I simply cannot say ‘no’ to a dare. When someone tells me ‘I dare you’, my heartbeat picks up, my shoulders become all tense and something inside my brain switches off. I feel a rush of adrenaline overflowing my hypothalamus and clouding my judgment.
I squint, look the darer in the eye and, in true Marty McFly fashion, exclaim: ‘Nobody calls me chicken!’
It’s dinnertime on a Monday afternoon and I’m leisurely walking with a couple of friends down Street 228. We’re going to Black Bambu, a recently opened restaurant I’ve eyed for review. I can see my friends, a couple of Kiwi girls, giggling and whispering something in a secretive way. I get an ominous feeling: they are up to something. Finally, one of them steps forward. Her tone is frolicsome: “Adolfo, you know, we were thinking if you would dare to…” Allow me to summarise: they dare me to include a specific word (chosen by them, of course) in this review; a word to be revealed only after I accept the challenge. It goes without saying; I accept.
Entering Black Bambu’s perfectly kept garden, a spotless white statue of a meditating Buddha welcomes us with a nirvanic smile. We cross the big glass doors of the building and feel stupefied: the radiant white, diaphanous and elegant space opening in front of us reminds me of Hollywood’s depictions of Heaven. I almost expect Morgan Freeman to walk down the stairs at any moment (dressed in an immaculate white suit) and hand me a menu.
We sit at the terrace, where the breeze is surprisingly cool and pleasant, and stare at the beautifully put together menu of unambitious size (about 20 different tapas) and creative, mouth-watering items. Al, the manager and head chef, personally takes our order.
First come the cocktails. I know my sangria, and this is a good one: pieces of orange and apple float idly inside the generously sized cup; the sweet aftertaste of cinnamon is complemented by the timid tang of liquor. Smiling and attentive waiters start bringing the main courses. The ciabatta (made with grilled pear, goat cheese, bacon and caramelised onion) is spongy; biting into it, your mouth fills with the unmistakable warmness of just-out-of-the-oven French bread. The contrast between the savoury and sweet flavours is both perplexing and pleasing.
The mini Australian beef burgers – three cute little burgers served upon a stylish slate board – bring to mind the Latin phrase omne trium perfectum (‘everything that comes in threes is perfect’). With regard to tenderness, the patties fall nothing short of Kobe beef. The bits of pickle mixed with hand-made mayonnaise are the icing on the cake.
The desserts put a perfect ending to our hedonistic evening. The dulce de leche is an original and sophisticated take on the South American recipe, in which the chef ingeniously adds a top layer of whipped cream and a base of chocolate mixed with coconut oil. The result is a dessert so good that eating it fills you with shame, because, by the Universal Law of Opposites, you know something this good must inevitably be, in some way or another, terribly bad.
It’s during dessert that the mischievous Kiwi girls finally reveal their choice of word to be inserted into this review. I won’t take away the satisfaction of guessing which one it is. Let me simply end this piece by stating that Black Bambu is, without vacillation, one of the most outstanding upscale restaurants I’ve tried in Phnom Penh. Good luck guessing!
Black Bambu, #29 Street 228; 023 966 895