Death by bakuteh.

I made bakuteh stock on Friday and had bakuteh on Saturday as well. It may sound shocking but I never imagined this pot of bakuteh nearly killed me, and my housemate.

But before I deliver the story that kills, let me show you the weapon.

Juicy spare ribs drowned in thick bakuteh stock, with carrot cubes and celery stalks, dressed with coriander and spiced with garlic chili in light soy sauce. And to replace that chakoi is a portion of rustic baguette. No rice, though; it’s a low carb thing I’m on.

Cooking bakuteh at home is easy these days because of the instant packets of spices, usually in bags that we can just drop in the pot. Just drop a few garlic bulbs, dashes of light and thick soy and oyster sauce, some black bean paste, vegetables, mushroom and anything that you think will do the trick. And don’t forget the spare ribs, bones, meat and other organs of choice. And hey presto, you have a pot of bakuteh you can sell in Klang!

I must say, drinking bakuteh stock laden with medicinal herbs and garlic essence really stirred my system, flushed out the toxins and squeezed out the excess air in my body. Very airy if you get my drift…

And I think reheating several times allows the stock to be completely infused by the herb and spices. So, the next day I simply reheated the stock, herbs and spice bag still in the pot and added vegetables and meat portions for the day. Bakuteh I had for lunch and dinner on Saturday.

Then that night I went clubbing to Rum Jungle. My friends and I partied till 3am, had early breakfast and chatted till 6 am. We had another breakfast before I sent some friends home. I got home at around 8 am. As I went to the kitchen I saw the bakuteh pot sitting coolly on the kitchen counter. It needed another heating, before it catches mold, I thought and put it on the fire. Then I took my shower.

I dried myself quickly, locked my room door, cleared my bed and lay myself to sleep. My body went into auto standby mode and I woke up at 2 pm, Sunday.

I sat on my bed trying to stabilize my system. Suddenly, I remembered I left a pot of bakuteh on the stove, slow fire, early this morning.

“Oh my God! Bakuteh!” I said in shock.

I put on my pants, opened the door and peered into the kitchen. No fire. A good sign. The walls are not black. My pot is on the sink. My housemate probably have put it there. Then, my housemate’s head popped up.

“Gus, your bakuteh…burnt…” he said.

“Uhuh…” I said, still in a state of shock and disbelief.

“I noticed something on the fire at 11am this morning. I didn’t think much of it because I thought you were reheating as usual. Then at 12.30pm it was still there and you were nowhere. I knocked on your door but no answer. I tried to call you but I guess your phone was switched off. There was smoke coming out of the pot and when I lifted the lid, smoke burst and billowed out! I looked inside, everything got charred” He exclaimed.

Holy crap. I left the pot on the stove for over 4 hours! And the water level was less than half to begin with. I opened the pot and saw everything charred, even the rib bone was black to the core. The metal lid you saw in the picture was still shiny on the outside but there was a layer of thick soot on the inner side, like tarmac! Too bad I forgot to take a picture of everything before I cleaned them.

“Lucky your pot is the thick type, solid 5mm through and through. Otherwise we both could have been goners. A lesser pot would have melted, sparked a fire and blow the gas tank. A big explosion would then take this whole apartment building down!” he added in amazement.

I was dumbfounded by this streak of luck. What was I thinking? Leaving the pot like that. I guess I was going to turn off the gas after shower. But I was too tired to think about anything other than sleeping.

“I’m a f****** idiot!” I cursed time and time again as I play out the disastrous possibilities in my head.

“F***** idiot!”.
There is no curse in any language that can be uttered if anything other than charred bakuteh happened last Sunday. Again, I am reminded of how lucky I am. I count my blessings because this is not the only death-wishing foolish acts I have managed to conjure this year. More to be told, as and when I feel like it. In the meantime, I have this to say in the end;

I once made bakuteh, ate a few servings and almost died!