought on what Per had said, as I watched as the indigo night sky filled with stars.

This hotel is miles from the well-stocked markets of Kuta and Denpasar. Per had taken some two months to source the foods that make up the menus. All of it fresh. He had shown of the staff how to make all things except the butter, cheese and milk, emphasizing that fresh is best. I smiled as I recalled him telling me of the look of horror that crept across their as he threw out all the plastic bottles of sambal, along with cans of coconut milk.

"I told them to count all the coconut trees around us where we could get fresh coconuts. I was a real bully! And then they started to make fresh sambals." So, in effect, he was enabling his Indonesian staff to review their cooking environment, reviving old tastes and qualities and blending those with European traditions. As I splashed happily like a beached whale, I also recalled that the art of cooking is in the balance of taste, and for Indonesians, basically conservative about food, all this fooling around with sauces and things might be considered a bit wacko.

"They hated the food!" Per had laughed. "I forced them to taste it (benevolent tyrant I thought) checking their spoons like a mad teacher. They liked making it, but didn’t like eating it. Now they are getting used to the tastes and this has made them better cooks. Sometimes they even like it!" laughing again.

So after a hot shower to follow the cool spa, I headed for the bar where an English couple had done as we had, and followed the sign, curious to know what was at the end. "The best sign in Bali," they agreed. After drinks and travelers' tales, we ascended to the breezy dining room where the lights of Lovina and fishing boats twinkled teasingly on the horizon. The first thing we noticed was the array of glasses. Each of the five courses was to be accompanied by a carefully chosen wine.

First to come was small gem of a mussel, gratineed with basil and served on a bed of salt tinged with paprika and mustard seeds. With this we had a Hardy’s dry champagne - crisp if not a little lacking in the verve of French champagne. The mussel was tender, luscious and perfectly balanced with a crumbed coating.

A French tokay from Alaska announced a change of palate appeal and the arrival of the chicken mousse, resting on bed of wilted spinach with tarragon sauce. The mousse shyly hiding under a veil of crisp noodles was smooth, light and flavoursome; a touch of fresh nutmeg adding a highlight. This was served on a square plate and the arrangement was so perfect that it could have been hung on a wall.

At this stage I started to get nervous. Per had been true to his word; the servings generous without being large. Could I make it through I asked myself. But greed won and I did. Throughout the meal Putu, the Maitre’d announced each course with grave solemnity, as though announcing the arrival of knights home from the Crusades.

A palest green cucumber granita was next, the taste delicate and slightly sweet. The tradition of sorbets as palate cleansers was big in the late eighties and its loss to towering plates of greens in the neo-lycra nineties has been a sad one. Sorbet fans note - they are alive and well at the Damai!

The spectacular tuna was accompanied by a well aired Merlot, served from around carafe as a good red should be. The tuna steaks were seated on a throne of grilled egg plant and covered by a dome of fried potato lace that would have made Buckminster Fuller proud. A shrimp curry sauce, rich and well-rounded, was the perfect foil for the seared tuna.

A Mateus Rose accompanied the fabulous fried ice cream, served on rosettes of pineapple with chocolate and raspberry sauce and garnished with red wine-poached pears. A sublime pudding on a black, curled plate. The wine list is good and contains wines from all major wine growing countries. The hotel's policy is to keep wine prices as low as possible. "What is the use of having fine food if you have to drink Coca Cola. We want people to continue the tradition of good wine with food. After all, most of our guests are European, and that is how we eat," explained Per.

A great meal in the European way, quite distinct from the East-West flavours of the Legian. Both restaurants offer the best in their style. I later met Ketut, the Chief Cook and Per’s protégé. Ketut was effusive in his praise for the Master Chef’s teaching skills. Per reciprocates by taking great pride in the skills and abilities of his staff who are charming and attentive. "A Danish chef tried to kidnap Putu the Maitre’d - he thought he was so good. There’s no greater compliment. They will soon be able to fly on their own."

A calvados finished the night, and me...... Ah sweet sleep. For those who also like to finish with a cigar, Hotel Damai has a wide collection of stogies kept lovingly in specially made humidors.

The Damai Lovina Villas is perfect for romantic weekends, anniversaries, or simply for stressed souls looking for peace of mind and special food cooked with care and elegance. Stay a week if your waistline can stand it (at least there’s a good steep walk down to Lovina) or enjoy a luxurious weekend.

The Legian:
Tel. 3061 73-0622, Fax. 0361 73-0623

The Damai Lovina Villas:
Tal. 0362 41-008, Fax. 0362 41-009
www.damai.com

Above:
Scenes from The Damai

photos courtesy of The Legian, The Damai, Melody Kemp, Ari Basuki

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