An Ode to Coconut Milk: The Quiet Heart of Southeast Asian Kitchens

There is a richness that hums quietly beneath the boldest flavours of Southeast Asia. Not fiery like chili padi, not bright like makrut (kaffir) lime. It doesn’t shout, but it holds everything together. That richness is coconut milk, pressed from the white flesh of mature coconuts, thick as velvet and fragrant with sun and earth.

Known as Santan in Malay and Indonesian, this ingredient is the soul of Southeast Asian cuisine. Santan flows through the passage of time, from stone mortars in kampung kitchens to the simmering pots of street vendors. You’ll find it gently clouding bowls of laksa in Singapore, deepening the sweetness of kolak in Java, lending fragrance to nasi lemak in Malaysia and in the quiet luxury of Thai mango sticky rice. It ripples through rice dishes, stews, and sweets. Sometimes bold, at times invisible, but always essential.

Pile of coconuts in coastal province of southeast Sulawesi, Indonesia; photo by  Ferdinand Haryanto

Often used interchangeably, coconut cream and coconut milk are, in essence, the same ingredient—just at different concentrations. The first pressing of grated coconut yields the thick coconut cream, while adding water and pressing again results in a lighter version known as coconut milk. Both are prized, depending on whether a dish calls for lush depth or gentle smoothness.

Few ingredients hold such grace and flexibility. Santan can be steamed, stirred, reduced, or whipped. It soothes spice, rounds acidity, and brings tenderness to grain and tuber. It is just as at home in rendang as it is in pudding, just as glorious folded into kaya as it is mellowing a pot of curry.

Pistachio Kuih Kapit, RWAH Confections

We hold on to this quiet, powerful ingredient in our kuih kapits. Its richness lingers on the tongue; its fragrance lingers longer. It is the liquid gold that binds past and present, old recipes and new ideas, into something that feels like home.