Byline: Margaret Ulrich

Spirulina. Juice diets. Organic or die. While it’s obviously not just cool, but important, to eat healthy, it’s just as vital to step back sometimes and remember how damn enjoyable eating can be. The cupcake is the ultimate symbol of good, fun food.

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Let’s take a breather between CrossFit sessions and green smoothies to talk dessert. Seriously, is it just me or is everyone getting a little too tightly wound about sugar? I get it, health reasons and whatever, but let’s all agree it’s okay to let our hair down every once in a while. Maybe abstaining from a daily slice of migraine-inducing birthday cakes is a good idea, but let’s not go all devout sugar crusaders on everyone’s pudding cups.

Coming from a family who claims “there’s always room for dessert,” I’m never one to shy away from a sweet treat. Chocolate? Sure. Baked goods? I’ll have two. Which is why the teeny tiny cupcakes from Cupcake Rush are a problem for me. At only $1.25 a pop and their central, BKK 1 location, it’s easy to overdose. When the nice lady behind the counter pulls out her secret tray brimming with miniature delights, it’s far too easy to say I’ll have one of everything.

So the only real advice I can offer when walking into this hot pink heaven is to have a plan. Know how many cupcakes for which you’re in the market before walking in. Like one tiramisu and one chocolate. Stick to it, especially because the passion fruit ones, in all their bright orange, look-at-me glory, fall short of anything fruity. The green tea and cookies and cream share the same, plain vanilla-tasting fate, so there are definitely a few that can be skimmed over. That still leaves true to their name flavours like red velvet and caramel to choose between, but you’re on your own for that final, brow-furrowing decision. Thankfully, the staff are used to that, and wait patiently while you point to every single one to ask its flavour profile.

Sitting outside on the pink stools is actually a must once you’ve selected your sweets, not just because the interior is standing room only. After the keeper of the cupcakes cleans the exterior eating area, the teeny tinies are plated and brought out. But finish your conversation with your dessert partner, as the creamy frosting needs to soften a bit in the heat. Your equally tiny spoon will be able to cut through the topping and reveal a dense, but moist cake below. While it’s easy for a homemade treat such as this to ruin in this town’s humidity, they devotedly preserve the quality of their only menu item by keeping them fresh and cool.

Depending on whether you’re a one-flavour-at-a-time kind of person or someone who likes to mix and match as you go, I have no rules on how and when you enjoy your bites. They’re easily an afternoon fix or fun addition to a party, as the ladies are more than willing to box up a selection of them for you. Although there are plenty of desserts elsewhere that might top these little babies, some days a bit of simple, childlike nostalgia is all you really need.

Cupcake Rush, #23A Cnr. Street 57 & 306, 087 696 988.

I’ve gotten comfortable here in Phnom Penh. Well, as much as this city allows. Sticking to places that have sides of fresh, lightly dressed salads and attentive wait staff has become part of a surprisingly self-indulgent criteria. But “comfortable” is a relative term, and in this case, it means going face first into the familiar. I’m almost ashamed to admit to this settling, because I’m a reckless eater on the road. But my backpack hasn’t been touched for months now and I’m more local than lost these days. Basically, I’ve gone soft.

To get my street cred back, I challenged my taste buds this week to go where they’ve never gone before: Malaysian food. Okay, so it’s not exactly risky eating, but Mamak’s Corner on Street 114 doesn’t instantly make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. For starters, it’s the definition of a hole-in-the-wall. It’s nearly impossible to find,the interior can only be described as dingy, and the wait staff seem completely bemused by your presence. The well-worn, single page menu for which you have to ask offers no upsurge in expectation, and the metal buffet station, with its uncovered entrees, makes the exit seem like the more sane option. But people swear by this place.

After getting the reply “finished” when trying to order mee goreng (fried noodles), my resulting confusion elicited a recommendation of fried bee hoon (also fried noodles). Although the basic descriptions didn’t do anything to persuade me either way, I agreed to the change. Despite the absence of other dinner-goers and pleasant ambience, I secretly suspected I couldn’t really go wrong here. Malaysian food is like the melting pot of Asia, incorporating dishes and flavours from a variety of countries: India, Indonesia, and China, just to name a few. Since the term “mamak” is indicative of Malaysians of South Indian decent, I anticipated flavours more in line with that sweeter, richer cuisine.

True to their heritage, the roti canai transported me to the stalls in Kerala with their rich, spicy curries and accompanying roti – flat bread cooked to greasy, flaky perfection. For a couple of extra riel notes you could have meat added, but I didn’t need any distractions from the buttery sweetness and intermingling of cumin and red pepper delivered by way of the finger-food-only roti. The bottom of the menu had a selection of dessert-like rotis that couldn’t be passed up and we decided the roti ber was the Goldilocks of sweets in Cambodia: not too sugary – just right.

Squeezing the lime over the bee hoon and twirling up some fried vermicelli began yet another voyage within the confines of my mouth. The chilli dominated, but its eye-watering heat never showed, so the rarely experienced, yet enjoyable chilli flavour stood on its own. Bitter greens, tomatoes and chicken mixed with the fried noodles and carried the afterthoughts of curry to add another Indian “hello.”

After noticing the stack of take-away containers and lack of customer service, it’s clearly a better lunchtime grab, with unbeatable Asian pricing. But I would never have known if I’d stuck to my norm. Unsurprisingly, I survived to tell the tale.

Mamak’s Corner, #17 Street 114. 012 777 990

There’s nothing quite like it when mum makes you a bowl of her homemade chicken noodle soup for whatever ailment with which you’ve come down – broken heart or burning fever. It doesn’t have to be the best soup – although you’ll fight to the death if anyone says otherwise – it just has to be there. The reliable comfort is the main ingredient.

Magnolia Wrap & Roll is Phnom Penh’s version of mumma’s love in a bowl. It’s not the best Vietnamese food you’ll ever eat, but it’s good. Always. And it has that feeling of home, where your sister is in charge of setting the table and your brother gets everyone’s drinks. The white linen tablecloths make it a bit like you’re having company for dinner, needing to be on better behaviour, but it’s more like a family party than formal dining. Children are definitely welcome.

Pick a table out in the garden and relax into the plush cushions as you flip through the extensive menu. With a Southern Vietnamese perspective, you’ll find the selections of pho, their internationally famous noodle soup, in the breakfast section, as opposed to the Northern any-time-goes approach. They cater to your soup craving all day, though, and have the standard meat choices – chicken, beef, pork, and a few other specialty options. If it hasn’t already, pho can easily replace Western-style chicken noodle as a feel-better remedy. With healing ingredients like ginger and cinnamon and doctoring it up with Hoisin sauce, bean sprouts, fresh herbs, and a hit of chilli, it’ll clear you right up.

Another must when doing Vietnamese is the bánh xèo, a once-folded, turmeric-coloured crepe, gently stuffed with a variety of ingredients. Again, leaning more toward the Southern style, Magnolia prefers the oversized pancake recipe to the smaller, Northern version. As for the stuffing, it’s almost better to close your eyes and point when deciding, since indecision can run rampant with all the options. Taking a break from meat, the enoki mushroom is more interesting than appetising, with a textural equivalent of a squeaky, angel hair pasta. Weird, but still recommended. The flavour is more of the same, making dipping the properly lettuce-wrapped pancake into the sweet and sour sauce a must.

Venturing out of the comfort zone is easy, since soup selections and entrees abound. To add more fire to your palate and finish singeing what taste buds you have left, the innocent-sounding pork and cashews should do the trick. Its third, but unmentioned main ingredient, chilli, will have you running to your tea. The wait staff seem to be on standby for this and they’ll keep your glass topped up. It’s this attentiveness that makes Magnolia more about the experience anyway. There is always a smiling greeter at the open-aired entrance, nearly intuitive abilities when you want to order, and impressive speediness when you’re ready to ket loy yourself out of there. Grab whoever you consider family in this town and order one of everything to share, enjoying good company and food for your soul.

Magnolia Wrap & Roll
#253, St. 63, BKK1. 097 552 99 77

There are some places in Phnom Penh that momentarily make you forget where you are. Che Culo, in all its Mediterranean-influenced glory, is hands down one of them. Stepping off the street and into the courtyard is a welcome change of scenery, temporarily escaping the daily hustle of this city. From the mosaic floor, sea-glass colour scheme, and archways framing intimate enclaves, there’s a romantic ease about it all.

To set the record straight, though, it’s pronounced “keh-cooloh” (meaning “What luck”) – something I’ve been butchering since they opened in early December. This simple correction adds to the slightly pretentious vibe surrounding a tapas bar in Phnom Penh, but after one espresso martini and a bite of their Mama’s Meatballs it’s hard not to let that one slide. If you’re not convinced, get an order of the zucchini fritters and try not to think the little wooden forks aren’t the cutest.

Adding to their perfectly succinct list of cocktails and tapas is the spontaneous, live entertainment of co-owner Nick Hattingh, who can be occasionally found karate-kicking along to classic hip hop tunes while affirming his self-appointed role as host with the most. The evenings are undoubtedly a success, but the $5 lunch menu challenged me to see if all of the flair from happy hour translated to a quieter noon bite.

One simple chorizo and chicken sandwich and an order of lamb ragu pasta later and I was pleasantly surprised. It was a close one deciding between the other full plate entrees – the contenders being a basil pesto pasta or the meatball sub with “Che Culo! sauce” – but we couldn’t pass on lamb and chorizo. While we began our snobby assessment of the not-so-snobby dishes, a few other tables filled, allowing me to abide by my rule of never eating at an empty restaurant.

Having an Italian name (that also, apparently, roughly translates to “lucky bastard”) means the bar is set pretty high for signature items: namely starches. To get a perfect pasta, it needs to have texture, a certain amount of life left in it. The fusilli that happened to be substituted in the lamb ragu achieved that coveted al dente finish and held up to the richness of the twice-cooked lamb, a meat that is either off-the-charts good or a major miss. Let’s just say they know what they’re doing.

Though my usual instinct when getting a plate with a version of a fried potato side is to sneak a taste, I’m going to recommend resisting that temptation. Skip the overly seasoned bits and go straight for the main. The dense ciabatta, soaked in the succulent flavours from the chorizo and chicken, offered up the perfect vessel to dip into the excess juices of the sandwich. Pairing the two meats with cheddar, avocado, and a jalapeno mayo sounded a bit heavy, but the ingredients were left to speak for themselves and they proved to be quite harmonious.

Fresh ingredients – light, yet filling – and a coffee to finish the meal? Che Culo can definitely do lunch.

Che Culo. #6B Street 302.
070 389 583

“Where are you taking us?” Andre asked as we drove through, admittedly, not the prettiest section of Phnom Penh. We continued down toward the river and the remnants from a leftover market seemed to clean themselves up as guesthouses and restaurants emerged.

“There!” I spotted Dot Grill – a last-ditch-effort location just barely avoiding the madness of the riverfront.
Though the untrained eye might miss its immediate subtleties, differentiating it from touristy cafes nearby, the pristine atmosphere indicated that elephant-print pants were unnecessary. It was filled with wood instead of wicker. Set tables with full-sized glasses welcomed us. The cool lighting relieved us of our heat-induced, midday haze. Every detail was clearly executed and I could only think to describe it as intelligently designed.

We sat ourselves down and ordered the lunch specials: one traditional Khmer BBQ skewer and one innocuous-sounding veggie sandwich. With our water glasses filled, our Cokes delivered, and the stainless steel grill at the centre of the restaurant fired up preparing our meal, we took in our surroundings. This recently opened restaurant was an obvious effort to share the pride of Cambodian food through a more modern setting. When our wait staff presented our meals, we confirmed that this approach most certainly worked.

Sliding off the marinated meats from the skewer, I could already sense their tenderness. The chicken was cut effortlessly. The juices ran free and the carnivore within me urgently anticipated the satisfaction of the first succulent bite. None of that rationing of flavours, just basting perfection. The chicken won out over the pork, but both carried that sweet, slightly floral note well. Not to be overshadowed, the grilled vegetables had equally mouth-watering qualities: something about throwing green peppers and onions over a flame takes them from being puny vegetarian fare to robust flavour contenders. Add in the pepper and lime dipping sauce and it was clear that Dot Grill wasn’t just a pretty face.

Dispelling the usual disappointment from teeth-breaking baguettes, the sandwich was also on point. The physics defying sturdy yet soft bread held the contents of one of the best veggie sandwiches I’ve ever eaten. “Best” in no way refers to healthiest, however, as the mixture of raw and grilled vegetables were doused in a white dressing that lacked neither flavour nor, I presume, calories. Not a deterrent, we ate every last bite of the liberally filled baguette and discussed the dressing’s tangy, yet hummus-like flavor.

Although the side of crisps left much to be desired in terms of the mandatory crunch-factor, the desserts quickly made up for the momentary slip-up. Kampong Chhnang province provided our bamboo sticky rice, the mild sweetness at just the right amount for comfort food, and we chose chocolate as our ice cream selection. The last spoonful of the savoury treat left us comfortably full, a reflection of the conscious restraint used in all aspects of the restaurant.

Organic when possible, always seasonal, and, most importantly, traditional with a twist all factored in to make this unassuming eatery well worth the search.

Dot Grill. #8 Street 144
023 996 402