Category: Food

“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.

“Meet me at E&M Café in five minutes,” the high-pitched, brutish voice tells me. I hang up the phone and stare blankly over the rail of my balcony. I didn’t want to resort to such low methods. Indeed, this was the last course of action I was willing to consider. But Lucio has forced me to go this far. In my agony, I have sought out the services of one of the lowest life forms inhibiting Phnom Penh.

The first thing that strikes me as I enter E&M’s huge terrace is the enormous honeycomb-shaped booth in the corner. If you think that’s strange, wait until you see the innards of the café. On one hand, the place has something of a dollhouse style to it, with baskets of squishable mock fruits adorning the table and corny petit point pictures of flowers on the wall. At the same time, the trippy, kaleidoscopic paintings of peacocks and nightmarish trees covering the walls bring to mind your stereotypical hippie backpackers. The contrasting themes create an outlandish decoration that, nonetheless, spawns a homely feeling.

Amid the bizarre decoration, a small, ghostly figure of a man sitting on a table by the back wall stands out. Meagor looks even more wicked than I had imagined from his animal-like voice over the phone. His sunken eyes and grossly large nose are embedded in an asymmetric face. His ivory skin seems to not have seen sunshine in eons. With reservation, I take a seat in front of him.

I skim the menu, and my interest is instantly aroused. The place has potential. The wide selection of coffees includes hazelnut and caramel cappuccino, items that I have struggled to find. They are cheaper here than in the most popular cafes in town.

The food menu is large and comprises a well-balanced variety of breakfast dishes, with pancakes and eggs served in a multitude of forms. The lunch menu includes sandwiches and pasta and rice dishes, all at prices that fall in the cheaper side of the spectrum for this type of establishment. As in any self-respecting café, you can accompany your coffee with brownies, cookies and other specimens of Western bakery.
With a wide grin that exposes yellowing gums, Meagor receives his order of an ice latte ($2), and croissant with scrambled eggs and bacon ($3.50). Without warning, he attacks his food in the same way a snake assaults an oblivious rat.

My hazelnut latte ($2.50, small) is just what I was craving, hitting that elusive level of sweetness that pleases your taste buds without overwhelming them, and with a spot-on creamy texture, I find momentary happiness amid the sordidness of my situation.

The food is good, but it is not in the same league as the coffee. I get scrambled eggs with bacon and toast ($3.50). The bacon is succulent, but, beware Americans, it is not streaky and crunchy like you like it. Instead, these strips of fatty ham are what the British call rashers: thin and floppy, they have been extracted from the loin of the pig. The worst part of the whole breakfast experience, apart from the company, is the sliced bread, which is a bit stale.

Nevertheless, E&M is one of my favorite cafes in town: since I discovered it, I have been back on a daily basis. Come here for great coffee, and stay for the reasonably priced menu that comprises both Western and Khmer cuisines.

“Time to talk to business,” Meagor says in his serpentish way. “You want him out. I can help with that. I can find trash about anyone. Trash that can ruin a person’s life.”

He stops to take a sip of his latte.

“Tell me, Adolfo, does this Lucio have any weak points.”

As I take a deep breath and exhale, an ominous word parts my lips: “Women.”

E&M Café #61, St. 57, between St. 352 & St. 360, BKK 1

I am hanging out with my friend Pascalle at a café, drinking a latte, getting some work done, and, most importantly, trying to forget that today is Valentine’s Day. I am not going to lie: I feel like crap on this joyous day. In the last 24 hours a giant rat bit me on the toe and a girl pulled my heart out of my chest and fed it to the dogs. As I’m sure you’ve guessed, I am not exactly sharing in the amorous spirit of St. Valentine.

Pascalle raises her eyes from her smartphone, and asks me if I would like to have dinner at this new place on Norodom. A place that goes by the name of myBurgerLab. Her mischievous look tells me she is up to something.

One hour later, we are entering through the glass door of the restaurant and into the huge warehouse-like room. Hundreds of Post-Its with comments from customers, graffiti of a burger-making contraption, and a bare red brick wall let us know that this is a hip place. The restaurant is full to the brim and the hum of several dozen voices fills the space: the perfect place for a couple of Valentine-less people to disappear into the crowd and become invisible.

To my surprise, Pascalle heads directly towards a table full of barangs. I fail to recognise anyone. Pascalle doesn’t know them either, apparently, because she starts introducing herself. “This is my friend Adolfo,” she announces to the group, “He’s not on Tinder, but he will join us tonight anyway.”

Tinder? My blood curdles when I hear the name. Suddenly, it dawns on me: my friend has tricked me into coming to a multiple blind Tinder date. And I’ve fallen right into the trap. This beats being bitten by a rat.

To get a respite from the awkwardness, I drag Pascalle to the counter. There are about 10 different hamburgers on the menu, each one with its own intriguing name and even more intriguing description. All of them are in the $4.5-$7 price range. Beef, pork and chicken are the meat options.

While standing in line, the manager confides to me that there is a secret menu, one that only the most faithful costumers know about. He recommends that I order a Jammin’ Elvis ($5), one of the items in the unofficial menu. I also get a basket of french fries ($3) and a coke ($2 with free refills).

After 15 minutes, the waitress calls out our number and I go to collect the food. The Jammin’ Elvis is ridiculously delicious. Peanut butter, strawberry jam and caramelised onion over a patty of beef. It sounds nasty. It looks nasty. And I love it. It’s like the cook knew I was coming and decided to sandwich all my favorite things between two black buns. I let some of the people around the table take a bite and they all completely disagree with my opinion. They all think the hamburger is disgusting. But, hey, this is my review, so don’t listen to them.

The french fries are amazing: long, thick strips of potato, fried and seasoned to perfection. I also get to try the hamburger of one of the girls. The A+ ($5), with cheddar cheese, caramelised onion and shitake mushrooms, is also a delightful and original take on the classic hamburger.

I love the hamburgers at myBurgerLab. The meat patties are tender and juicy, and the recipes are very creative. On the negative side, I’d point out that the hamburgers are quite small for the price. There are multiple places in Phnom Penh where, for the same price, you can get hamburgers of similar quality but of much larger size.

As I devour the french fries and chat with my unexpected dining companions, I realise that I am already feeling a lot better. I still have a wrecked heart, and my foot is still wrapped in a bandage and missing a nail. However, a feeling of connectedness has taken over me. Perhaps, it is because I can sense that everyone on the table has been hurt in the same place that I have, and I am not talking about the foot.

myBurgerLab, #160BEO, Norodom Blvd.

The patio where I am sitting right now is the perfect place to do what I came here to do. It is decorated very much like a Zen garden, with tiny stone fountains, Buddha statues and flower pots scattered around the floor, creating a peaceful vibe that is conducive for good work. Inside the restaurant, watercolour images of daily village life decorate the white, tall walls. Pop classics in the form of Heal the World and With or Without You, play in the background, and help me get into the right state of mind.

I have been sitting here all morning, plotting, scheming my next move, trying to come up with the ultimate plan to rid myself of what has become an unbearable annoyance.

The bulk of Domrei’s handsome and colourful menu consists of easily recognisable Khmer items, but you can also find some Chinese dishes (like orange chicken, $4.50) and a few Western plates (like chicken wings, $5.45). It is not a big menu, with about five appetizers and 15 entrees.

I order coconut rice cakes ($1.60) as appetizer, and then a pineapple soup ($4.20) and hot chili chicken ($4.50). The rice cakes are impeccable: tasty and very sticky. The soup is sweet, tangy, and has a limy flavour to it. It comes with a big portion of rice.

The hot chili chicken ($4.50) is a refreshing and delightful dish. The small pieces of quality stir-fried chicken are cooked with lemongrass, noni leaves, basil and other Khmer herbs, making it as delicious as it is aromatic. Khmer cuisine at its best.

Check out Domrei if you haven’t already. It feels like your typical Khmer upscale restaurant, with an exquisite atmosphere and excellent food. The difference, however, lays in the pricing, as Domrei is significantly cheaper than similar options. Delectable fish amok for just $4.50 is hard to come by. The selection of cocktails, shots and spirits is considerable and reasonably priced, with most cocktails selling for less than $3.50. Other small details, like beautiful lotus-shaped bowls for the water, make Domrei a superior restaurant and a great addition to the Phnom Penh culinary scene.

I finish my last piece of chicken and get back to my plotting. Phnom Penh is too small for both Lucio and I. One of us has to go. And soon. But how to make him leave? There is only one way: I need to make him fall into eternal disgrace. I need to smear his name until his shame is so great that it compels him to leave the country and never come back.

To be continued…

Domrei Kitchen
#29A, St.  288, BKK1

Oh, the salad! The proverbial healthy, low-calorie food, and an essential part of my New Year’s resolution to eliminate that lumpiness under my T-shirt that appeared after December’s excesses. In fact, I have been eating salad for the whole of January. The results, however, are unimpressive, to say the least. Perhaps I have fallen victim to a common delusion: the belief that you can add sizzling bacon, blue cheese and ranch dressing to your lettuce, and still have a low fat meal.

However, I haven’t lost faith in the body-shaping power of salads, and today, as part of my quest to shed those extra pounds, I turn to Gerbies, a new salad and sandwich bar that just opened in BKK1.

You can sit outside on the terrace, protected by a sunshade, and enjoy the strident honking, obnoxious engine roars and fetid exhaust smoke coming from the never-ending traffic. Or you can go inside and relax in a cool, well-lit room with dark grey walls and minimalist décor that makes you want to sit down and spend the afternoon working on your new book. Today, I enter Gerbies with Pascalle, a 27-year-old Dutch woman with a master’s degree in psychology and a compulsive (at times exasperating) tendency to psychoanalyse everyone.

The selection of warm salads is creative, with entrées like brouillée ($5.90), a salad made out of scrambled eggs and lardons. You can also choose from a considerable assortment of paninis and baguettes in the $4 – $7 price range. There are smoothies, Italian sodas and fresh juices.

I order a crispy squid salad ($5.90) and a young coconut ($1.50). The salad is ginormous: I don’t even think I finished it. For the record, that means a lot coming from a full-grown Spaniard. It comes with vinaigrette and some slices of bread. The waitress also places a small plate on the side with garlic mayonnaise, or aioli, as we call it back home. Just as I am about to dig in, the owner hurries to me and, in a motherly tone, instructs me on the proper way of eating salad: first, pour the vinaigrette, then add a few drops of Tabasco and, finally, mix it up. It is delicious. The fat pieces of tender, perfectly fried squid never end, and they go great with the stir-fried tomato and zucchini. The contrast of cold and hot ingredients makes it a delectable experience. Dip some squid in the garlic mayonnaise and prepare to be amazed.

Pascalle orders a tuna sweetcorn baguette ($4). The bread is alright, but not particularly crispy. I even dare say it is a bit chewy. What surprises me the most is that they have taken off the top of the baguette, leaving only about three-quarters of the original loaf. This is not fair – the four dollars you pay should get you the whole thing.

Gerbies is a wonderful salad place. Their salads are not cheap, but they are worth every penny. I wouldn’t recommend coming here for the sandwiches though, as they are pricey, and the bread is not particularly good. The service, including the very attentive and helpful French-Cambodian owner, is amazing.

As we wolf down the salad and baguette, Pascalle and I begin one of our usual therapy sessions. One has to let off steam sooner or later, and for me, the meetings with Pascalle are the time. She asks me what’s bothering me, why I have been so absent-minded. I tell her about my latest conversation with Lucio and the last, foreboding words that came out of his mouth: “I will get in the way every time, just like you did. You shall never know love again!”

To be continued…

Gerbies Salad and Sandwich
#78 Street 51 at Sihanouk Blvd

On my way home last year I remember walking down Street 288 and reading the sign “Salsa Cabana Buena. Tokyo since 1995” perched atop a small, narrow wooden cabin. The place wasn’t open yet, and I wondered what might be inside. I mean, judging from the name alone, it was impossible to tell if it was a restaurant or a Latin dance studio. Plus, the word “Tokyo” next to that string of Spanish and pseudo-Spanish words (cabana is not actually a word) threw me.

Today I got a call from a good friend, who invited me to join him and his wife at Salsa Cabana Buena. I accepted, but since I still didn’t know what I was signing up for, I brought both an appetite and my dancing shoes.

It turns out that SCB is actually an Asian-Latin fusion restaurant and bar. It looks like the type of beach bar you’d encounter on the white-sand shores of an island off Sihanoukville; only there is no ocean or beach anywhere. This beachside feeling is recreated by the bamboo bar that you encounter right up front, by the wooden floors and tables, by the pastel-coloured walls, and by the colourful paper decorations hanging from the ceiling.

But, to the point. The menu is mainly Tex-Mex. There are also Caribbean dishes such as jerk chicken with fried banana ($4), Asian dishes like vegetable tempura ($3), and pure fusion cuisine such as Cambodian deep-fried shrimp tacos ($4).

I skim the menu and settle for chilli with potato ($4), or as you and I probably know it: French fries. I get a mojito ($3) to make it go down easy. The fries are not spectacular by any means. “Meh” is the only adjective that comes to mind. I think the chilli has been toned down to account for Japanese tastes, and the result is a sauce that is neither spicy nor particularly savoury.

The mojito, on the other hand, is decent, striking a good balance between sweetness and pungency.

The sizzling fajitas ($7.5) come next. And let me tell you, they are good enough to erase the unpleasant memory of the chilli fries. The beef and chicken strips are delicious, tender and juicy. The plate comes served with some tangy pico de gallo. It is worth every penny.

My friend orders a burrito with salsa Mexicana ($5) and I, of course, have to try it. It is good, but not mind-boggling good. The chicken and the vegetables are dainty, but the dish is missing flavour. The salsa Mexicana helps, adding taste and spice.

Overall, SCB is a good Latin-Asian establishment, with quality dishes at prices that are reasonable, but definitely not cheap. Don’t come searching for authentic Mexican or you’ll be disappointed. Rather, come for Japanese Tex-Mex. If you don’t know what that is, come for a new experience. The drinks and cocktails are well-priced, the staff is nice and helpful, and the atmosphere is charming.

Finally, my friend drops the bomb: “Adolfo, we invited you tonight because we are worried about you.”

With deep apprehension, he tells me that they are concerned about my lack of energy, enthusiasm, and, most worryingly, an unwillingness to shave my month-old beard.

“Heartache,” is my only response. “Somebody told me they saw her walking along the riverside, holding hands with a man with a despicable goatee.”

Salsa Cabana Buena: Latin Oriental Bar
#46, st. 288, BKK

Seven months ago I arrived in Phnom Penh and moved into an apartment in BKK1. The first day in my new lodging I sat out on my big terrace, book in hand, prepared to enjoy the calm that usually accompanies dusk.

Suddenly, the mesmerising silence was ripped apart by the metallic reverberations of a circular saw. Ear-splitting hammering followed. These strident, nerve-racking sounds were to become the ever-present, unwanted companions of my new home life. The source – a construction site situated just across the street from my building.

The winter holidays arrived and when I returned to my apartment from vacation the construction site had ironically transformed into one of my most beloved obsessions in all the world: a Japanese restaurant.

Genkiya opened January 1. Today, I enter it for the first time and I can finally answer the question: will this upscale Japanese restaurant, situated directly across the street from my house, make all of those countless months of tympanic torture worth it?

At the outside gate, two extremely polite, smiling women dressed in Kimonos greet us and escort us through the sizeable patio into the restaurant. Inside, we are welcomed with a resounding “Irasshaimase!”

The first thing I notice is the bright, cold light that floods the spacious room. Then my eyes scan the bare, pastel-coloured walls. Except for Japanese-style paper windows, there is not much in the way of decoration. The minimalistic setting conveys a sense of elegance and luxury. There are two separate rooms built in traditional Japanese style, with sliding shoji doors, tatami flooring, low-rise tables, and cushions on the floor. These are perfect for bigger parties in need of privacy.

I order a cold Asahi beer ($2.5) and start skimming the menu. It is big and colourful. The wide selection of udon, soba and ramen will appease noodle lovers. The sashimi and sushi selections, however, are quite small, with only two options of sushi rolls.

The katsudon ($7) I place in my mouth, here today at Genkiya, is undoubtedly the best I have had in Phnom Penh. The meat is Kobe-tender and they managed to prepare the egg just right: not too runny, not too solid. Five Adolfo stars.

I have yet to mention my dining companion. Remember the curly-haired, dreamy-eyed girl I pursued previously? Well, she is sitting right in front of me and I would dare say this is our third date. She is devouring, with her usual restraint and style, a dish of Japanese curry ($6). She loves it. I try a bite myself and it is pretty authentic: savoury with a thick texture.

As a side dish we get tamagoyaki ($3), or Japanese omelette. It is good, but I would have preferred it a bit sweeter.

So, back to the nagging question: Was Genkiya worth the torment?
Yes, it was. I like Genkiya. The food is great. The service is some of the best you will find in BKK1. The prices are comparable to other Japanese restaurants in the area – $12-15 per person including beer. The head chef is a Taiwanese man, but a new chef from Tokyo will be arriving in the next couple of weeks.

I finish the last piece of tamagoyaki and look at my date. Why she hasn’t called since our last date is beyond me. Okay, I must admit, her eyes display boredom when we converse, she has ceased responding to my text messages, and she doesn’t laugh at my goofy jokes anymore. All of these minor details may lead to one irrefutable conclusion: she’s just not that into me. And I know exactly why: Lucio.

To be continued…

Genkiya, Japanese Restaurant
Street 282, #16, BKK1