“The Corn. Terrace. Table No. 2. White envelope under left corner. Signed, Meagor.”
In the company of two young Dutch travellers, I enter The Corn on a torrid March evening. Sitting at the terrace, under the candour of the ceiling lamp, we are sporadically relieved from the heat by the occasional breeze.
Around us, the pastel-coloured walls are decorated with a few watercolour canvases of daily life in the Khmer countryside; a minimalist and elegant décor that can, nonetheless, leave customers craving for a cosier setting.
A smooth, Belgian-style US brewed beer, a glass of aromatic, earthy Shiraz, and a sweet and sour, perfectly concocted mojito help us kick-start an appetite. By way of alcohol, your options are manifold, with Muscat, Chardonnay, Sauvignon Blanc and Shiraz from Spain, Chile, France and Australia, a selection of excellent imported beers, and a list of exotic and original cocktails. The moderate prices ($3 per cocktail, $3 per glass of Anakena Sauvignon Blanc) pretty much guarantee that your journey back home will be a daunting task.
The food menu is not extensive, and all the dishes are vegetarian, with the option of adding shrimp, fish or meat by request. No milk is used in their preparation, making The Corn a vegan-friendly establishment. The menu exudes originality, and most of the dishes here you won’t be able to find elsewhere in town.
My jackfruit, potato and coconut curry ($5) tastes as outlandish as it sounds. The jackfruit and star anise seeds bring an exuberant sweetness to the mix, creating a curry of rich flavour and creamy texture that I simply can’t get enough of. A touch of cayenne pepper makes it slightly spicy, every spoonful spawning a tingly sensation on the tongue. Add the delicious, crusty wild rice that you get on the side, and you have a dish worthy of three Adolfo stars for flavour and originality.
One of the Dutch girls gets the steamed fish with spinach, potato rosti and mustard sauce ($7). The fish fillet crumbles apart with ease as she digs the fork into it. Its saline, sea-like flavour testifies the freshness of the specimen, while the tangy mustard and the dainty potato rosti proves to be a wise and delectable addition.
Satisfied and boozed up, my dining companions decide it’s time to get the bill and head to Street 51 to enter the scandalous world of Phnom Penh at night. With the excuse that I need some coffee to pull me through it, I manage to lose them and stay at the table without arousing suspicion.
Sitting alone, I make sure no one is looking when I reach under the table. From underneath the left corner I produce a small, white envelope that had been fixed to the underside using duct tape. I shake it and a strip of negatives falls into my hand. Raising it against the lamp light, I become witness to a disturbing scene: a man in a shiny suit and dark sunglasses, brandishing a bold head and a despicable goatee, walks, incognito-style, into one of Phnom Penh’s most notorious KTVs.
The corners of my lips move gently upward, a sly smile appearing on my face. “Got you, Lucio.”
The Corn, #26 Preah Suramarit Blvd.