Category: Food

Dish: Never Mind The Paella…

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.

Dish: Misadventures Mexicano

Now, I usually never write a negative review. Instead I try to concentrate on the positives, while offering constructive criticism. But last night’s restaurant visit left me struggling to find any positives at all. A late text at work on Friday suggested dinner out with my friend and his wife (and their gorgeous new baby, but enough of my broodiness). My friend’s wife suggested Anise; a popular restaurant on oh-so-trendy Street 278, so I headed down to the gathering place of younger expats and young, upwardly mobile Khmers.

First impressions were favourable: the terrace is screened from the carbon monoxide-soaked street outside by bamboo, plants and trees, and the décor inside hints at something Parisian and inviting. I was warmed to my frugal Scottish heart to see that not only was it happy hour, but that Anise served passion-fruit margaritas, a favourite of mine when I used to haunt Charley Brown’s Mexicana in Bangkok. Waiting for my dining partners, I took the opportunity to see if Phnom Penh could beat Bangkok on my favourite cocktail. Alas, it fell a little short: not enough passion or fruit. But my spirits remained high when I spotted two more of my Charley Brown favourites on the menu: spicy chicken wings and beef chimichanga.

My fellow diners chose swiftly, too. Ciaran was swayed by a neighbouring table’s ginger chicken; his wife, Ces, plumped for beef rolls as a starter, with caramelised pork and tofu as main. The starters arrived fairly promptly, along with Ciaran’s main, and Ces was enthusiastic about her beef rolls: lightly fried beef with a variety of local vegetables wrapped in cabbage. My enthusiasm, however, was waning. Spicy chicken wings should be spicy, and although these were tasty, they were lacking in any spiciness and left me craving Soi 11 in Bangkok. Ciaran, in his eloquently Irish manner, described the ginger chicken as “OK, nothing special.”

Next to arrive was my chimichanga. Enthusiasm now plummeted towards despair. Nothing was right about this dish: the chimichanga was dry and lacking noticeable seasoning (Mexican food is meant to have taste!); the refried beans had been refried so often they’d raised the white flag, the rice was bland and tasteless and the salsa was as unimaginative as a Stephenie Meyer novel. The dream of reliving my nights in Charley Brown’s lay shattered on the (admittedly) exquisite terrace floor.

It got worse. Returning from the obligatory changing of the baby (changing the nappy, that is, not the actual baby) we enquired as to where the missing main course was. The waiter replied that none had been ordered and that it was our mistake because he’d read the order back to us. An event missed by three grown adults and one very small infant. No apologies, no admissions of guilt, just a finger pointed firmly at us.

All in all: far and away my worst dining experience at an eatery of this level, I’m sad to say. What had initially been impressive service was ruined by one obstinate waiter and a very disappointing standard of food characterised by blandness, lack of taste and certainly not up to what I was expecting. You have been warned.

Anise, #2c Street 278; 023 222522.

Dish: A Cauldron Of Indian Alchemy

Irecently discovered The Lunch Box, a Bollywood movie showcased at the Cannes Film Festival last year. In it, a young wife attempts to put the romance back into her marriage by cooking her way to her husband’s heart, but a mistake triggers unexpected events. Most intriguing was the intricate system of delivery of these colourful lunchboxes, from homes to offices, passing from hand to hand, from bicycles to buses. I was also fascinated by the wives’ preparation of meals and their exchange of culinary tricks and tips, which made me crave Indian food. Enter Anjali, housed in a colonial building and facing the swirling waters of the Tonle Sap.

Here, an inscription on the wall sets the immediate tone: ‘Sleep ‘til you’re hungry, eat ‘til you’re sleepy.’ Small statues of Buddha, geckoes and ancient Sanskrit musings decorate the curry powder-coloured walls.The menu includes Asian, Indian and Western, although opting for the latter is like going to the Caribbean in search of a ski run.

Each dish seems possessed of the vivid and intense colours of India: the red of the masala sauce and the green of the allo saag. This ancient art of cooking is an alchemy of sorts, combining aromatic spices with genuine ingredients to produce ecstasy-inducing flavours.

A personal favourite is the chicken tikka butter masala ($5): spiced, buttered pieces of chicken charcoal-grilled and cooked in a rich masala gravy. I can’t resist the temptation of plunging a generous piece of naan bread into the inviting creamy sauce. Even if meat specialities are served with steamed rice, I recommend the naan – either plain, butter, or garlic and cheese ($1 – $1.75) – because it adds a scrumptious scent to the dish. The vindaloo (even the menu warns:‘VERY HOT!!’) is a fiery curry prepared with potato, onion and chillies, spiced with masala and available with chicken ($5.25) or beef ($6.25). This is another excellent pick. As a final treat I choose allo saag ($3.75): potato and spinach cooked in tomato, onion and masala gravy; a creamy, appetising side dish which could even serve as a main course.

Dishes are served in deceptively small-looking cauldrons, which seem to possess the supernatural power of automatically refilling themselves. In short, make sure you’re hungry before you go! Given a lunchbox like this every day, the only fitting dessert for me would be a Spanish siesta.

Anjali, #273 Sisowath Quay; 012 457901.

Dish: A feel-good foray into flavour

There’s a very good reason Sandan has consistently topped the list of restaurants in Sihanoukville on review sites such as Trip Advisor. And it’s not simply the altruism on which it was founded as part of NGO M’Lop Tapang, which trains disadvantaged Khmer youth in every aspect of the hospitality industry. No, it’s definitely the food: taking traditional Khmer and Asian dishes and giving them a modern twist/a sprinkling of magic. It’s also one of the most attractive eating spaces in this part of Cambodia; a veritable oasis of greenery and ambience that gently rocks you into relaxation before the food even arrives.

The menu has four main sections: salads and starters, fish and seafood, meat, and vegetarian options. Think spicy green papaya and cherry tomato salad with lime-and-palm-sugar dressing; braised clams with lemongrass and spicy basil; Khmer Muslim beef and peanut curry; pumpkin amok with zucchini and cauliflower (from $3 to $8).

There were three of us dining. Companion #1 went for the Khmer spicy grilled chicken kebabs with green papaya pickles ($4.50): perfection on a plate. Tender chicken with just the right level of spice for tourists, and flavoursome papaya pickles to tantalise; a moreish combo if ever there was one, as Companion #1 declared loudly.

Companion #2 (apologies if this is getting a little Tolkienesque) wandered into Seafood Mordor and ordered the stir-fried squid with green Kampot pepper, capsicum and Khmer rice wine. I’m not a huge squid fan, but the merging of multiple flavours, coupled with succulent squid, was enough to have Gollum pawning his ‘precious’. I would love to pass on Companion #2’s lengthy eloquence, but the only response I got was: “Nom, nom, nom.”

Finally, Gandalf The Grey got to eat (I really need some hair dye). I plumped for a variation of one of my favourite Khmer dishes: buffalo loklak with quail eggs and sweet-potato fries. Alas, first disappointment of the night: no quail eggs left, so chicken egg instead, but any concern the buffalo may be a little tough was dispelled immediately. The meat was beautifully tender and infused with flavours that had my gustatory perception somewhere in Rivendell. Divine, from the quality of the meat to the spiciness of the dipping sauce, this is the finest lok lak ever to pass this critic’s cynical lips.

Final word goes to the service. There’s an abundance of servers and they’re attentive, friendly and enthusiastic, but please remember they’re still in training. And be patient when they tell you the specials of the day: it’spart of their training and helps improve English-language skills at the same time.
Sandan Restaurant, #2 Thnou Street, Sihanoukville; 034 4524000.

Dish: Lost bread

American French toast, a version of pain perdu, is not my favourite dish in the world; it’s something I have to be in single-minded search of. If presented with this dish unguarded, most of the time I’ll decline. Just some mornings one wakes up with a vision of the meal they have in mind and this is especially true when one craves something not in their usual gastronomical repertoire.

This particular morning, a desperate quest for the ineffable plate of diner-style French toast with a giant pile of bacon, extra crispy, one large pat of butter, and real maple syrup was summoned forth from a place deep inside. These visions came into play from the internal life nostalgic, where cartoon word-searches were conquered on paper placemats; battle plans imagined by L’Enfant in primary colour-crayoned brilliance were lacquered in maple syrup and ratified against spilled orange juice on vinyl tablecloths for eternity, or at least until it was time to load up and leave. This was a time in life when the word ‘French’ was equal to ‘fancy’ and ‘classy’; in my American mind, it still is.

As the United States marched into war with goddamned Saddam in 2003, our dear French friends suggested they call us a cab, because the leaders of my country might in fact be drunk. Our Congress retaliated, although not too formally, by shunning all things quasi-French – or understood to be French – from their hallowed canteen. This was one of the more lighthearted moments of inefficacy since 9/11 and I long for the days of genteel absurdity from Congress, not plutocratic spew. Freedom Toast, Freedom Fries, Freedom Dressing, Freedom Bread and Freedom Kissing: this was just a lame bunch of sad sabre-rattling that distracted from the seriousness at hand.

The French and the Americans have a strange and passionate love/hate relationship unique unto itself and this will always be the case, Freedom Toast or not. We agree on bread, we agree on eggs, we agree on putting them together and we agree, affectionately, on the mutual insufferableness of either side. Hope is not lost when there is bread to be found, even when you can’t stand that your most fiery friend made the loaf to prevent you from starving.

Wandering through the streets of Phnom Penh, I was presented with menus heralding thick slabs of bread, with ice cream and berry compote, served on white tablecloths. Further down towards Wat Phnom, in neatly situated stainless-steel pans, thin slices were lying like comatose neonates under heating lamps, presented for your pleasure in the various mid-priced hotels, hardening on the top and mushing on the bottom. Pathetic. I walked along the riverside and saw French toast on a few menus, but watching for a few moments the bacon from these kitchens came out limp and pale, like a melted Pink Pearl eraser; not deep red, crisp, snapping to attention when bit into like dry leaves under heavy boots.

These were honest copies, but not true to the vision. I moved on. Three-and-a-half miles of walking later, Freebird shone bright as the beacon of respectable love-it-or-leave-it, squared-away Americana in Phnom Penh. The natural resolution to the morning’s wandering: hot coffee, salty bacon and two slices of what I pretended was Wonder Bread grilled up. No ice-cream, no compote, no weak-looking bacon, no half-melted butter. REAL maple syrup. This was familiarity in the face of contempt.

Three ol’ boys in their early thirties, from somewhere lower than Memphis and more west than Biloxi, were sitting in the middle of the bar. One of the handsomest of the three gulped down tequila sunrises at eight minutes till noon, a wicked lady to bring out before sunset, but who’s judging? All three had been in the service, all three were slapped with the grunt stick, and all three were there to soak up their hangovers, read the paper, crack a couple of jokes and move onto their next watering hole. Stepping off with their left foot, thumb to forefinger, General La Fayette would have smiled at their retained precision while in town. The calf of one told a familiar story of the progeny of the Continental Army: inked boots, M-9, dog tags, a sad but familiar silhouette in motion.

I hummed along to a few of the songs in the background, enjoyed the sounds of my mother tongue in various stages of movement. A North Dakota accent here, a Japanese-American blend there, straight up East-Coast Standard, some sprinklings from Louisiana, and a light I-10 west pushing-out-of-Texas-through-into-California lilt, where LA is pronounced ‘Elay’ and Phoenix is elongated into ‘Phoeeenix’. In the company of these sweet/salty words of nourishment, I ate my toast in silence, letting the language and the meal soak into the dry pit of my stale stomach. Hope wasn’t totally lost and neither was the bread. The rest can be damned.

Freebird, #69 Street 240; 023 224712.

 

Dish: Four legs good

Sharing the reservations of a rabbi and the fears of a caliph, I have always been suspicious of pigs. Perhaps it was from reading Animal Farm at a tender young age, when the concepts of metaphor and political analogy were still too complex to grasp. Instead, taking Orwell’s tale literally, I nurtured a secret fear that the swine down the bottom of the yard would break out of their sty, head up to the house and start mouthing things about the ‘rights of animals’, ‘four legs good’, while taking great chunks out of my father’s legs. Later, in my (un)gentleman farmer days, I had a Jack And The Beanstalk moment and inadvisably purchased two Captain Cooker pigs from a guy I met on the side of the road. Now these denizens of the porcine world are descendant from animals that the good Captain brought to the shores of Kiwi-land in the 1700s. Not enamoured with the whole 150-day boat voyage thing and despite the good Mr Cook releasing a few of them into the wild, they’ve held a grudge ever since, randomly coming out of the bush to maul hapless grannies putting out the morning washing. Now, my Captain Cookers never seemed to calm down from the ride in the back of the Hilux, stuck in a sack, and reiterated their displeasure through an ongoing campaign of escape and leg biting. They also refused to put on any weight, which meant they were never in a condition to be turned into something more wholesome. I eventually sold the ‘Terrible Twins’ to a polite and gentile couple from Utah who seemed pleased to be purchasing a genuine heritage breed, which was kind of true. So what this back story says is that I have sound grounds for my doubt about pigs, bacon, pork and ham. Unfortunately, however, I’m also a sucker for a name, so it was impossible to pass up an eating establishment named Taiwan Overload Pig Restaurant, which I recently discovered on Street 225. Advisorites, please note: this is my second review for a restaurant along this short stretch of road; I suggest you check this colourful street out soon before it’s discovered by hipsters (RIP, St. 240½). Nominally described as ‘Taiwanese Cuisine’, the Overload Pig Restaurant leans towards one central ingredient for its inspiration. It also seldom attracts native English-speakers: the entire menu is in Cantonese. Still, the pictures kind of approximated with what eventually arrived, so it was no trial to order and the staff seemed delighted to see us. We then sat back and were entertained by an energetic four-year-old who, at one point, needed convincing to not de-robe in the main restaurant (Lady Gaga and Miley Cyrus, you have a lot to answer for!). As for the food, despite my pig reservations, the dishes were excellent: a highlight being the braised pork with tofu and a steamed ensemble of leafy greens. The pork ‘cake’ from the menu, meanwhile, turned out to be schnitzel, which was more than OK by me. The spring onion pancakes and fried pumpkin croquettes ran a close third on the scrumptious-o-meter, although in a serious case of over reach, we proved unable to finish them all. The only let down was the accompanying rice, which my Japanese partner was sure wouldn’t pass muster back in Tokyo; still, the complimentary soup largely compensated for this disappointment. Bill time: $15 covered the lot for three of us, which was a bargain by my humble estimations. And so, duly overloaded, we stumbled out into the street, but I think it will only be a short time before I return again. As for the whole pig thing, perhaps I might get over that after all. Taiwan Overload Pig Restaurant, Street 225 & 122.

Under The Willow, An Italian Paradise

“Certainly paradise, whatever, wherever it be, contains flaws. Paradisical flaws, if you like. If it did not, it would be incapable of drawing the hearts of men or angels.”

– Henry Miller

Now I’m not so sure dear old Henry would have written those words had he had the pleasure of an evening at The Willow. Tucked away on Street 21, mere yards from Sihanouk Boulevard, it’s a veritable refuge from the hustle and bustle of the city. Beautifully decorated and run by Eliza Mealey and her husband, and with executive chef Susi Phipps, whose CV includes a spell as Lauren Bacall’s personal chef at The Connaught in London, this is a premier league team producing premier results.

I happened in on a Thursday, in the company – and on the recommendation – of an old Kiwi friend from my former seaside haunts. Willow has started a new Italian promotion on Thursday evenings: every choice from a set menu at $3.50 per dish, a deal my thrifty Calvinist forebears would be happy with (though you wouldn’t actually see them crack a smile). With a cheeky nod at 1980s British-Italian restaurants, the tables are decorated in checked tablecloths (minus the old Chianti bottles with candles inserted, but I’m told they’re coming). Music is authentically Italian, and the only cheese is in the food.

And so to starters: a choice of chilled tomato and basil soup with garlic croutons, or bruschetta with mozzarella. I’ve never been a fan of cold soup (the drunken incident with the can of Heinz tomato and the 3am munchies does not count), but this was ambrosial indeed. No overpowering taste of basil and so obviously cooked from 100% fresh ingredients (The Willow buy all theirs fresh on a daily basis). Bruschetta is bruschetta, but this managed to be something a little more: a great combination of tastes that would have had me ordering a second portion if not for the thought of the impending main course.

A choice of three here, but my companion chose the same dish as me, so for now can only describe the fusilli Boscaola:pasta cooked to within milliseconds of perfection and served with pepper, ham and mushrooms in a white wine and cream sauce. I already have my favourite Italian venue in the Penh (won’t name it here), but this dish matched anything I’ve had there. I could easily have eaten another potion of this and not felt one iota of guilt. For vegetarians, there’s another fusilli dish, served with pea, mint and Kampot pepper. Avoiding pasta (WHY?!)? There’s a Roquefort and parmesan salad, too.

For dessert came Afrigado: three little cups filled with espresso, vanilla ice cream and Frangelico and served atop a plate. Simply pour the ice cream onto the plate and add the espresso and Frangelico to taste. Mamma mia! Che bello! The medley of three very different and distinct flavours produces little fireworks of joy in the mouth.

Overall, this is a surefire winner on the culinary calendar, with different selections each week. So if you want to impress the Significant Other in your life without frightening your wallet, get down to The Willow on Thursdays from 6pm for a veritable taste of paradise. Henry would have been a regular.

The Willow, #1 Street 21; 092 553743.

 

Cheap Eats & Lakeside Nostalgia

Guesthouse food is the dirty little secret of every self-respecting expatriate.

Barely a step up from street food (but without any of the excitement), guesthouse restaurants cater to backpackers, the wandering jobless and other price-sensitive classes. That clientele often earns eateries a double-barreled blast of bad reputation: not just cheap, but worse – full of tourists.

For years Boeung Kak Lake served as the local outpost for value-conscious travellers and like-minded long-termers. But most of the businesses there disappeared along with the water as developers filled the lake with sand and thuggishly chiselled apart the community.

As a hedge, the #11 Happy Guesthouse, a lakeside mainstay, opened two new places closer into town, including their newly remodelled location on Street 258. They have expanded the front patio, added two metres to the bar, built an air-conditioned movie room and, as of August 15, completely rebranded.

The old #11 is now the new Flicks 3. Gone is the name, but the staff, menu and atmosphere are still the same. And on a street that has veered hard toward flashpacker, the new movie house still saunters with the same summertime attitude that once made the lakeside a haven for holidaymakers.

And the food is still a bargain.

The menu runs to 15 pages, with about half that dedicated to drinks. Food sections include breakfast and burgers, pastas and paninis, Indian and Asian. But just like the old lakeside, knowing where to venture – and where not – can make all the difference.

Western food includes such standards as the cheeseburger ($3.50), cordon bleu ($5) and assorted sandwiches, pastas and pizzas. Some dishes are better than others. The chicken sandwich ($4.50), for example, comes plated with skinny fries and served as a triple-decker with pan-fried cuts of chicken breast and lettuce, tomato and cucumber all stacked between three pieces of lightly toasted bread. There’s plenty of food and you’re unlikely to leave hungry. But there’s also a tendency to over-mayonnaise, and despite the fresh ingredients the sandwich comes out a bit oily, as do the fries.

Conversely, the kitchen nails it with the chicken strips ($4): five thick strips of chicken breast heavily crumbed and pan-fried. The batter comes out golden, rough and crunchy with hints of pepper; the chicken unspiced, moist and tender. The dish screams for a sausage-cream gravy compliment (hint, hint). Instead it’s served with mayonnaise, ketchup and sweet chili sauce, which, all things considered, works just fine at this price range.

The sweet spot of the menu is in the back, where the local dishes are found. Workhorses like fried rice ($3) and fried noodles ($3) are all served in generous portions. The gem of the menu is Khmer chicken curry soup ($3.50), a local adaptation of the more well-known Thai massaman. Flicks 3 serves it with carrots, potatoes, green beans, onion and just enough chili to make breathing easy without watering the eyes. If you’re not starving, the dish might feed two.

Crowds are thin at lunchtime, the service typically quick. At night the place tends to fill with travellers and the 32-seat movie room will only increase the numbers.

If the dregs of lakeside moved into Golden Sorya, the sober ones moved onto Street 258, where a mid-town flashpacker strip has long been growing roots. The newly dolled-up Flicks 3 fits right in. Sure, it’s a far cry from the creaky papasan chairs, foul-smelling waters and blood-hungry mosquitoes of Boeung Kak yore. But that’s a good thing, right?

Cue up John Malkovich and pass the buttered popcorn.

Dish: Hard to forget

St. 63 Restaurant is one of those places that are all-too-easy to miss. I did precisely that for far too long before colleagues finally invited me out for after-work drinks. Turns out that although the building itself is easily overlooked, the food most certainly is not. St. 63 is busy every night, with an awesome atmosphere. Décor is minimalist: no art on the walls; wooden tables, chairs, stools and benches donned with clean white pillows. Talk to patrons, Cambodian or Western, and you’ll hear the same thing: the food is delicious and the price is right. General Manager and Chairman Geert Caboor and his chef, Chan Ry, created the menu together. Both have experience at an international five-star hotel and it shows. The drinks menu includes shakes, juices, cocktails, beer and wine. A jug of Cambodia is $2.50; cocktails are between $3 and $4. The airavata ($3.50) is a delicious banana liquor and rum affair (ask for tik tik sugar syrup if you want it less tooth-achingly sweet). Need to detox? Have a fresh juice, perhaps the apple cooler: a mix of cucumber, apple, fresh mint and ginger. If neither tickles your fancy, you’re in luck: there are 29 other cocktails and 25 other non-alcoholic tipples to choose from. The food menu offers snacks, salads, appetisers, sandwiches, burgers, soups, cuts of beef, chicken, pork, pork ribs, oxtail, fish, pasta and pizza – and that’s just the Western part. The Khmer includes salads, soups, curries and stir fries, all in ample portions. Caboor’s personal favourites include the stir-fried pork with ginger ($3.50): a plate piled with pork tenderloin, ginger, garlic and onion, stir-fried and topped with spring onion. Another favourite of his is the stir-fried roasted eggplant with minced pork, topped with spring onion ($3.50). The banana blossom salad ($3) is one of my own favourites: banana blossom, grilled chicken-breast, garlic, shallot, onion, basil and roasted peanuts; this salad is light but filling. The Khmer and pumpkin curries ($3.50) arrive in a mortar-like bowl with a plate of steamed white rice, the ratio of curry to rice ideal. Both are sweet curries and have almost the same ingredients, but with one difference: Khmer curry has sweet potato; pumpkin curry has – wait for it – pumpkin. Restaurant St. 63 successfully pulls off great food and friendly service at an unbeatable price. What this translates to is it being hard to find a table after 5pm, so get there early, but most importantly get there (closed Sundays). St. 63 Restaurant, #179 Street 63.  

Dish: By the seashore

He sells spaghetti & sea fish by the seashore

Since Olive & Olive (so good they named it twice) first opened its doors in Sihanoukville, it’s been one of my favourite restaurants. It’s a distinctly Mediterranean eatery, offering dishes from the countries that border that sea. Even from the outside, the traditional wood-fired pizza oven and décor hints at somewhere on the Etruscan coast.

Succulent specials vary, including braised lamb shanks ($12) and fish papillot for two ($16): a wonderfully marinated fresh fish cooked in said wood-fired oven. Antipasti, salads and appetisers fall between $2 and $6, with free pitta bread, fresh from the oven, delivered gratis alongside a range of dips and a tasty mini pizza. For your main course, choose from dishes such as the penne in salsa di asparagi, beef fillet tartufata, or of course those wood-fired pizzas ($6 to $16).

My dining companion went for the spaghetti alla tonno e gambretti; a seafood pasta with fresh shrimps and tuna, extra virgin olive oil, white wine and fresh parsley. I couldn’t help sampling some, and the combination of sweet and sour flavours with fresh ingredients and succulent shrimps was pretty close to perfection.

With the sea just a few yards from our table, I also went for something that had been swimming freely a short time before: the slightly longwinded but sublime filetto di barracuda alla erbe aromatiche o al vino bianco (barracuda fillet with aromatic herbs and a white wine sauce). I’ve eaten barracuda all over the world, but this was a winner. Barracuda can be a funny fish to cook; a little too much cooking time, or not enough, can spoil the dish, so the chef has his timing just right and the balance of herbs and wine sauce complement it perfectly.

Alas, things began to go wrong when the waiter neglected to mention that around 75% of the dessert menu was not available (on a Wednesday?). Only two desserts were on offer – could they be the decadence we were hoping for? Something had changed since my last visit (or the pastry/dessert chef was on holiday). The Baileys Note, previously a masterpiece in presentation and taste, looked as if it had been lying in the fridge for days. This was also reflected in the taste: still pleasant, but nowhere near the sweet sensuality it previously embodied. The second dessert, a chocolate cream concoction, was better presented and tasted better, but this element of the menu needs work to get it back to what it once was. Finally, to end on a bright spot: look out for the presence of Olive & Olive’s owner, the ever-affable Mr Corey, who always makes a point of personally checking in on his diners.

Olive & Olive, Serendipity Road, Sihanoukville; 086 283151.