Every family has a dish that carries the weight of memory. In Central Sulawesi, that dish is Palumara,a golden, tangy fish soup brightened with lime and turmeric, laced with chilies, and softened by tomatoes. Humble yet soulful, it is the dish that welcomes guests, comforts families, and defines the rhythm of daily meals along the Sulawesi coast.

For my own family, Palumara is non-negotiable. Without it, the dining table feels incomplete, as though something essential is missing. The citrusy aroma of lime leaves, the warmth of turmeric, and the briny freshness of fish are as much a part of home as laughter in the kitchen or stories told around the table.

So when I traveled to Singapore in 2019 for a Temasek Foundation fellowship, Palumara naturally followed me, not packed in a suitcase, but carried in memory, in taste, and in the certainty that wherever I could find fish and fire, I could bring home to life again.

My roommates during that program, Tshering Palden, Chief Editor of Kuensel in Bhutan, and Maran Htoi Aung, Editor of Kachin Waves in Myanmar, were about to be introduced to Sulawesi through a spoonful of soup.

A Dish That Tells a Story

To outsiders, I call Palumara Yellow Fish Soup. But the name hardly does justice to its layers. Palumara is the story of Sulawesi itself: of fishing boats bobbing in dawn waters, of spice markets fragrant with turmeric and lemongrass, of generations who learned to stretch the ocean’s gifts with the alchemy of simple herbs.

In Singapore’s bustling wet markets, I found everything I needed: kaffir lime leaves, stalks of lemongrass, fresh turmeric glowing like saffron jewels, fiery red chilies, garlic, shallots, basil, and plump tomatoes. For the fish, I chose small yellow selar—ikan kuning, as locals call it.

Carrying the basket back to our apartment in Kent Vale, I felt as though I was bringing a piece of Sulawesi across the sea.

Cooking Memory

Cooking Palumara is always a ritual. First, the fish—rinsed clean, rubbed with salt, brightened with lime. Then the skillet: oil shimmering, shallots sizzling until golden, garlic softening into sweetness, chilies releasing their heat.

My friend Tshering leaned over the pan, eyes wide.
“This smells like my grandmother’s kitchen during Bhutanese festivals,” he said with a smile.

I added kaffir lime leaves, their citrus perfume filling the room, before slipping in the fish and dusting it with turmeric. A pinch of salt, a hint of sugar, a ladle of water. Tomatoes bobbed to the surface as the broth turned golden. Finally, a squeeze of lemon to sharpen the flavors.

When I ladled the soup into bowls, steam curled upward like incense.

A Shared Table

Six of us gathered around the table that evening. The first spoonful silenced the room—a quiet pause that always follows a new and unexpected flavor.

Maran looked up first. “It reminds me of home,” he said softly. “Not because it tastes the same, but because it feels the same.”

Tshering nodded. “It’s sharp, fresh, comforting. A soup that tells you to slow down and listen.”

And so we did. Around that small apartment table, Palumara became more than a dish. It became a bridge: linking Bhutan, Myanmar, Indonesia, and beyond.

That night, Palumara traveled to Singapore, and with it, the warmth of Central Sulawesi traveled too.

Sidebar: What is Palumara?

Origin: Central Sulawesi, Indonesia

Meaning: The word “palumara” is derived from local dialects, often associated with “sour-salty fish soup.”

Key flavors: Turmeric (for color and warmth), lime or lemon (for freshness), tomatoes (for tang), chilies (for heat).

Cultural role: Commonly served in family meals and gatherings, reflecting the seafaring life of coastal communities.

Quick Recipe: Palumara (Yellow Fish Soup)

Ingredients (serves 4):

  • 4 small yellow selar (ikan kuning) or mackerel, cleaned
  • 2 limes (1 for marinating fish, 1 for juice at the end)
  • 5 shallots, thinly sliced
  • 3 cloves garlic, minced
  • 3 red chilies, sliced
  • 2 tomatoes, sliced
  • 2 stalks lemongrass, bruised
  • 3 kaffir lime leaves
  • 1 thumb fresh turmeric, grated (or 1 tsp turmeric powder)
  • 600 ml water
  • 2 tbsp cooking oil
  • Salt and sugar to taste
  • Fresh basil leaves (optional)

How to Cook?

  • Rub fish with salt and lime juice; set aside.
  • Heat oil in a pot, sauté shallots until golden.
  • Add garlic and chilies.Stir in turmeric, lemongrass, and lime leaves until fragrant.
  • Add fish, season with salt and a pinch of sugar.
  • Pour in water, add tomatoes, and simmer until fish is cooked.
  • Finish with lime juice and basil leaves. Serve hot.

Food, at its best, is more than nourishment. It is geography you can taste, culture you can share, and memory you can carry across borders. In Singapore, on that fellowship year, Palumara was not just a dish, it was a reminder that wherever the journey takes us, home can always be summoned in a bowl. ***