Pleasures of the mumu
A traditional feast, PNG style
The famous French chef Marcel Boulestin once said: “Cookery is not chemistry. It is an art. It requires instinct and taste rather than exact measurements.” This is the perfect annotation for the traditional form of cooking of Papua New Guinea, the mumu.
On a recent trip to Rabaul, I was fortunate to participate in the making of a mumu, which is an amalgamation of a few key ingredients endemic to the local area, wrapped in green leaves and cooked in the ground with heated stones. It’s like an ‘earth oven’.
The mumu continues to be the main form of food preparation in some remote parts of PNG, but generally it is now used more as a ceremonial method of cooking to celebrate group gatherings.
In the quest to learn more, I meet mumu expert Salomie.
We set up an outdoor kitchen on the beach at Rapopo Plantation Resort at Kokopo, which overlooks Simpson Harbour and distant volcanoes.
But the first step is a trip to the market, where we see super-sized fruit and vegetables with intense colours. I’m told everything at the market is natural and organic, and the wholesome nature of the crops is due to the volcanic soil of the region.
We need to buy root vegetables, so we walk towards the section where all the kaukau (sweet potatoes) and bananas are selling. I can safely say that the residents of Kokopo and Rabaul are spoilt for choice. I see vibrant orange and purple kaukau, both of which are going into the mumu, along with my favourite tuber, the wholesome taro.
We buy bananas, which I like to call ‘magic’ bananas because they turn purple when they are cooked. I have never come across the purple banana in any other part of PNG. I’m not sure why it turns purple, but I am almost convinced that it’s due to the lack of oxygen and the
The mumu has a slightly natural, smoked flavour, and the coconut milk has done its work in caramelising and fusing the vegetables.
slow-cooking process of the mumu.
Pitpit, a vegetable resembling grass, is also collected. I have no other vegetable to which it can be compared, but it is crumbly and spongy and neutral in flavour. The leaves of the highly nutritious aibika plant are also put in our basket to provide the green element in the mumu, and we also buy fresh ginger root and coconuts. Now all we need is the protein, but it will be delivered to us later. Mumus can include chicken and pork, but ours is going to have freshly caught crayfish and fish from the local fishermen who deliver to Rapopo Plantation Resort almost daily.
We return to the beach and dig a shallow pit, just deep enough to layer large river rocks, some local driftwood from the beach and the parcels of food.
While the rocks are being heated, we peel the vegetables and take our time to enjoy the view and the company. As the rocks heat, the driftwood starts to smoke and Salomie takes some large banana tree leaves and waves them over the heat.
The leaves will be used to wrap the food, but waving them over the smoke and heat first toughens them up and ensures the parcels do not break.
Once the leaves are ready, they are placed into large bowls and the vegetables are put on top. At this point, the mumu is visually coming together.
While waiting for the seafood to arrive, we feast on sea urchins. They are collected by spear in chest-high water, where they can be easily seen.
They are cracked open live for their roe, more-ish and rich in flavour.
Soon after, the crayfish and reef fish arrive. They are prepared and placed as the top layer in the food parcels.
Salomie starts the labour-intensive task of coconut milk extraction. Fresh coconut milk comes from finely scraping the flesh of coconuts and soaking it in warm water and then squeezing the grated flesh to infuse the water with the flavour and oil.
Salomie takes handfuls of the soaked coconut and squeezes them through a gauze cloth to
leave only the rich creamy nectar. This is done over and over until enough liquid is covering the raw ingredients. Finally, a sprinkle of salt. The many layers of banana leaves are folded and wrapped neatly and the parcel is placed over the hot rocks. To create a heated furnace, the large bundle is covered with more hot rocks, wood and leaves. We need to let it cook for three hours. While waiting, I reflect on the mumu process.
The practice is an art form in which the ingredients always vary, depending on availability. In our case, utilising and supporting local fishermen makes sense.
Dinner is a special experience, shared with some locals and resort guests, in an open-air pagoda over the water during sunset.
A colourful merging of textures and flavours is served up. The mumu has a slightly, natural smoked flavour, and the coconut milk has done its work in caramelising and fusing the vegetables. The fish and crayfish are perfectly cooked and the vegetables are soft.
Finally, those bananas. Yes, they are purple and so sweet.
In the end, the experience fuels my passion for wholesome, organic food and cooking preparation.
I’m pleased that the mumu has not been lost over the years. It brings people together from start to finish, and becomes the centre of celebration, rather than just a meal.