Give It a Go: Jengkol

They called it dogfruit when jengkol tastes this good? I’m suing.

May 17, 2025

Halo and Happy Monday! In the past few days, I’ve been seeing a lot of new names here, so if this is your first time receiving a letter in your inbox, I would like to welcome you all to Kepayang. My name is Fabi. I’m the writer and initiator of this newsletter and vibrant community where we talk about all things food, culture, and sustainability. I’m writing from Jakarta, Indonesia!

Some of you who are new here aren’t from Indonesia, so I’m particularly excited about today’s newsletter — this might just be your hidden gem moment. In this edition of Give It a Go, I’m highlighting one Indonesian ingredient that often gets overlooked. I’ll walk you through what it is, what it tastes like, and how it’s traditionally used. Bonus round, I’ll show how I’d cook it in a slightly less traditional but very fun way. It might not be authentic, but it will be fun. Today, let’s give jengkol a go.

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Translating food names can be tricky, especially for local produce that doesn’t have a direct translation. A Southeast Asian native, kluwak, is often called black nut due to the seeds being black in colour. While Indonesian jambu air may be called rose apple due to its reddish-pink skin and watery flesh. But imagine if your favourite thing is jengkol and you find out that people call it a dogfruit. Fucking hell.

Jengkol, or Archidendron pauciflorum, is a seed native to Southeast Asia.

It's best known for its pungent smell, especially when cooked and after being eaten. The main culprit? A compound called djenkolic acid (I’m not making it up). This acid is high in sulphur, which can leach out during cooking, make your breath smell bad, and even show up in your pee.

Good news about jengkol (Alodokter, 2024):

One, they’re rich in vitamin C, that are good for your immune system. Two, its fibres will help you poop. Three, they contain potassium, lowering your blood pressure.

Bad news about jengkol:

Despite its benefits, please don’t go wild with jengkol. Eating too much can mess with your kidneys and urinary tract (not fun). That’s because jengkolic acid can form crystals in your bladder. In Indonesia, this condition is often called “kejengkolan”, or, in English... jengkolism (again, I’m not making this up).

So, before you dig in, here are some tips to enjoy jengkol safely (Bobo, 2021):

One, always cook jengkol properly first. Two, avoid eating it on an empty stomach. Three, limit your portion to a maximum of 30g per serving. And four, drink lots of water afterwards! I hope I’m not scaring you off. If I am – just remember that many Indonesians eat jengkol regularly and live to tell the tale. So let’s keep going!

Cooking jengkol can take hours, if not days.

Some people follow the traditional method of burying jengkol in the ground to help break down the jengkolic acid. But if you ask me, soaking it for a minimum of 48 hours usually does the trick. Just make sure to change the water every 24 hours.

The best way to prepare jengkol is to boil it since it takes a long time to cook. After soaking, the seeds become soft enough to peel and snap in half by hand. And even in this half-split state, it can still take up to 60 minutes of boiling to get them fork-tender. You can cook them with aromatics like pandan leaves to neutralise the smell.

In terms of taste and texture, jengkol is similar to a potato, but with a noticeable bitter aftertaste.

At a glance, jengkol too looks a bit like a potato, especially with the flesh having a yellowish-green tint. That first impression holds up when you bite into it, as jengkol starts off tasting and feeling like a starchy root veg. But after a few bites, you might notice a bitter, sulphuric kick, kind of like your mouth is filling with gas. With its neutral-to-savoury flavour base, jengkol is versatile and goes well with many spices.

Two of the most common ways in Indonesia to cook jengkol are to either go for the sweet route or the spicy route.

The Sweet Route, aka Semur Jengkol: Semur Jengkol is a dish mostly enjoyed by the native Jakartan people, the Betawi. It’s simple to prepare. Here, the jengkol is sautéed in a bumbu halus (spice paste) typically made from garlic, shallots, red chillies, turmeric, candlenuts, and coriander. Then, it’s generously coated in our beloved kecap manis (sweet soy sauce) and usually served for breakfast with nasi uduk (coconut rice). Yes, we start our day with rice and the thing that makes our breath smell.

The Spicy Route, aka Jengkol Balado: A balado is a type of sauce that comes from the Minangkabau area in Sumatra Barat. It’s usually made with loads of red chillies, a bit of garlic, shallots, and aromatics like lemongrass and Indonesian bay leaf. Even though we call it a sauce, it’s more like a ground-up paste that’s been cooked down until all the water evaporates. The most popular dish made with balado is probably telur balado (eggs), and I’d argue the second most iconic one is jengkol balado.

I then tried taking jengkol to a different route, the savoury and tangy route.

Jengkol already has a natural savoury note, so turning up its savouriness is an obvious no-brainer. You could do the usual trick of adding salt or MSG, but one of the more interesting ways is by adding acidity. Why? Because acidity doesn’t just add flavour, it actually deepens and amplifies savoury notes, making the whole dish brighter. For these reasons, I’m thinking of a dish and a core ingredient that is savoury and tangy at the same time. Can you read my mind?

I made: Jengkol Marinara Sauce!

I wanted to reimagine jengkol in a more modern setting, and turning it into a pasta sauce felt like a natural move. It's a format many people are already familiar with. Blending it into a sauce with red tomatoes, then tossing it with spaghetti, seemed like a sure way to make jengkol more approachable.

In this version of marinara, the tomato still takes centre stage. I wanted to stay true to the essence of what a marinara is. But even though jengkol only makes up around 10% of the sauce, they are strong. You’ll taste the tomato first, bright and tangy, but then the jengkol creeps in. Its bitterness arrives late, followed by a subtle sulphuric whisper that lingers inside your mouth. The result? A marinara that’s funky.

Ingredients (For marinara sauce):

3 garlic cloves, peeled
3 small shallots, peeled
50g jengkol, soaked, boiled, and peeled beforehand
250g fresh red tomatoes, peeled
80g tomato paste
Salt, pepper, MSG, Italian herbs to taste

Directions (To prepare the jengkol):

Wash the jengkol thoroughly, then soak it in clean water covered with a towel or cling wrap for 24 hours. Drain and replace the water, and repeat once.
Peel off the skins and snap each piece in half.
Boil water with salt and aromatics (pandan or bay leaves), add the jengkol, cover, and simmer for 45–60 minutes until fork-tender.
Store cooked jengkol in the fridge for up to a week or freeze for months.

Directions (To make the marinara sauce):

Wash all the ingredients thoroughly, pat them dry, and roughly chop them.
In a medium-hot non-stick pan, sauté garlic and shallots with olive oil and a pinch of salt until fragrant. Lower the heat, add jengkol and tomatoes, then season with salt, pepper, MSG, and Italian herbs. Cook until the liquid reduces.
Turn off the heat and let the mixture cool.
Transfer to a blender and blend until smooth. Strain if necessary.
Pour the sauce back into the pan, stir in the tomato paste, and adjust the seasoning and consistency. If it’s too thick, add a splash of water at this stage.
You can store it in the fridge for up to a week or freeze it for a month. To serve, mix with your pasta — either straight on the plate or loosen it with pasta water.
Pro tip 1: Slightly under-season the sauce to balance out with the salted pasta. I usually use about 2 to 2.5 tablespoons of sauce for every 90–100g of dried pasta.

Jengkol often gets a bad rep for its smell, but to fellow Indonesians who haven’t tried it or are still sceptical, I highly recommend giving it a go. Start with familiar dishes or try the recipe above for a fresh twist. To my international friends who are curious about jengkol, I really hope you can find it at an Asian supermarket near you. Because if not... well, this emoji will be you after reading all this:

What do you think of jengkol? Will you give it a go? What’s one Indonesian ingredient you’ve always been curious about but haven’t tried yet?