Monday was supposed to be a quiet day at Petak Sembilan Market in Glodok. Even so, quiet seems to take on a different meaning here. Only a little subdued, life continued to thrum through its interconnected web of alleyways as merchants and shoppers alike set about their usual routines under the warmth of the morning sun, which trickled in through the gaps between the tarp roofs of the adjoining stalls.
Along the market roads were rows of greens and root vegetables, massive plastic bags filled with colourful local snacks and even big basins of recently plucked chicken, which the butchers graphically disembowel under the watchful gaze of their queueing customers, completely unfazed. It was just another day at the market for the people of the neighbourhood.
“This crowd is nothing compared to how it was when I was little. Before the [Pancoran ChinaTown Point] mall was built, you would still see people milling about as late as 10 PM. Now, you would be lucky to get customers past 4 PM,” remarked Daniel, 33, a third-generation owner of Bektim 777 Sekba that draws hungry market-goers with a warm plate of his family recipe of pork offal soy sauce stew.
Set right in front of the renowned coffee house Kopi Es Tak Kie, his simple set-up shop—managed together with his sister Lina—is one of the many unassumingly longstanding culinary attractions in the market that makes Petak Sembilan a strong magnet for not just locals and tourists, but also F&B players doing research for their respective businesses.
“Once, someone liked my stew so much he approached me to work at his restaurant in Bali. However, I didn’t want to leave this place, so I taught him everything I knew about the dish; from cutting the offals to making the stew. I don’t mind sharing my recipe, he needed my help so I helped him. Simple as that,” shared Daniel with ease.
Since it was a weekday, local residents were more prominent that morning. They trod into the alley in casual home wear, carrying bags of fresh produce from the wet market and grabbing a plate of the stew before continuing on home. “People usually drop by from breakfast to sometime in the afternoon for a snack. Sometimes they want it for takeaway to bring home to their family, other times they would dine inside Kopi Es Tak Kie. To the latter, I would always remind them: don’t forget to buy the coffee too!”
There’s a palpable chemistry and dynamic in the market, rooted in the longstanding relationships between shoppers and vendors.
Across from Daniel’s cart is a simple confectionary stand owned by 49-year-old Alien, who inherited it from her parents. It was packed with boxes of mooncakes that appeared like flat, round and pale pastries, filled with a variety of ingredients from chocolate to durian and chempedak (a type of jackfruit). “This type is distinct to the Chinese Indonesian communities of Jakarta. People buy it not just for snacks, but also to do their ancestral prayers,” explained the mother of two. “Right now is the time of year to do the ritual. By mid-September, you won’t find people selling these anymore at the market.”
Born and raised as part of Glodok’s Chinese Indonesian community, she finds meaning in the market that goes beyond its purpose as a place to shop and dine. Life in the Chinatown neighbourhood is still so deeply anchored in this market that, for her, it also serves as a window into her culture for those willing to dig deeper. Her mooncakes are just one of the examples.
“Depending on the Lunar calendar, you’ll find a different variety of wares here for a range of ceremonies, prayers and festivals. But even from something as simple as Daniel’s stew dishes, you can learn something. People often mistake it for sekba, however, it’s actually a different variant of the stew called bektim because he uses white tofu instead of yellow,” she shared. “And in the alleyway across from here, you’ll find someone selling mipan. It’s a rare rice cake delicacy, brought over by the Khek people.”
Life in the Chinatown neighbourhood is still so deeply anchored in this market.
Watching shoppers chat intimately with the vendors—whether they’re haggling over colourful children’s clothes or buying bags of translucent sugar palm fruit to make refreshments at home—there’s a palpable chemistry and dynamic in the market, rooted in the longstanding relationships between them.
However, that is not to say the market closes itself off to newcomers. Andi Santoso, 28, and his dad Amin only started selling tape uli in Petak Sembilan in 2020, but their snack creations of sticky rice and fermented black glutinous rice have quickly become one of the sought-after items in the market. Among their regulars is LIT Bakehouse; residing in the same alleyway, the artisan neighbourhood bakery uses Andi’s tape uli as the ingredient of one of their signature brioche doughnuts.
“[LIT Bakehouse] typically purchases three pouches of fermented black glutinous rice at a time, every other day. Our largest orders, however, come from families in the neighbourhood hosting events at their homes, where they need snacks for their guests,” shared Andri. “We also sell water from the fermentation, which our customers use as cooking wine.”
It’s where locals buy food for their families, materials for spiritual practices, and fresh ingredients for passed-down recipes.
A day wouldn’t have been enough to fully understand the intricacies of Petak Sembilan Market, with its weaving labyrinths of culinary gems, fresh produce and ceremonial items that somehow still manage to hold interesting discoveries and new experiences with each return visit.
Granted, what one can find here is not always pleasant; some may have heard the horror stories that come out of the market’s butcher stalls, the kind that makes children cry with live displays of chickens and other livestock getting butchered and processed into meat on site. Not to mention the sight of slithering eels getting peeled open by the piles, dead frogs bundled up together with plastic ropes or tied-up softshell turtles floating in basins that look too small for their number.
But such is the life of the market in all its unglamorous forms. While parts of it may spark curiosity (or even indignant shock) for the neighbourhood visitors, for the locals, it’s where they buy food for their families, gather materials for spiritual practices, and source fresh ingredients for cherished, passed-down recipes. Ultimately, it’s all an essential part of sustaining their culture and the neighbourhood’s way of life.
