In 2017, the late Indonesian writer and journalist Bondan Winarno profiled fourteen sweet soy sauce makers around the archipelago for his 2018 book “Kecap Manis: Indonesia’s National Condiment”. Among them was Kecap 7 Septo Delee in Jakarta.
For the feature, Pak Bondan visited the home of second-generation owner Maria Triningsih to see how the 61-year-old recipe was made, unpacking the story that he described in the book as “probably the most romantic story behind the start-up of a kecap manis factory.”
He was spot on.
Kecap 7 Septo Delee was founded in 1963 by husband-and-wife Kris and Corry Ambar. At the time, Corry, a member of PERWARI (a national women’s organisation), had been learning a range of home-industry crafts organised by the group, which included tailoring and cooking to making sweet soy sauce.
Upon relocating to a new home on Kaji Street in Gambir, Central Jakarta, the family found that the spacious backyard, once used for producing another popular sweet soy brand Tjap Kaki Tiga, was the perfect venue for Corry to put her newfound skills to good use.
“My father encouraged my mother to create her own kecap manis recipe from the lessons she took [at Perwari]. He was such a provider, ensuring my mother had everything she needed, from ordering the teak wooden paddle to mix the sauce with to designing the bottle packaging himself,” recalled Maria, one of the five daughters.
“It’s a number that means a lot to our family.”
Available in 300ml and 600ml bottles, the packaging features a retro, art deco-inspired design that feels refreshingly current, with the number seven prominently displayed at the centre, outlining seven small beans. Why seven? “It’s a number that means a lot to our family,” said Maria. “My parents are the seventh children in their family, while we are also a family of seven. We live in house number 34—three plus four is seven—and we also use seven main ingredients to make the kecap manis.”
At the backyard home factory, every worn tool and weathered surface tells a story of time. The massive stainless steel pans, used to simmer 70-kilogram blocks of Javanese palm sugar alongside the fermented black soybeans and spices, now bear the marks and stains of countless stirrings. The clay bricks surrounding the pans have darkened over the years due to the searing heat, while nearby, several barrels stand like silent sentinels, ready to cradle the freshly cooked mixture while it cools down for a few days so it achieves the right syrupy consistency.
Another link to the past and present is the 60-year-old Pak Tarya, one of the three trusted soy sauce makers, who has known the family since he was in elementary school back when his mother was still working as one of the household staff. “Manis gurih” or sweet and savoury is what Pak Tarya would describe the sweet soy sauce he’s helped make for years. “Very fitting for satay or tahu goreng,” he shyly laughed.
“Our main ingredients are black soybeans, salt, Javanese palm sugar that we source from Purwokerto, as well as several spices such as star anise, sesame, kaffir lime leaves and galangal,” said Maria, who is turning 70 years old this October. “We’ve experimented with other ingredients, like white soybeans and other types of sugar, but it never tasted right.”
Maria has been involved in the family business since before she took over in 2007 following the passing of her parents. Although expanding the family trade wasn’t necessarily a grand ambition for her, she successfully maintained the business while honouring her parents’ legacy. Keeping the operations at a home-scale level was also a conscious decision to ensure everything remained manageable.
“We’ve experimented with other ingredients, like white soybeans and other types of sugar, but it never tasted right.”
“We don’t make a lot and we only produce two times a month,” said Maria, who prefers not to take on too many orders now. “Each batch fills about five barrels, which equates to 1000 bottles.” The modest output, however, doesn’t mean it lacks in public recognition. At least amongst the city’s F&B scene, the family’s kecap is a worthy presence; it’s used in the longstanding Sate Khas Senayan and the classic Indonesian bakery Monami to Potato Head’s KAUM Jakarta as either a condiment or cooking ingredient.
“We were researching various kecap manis craftsmen in central areas, and it turns out that there were long-time home productions, like Kecap 7, with good quality,” said KAUM’s head chef Rachmad Hidayat. “It’s got an ideal composition; it’s salty, savoury and sweet, and the texture is not too runny or too thick. We pair it with our sate ayam bumbu kacang (chicken satay with peanut sauce), but we also find it suitable for many dishes.”
It won’t be easy to locate this home brand kecap in big supermarkets or general stores. One might have better luck ordering from e-commerce portals like Tokopedia, which Maria’s only son, Erwin, had helped bring in. So far, this remains the brand’s primary strategy to grow their online presence. Yet a quick stroll down their Tokopedia comments section would reveal that the value of this sweet soy sauce goes squarely in the realm of nostalgia.
Maybe that’s the persisting old-school appeal that continues to make independent businesses like Kecap 7 Septo Delee relevant against mass-market brands or the influx of new products. For those who appreciate simple beginnings rooted in a modest dream, one whose method and identity aren’t swayed by the passing of time, the story of this kecap manis is one for the books.
“We’ve had visitors from abroad who visited our home factory and can deeply connect to the story [of Kecap 7], because I think at its core, it’s a family story,” closed Maria. “And we still carry this tradition with us today, doing everything by hand and in the ways we know how. I see it as our family’s heritage to protect.”
