Posts from — October 2008

4) Kway Tieov beef noodles
Rice noodle soup’s a staple in many Asian cuisines — the Vietnamese have their Pho, the Malay have Assam Laksa, there’s Burmese Mohinga and Indonesian Soto Ayam. But there’s something special going on with the beef Kway Tieov at a small roadside restaurant across from the Tbong Khmum district hospital 30 km outside of Kampong Cham Town. Unlike traditional Khmer Kway Tieov broth, which is generally a clear broth with a pork or beef + fish base, this broth is a dark red, rich soya beef bonanza, very similar to Taiwanese hong shao style beef noodle soup. The noodles come seeped in this miracle broth, topped with greens and falling-apart-tender chunks of beef and are served with a side of bean sprouts and fresh limes. The shameless Cambodians like to add MSG, but I skip that and go for some crunchy dried onions. I’ll also daintily dip my beef chunks in chili before placing them gently on my tongue to melt. These are for early-rises only because people come for miles and the noodles run out by 8am or so.

5) Kampot Pepper Beef
According to my oh-so-trusty Lonely Planet Guide, top French chefs still pay homage to the key ingredient in this dish. Kampot pepper is prized not only by Cambodians, but also by its former-colonizers for its unique, fruity, oh-so-peppery taste. When Jaime and I ordered “green pepper beef” at the best restaurant in Sihanoukville (M’loop Mien!), we expected a green pepper like this:

But what we got was a lot better. This dish uses the fresh green, uncured peppercorns straight from the tree.

Slices of beef are fried with a lot of oil and other juicy delights (soy, fish sauce, and what other wonders?), shallots, and stems of shiny lime-green pepper pods. You pull the tiny green balls off the stem with your teeth and they pop open in your mouth in a delicious, spicy medley that complements the meaty beef. I found myself tilting the dish to spoon up the last dregs of the pepper-infused sauce to eat over plain rice.

6) Omlette with Cured Fish and fresh Veggies
Faint-of-heart travelers miss out on some of the best dishes in Cambodia because of their reluctance to eat fresh veggies. This dish is particularly scary because the accoutrements — fresh cabbage, green beans, cucumbers, and carrots, are often served on ice (oh no!) in order to keep them cool and fresh while you partake. The omelette itself is unassuming, but its simplicity is decieving. The taste of the famous Cambodian sun-dried fish (Trei Ngiet or Trei Prama) and minced pork transforms a familiar eggy friend into a deep flavourful experience, sweetly complemented by the mini-bowl of chopped bird chilis and fish sauce that’s meant to be rationed out over each bite. This fish sauce concoction is a regular accompaniment to Khmer dishes and is also used as a terrific dipping sauce for the fresh veggies.

Smoked fish, ready for action.
from Flickr, ndnbrunei

7) Ginger Fish
This is a super-simple dish that I’ve seen done deliciously with eel, fish, chicken, and wild boar. I like fish the best because the flaky white flesh of the Cambodian river fish seems to go perfectly with the deep fried ginger and scallions. It’s a simple stir fry that throws all its eggs into one basket — into the ginger basket, to be precise. The best versions include some fresh chopped bird chilis and have enough sauce to spoon over your piping hot white rice.

Fish Amok
The guidebooks call Fish Amok the national dish of Cambodia, but an informal survey of 10 Cambodian (female) colleagues confirms that only 2 know how to cook Amok, and even they are a bit iffy. The variations of amok are as varied as the species of fish in Cambodia (which is to say, very varied) — thin sauce to gelatinous; red, white, to slightly green; wrapped in banana, or placed on a bed of greens — but the general idea remains the same, boneless fish chunks steamed in a light coconut curry. The essential aromatic ingredients of Amok are lemongrass and kaffir lime leaves which give it a citrusy, fresh flavor which complements the fish better than your traditional Khmer curry sauce. I tend to like the deep red variations because they’re spicier and thicker seems better because generally the cook has used the richest part of the coconut milk. I give extra points for the banana leaves, but only because of the presentation.

9) Beef Lok Lak
The Brits must share my love for this dish because most Khmer restaurant menus have a special entry for Lok Lak English style — with a fried eggs and chips instead of plain old rice. Cambodian’s Lok Lak is similar to their Eastern neighbor’s mouthwatering Shaken Beef (Vietnamese call it Luc Lac, sound familiar?) though it would be treason to say so to any Cambodian. The fried beef cubes are served with tomato and onion slices, generally atop a bed of fresh lettuce. Like with so many dishes here, the make-or-break component of amazing Lok Lak is the dipping sauce, a salt-and-peppery lime-based sauce that makes even the toughest Cambodian cow taste good. I’ve never ordered English style because as much as I love a fried egg, I don’t think chips could come close to the experience of a piece of beef dunked in Lok Lak sauce atop a spoon of white rice.

This kicks off a ten part series on my very favorite foods in Cambodia. Coming in at number ten on the list:

10) Noam Ban Chop, Namja style

True Khmer noodles come in three styles, defined by the broth — curry, keuv (blue), and namja (meaning unclear). The noodles are eaten at room temperature with an assortment of greens, dependent on the region, the season, and the establishment. My favorite is namja, the reddish brown coconut, shrimp, and peanut based broth, smothering fresh white rice noodles. Like all Khmer noodles, Namja is meant to be augmented by your personal addition of bean sprouts, leafy greens, chilis and a quick squeeze of lime from the communal tray. But the best part about Namja comes when you dig under the mound of sticky fresh noodles and come upon the secret treasure of cucumber slivers and round rings of thinly sliced elephant flower.

This has been the week of the funk. A deep, pathetic funk that settled like a large alien object way down deep into the pit of my stomach, so that I felt too heavy to get out of bed in the morning and couldn’t concentrate on anything I was supposed to be working on. The seed of funk was planted way back in August when Jaime came to visit and I took the trip home for a few days.

It took some time to germinate. I kept busy with movie making, new friends, trips out to Phnom Penh, and various illness, but eventually it sprouted into an ugly, self-pitying, anxiety-ridden goblin that fed on feelings of isolation, uselessness, and insecurity about the future.

I’m trying various forms of therapy — company for Pchum Ben, long bike rides, recruiting my coworkers for various social outings — but this exorcism appears to be taking some patience and dedication to ongoing self-treatment.

My prescription combines lots of happy music, exercise, riding my moto with my hair flying in the wind, looking forward to trips out to the field and to my travel plans in Singapore and Thailand, meditating on self-affirming phrases (“Yes, I’m healthy, happy and strong”), and forcing myself to be social even when I would rather ball up under a sheet tent in my bed.

Last week, I had a few days off for Pchum Ben (a Cambodian celebration of ancestors), so I headed down to Phnom Penh with a plan to meet up with some friends heading south to the beaches. I arrived in the city with a terrible earache and ended up spending 3 days curled up prone, half in tears, on the couch of my dear friend Lauren. Eventually, Lauren took charge and brought me to a Francophone doctor (no English speaking medical professionals in Phnom Penh apparently) who prescribed me a barrage of heavy duty antibiotics. (My time in Cambodia has made me into something approaching a feedlot cow in terms of doses of antibiotics consumed per month, and my digestive track is most definitely devoid of any and all good critters.)

Thankfully, the meds cleared up the pain, and on the morning of day 4, I was able to hop on a bus out to Kep to meet up with a small crew of friends who had all made it down in the previous 2-3 days and were already a day or two deep into hard partying. It was a good night despite not being able to hear from one ear — good music, good food, good company, dancing, and a sea breeze.

The next day, we had breakfast at the Led Zep cafe — burritos which tasted more like pizzas in pitas — and said goodbye to one of our crew who was headed back to Phnom Penh, then we rocketed off to Kampot. Jam and Matt had ridden down on bikes they borrowed from their NGO (a eco/development-tourism business called Pepy where they both are volunteers), so they sweated it out the 30 or so kilometers. Achaya speed off dangerously on his rented crotch rocket, and Alison and I lived it up in the back of a vacationing family’s truck.

Kampot was sleepy as usual, but so were we after the previous night, and the plan was head out ASAP. The idea was to stash the bikes, rent motos and make like Charlie’s Angels onwards to Sihanoukville. However, post-coffee, rain still spitting down, our not-so-tough crew decided that riding was out and so we went van-hunting. Eventually, after much incredulous eyebrow raising and reminders of “holiday prices,” we settled on a share taxi for $5/head and $5/bike.

Jam was strapped and in a nasty mood. Lucky for him, his whining and empty threats to just stay in Kampot alone were met with good natured cajoling and convincing by his friends, so after much hee-ing and haw-ing (and rolling of the eyes by yours truly) he stashed his bike on the van and hopped on the motorcycle with Achaya.

The unwitting and unlucky rest of the crew (Matt, Allison and I) pile in the back row of the van next to Mr. McDrunkerson who proceeded to grab me and attempt to lay one on before Matt graciously offered to switch seats. 5 hours, one new oil filter, one new van, 3 roadside Anchors courtesy of Mr. Tipsy, and many drunken-Cambodian-anecdotes later (songs about seahorses, anyone?), we finally arrive in Sihanoukville ready for a shower and a drink.

Later that night, we end up at the dark empty venue where they host crocodile and snake shows during the day. Apparently, one of our party was mistakenly informed that this was an “off-the-hook” night spot. On the upside, the tuk-tuk trip afforded a crazy roller-coaster ride up and down the hills of Sihanoukville, the clear highlight of the night.

Eventually we find ourselves at seedy Khmer night club with a cover charge of $4 (free beer included), unflattering blue lights, and creepy staring bouncers. Allison and I are clearly the tallest people on the dance-floor, and we become the unofficial hubs around which the smaller energetic contingent eddies and swirls. The Cambodian boys dance together holding hands. They shake it like they mean it, and scream out loud with ecstatic arm gestures and coordinated pelvic thrusts at appropriate moments while the girls stand around swaying slightly and looking more than a little embarrassed.

Then, amidst all the joy and chaos, the crazy cat who’s still sore about his mistake with the abandoned croc farm disappears. Those concerned for his welfare recognize this as a cry for attention and accommodatingly text him messages of love and concern. Croc boy is found upstairs, and we eventually convince him to head back to the hotel with the rest of us. We drink some bad vodka and chat and some of us stay very quiet, meditating on how we wish croc boy was left behind. This uncharitableness can be partially blamed on croc boy’s non-stop verbal outbursts, bragging about about how his Hindi advantage got him into the VIP lounge and chastising us for dragged him away from the apparent apogee of the S-town social scene.

The next day, Matt was in a bad way with his stomach and the other boys were knackered, so Alison and I headed down to the beach for awhile. We whiled away the day in various ways, but ended up all together again around 6pm for the first drink of the evening.

I’m 23, but rarely do I feel that age. Instead, my feelings and actions swing from those of a 10-years old to someone around 35, only occasionally (uncomfortably, unnaturally) ending up somewhere in between. That particular night, I started as an old 35, not in the mood for the drinking, party, flirt with random strangers thing. I was very thankful to meet Elida, a friend of Achaya’s (actually his ex-boss) who provided some interesting conversation, agreed to dance, and didn’t seem to mind that my libations were only half-hearted. Then, croc and I had a tiff. The others tried to mediate, but I made like a pre-teen girl and he made like a reptile, and though things were smoothed over, I still felt disgusted. (Who tries to excuse their anti-social behavior by likening themselves to Mother Teresa?)

The next morning, I was up at 7am to a glorious sunny day. The rest of the contingent slept while I headed out to the beach for a small sunning. Then I called Elida and we headed out in her SUV to a secluded beach where we swam and splashed and sunned and built a mini-version of Angkor Wat in the sand and felt completely content when our castle was recognized by the small Cambodian children frolicking about us.

Eventually we headed back to meet up with Elida’s fiance and after a small dip in her hotel pool, I headed back to Phnom Penh.