The Sacred Ritual of Martabak Manis Among Rapi Cousins

The Martabak Manis was still hot when I bit into it, so I tried to let it cool inside my mouth before taking the second bite. Even then, I could already taste the warm butter and bits of peanuts spilling over my tongue. When I eventually bit down properly and let myself savour it, it was everything we Indonesians love in a dessert—warm, sweet from different sources (this time, Toblerone and condensed milk), with a bit of texture and a hint of savoury from the melting butter and slices of cheese.

I say “Indonesians,” but that’s an overgeneralisation. It’s my cousin and I.

We all love Martabak Manis, and ever since one of us (the youngest) learned how to drive, getting freshly made Martabak Manis became part of our hangout routine. And no, not just any Martabak Manis—we would only go to Martabak Pecenongan, the OG martabak spot, which, conveniently, was just a few minutes’ drive from my cousin’s house—the house we always hung out in.

The cousin gang kept up the tradition, even after we moved overseas—some temporarily, some permanently—and only returned sporadically. Still, we kept going to the same place, ordering the same Martabak Manis through many milestones: from graduations to breakups, introducing partners to our parents, to our first day out after giving birth. Anything and everything—we invited Martabak Manis to sweeten the moment.

And it doesn’t have to be all of us. As long as there were enough of us to justify the trip—usually just two—we’d go. YouTube cousin would drive, order and pay for the food: martabak, drinks, while the rest of us waited in the car. The guy behind the counter would eventually give us a nod to collect it—or on rare occasions, hand the martabak straight through the car window.

Then came the best part. We’d tear it open right there and devour it like we hadn’t eaten in days—even if we’d just had dinner minutes earlier. The Martabak Manis is seriously good, made with top ingredients, and if you ever find yourself in Jakarta, don’t skip it.

For us cousins, it’s more than just Martabak Manis. It’s bonding time. One for the memory bank. A tradition wrapped up in a heart-attack-inducing sweet pancake.

Some desserts are sweet; Martabak Manis, for me, is sacred.

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