This is a supplementary online feature for ‘How to Make Bornean Rice Wine’ as seen in the print issue, Volume 1: Rice. Following a no-nonsense rice wine recipe, we now shine the spotlight on a rather reserved young gentleman who patiently talks us through this homegrown process.
In this cottage industry, there’s no fancy industrial-sized machinery. Its ‘factory’ is a medium-sized single-storey building with minimal fixtures: basic wooden shelves and a portable steel sink. The only measuring apparatus using the metric system in the factory is an analog steel kitchen scale in the backroom. Even the rice-to-water ratio is estimated by eye. A long unmarked wooden paddle is used to measure the water level in the pot.
For Tambunan Traditional Cottage Industry’s factory manager, Dave, a good rice wine must have a balance between bitter and sweet. “The quantity of water will affect the taste of the lihing (pronounced ‘lee-heeng’). If you use less water it becomes sweeter; use more water and it becomes bitter. The younger people here prefer rice wine over beer because it’s cheaper and has a higher alcohol content.”
25-year-old Dave was recently promoted from assistant manager. It’s a big step up having just started work at the factory nearly a year and a half ago. “The previous manager left to run his own business. Now there’s just three of us working at this factory. I’m still learning,” he explains humbly.
The trio produces 250 – 300 bottles of rice wine each month. Unfortunately, due to the constant change in management over the years, business relationships with potential importers, particularly in China, fell through.
Dave first learned to make rice wine back in his hometown in Sinsuran where his aunts would make tumpung (pronounced ‘thoom-phong’). “At home, I would prefer to make tumpung rather than lihing. The process is shorter,” he explains.
Tumpung is made using regular white rice instead of glutinous rice, which is used in lihing. It’s a similar yet simpler process. For tumpung, the mixture of cooked rice and yeast, or sasad, is added to an empty mineral bottle and left to ferment. Sasad is traditionally used to ferment the sugars in rice. The greenish-white coloured powder is also derived from rice.
The fermented rice in tumpung can be likened to the function of tea leaves. For those who are familiar with the communal concept of the popular South American herb drink ‘yerba mate’, the consumption of ‘tumpung’ poses a similar scenario. To enjoy tumpung, simply add water, drink through a straw, and — most importantly — share among friends. Once finished, simply refill with more water.
At Kadazan-Dusun celebrations, people can be seen drinking tumpung through a narrow bamboo straw from a communal ceramic jar, also known as a tajau. But Dave reckons lihing fares better in the market than tumpung:
“With tumpung, you have to add your own water. Lihing, or rice wine, is more convenient for consumption.”
“ A tajau must be used to store the rice during the fermentation process. Plastic containers are too thin and are less resistant to heat. This makes it prone to condensation that will ruin the lihing.
The jar is cleaned using just fire and water. No chemical cleaning agents are used in the process. “The first step of cleaning the tajau is to place a sheet of burning newspaper inside the tajau. This is to kill off any germs or bacteria,” he claims.
“Then we rinse it out with water and scrub the inside of the jar using green leaves. Here, we use lemongrass. But you can also use leaves from a guava or papaya tree.”
Behind the Scenes: Inside the Processing Room
Video credit: Cassandra Lee
Instead of standing over the rice and fanning it by hand — as a cook in a traditional sushi restaurant would have done — Dave uses an electric stand fan. “Shortcut,” he jokes.
When it comes to rice, nothing goes to waste in this factory. Even the rice crust from the bottom of the pot is set aside. “We’ll just bring this home for the cat,” says Dave.
Once the rice is cool, Didi (as seen in the video above) divides the glutinous spread into rectangular sections using a wooden paddle — the same one that was used to measure the water level during the cooking process. He tells us that this is to ease the process of flipping the rice over.
Didi then sprinkles the yeast evenly over the cooled rice. Dave, who has been watching over Didi the whole time, points out a spot that he missed. It is this kind of attention to detail and the ingrained gut-feel and know-how that makes this ‘lihing’ process fascinating.
We ask Dave which area produces the best lihing, half expecting him to immediately vouch for Tambunan, where the factory is located. “I don’t think the taste of rice wine made in different regions around Sabah is very different. It all depends on the person sprinkling the yeast — it really makes a difference.”
Dave’s Top Rice Wine Making Tips
A longer fermentation period does not necessarily produce better rice wine. “The longer you leave the rice to ferment, the more ‘lihing’ it will produce. But the taste will be noticeably bland.”
“You can’t open and close the jar during the fermentation process. It can only be opened for a taste test after it has fermented for a week. If it’s good enough, we’ll leave it to mature for a month.”
And just like with the rice crust reserved for the cat, nothing goes to waste in this factory, especially rice. Once the lihing is extracted, the leftover fermented rice will be dried and sold. And what ever for, you may ask? To make more alcohol, of course.
“Just mix it with water, strain and drink,” Dave says with a shrug before excusing himself for a cigarette break.
To see Dave’s rice wine recipe see and read the full feature, ‘How to make Bornean rice wine’, get a copy of Plates, Volume 1: Rice.
