Category: Food

The eyes of my eyes

Worldwide, our culinary and cultural traditions are based on the senses. We see art, hear music, taste and smell our food and so on and so forth. But do we really pay attention to the culture we’re experiencing, or have our touchstones become millstones? If we were to take one of our senses away, would we be further liberated or find another way?

Dine in the Dark, a new addition to the capital’s fine dining scene, requires you to experience your meal in total darkness. I was greeted by two sighted hostesses who presented me with a menu with three mystery options: international, Khmer and vegetarian. You’re then asked to place any light-emitting devices into a beautiful dark-blue lockbox, and introduced to your sightless guide.

My dining companion and I were led up a perilous flight of stairs by Guide Honey, who brought a wonderful openness, excellence and warmth to the whole experience. Abandoned in a pagoda at birth, she was sent to a school for the deaf and blind where she learned how to read and write in both English and Khmer, using Braille. Last year she spent ten months in Japan on a leadership course and expanded her knowledge of languages to include Japanese and Japanese Braille. She now attends a mainstream university in Phnom Penh and is undertaking a course in English literature with sighted peers.

The visually impaired guides are all sharp as tacks, well versed and focused, granting you a reassuring passage from the world of the sighted to a world without light. Although they also assume waiter duties, they’re more like interpreters of the darkness. We often view ‘the dark’ as a place in which terrible things happen. Here, we’re invited to converse and even dine with the darkness; to be soothed by it and make peace, with the help of those who understand its murmurings.

The meal ($18) was timed beautifully and came in three ‘surprise’ courses. Each was wonderfully prepared, rich and delicious. Even though we were not privy to the menu components, the mystery sparks interesting conversation between diners and adds to the fun. The actual eating without the aid of visual cues might be a steep curve for some, but I found that if you listened carefully to your guide you could take a mental picture of the layout of the table and eat with ease. Dine in the Dark also, by design, gives you the freedom to slow down, take stock and enjoy your meal distraction free.

I left with the last lines of an old EE Cummings poem in my head – ‘Now the ears of my ears awake and now the eyes of my eyes are open’ – my belly full and my millstone transformed into a touchstone.

Dining in the Dark (6pm to 10:30pm), Botanic Café, #126 Street 19; 077 589458

 

L’Orchidee: Where nature takes centre stage

The tree was there first, so it stayed while Jenny and Patrice built the restaurant around it. It cuts into the seating space during the rainy season, but they figure the green is worth it. “When people in a Lexus drive up and ask if we have air-conditioning I point to the tree,” says Patrice, “Air-con is expensive and we would have to increase our prices.”

Who do they want to attract? Beatles fans (three of their albums play non-stop) who want to eat spectacular Khmer and European food. Patrice, born in France, refers to himself as a European cook and is inspired in the kitchen. From time to time he ventures out of his domain to personally check whether folk are enjoying his food. Jenny – waitress, cashier, manager and owner – runs the front operation. Her first language is Khmer, but she is also fluent in English and French and will soon add German to her polyglot portfolio.

A meal at L’Orchidee starts with a cold, wet towel. Could anything be more refreshing than wiping your hands and mopping your neck on a hot, sweaty day? Next comes the complimentary spey chrok, a cross between Ukrainian sauerkraut and Korean kimchi. The pickled cabbage perks up your taste buds with a hit of vinegar.

According to David, a dedicated regular, the chicken amok is “like a party in your mouth”. It follows a traditional recipe Jenny got from her grandmother. Mirka, from Slovakia, adds that the food is: “Beautiful. Really tasty and perfectly spiced: not too much, not too little.”

The menu lists the prices in riel and offers small and large portions. Highly recommended is the amok fish served in a banana leaf (18,000 riel; 27,000 riel) and fried chicken with lemongrass (14,000 riel; 21,000 riel). Carnivores can tuck into the lok lak – fried beef with onion, tomatoes and a fried egg (16,000 riel, 24,000 riel) – or the French style filet in cracked Kampot pepper (32,000 riel). Dessert hounds will drool over the crème brulee (8,000 riel).

Want to try a truly local dish? Order the cow’s tongue (1,800 riel; 2,700 riel) or the duck feet salad with glass noodles (12,000 riel; 15,000 riel). According to Jenny, “Khmer people really like cow’s tongue and we slow-cook it for hours.” The bar has what you want and there’s a focused wine list. Non-tipplers can imbibe fresh coconut (4,000 riel) a smoothie (8,000 riel) or soft drinks.

“We aren’t going to get rich quickly because we want to build up relationships,” Jenny confides. “People are important and we want them to come back and to bring their friends. We want our customers to stay with us forever.”

L’Orchidee, #82 Street 464; 010 998123.

Aphrodisiac salad, 450 million years in the making

Seldom does the great Cambodian-Barang divide appear deeper or more difficult to navigate than at the dining table.

Cambodians eat a lot of weird shit and, if you hang around long enough, eventually someone will insist you eat some weird shit, too.

But native English speakers don’t typically eat alligator. Or monkey. Or crickets or pig brain, either. To most foreign tastes, traditional Khmer cuisine is a minefield of naturally occurring plants and animals wholly lacking in first-world culinary advances like Marmite, Cheez Whiz and other nutritionally devoid, hyper-processed, food-like products. This culinary chasm often makes for strained conversation as perplexed foreigners struggle to understand the appeal of prahok, why someone would want to eat a half-cooked duck foetus, or how a 2,000-year-old fishing culture never learned to fillet.

Misunderstandings go both ways, of course. Locals are unlikely to realise that foreigners prefer their fish without a face and their meat without the bones chopped into tiny pieces. They are unlikely to fully understand the reflexive smiles provoked when they explain to customers, as they do at Andart Rorm, that the name means ‘Dancing Tongue’.

The original Andart Rorm on Street 242 is something of a local seafood institution and the restaurant is well-known for its authentic Cambodian tastes. Its newest shop on Streets 51 and 294 is the restaurant’s attempt to carve into the Western restaurant market.

For newcomers or out-of-towners making their initial forays into Khmer cuisine, Andart Rorm makes a good entry point. Seafood is similar throughout the world, so there are plenty of recognisable dishes to choose from (and some strange ones, too). Portions are large compared to the price and come served in oversized, easy-to-share plates designed to feed three to four people.

The Fried Shrimp With Green Pepper ($8.50) is a standout. Prepared with whole peppercorn stalks and a creamy pepper sauce, the distinctive bite of Kampot green complements the vaguely salty taste of shrimp. The Chinese Spinach And Shrimp ($5), with crunchy, healthy pan-fried stalks, is nearly as good.

For the adventurous, Andart Rorm’s house specialty is the Asian delicacy horseshoe crab, revered for it powers as an aphrodisiac. Known as kapas in the local language, horseshoe crab are not crabs at all but marine arthropods more closely related to spiders or scorpions than crustaceans. They are sometimes called (rather misleadingly) ‘living fossils’ because fossil records exist of such animals, but scientists reject the idea that horseshoe crab stopped evolving 450 million years ago. Today’s species, while similar in appearance, are believed to be far different genetically.

Horseshoe crab are wild, alien-looking creatures with 10 eyes and a large, hard carapace. They contain virtually no edible meat, and nearly all recipes use the eggs of a pregnant female as the core ingredient for salads and other mixed dishes. At Andart Rorm, the signature dish is Special Kapas Egg with Mango Salad ($12).

The small, greenish eggs are mixed with shredded mango and a light assortment of greens, including kafir lime leaves, then drizzled with lime juice and served in the gutted shell of the crab. The eggs are firm and chewy, like dried shrimp. They are rather tasteless, however, and the flavours come from the mango, greens and lime juice. Not unpleasant, the salad wasn’t nearly as satisfying as the shrimp (or as weird).

As for its aphrodisiac powers, the female restaurant staff seemed as horrified to have that conversation as I was to explain the innuendoes involved in dancing tongues. So we stayed silent, leaving the great cultural divide firmly intact.

Andart Rorm, #207 Street 51 & 294.

So fresh you can smell the sea

The clear bright eye of the sea bass stared up at me. On the other side of the counter, the chef reached for the whole fish. His knife flashed in the kitchen light that bounced off the pots and pans as he skillfully sliced it into fillets. How did I want it done? Grilled, please, with the lemon aspen vinaigrette.

The beauty of the recently launched Fish Market buffet at the Sofitel is that you pick the seafood you want and then you watch it being cooked. Choices seem to go on forever: sea bass, grappa, crabs and clams are sourced locally; the oysters are from France; the octopus and tuna from Japan; the langoustines and prawns from Vietnam and the salmon from Norway.

The adage ‘You wouldn’t eat here if you could see the kitchen’ doesn’t apply to the open stoves where the production process is part of the dining experience. As well as cooking, the white-hatted chefs are performers who flip and stir and drip sauces across the well-presented plates. Their culinary acts add a theatrical note to the evening. Blue-and-white-striped sailor types clear the dishes as people saunter back for the next course. Like a well-run ship, the dining room at La Coupole sails along smoothly.

If you aren’t a seafood fan, don’t worry because there are other options, including a pasta section, meat offerings, salads and cheeses. The choice of bread cuts across all types and grains. The dessert station is so tempting you will have to promise yourself  you’ll go to the gym every day next week to make up for being excessive. No shortage of food choices and to eat your way through it might take a week.

“This buffet is absolutely amazing,” offered Todd, the photographer and my dining companion. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it. The prawns were unbelievable.” Despite consuming a hefty portion, he sauntered back to the dessert station three times. “The chocolates are exquisite.” True. Bite-size dark chocolates that squirt the liquid centre in your mouth without being too oohey-gooey sweet.

The ambience at La Coupole makes you want to hang around for the evening. The dining room has a high ceiling, spaciously placed tables and various food areas. No rush; no hasty decisions. Pick, nibble or tuck right in, depending on the course.

The Fish Market is an ideal place to take someone you want to impress or to celebrate your special family whatever. Reservations are recommended for large groups so they can be accommodated. Plan on making an evening at the Fish Market an ‘event’. Expect to pay $38 per person, whinh includes a glass of white wine.

La Coupole, Sofitel Phnom Phen Phokeethra; 023 999200.

Noodle doodles

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.

Style versus substance

It’s 11:30 on a warm Mekong morning. I need to refuel and face the day, or what’s left of it anyway. I contact my partner in crime (well, when the crime is Saturday brunch) and we make a plan to meet at Digby’s, the ‘newish’ establishment on the corner of Streets 306 and 63.

A colleague recently remarked that if, when in New York, you are never further than two metres from a rat, then in BKK1 you are probably never more than 20 metres from a latte. The explosion of café/dining options in this and the city’s wider environs has been suitably impressive and if access to a reasonable cappuccino was a Millennium Development Goal then Phnom Penh could justifiably tick this one off the imposing list.
Enter Digby’s.

The eatery is a breakfast and lunch venue, open from 7am to 10pm (closed Sundays). If the venue has an older, nocturnal brother in décor and design then Doors comes to mind (for the more travelled, try the excellent Ursine, in Ho Chi Minh). And from a style perspective they are all impressive. Think smooth, polished concrete; large spaces and airy decor, then you will know the feel.

It’s done well and compliments should be made to the creative design team, who have finished things off with artfully composed tables and static displays, including a collection of old typewriters at the main entrance (although their relation to the dining experience is hard to decipher, perhaps they are intended for people whose laptops die?).

Having created an ambience, does the food match the space? Hmm, let’s say the potential is definitely there.

On our visit my companion launches into the highly commended cheesecake. “Tasty” and various other superlatives are offered up, between bites, as testimony to the virtues of the cake. She goes all Oliver Twist and kindly asks the waitress if it’s possible to have some more.

Me, I go for a carbo load and head for the Big Breakfast. When it arrives I think there has been some mistake on the menu, perhaps renaming the dish ‘moderately sized breakfast’ would be more apt. What is present certainly ticks the boxes: tasty sausages, eggs cooked as requested, potato croquettes, but it’s all a little on the lean side and a bit underwhelming, certainly for $7.95.

The orange juice I order is refreshing and freshly squeezed, but it fights for space with a large helping of ice cubes in a less than classy disposal plastic cup (environmental footprint?). Again, ice and price mean that Digby’s delivers too little for too much ($2.95).

The waiting staff are attentive and try their best, and an obvious investment has been made in their training and delivery. Go off rote with your questions, however, and they struggle, but this is to be expected and it is the sort of thing that will iron out in the coming weeks.

Elsewhere a large portion of the remaining downstairs is dedicated to a deli that includes a butchers, organic food and a healthy selection of wines. Neither of us feel like purchasing anything today, but the selection looks tempting; perhaps next time.

Overall, I leave Digby’s with mixed feelings. Its understated class and aesthetic represents a noteworthy addition to the design-scape (and imagination) of Phnom Penh. I remain less convinced, however, about the capacity of Digby’s to deliver fare that mirrors its prices. After all, style alone will not carry the day if you have a raging appetite! Come for the décor. Stay for the ambience. Consider substance versus price.

Digby’s, #197 Street 63  023 226 677.

…..

CORRECTION SEPT  5.

The original article said Digby’s was located at Street 306 and Street 57. The correct cross street is Street 63. The original article cited opening hours of 7am to 5pm. Opening hours are 7am to 10pm. The original address listed in the article was for the butchery, not the restaurant. The story has been revised accordingly. The Advisor believes prices stated in the article were correct at time of writing.

Quitapenas: the place to share

When I asked Adrian if I could see the menu, he handed me an airmail envelope. Caught in the headlights, I obviously looked a touch stunned. He smiled and explained that in Spanish, ‘menu’ is carta – the same as the word for ‘letter’ – so they decided to do a double innuendo and deliver the choices in that format. And a good idea it was, too, because the offerings change daily to reflect what is available at the market. What is on offer on Tuesday may not be there on Wednesday, so never worry about same-same at Quitapenas (pronounced key-ta-pa-nes, it translates as ‘take away your sorrows’).

The modus operandi? Wake up early, go to Central Market to get the freshest of the fresh, figure out which dishes to offer, print the menu at 4pm and open the doors. The menu is short and snappy and – like a good letter – never more than a page and a half.

Fortunately, Joaquin – the master chef behind it all – has identified some signature dishes you can count on. Leading the list are the goat-cheese balls with caramelised onion that I raved about for days after the opening. Okay, okay so I confess to stalking the waiters carrying trays with large white spoons. Also included in this select niche of constants is the pisto manchego with hiroshima oysters, codfish in raspberry aioli and the American beef tenderloin with fresh Roquefort and oxtail sauce. Insider tip: ask for a bit of bread to soak up the sauce drizzled across the plate of duck liver with port sauce. It was enough to make me revert to sucking my thumb.

Moving on from the menu obsession, the bigger picture at Quitapenas is tapas, wine and the lounge. Tapas – the only choice – are small dishes that beg to be shared and they range from $5 to $10. Depending on how hungry you are, expect to pay roughly $10 to $20 per person or $20 to $30 if you opt to imbibe some accompanying wine. On the topic of wine, Adrian notes: “We have wines from around the world, not just Spain, but Australia, New Zealand, America and France. If you are looking for a versatile choice I would recommend Canepa Reserva Privada Sangiovese-Carmenere at $26 a bottle.”

When you finish eating, go upstairs to the lounge to digest and relax. A cut-and-paste of private spaces, each of the three rooms opens onto the balcony.  Sit back and enjoy the DJ and the vinyl music. Yes, that’s right. Real records. The type that were around before MP3s, cassettes and even 8-tracks. Classic.

Final comment: this food may not be organic, but it is close to orgasmic.

Quitapenas, #14b Street 264 (corner of Street 19); 088 8222880.

The pork and rice many cometh

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)

Taking flight: Wild Wings

If it’s not the monsoon rain then it’s the heavy blanket of humidity that prevents me from dabbling with al fresco dining in Cambodia. No matter how appealing the flora and fauna decorating the terrace, it’s no fun when you’re sweating more fluid than a herd of backpackers could even think about drinking in beer form.

Thankfully, Wild Wing has managed to overcome that problem by building the restaurant around two trees. Towering ceilings accommodate a 30-year-old tree, the centrepiece of the horseshoe-shaped bar, and its slightly smaller companion. Here you can enjoy the delights Mother Nature has to offer. In air-con. Genius.

A domed white ceiling makes the place feel bright, sunlight bouncing around the room. Cement floors give the place a modern, industrial twist, and the minimal décor of random objects such as a bicycle, tennis racquet, violin, guitar and trainers give the place a quirky twist.

Here, the clue is in the name: the signature serving is Buffalo wings. As a plate piled high with juicy, extremely meaty wings passed us, leaving a trail of sumptuous smells, we were tempted. But we decided to stick to a lighter lunch and save the sticky fingers for when there’s more of us to share the choice of six ($4.99), 12 ($7.99) or 20 ($10.99) wings served with a selection of sauces from superhot, BBQ and teriyaki to honey and mango habanero.

Seafood features heavily on the menu too, with a speciality pot offering 1kg of blue crab ($28), mud crab ($25), shrimp ($22) or clams ($12) served with a choice of flavours, including Louisiana-style boiled with Cajun seasoning, hot and juicy, garlic butter and tamarind. But with a range of much lighter daily specials on offer, we went for the kung pao chicken ($3.50) and Buffalo chicken salad ($3.50).

The kung pao chicken was a spicy stir fry made up of a healthy serving of small chunks of chicken, peanuts and chili peppers with steamed rice. Despite being slightly on the dry side, it was an explosion of flavours, with the spicy chili working perfectly with the peanuts. Perfectly presented, the Buffalo chicken salad was a generous helping of sliced chicken breast cooked in hot sauce, giving it a nice kick; romaine lettuce; carrots; cucumber, celery and doused with ranch sauce.
Stuffed and satisfied, we ordered the bill, which came in at $7, and pledged to come back quick because while I love the trees, I’m not sure how long they can survive inside.

Wild Wing, #54 Street 294; 077 827799 / 015 997717.

Anyone for foie gras poele avec navat?

Two items on Orkun Cha’s menu immediately caught my eye – Staustced Frog Thigh and Cevic with Kos Kong – but I settled for the seafood. This mysterious dish proffered its own brand of adventure, promising a rainbow mélange of ‘pepers’:  green peper, red peper and green sweet peper. I was excited to see exactly how many types of ‘pepers’ would appear alongside the seafood and settled in to wait while my companions made their way past the Purrspring Rolled and Deep Fry Chicken Ving – one ordering duck breast with joice honey sauce, one selecting the filet de loup de mer (sea bass) and the other opting for the safer lok lak beef.

At Okun Cha Gourmet Bar, the spotlight isn’t on the meal; it’s on the menu. It’s also on the neighbourhood because it’s located smack bang in the middle of Street 136 (aka Girlie Street, to the uninitiated), with a goldfish-bowl view of ladyboys preening at Candybar on one corner and bargirls fluttering around Mr Butterfly on the other.

Inside, the friendly staff – all attractive young Cambodian women in tight jeans who work the floor to an iTunes playlist of Backstreet Boys, Lady Gaga and moody techno pop – deliver dishes to patrons lounging in padded booths amid blue velvet curtains and kaleidoscopic neon lights, all observing the street show from behind the floor-to-ceiling windows. It’s like the minnows watching the sharks.

The restaurant was recommended by our neighbours who waxed lyrical about their coulant de chocolat (a wonderfully decadent slab of chocolate soufflé filled with warm molten chocolate) and I have to say it’s worth the trip down the walk of shame for this luscious morsel.

While I wouldn’t describe the cuisine as first-rate, I’d give it three stars out of five. Service is a tad on the slow side and the lengthy menu features no less than 63 items (and 13 desserts), including French, Khmer, Thai, Italian and Chinese selections.

For meat eaters, there’s roasted lamb ($18.50), T-bone ($18.50) and entrecote ($14.50) and, for pescatores, sea bream ($7.50), grouper with garlic pastis sauce ($7.50) and grilled tiger prawns ($11.50) which, although a bit squishy in texture, are tasty and well seasoned . There’s also a selection of pizzas and pasta dishes (from $5.50 to $8.50) as well as salads, soups and Cambodian plates.

The ‘fried seafood’ is a tasty assortment of shrimp, fish and other swimming things, with fresh Kampot pepper sprinkled liberally throughout the dish – a great deal for only $5. My companion declared the lok lak average, saying it probably came from an athletic cow, and the succulent portion of sea bass ($7.50) with a delightfully crispy skin was declared the best dish on the table.

The grand finale, of course, has to be the chocolate dessert, but be warned: patrons are cautioned it takes “12 minutes to prepare” so you may want to plan ahead. At least 12 minutes. Or, if you don’t want to wait, order the banana sleb.

Okun Cha, #28 Street 136; 023 224532.