A bite-size problem
Eddy Suparman (pictured, left) agreed – it was a tricky issue so he’s not inclined
to make radical changes anytime soon.
However the 62-year old founder of Super Jaya, Malang’s
biggest krupuk manufacturer will soon hand over to his son Erik (right). The scion studied mechanical engineering at
Brawijaya University and has a few ideas of his own.
“It’s an ethical problem,” said the old man who started the
company in 1976. “If we install more
machinery there’ll be fewer jobs for the locals. They are our neighbors. They’ll suffer and so
will the kampong.
“We bought three machines for Rp 45 million (US$ 3,400) each
eight years ago; that removed 24 jobs.
We didn’t sack them, they replaced others who left or retired.”
Seeing the way the company makes krupuk is to jump back in
time – not pre-industrial revolution, but gear-meshingly close.
Krupuk are Indonesia’s triumph over the West’s potato
crisps. The delicious light crackers are roadside food stall favorites,
occasionally found in upmarket eateries claiming to serve authentic village
fare.
They’re ready on stained benches among the coffee grounds in
old 20-liter fuel drums with a window cut in one side and the brand name stencilled
on the front. Soon these will be
collectors’ items - airtight plastic containers are becoming popular for hygiene
fusspots.
Street-food customers help themselves and pay about Rp 100 (less
than one US cent) a piece. The previous
consumer’s fingernail droppings are extra. This ritual is so ingrained it needs a Neil
Diamond number – say, Crunchy Krupuk Suite?
The traditional eatery culture is now being replaced by
labelled bags at five times the cost. Apart
from being cleaner the packaging adds to the rubbish mountain.
Most krupuk are round, the size of a saucer. Others are oblong. They are made from tapioca flour – which is
said to be a good source of dietary fiber - salt and a few other flavors,
including onion and prawn.
As a bonus the buyer also gets a tobacco taste; most men processing,
packaging and selling can’t function without a fag.
Manufacturing isn’t complex, but it’s labor intensive. The 100 workers spend much of their time
doing jobs that machines would love to do.
Super Jaya turns out 750 kilos of krupuk every day – and
these are short days because it’s the rainy season and the product is sun
dried.
“We’ve tried using ovens but it hasn’t been a success,” said
Erik. “That’s a pity because we could then work around the clock and not be
slaves to the sun.
“However the taste has to be right.” Indeed; this snack market may be vast, but
that doesn’t mean it’s not discerning.
Once a bad word spreads – and Australian wildfires don’t
move faster than Indonesian defamatory food appraisals – traders should
consider transmigration.
Flour from West Java is mixed into dough with warm water, squeezed
through a press to make spaghetti-like strings, pummelled then processed again
till the texture feels right.
Another machine stamps out little swirls onto bamboo-frame
racks lined with shadecloth. After being
steamed for 20 minutes in a sealed room they are spread outside on a concrete
floored yard.
At tables nearby women do the same job using cookie cutters. In the background the apparatus that will
eventually replace them bang away relentlessly, never tiring.
The workers start at 6 to catch the dawn and leave for home at 12.30 when the dark
clouds roll over the mountains and tumble down to the East Java city.
The working environment is smoke, steam and, hot oil – but
the outlook is grand – an ocean of terracotta roofs with the sacred Mount Kawi
in the background.
These guys have no meteorological training but their
rain-spotting skills could be used by radio stations. There should be competitions at the 17 August
Proclamation Day fun fairs for the fastest dash for cover without dropping a
single snack.
When the baby pressings, about the size of a Rp 500 coin,
are ready they’re dunked in boiling palm oil for a few seconds. In that brief moment they puff up like an
affronted politician and turn into an adult krupuk.
Laden into big plastic bags inside bamboo baskets astride
bicycles – though the progressives use motorbikes - they head to markets. When the Dutch strolled the streets the scene
would have been much the same.
Though for not much longer.
“If you come back in five years there’ll be more mechanisation,” said
Eric, though not in earshot of his father who was prowling the factory checking
every detail.
“Dad starts work at 5
am – he always wants to be here ahead of the workers. He’s here when they leave. He started the business from nothing and
knows every process; nothing escapes his eye.
“We used to export to Malaysia but krupuk needs to be kept
in an air-tight jar or bag, otherwise they go soggy after a few days.
“We don’t use our brand name on the product which is still
sold in bulk. Many changes could be
made.”
This looks like an industry to excite the foreign entrepreneurs
President Joko Widodo is trying to woo. They’d
install new equipment, a computerised
production line and lifting by robots.
Erik says business is doing well; the nearby grand family
villa is proof: “I’m optimistic – demand
is growing and we can only just keep up.”
Then workers like Ibu Sulik who has been with the company
for 31 years and has family on staff, would have fewer repetitive strain
injuries from punching out patterns. But
unless they can be retrained to punch computer keyboards and trace motherboard
malfunctions they’ll also be jobless.
Then the government will have its modernising investors –
and a rising unemployment problem.
First published in The Jakarta Post 26 February 2016
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