Spice Islands Presents Many Voices From The Fiery Choir Of Indonesian Food

Here's an unbeatable opportunity for someone with an abundance of wealth and time. Go count all the islands in Indonesia properly. Are there 13,000 or 18,000? Estimates disagree, so load the hundred-footer, grab the maps, and eat sparingly till you get there. Only about a thousand of those landmasses are inhabited, but geographically and historically, these multiple dots have been in an ideal position--across from peninsular Malaysia, sharing a boundary with Sarawak, and on the fast marine highway to just about anywhere--to develop one of the globe's most colourful cuisines. Influences have crept in from left, right, and centre. When cloves and nutmeg were discovered, everyone--Portuguese, Indian, Dutch, Arabian, Spanish, English, and Chinese--came roaring around in search of this valued commodity, leaving thumbprints on Indonesia's recipe books as they raided what came to be known as the Spice Islands.

The restaurant of the same name at West 41st Avenue and Dunbar Street is a doorway into this multiflavoured cuisine. Chef and owner Joseph Boon learned his trade from his mum, a trained chef in Indonesia, and his history too. He can tell you (over the phone) that satays came from Arabia, that we can say muchas gracias to the Spaniards for introducing chilies, and, no surprise this, that the curries originated in India. They aren't knockoffs; over the centuries, local ingredients have infused these dishes to make them distinctively Indonesian.

One new to us was perkedel, a little deep-fried cake with a mildly spiced beef-and-potato filling and a flawlessly crunchy exterior. The heat of chilies came through in tahu goreng kecap, another appetizer, four big cubes of soft tofu, again beautifully crisped (a pleasant textural contrast there), topped with bean sprouts and sliced green onion, and sitting in an assertive soy-based sauce. As well as deftly balancing his sweet, salty, sour, and hot choir of flavours, Boon is a master of the deep-fryer: staff know that you have to rush dishes to the table while still blisteringly hot.

The base flavour of curry depends on its country of origin: in Thailand, it's lemongrass; in China, a five-spice mixture; in East India, cumin. In Indonesia, coriander is used (the seed, not the leaf or root), imparting a faint sweetness. Kari daging, a beef dish from Java and ordered spicy, had its claws sheathed, the beef fork-tender and the beans tender-crisp (and the carrots and potatoes somewhere in the middle), a whole spectrum of feelings for your mouth to muse over.

Perhaps Indonesia's best-known dish is nasi goreng. Calling it "fried rice" downplays the complexity of the brown mound that arrived, topped with a fried egg, full of shrimp and pork shreds, and encircled by disks of cucumber. The funkiness of fish paste is only one taste in this heftily seasoned rice, which gets textural points from crispy fried-onion flakes. We also took a shine to singgang ayam, grill-striped and beautifully moist chicken with a lemongrass-coconut sauce that was sharp, spicy, and suave. Cut into manageable pieces and set out on banana leaves, this was the winner of the night.

(Back home I spent a fruitless few minutes Googling the "German Indonesian" dish listed on the menu. The explanation, it turns out, is simple. At some point, Boon studied chemistry in Germany, where he acquired a fondness for Rouladen; he does his own ethnic spin on this bacon-and-vegetable-stuffed beef roll by serving it with a traditional curry sauce. Ask for the rendang daging roll.)

Apart from faint but reassuring clatters and scraping sounds from the kitchen, Spice Islands is a tranquil spot subtly decorated in shades of maroon and grey-green, with just a few decorations, a map, some shadow puppets on the walls, and a small bar at one end. Service is amiable, plates are hot, and the deep-fried banana served with vanilla ice cream, which creates a nice little sauce, is a pleasant, low-key conclusion.

Dishes range from $8.50 for bok choy in a spicy shrimp-paste sauce (vegetarian alert: shrimp paste shows up in most vegetable preparations) to $19.50, by which time you're in tiger-prawn-and-scallop country. Next time, we'll get our ducks in a row and book 24 hours ahead for the rijstaffel ($21 per person). As it was, with a half-litre of Mission Hill Vintners Select Chardonnay, grats, and taxes, the bill for two came to $70. Note that every Friday, you can listen to live golden oldies--electric guitar, not gamelan, but you still need to book.

SPICE ISLANDS INDONESIAN RESTAURANT 3592 West 41st Avenue, 604-266-7355. Open weekdays, except Thursday, 11:30 a.m. to 2 p.m., Friday to Wednesday 5 p.m. to 10 p.m.