Comfort Food

When it comes to comfort food, everyone has their own definition. Some believe it to be a last option when unsure of what to eat, while others perceive comfort food as a nostalgic taste of home that brings warmth and evokes cherished memories of their initial encounter with it.

For me, comfort food is about familiarity. It’s the food I eat most frequently because I know its taste, the spices, and the main ingredients. I’m acquainted with the sweet and spicy sensations that dance on my tongue. It has become an integral part of my life, and I have grown accustomed to its presence.

My comfort food elicits both comfort and fear simultaneously. Deep inside, there’s a ten-year-old girl filled with joy because her mother prepared her first meal. Yet, as a woman approaching her twenty-five, there’s a sense of trepidation that arises from relying on the familiar.

What if the new rooftop restaurant above the coffee shop in South Jakarta disappoints? What if the flavors are too sour or cause an upset stomach? What if the effort I put into seeking something new isn’t worth the experience? What if I simply don’t desire to adapt to something foreign once again?

It’s not solely about the memories these foods create; there are far more beautiful memories I can recall.

However, unintentionally, this comfort food has created another memory. During a year in the middle of college, when I was at my lowest point due to the loss of my grandpa and the absence of my friends, I experienced intense loneliness that kept me awake for nights. But there was a food stall called “Gemboel” that remained open 24 hours and offered free delivery.

I ordered the same 15 thousand rupiah dish from Gemboel twice a day, and that continued for a year. I feel a profound sense of guilt toward the courier because I always ordered the same food. However, I simply couldn’t envision eating anything else.

Since then, I no longer eat solely based on cravings; I eat to obtain energy for work and carry out mundane daily tasks. I’ve become accustomed to my comfort food — easy to obtain, affordable, predictable, and rarely disappointing (initially, none of this type of food in Jakarta was particularly good, but now I no longer mind).

Allow me to clarify earlier that my comfort food comprises fried rice with sunny-side-up eggs and crispy mushrooms — an ensemble commonly referred to as “nasi goreng jamur krispi plus telor mata sapi.”