Entering Gasolina’s well-groomed garden, the smell of cooking paella – woody and saline – invades my nostrils and evokes memories of lazy Sunday afternoons in laid-back Andalusia. Indeed, the scene unfolding before me could very well be in southern Spain: Francisco, the spirited Dominican in charge of the restaurant, stands tall in front of a two-foot-wide paella pan, calmly and gracefully stirring the rice with an oversized spatula, grinning with pride.
Dotting the lawn, half a dozen families engage in cheerful chitchat around circular wooden tables while spooning paella into their mouths. The spotlight is taken by dancer Lola; the sharp, fluid contortions of her wrists and hips perfectly conveying the passion inherent to flamenco. It’s Columbus Day and we have gathered here, ostensibly, to commemorate the arrival of the three-vessel Spanish expedition to the Americas. In reality, our purpose is only marginally less grandiose: we’re here to enjoy the paella.
Francisco hands me a plate with a mountain of the coveted rice dish overflowing with seafood. For your average Phnom Penh expat, Francisco’s version of that most Spanish of Spanish dishes is probably yummy. For me, a food-loving Spaniard, it’s OK: I prefer the rice of my national dish a bit crunchier and more golden (maybe a little more saffron and pimenton would help?) Its pleasant flavour does, however, denote the usage of excellent seafood and tasty chicken broth.
Gasolina is a haven of peace and good vibes amid the bustle of BKK market, surrounded by a broad garden that shields it from the stridency of the outside world. The menu is comprised of Spanish, Latin American and African recipes, with Francisco’s creative touch present in every dish. Before taking on the paella, I enjoy a delectable appetiser: crispy ropa vieja empanadas filled with juicy beef and grilled vegetables. It comes with a pungent sauce made with tomato puree and Kampot pepper. I also have a chance to try the cod with chorizo. I raise some to my mouth and come to a realisation: this is the first time I have enjoyed real Spanish chorizo since I moved to Asia. The spicy, piercing flavour – capable of overwhelming your taste buds and numbing your mouth momentarily – is unmistakable. The cod is tender and the saltiness is spot on. For dessert, I order a rich, spongy chocolate cake topped with vanilla ice-cream. Every one of these dishes, unlike the paella, surpasses my expectations and meets the city’s highest standards.
I put an end to Columbus Day by sipping on a coffee and taking in the scene: ecstatic kids playing around; men discussing politics in my native tongue; a flamenco dancer stomping rhythmically. It all feels like a family get-together in Spain. I watch Francisco walk in and out of the kitchen, greeting customers and keeping a watchful eye. I secretly thank him: never mind the paella, he has succeeded in bringing to this expat a piece of home on the very same day Spain celebrates its national holiday.
Gasolina, #56 Street 57; 012 557038.