Byline: Neera Shah

One of the ultimate foodie feasts in Phnom Penh is the indulgent Sunday champagne brunch at the Sofitel, when La Coupole restaurant fills with diners in the mood for decadence. This surely is at the extreme end in terms of price for Cambodia (at $50 to $70+ for Sofitel, the only buffet more expensive is at Raffles Le Royal), but when you think about what you get, for an occasion – or even a non-occasion, gosh darn it – it’s more than worth it.

Here, ‘Champagne brunch’ means ‘free-pour Veuve Clicquot or similar’; they’ve previously served Billecart-Salmon and Mumm. A bottle of perfectly chilled bubbles disappears down the gullet fairly quickly, I can tell you. The staff are attentive, both with champagne and water. As a table of four we easily would have had up to six bottles of Veuve plus a few vinos. Other drink choices included a good range of local and imported beer plus some sumptuous wines.

The sushi is spectacular, displayed in a large wooden boat overflowing with fresh sushi and sashimi. Next door is a dedicated oyster station, where French Fine de Claires Oysters are served freshly shucked, with condiments. The cold seafood range features freshly cooked crab, langoustines, prawns and mussels. Platters galore of the tastiest, finest, cured and smoked salmon, trout and kingfish. The smoked Kampot pepper kingfish is magnificent, translucently thin, lightly smoked and edged with pepper. Finishing off this section is the boulangerie, an impressive variety of bread sticks and rolls, cut fresh and, should you so desire, warmed in a piping hot oven on request.

There’s more. Cold meat cuts are sliced on request, a make-your-own salad section and a fabulous raclette involving melted Swiss cheese scraped onto baby potatoes and parma ham, served with dollops of mustard and pickled onions.

Turning the corner brings us to Asia: fresh Peking-duck pancakes (perhaps more skin than meat), Southeast Asian and Indian curries and stir fries, and a large bamboo basket filled with steaming dim sum. Onto Europe: a gigantic seafood paella pan, large fleshy prawns and squid generously reclining atop saffron-hued rice. Pick your own pasta, perhaps a small serve of spaghetti marinara before moving on to a carnivore’s delight. Three different roasts reign supreme: lamb, pork and beef, each surrounded by a moat of perfectly roasted vegetables. Turnips, beetroot, sweet potato, baby potatoes, Kampot pepper gravy, chunky mushroom sauce: you name a side, it’s there. Green beans, steamed broccoli and cauliflower, sweet shallots, pumpkin and Yorkshire pudding.

And more! A selection of fresh fish and meats are presented to be cooked any way you like. Pan fried salmon or sizzling steak? Some grilled prawns? Dessert and cheese are next: bird cages suspended from the ceiling filled with macaroons; a chocolate fountain; ice cream and myriad cakes, pies and tarts. Expect the gourmet chocolates from the Sofitel chocolaterie interspersed with mini-mousse and crème brûlée to bring you to the edge of ruin. Survive that and it’s only right and proper to finish up at the cart brimming with French cheese and accoutrements. A beautifully oozing Brie works wonders with the champagne (as, indeed, do most things). Bring on the food coma.

Sunday brunch, 11.30am – 2.30pm every Sunday at La Coupole Restaurant, Sofitel Phnom Penh Phokeethra; 023 999200

 

Just under 300km from Phnom Penh, Battambang was one of those towns that I always wanted to visit but hadn’t yet braved the long bus ride. Friends remained adamant the food was reason enough to go and so last weekend I followed my stomach to sample what this town had to offer.

Straddling the Sangkae River, the town is easily traversed by bicycle. An early ride through the countryside was refreshing, glimpsing the morning rituals of the locals, having kids chase the bikes and stopping regularly to sample whatever was being cooked on the side of the road. Although the waffle lady decided to keep her shop closed that day (her fabulous coconut waffles sell out by 8am), a number of other local delights kept me very happy. One young lady was steaming small fluffy tubes of rice flour served on a banana leaf, eaten with palm sugar and freshly grated coconut. Always trust a line of kids, waiting patiently to cycle home with bundles of these sweet parcels.

The second highlight was the Chinese noodle-shop man, whose motto is clearly to keep things simple. This quiet man serves what I deem the best – and I mean THE BEST – dumplings in Cambodia. Sure I haven’t tried every dumpling, but these were unbelievably tasty. His small eatery could easily be missed: a simple Chinese restaurant tucked away on Street 2. When you order, out comes the dough, the fillings and flour and this maestro gets busy rolling and stuffing individual dumplings. Pan fried, they are served super crispy on one side, pillowy soft on the other. The garlic chives remain fresh, caressing the pork mince or egg (vegetarian option) and adding oomph and flavour. They are fresh and light, crispy and soft, and truly from the gods. The noodles were excellent, their uneven appearance revealing they’d been freshly pulled, swimming in a light broth with pieces of chicken and greens hiding underneath. Well worth multiple visits.

My final evening was full of anticipation as I dined at the newest kid on the block, the fabulous Jaan Bai restaurant. Meaning ‘rice bowl’ in Khmer, Jaan Bai is a Cambodian Children’s Trust (CCT) sponsored social enterprise that has the support of David Thompson from Bangkok’s famed Nahm restaurant. The head chef Mohm (a CCT-supported hospitality graduate) trained at Nahm, while Thompson himself recently visited to further train kitchen staff and attend the launch. This little restaurant certainly has great story, but what about the food?

The menu is heavily influenced by Nahm. Exquisite Thai-style dishes that get the taste buds buzzing. Following Thai tradition, some of the dishes can be spicy, however these are marked on the menu and the Jaan Bai folk are happy to tone down the chilli on request. The spicy pork salad served on betel leaves had flavours dancing on my tongue like a hot, fast samba, the perfect partner to their Green Orange Negroni.

Classic Kampot green pepper crab was reborn when cooked with chilli jam, giving the dish a lovely sweet, peppery flavour and ensuring every finger was licked clean. The Thai Green Kep prawn curry was generous in size, the prawns were cooked perfectly and as the dish was served the fragrance of freshly pounded lemon grass, basil and kaffir lime hovered over the table. I really wish I was able to try everything on the menu. The young trainees were energetic and always smiling and, given how reasonably priced the dishes are, Jaan Bai is on track to having many stalwarts in ‘the Bong’.

Lan Chav Khorko Miteanh, Street 2, Battambang (dumplings)|
Jaan Bai, corner of Street 1½ and Street 2, Battambang

 

Tucked away on a quiet section of Street 288, Udon Café Green Bowl is only identified by a sandwich board on the sidewalk. With the front of this property still serving as a residential home, a walk down the side produces a quaint outdoor area and a small, cosy café. As the name suggests, the folk here do udon – and they do it very well.

The menus (there are several) can be a little confusing the first time you visit, but the friendly wait staff are quick to explain how it works. Each person is provided with their own order form and, just like you do in hospital, it’s a matter of ticking what you want as you work your way down the list (you won’t see boiled vegetables or jelly, though).

The first decision to make is whether you want hot or cold udon. The broth used in the hot udon is a classic Japanese soup called dashi topped, while the cold zaru-udon is served chilled with a soya dipping sauce, fresh grated ginger and spring onions on the side.

Would you like to add egg or some sukiyaki braised beef? The beaten egg is added into the hot broth and creates a lovely swirl around the noodles. The udon noodles themselves are made onsite by a Japanese chef using the traditional recipe of whole wheat, salt and water. These noodles are fat, soft and chewy, and when slurped from the bowl slide into your mouth with the ease of a lubricated oyster.

That’s the udon and broth sorted. Next come the toppings that complement the soup. These arrive in little bowls separate to the noodles and it’s up to you whether you toss them into the broth or keep them on the side. The seaweed I find is best added into the soup, as is the grated radish. A friend once ordered the kim-chi, which I would suggest is best kept on the side.

Once you have chosen the little extras you desire, it is time to ‘Umm’ and ‘Ahh’ over the type of tempura to order. There really is no questioning whether to order. Why would anyone say no to seafood and vegetables that are crispy and battered and flash fried? It’s always nice to see okra on a menu: here it’s available as a topping or tempura style.

The two generous-sized prawns go perfectly well with the hot udon broth. The mixed vegetables consist of two large balls of grated vegetables (sweet potato, green beans, onion and carrot) evenly coated in batter and fried to crispy perfection. Dip them in the tempura sauce or in the broth. Delicious.

The complete package is a cacophony of textures: smooth slippery noodles, warm broth and crunchy tempura that softens in the mouth. The dinner menu is more extensive, with sets that are really great value and a selection of classic Japanese dishes including agedashi-tofu, karage and sushi rolls.

Udon Café Green Bowl, #29b Street 288 (between Streets 57 and 63); 089 831007.

It seems a lot of my regular haunts follow the same pattern when it comes to identity: whatever dish they specialise in, followed by the gender of the chef. Not so long ago I introduced you to the baii chhar lady, the ‘fried rice’ cart outside Wat Langka. Now, welcome to the wonders of the pork and rice man.

That is the famous pork and rice man who serves, well, pork and rice, into the early hours of the morning. Should you ever be in need of a late-night feed, I urge you to visit. By day, the southern end of Street 19 (near the corner of Preah Suramarit Boulevard) is like any other street in the area: a hodgepodge of small shops selling drinks and phone cards, carts rolling by laden with popcorn or coconut. However, a few hours after the sun sets, that all changes. Pork and rice man commences his duty fairly late by Cambodian standards, well after most people have had dinner. Round metal tables and plastic chairs are brought onto the footpath, while on the opposite side of the road an open charcoal BBQ is fired up and on it glistening marinated strips of pork start sizzling away.

I only ever order the standard baii sach chrouk (‘rice with the flesh of pork’). There may be other options, but to me late at night and usually after one too many beverages comfort is found in a trusted favourite. Grab a seat at any table and a waitress soon appears. A nod of the head to confirm an order of pork and rice with egg (definitely need a fried egg) and it’s all systems go. You can bring your own beer if you haven’t already had enough, although usually the waitress takes one look at you and knows you need a bottle of water. A pot of jasmine tea is found on each table.

And so the waiting game begins. Across the road the man himself, Mr Pork and Rice, stands next to his grill, decked out in an obligatory white singlet (or more often no singlet), cooking the pork to barbecued perfection. Smoke creates a haze around him while flames shoot out to give the tender meat a charcoal flavour. Sweet, sticky glazed and thinly sliced pieces of pork are placed atop broken rice, with an egg balancing on top like a halo. Out it comes to the table with freshly pickled cucumber, daikon and carrot. The meal is completed with a steaming bowl of broth, heavily flavoured due to the many hours it has bubbled away. Spring onion, garlic, coriander and no doubt plenty of bones and vegetables create this exquisite stock. Ladled onto the rice, it gives it an intense flavour which compliments the garlicky pork, vinegary pickles and hot chilli sauce. All those flavours provide such satisfaction and at that ungodly hour there is nothing you want more.

The pork and rice man is a great leveller. I’ve invited my tuk tuk driver along to eat with us; shared tables with random people and struck up great conversations – it’s as much a hit with half-cut expatriates as it is with Khmer youth and families heading home dressed to the nines after a wedding. He has saved many a person from the pain of a head-thumping, dry mouth hangover and continues to be my late-night meal of choice.

Mr baii sach chrouk can be found late at night at the southern end of Street 19 (near the corner of Preah Suramarit Boulevard)

I love food. I really do. Not in the ‘It’s cool to be a foodie’ way, but from the inner depths of my soul. Sounds a little too dramatic? It sure is because food, and the experiences that go with it, are the sole reason for my existence.

So, you can imagine my delight (read quivering knees) when I was invited on a road trip to Kep and was reliably informed that the famous Kep crab markets were a mere 200m from our bungalows. I could practically roll downhill into the loving claws of a crab. Almost.

Only a few hours south of Phnom Penh, Kep is a small, relaxed coastal town where you can literally do nothing, or do plenty while still doing nothing. Delights include the local beaches, Rabbit island, gorgeous sunsets, mountain (hill) trekking and the gutted French ‘ghost villas’ on the sides of Kep National Park (where the mythical rhino roams), all of which deserve a few columns in their own right.

However, should anyone ask me about Kep, my only true memory is the sublime, fresh seafood of Kep crab markets.

Small squid, long squid, fat squid, all squid expertly skewered and grilled on charcoal. Whole fish trapped between wooden chopsticks char grilled to perfection, all the while being basted with lemon grass and herbs. Sides of steamed rice, chilli sauce and mango salad are washed down with sugar cane juice. Oh, okay: sugar cane juice = an ice-cold can of Angkor.

Lining the coast, the market and neighbouring restaurants are in part built on stilts erected in the shallows, allowing for an easy swim to the crab pots from underneath each building. A hive of activity early in the morning, the shore is lined with moored wooden boats as their catch is brought in. A brave soul ventures through chest-high waves to bring the fishermen breakfast before they cast off again for the day.

All this and no mention of crab, you say? Well, there is crab. There is crab everywhere.

The friendly giant crab that welcomes you to Kep beach; crab-filled pots on the pier surrounded by buyers who haggle price and size while filling their bags; crab pots bobbing in the sea; crab in holding tanks; crab steamed and sold in bags by the kilo; crab on the menu in every dining establishment, and, most importantly, crab right in front of me.

Glorious fresh crab. Sweet, juicy crab. Eat it steamed or grilled or fried, or as they do very well in Kep with stalks of Kampot peppercorn. Be prepared to smile and get messy. So much of eating crab is about getting dirty, having crab all over your face and clothes, trying to keep your hair at bay in the sea breeze, licking your fingers and that magical moment you find those sweet morsels of crab meat.

Be still, my beating heart!

Go gorge and be a glutton. The crab in Kep is seriously good.

To still one’s mind requires immense discipline, removing all conscious thought while sitting cross-legged in silence. That means you shouldn’t think of crab, or the bowl of noodles, herbs and chopped spring rolls you had for lunch at the market, or how you will ask the baii charr lady out the front to omit MSG from your order in Khmer. Every time your mind wanders, you need to rein it back in and concentrate. Some folk seem to be at peace as they sit there, eyes closed, probably three minutes away from achieving Nirvana. However for many, myself included, it is hard to stop thinking, especially at dinner time.

I have been attempting to meditate at Wat Lanka for a few months now, slowly building up to a rather lengthy 35-minute stint last week. One of the oldest monasteries in Phnom Penh (1442), the main temple comprises a towering Buddha statue and beautiful murals of the Buddha’s life in a large airy hall. Somehow, street noise disappears, leaving the peaceful sound of birds and the goings on of the monks below. There is usually a monk present who provides a little instruction, my favourite being the head monk who has a great belly laugh and provides encouragement in a Yoda-esque manner: “But try you must.”

Finish meditating and a delectable reward awaits. Known as the baii chhar (‘fried rice’) lady, she parks her cart just outside the gates of Wat Lanka on Street 51 from 5.30pm. The main cart is used to prepare fried rice and the side wok is reserved for noodles. My standard order: fried rice with no MSG, extra greens and an egg. The little stall next door sells drinks and the kid-size table offers a range of condiments – fish sauce, MSG (in case you needed some more), chilli sauce, vinegar and soya sauce, whatever you need to give it that perfect ‘zing’.

With my order placed, it’s time to pull up a plastic stool and await the arrival of that steaming plate of goodness while soaking up the business of the street, a stark contrast to the peace and quiet of the temple. Range Rovers the size of a small house whizz past, tourists working their way to bars and restaurants on Street 278 play Frogger with traffic, and food carts with their bell ringing are wheeled by, laden with mango and noodle soup and crunchy baguettes with pate and salad.

My heart, however, belongs to the baii chhar lady. First the sizzle as garlic and chilli hits the oil, followed by the clanging of the metal spoon as it tosses around each addition. And then, on this noisy, busy street outside the serene Wat Lanka, an almost heavenly scent of freshly stir-fried rice hits you. A generous portion of fried rice is served up (if you’re lucky on a plate although usually in a Styrofoam container), ready to be inhaled as thoughts (and acts) of gluttony are finally permissible.

Find the baii chhar (‘fried rice’) lady outside the gates of Wat Lanka on Street 51 & 278 from 5.30pm every day.