At an ancient temple complex on the Indonesian island of Sumatra, village cooks are reviving the culinary traditions of their ancestors.

Sumatran heritage snacks served at a Paduka lunch; one of the ancient red-brick temples of the Muaro Jambi complex. (Courtesy of Javara; iStock/Mohd Fikri Al Munawar)

Leaves crunched underfoot as I followed the women along a forest path. Suddenly, they crouched down to pull what appeared to be a long blade of grass from the ground. To anyone else, the unassuming plant might have looked like a weed, but these experienced foragers knew better. Brushing soil from its bulbous root, they revealed white turmeric—one of the many ingredients used to make the traditional herbal tonic jamu.

We’re somewhere on the grounds of the Muaro Jambi temple complex, a vast network of archeological sites in the central Sumatran province of Jambi. Dating from the 7th to 13th centuries and attributed to the ancient maritime kingdoms of Melayu and Srivijaya, it is considered Southeast Asia’s largest concentration of Buddhist temple ruins—though only a fraction has been fully excavated.

Clustered around the Batang Hari River east of Jambi City, the complex encompasses eight villages where a group of home cooks is working to put the area on the map. Known as Pasar Dusun Karet—Paduka, for short—the initiative showcases the area’s rich culinary heritage to a growing number of visitors. One member, Nurul Nazipah, recalls that they used to serve tourists instant noodles, thinking their own dishes were too humble. That changed when they realized their traditional recipes had a distinct character all their own. “We’re proud that we can share our local wisdom,” she says.

The women were determined to use only authentic ingredients. While they had no recipe books to consult, there was one record they could trust: the bas-reliefs of Borobudur on the neighboring island of Java. The extensive stone carvings depict dozens of plant and animal species that would have been integral to the local food culture when the monument was built in the eighth century, including baskets of fish, sago, sugarcane, buffalo, and coconut.

In May 2024, Paduka teamed up with Jakarta-based former lawyer Helianti Hilman, whose social enterprise, Javara, champions Indonesia’s indigenous agricultural traditions. Food anthropologists from Javara joined the women as they foraged in the rivers and forests, helping them map the local food culture. The women also collected recipes from community elders, including one for rempah ratus belut (“hundred-spice eel”), in which a river eel is stuffed with numerous leaves and spices collected from the surrounding forest.

A bowl of rempah ratus belut (“hundred-spice eel”); kitchen tools. — A bowl of *rempah ratus belut* (“hundred-spice eel”); kitchen tools. (Courtesy of Javara)

During a weeklong bootcamp at Javara’s hospitality school in Jakarta, they created a heritage menu they could serve to visitors, featuring the eel as well as ikan mudik (“homecoming fish”), a term for various species of freshwater fish caught during the flood season, when the rising waters drive them upstream. They’re typically dried, then fermented, salted, or processed into kerupuk (crackers).

Over 8,000 visitors have flocked to Muaro Jambi since Paduka launched its program of banquets, picnics, and pop-up events last year. Where the women once charged visitors just 60 cents for a bowl of instant noodles, they now earn significantly more.

More recently, Paduka has introduced its Muaro Jambi Gastro-Cultural Trip, a three-day itinerary that invites participants to forage in the forest and dine at pop-up venues set amid the temple grounds. I joined a tour in June, along with two British chefs and a hotelier from Bali, who had heard about the event at the latest edition of the Ubud Food Festival, where the women had taken over one of the town’s restaurants.

On the first day, we enjoyed a picnic in the forest. Dishes included a duck curry, crispy homecoming fish, and pineapple sambal, all served in tingkat—stackable metal food boxes. That night, we were guided by torchlight to dine near one of the red-brick temples. Our hosts encouraged us to walk barefoot, as the monks once did when this site was a vibrant center of learning. As we slipped off our shoes, a reverential hush fell over the group. Wandering through the ruins, we heard only the chorus of cicadas in the air.

Behind a temple wall, the villagers had created a makeshift pergola of branches and ferns, lit with lamps made from bamboo fishing traps—a setting worthy of any Instagram post. Guests were given batik headdresses, then served gardenia tea freshly plucked from bushes in the forest. Serenaded by a local guitarist, we dined on hundred-spiced eel—the fish, soft and plump, floated in an herbal-tasting coconut soup—and tabun timbul, a sweet- sour crème caramel–like dessert adrift in a pool of palm syrup. (The dish was inspired by forest leaves caught in floodwaters, forming tiny mounds on the surface.) It was only the first night, and we were already hooked. “There’s real love and passion coming from this food,” said one of the British chefs. “And the ingredients are amazing—it’s a real forest-to-table experience.”

A recent long-table lunch hosted by the women of Paduka. (Courtesy of Javara)

Muaro Jambi is surrounded by a network of streams and rivers that become thoroughfares during the flood season. Children as young as three can pilot their own canoes. One morning, the women gave us a chance to witness their boating skills with a floating brunch on the river. Among half a dozen canoes, they ladled out savory porridge and poured steaming cups of coconut coffee—occasionally dipping an oar in the water to steer.

Flashes of modern life still appear: smartphones poking out of pockets, for instance. Yet in many ways, little has changed. On weekends, children can still be seen sliding down the mud chutes they’ve carved into the riverbank, just as their grandparents did decades earlier. Still, the older generation worries that their way of life could disappear if they don’t protect it. As in many parts of the world, processed ingredients have begun to creep into the daily diet.

The Paduka women have cultivated a botanical food forest, which they plan to use as a living pantry. Guests are invited to help offset their carbon footprint by planting turmeric, guava, or durian in the fertile soil. Indeed, a sustainable theme runs throughout the weekend—from electric tuk-tuks that ferry us around to picnic boxes crafted from the bark of betel palms.

Each villager makes a living selling sugarcane or betel nut. Some tap the rubber trees in the forest. But increasingly, their heritage dinners have become a vital source of income. The proceeds helped fund a new community center, and now they are building two small homestays next door.

It was during a dinner in that very hall that the spirit of Muaro Jambi came through most clearly. As the women laid out their homecooked dishes on a floor mat, the electricity cut out, plunging the room into darkness. Guests stepped in to help—lighting candles, arranging cushions, carrying food. The women continued, quietly and steadily, to serve the meal. In that moment, everything seemed to come together: food, heritage, and community. Then the lights flickered back on.

The Paduka women at work ladling out local dishes for guests at Muaro Jambi. — The Paduka ladies at work ladling out local dishes for guests at Muaro Jambi. (Courtesy of Javara)

The Details

The Muaro Jambi Gastro-Cultural Trip costs US$525 per person, including a two-night stay at a four-star hotel in Jambi City. To book, email Johanna Hehakaja at johanna@senimanpangan.com. From Jakarta, the flight to Jambi City takes just over an hour.

This article originally appeared in the August/September 2025 print issue of DestinAsian magazine (“A Repast Among the Ruins”). Buy a single issue or subscribe here.

How to Savor the Forgotten Flavors of Muaro Jambi

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