Category: Uncategorized

Good food, fine wine

“First need in the reform of hospital management? That’s easy! The death of all dietitians, and the resurrection of a French chef.” — Martin H. Fischer.

…..

 

Fischer, a world-renowned German-born physician, clearly had his priorities right when it came to matters of the heart (coronary health aside, perhaps). The French have long been synonymous with the finer things in life, and for good reason. This curious breed of human, with a seemingly instinctive eye for beauty and highly attuned taste, can be credited for some of the greatest pleasures known to humankind (including fuelling ill-humoured expat wisecracks).

As such, fine folk from several French institutions across town have taken it upon themselves to celebrate and share the “French art of living” with the citizens of Phnom Penh. Good France Cambodia offers a week of events and activities that are bound to impress the proudest Francophile, convert the less travelled, and engage all those in between. During March 13-20, you can gaze in awe at exhibitions spanning from tableware to lingerie, lose yourself in French cinema, indulge yourself at tasting events with some of the country’s most decadent cheeses and wines, and sip on special cocktails at French-inspired cocktail parties.

With more events to poke a baguette at, we decided to make the choice a little easier for the time-pressed by hand-selecting our five favourites. Tchin-tchin!

March 14 & 15

Le Jardin Des Saveurs (Gourmet Garden)
Imagine frolicking through a gorgeous garden of French delicacies, where you are free to sip on fine wines and nibble on artisanal produce ‘til your heart’s content . Nope, it’s not the Garden of Eden, but it just may be the closest to it that us mere mortals will come. Gourmet Garden will showcase a range of quality products representing French gastronomy and oenology (wine-making, of course) in a traditional French food market style. Come with a rustic wicker basket and a little cash – the tasting is free, but be prepared for the urge to stock up.

10am-6pm. French Institute, #218 St. 184. Free entrance.

March 15-20

Lingerie Exhibition: The French Art of Loving
Yes, you read correctly. This is an exhibition dedicated entirely to underwear. But of course, only the French would know how to present undergarments as art. Photographs of unique pieces by leading French lingerie company Aubade display attention to detail and innovative design that will have you reconsidering the definition of artistry. And possibly also your choice of undies that night.

La Plantation, #28 St. 184. Free entrance.

March 16

La Route des Châteaux Wine Rally
We may be several thousand miles away from the Loire Valley, but that’s no reason not to embark on a French wine-tasting adventure in our own capital. Led by tuk tuk, vino enthusiasts can put their noses and taste buds to the test at French bistros including Le Bistrot, The 240, Red Apron, Open Wine and Le Bouchon. Whether you’re a novice or a sommelier, you’re bound to stumble away with a newfound appreciation and knowledge of this vital French practice. You’d be wise to RSVP as seating is limited to 25.

From 6pm. Reservation and further details: communication@nullccfcambodge.org. $35 per person.

March 20

The Bread from A to Z: Meeting with Eric Kayser
Bakers and bread-lovers will recognise Éric Kayser as one of the most renowned bread artisans in the world. Since he opened his first bakery in 1996 in Paris, he has successfully delivered his carefully crafted complex carbs to hungry mouths in all corners of the globe. Here to stimulate your mind and comfort your belly, Kayser will deliver a talk on the history of bread, share production secrets and show off his baking wizardry with a
demonstration and tasting.

From 6pm. Bistrot of the  French Institute, #218 St. 184.  Free entrance.

March 20

Bassac Lane Encore Une Fois Street Party
After a full week of cheese eating and wine guzzling, you’re going to have to snap yourself out of your food coma at some point. Head to Bassac Lane on the final night of Good France for a street party in the trendy wining and dining precinct. Dance off what you’ve consumed to upbeat tunes by dexterous DJs. Or you could just continue indulging in copious amount of wine and cheese and not give a shit – this is a French celebration, after all.

6pm-midnight. M&D Bar and Conservatory, Seibur Aperitif, Cicada gin and wine bar, The Library Daiquiri Bar, Bassac Lane, off St. 308. Free entrance.

Hey Mikkie!

THU 12 | Berlin-based singer-songwriter Mikkie B. can hardly be described as conventional. An unlikely marriage of pop, acoustic folk and classical music translates into a warm, yet melancholic sound. Tune into her honest, relatable lyrics and classically-trained piano and you’ll find yourself transported to a world that’s far from your smoky surroundings. Oh yeah, and she’s only 21, so what the hell are you doing with your life?

WHO: Mikkie B
WHAT: Classical pop
WHERE: Meta House, #37 Sothearos Blvd.
WHEN: 8pm, March 12
WHY: A chilled way to (almost) welcome in the weekend

Prodigal son

SAT 14 | Known best as “that guy from The Prodigy,” Leeroy Thornhill has, in fact, developed a unique style of his own, having spent many years as a solo producer, as well as producing for artists such as David Gray, Moby and Dr. Doom. He’s also had his own music remixed by numerous artists in the field, including Maxim and Adamski. Thornhill will infuse his Miami Bass with electro-breaks, hip hop and old school samples that are bound to get you popping like it’s 1996.

WHO: Leeroy Thornhill (The Prodigy)
WHAT: Miami Bass/Hip hop
WHERE: D-Club, #3 St. 278
WHEN: 9pm, March 14
WHY: Awesome in The Prodigy. Even better on his own.

Nacho, nacho man

Imoved to Phnom Penh from Saigon for the nachos. Well, not entirely – but partly. It sounds absurd, but with ten thousand or so North American expats crowding the bars, pubs and hash houses of Ho Chi Minh City, there are only two that reliably offer the tasty little nubbin known as The Nacho.

Here in PP, though, I can nibble nachos daily. Nachos are necessary for all North Americans, as well as many of those who love or tolerate them. It’s hot out on the dusty streets. And as sure as night follows day, thirst follows heat. And beer follows thirst. And hunger follows beer. You see where I’m heading here? The wise innkeeper knows that the suds will continue to flow if the throat stays salty dry.

So just what is this dish called nachos? It is a bastard child conceived of the Mexican kitchen, adopted by the Tex-Mex kitchen, and embellished and beatified by the Cal-Mex kitchen. At its most elemental it is nothing more than a corn chip dressed with cheese, tarted up with salsa, and perhaps besmeared with frijoles refritos (a fried mash of pinto beans). It may be further cloaked with sour cream, bejeweled with jalapenos, enriched with meat, decked out with slices of olive and perfumed with cilantro. It can be either the temple virgin or the painted lady of Cal-Mex cuisine. At ballparks in the USA it is the neighborhood tramp. You will not find it in Mexico except where Americans and Canadians tend to loiter.

The nacho’s origin is largely unknown to the general population. Here’s the straight and skinny. It was in Texas in 1943 that a certain group of “ladies who lunch” went on a shopping trip to the Mexican town of Piedras Negras, just below the US/Mexico border. They decided to lunch at the Victory Club, where Senor Ignacio Anaya reigned over the kitchen. As with Caesar Cardini and the Caesar salad, he was short of goods at the time. So he cooked up some corn chips, slathered them with what he had, no doubt liberally lubricated the ladies with liquor, and served them his famine fare. The ladies loved it. Either they or he named the dish for Ignacio, but they used the diminutive: nacho.

The simplest formula for nachos is to pile corn chips on a platter, then cover them with salsa and grated cheese. The cook can add whatever else might be at hand. Trout fishermen just open a bag of chips, remove about a third of the volume, then pour in salsa, cheese, and whatever else, close the bag and shake the whole mess. At the other end of the spectrum, such as when the king comes to call, the cook might dress the nachos individually, so that they appear like canapes.

While there is much room for self expression in making nachos, it must be bore in mind that it is a simple dish. And simple things are unforgiving of mistakes. The easiest mistake with a simple dish is to use poorly chosen ingredients. People who make nachos with cheese-flavored Doritos need flogging. Mild cheese is a sin. Whole beans of any kind is simply beyond the pale. Spam is insane. And there is, here in PP, a popular purveyor of Mexican-like foodstuffs that uses chips made from flour rather than corn tortillas. I have no words for those miscreants.

The best nachos I’ve tasted in the Kingdom are those of the Cocina Cartel at #198 Street 19, right behind the Royal Palace. You can have them veggie style (which is not considered unflattering to their creator) or with grilled beef or roast pork. The roast pork version is a song in the mouth. The meat is fatly succulent, meltingly tender and salted to perfection. The chips are unadulterated corn. The salsa is tomato rich with a maestro’s balance of salt, sweet, tart and spice. Big slices of genuine pickled jalapeno pepper crown the composition. The only off-note is the garnish of lettuce chiffonade, which is as out of place as a harpsichord in a mariachi band. But brush that stuff off and you’ve got a fine dish of Ignacio Anaya. Good bye, Miss Saigon. Hello, Gorgeous.

Cocina Cartel, #198 Street 19

A lease and a dream

“Everything is shifting here and so many expat businesses are just a lease and a dream, all smoke and mirrors…”

Josh Page is essentially the “type specimen” for all Kiwi expats as near as I can tell. A true exemplar of that whimsical cast of characters who, taken as a group together, give the distinct impression that theirs is a nation made up entirely of misfits, so that perhaps everyone belongs there because no one belongs there.

A Kiwi, yes, indeed. For the past three years, Josh has often ambled barefoot – yes, sans shoes of any sort – while traversing the city’s less-than-sparkling thoroughfares. Kiwi oddball to the core, he was a constant fixture in Phnom Penh’s nightlife scene, known in part for his work behind the bar at Show Box, but even more so for the very visible, very audible, and often thriving business that he founded and operated: Tipsy Tuk Tuks, Phnom Penh’s very first bar crawl.

Tipsy Tuk Tuks typically traversed the town on Friday nights as a traveling tumult of tourists, a bacchanal of backpackers, accompanied oftentimes by an envoy of expats with eyebrows raised and ready for an evening’s entertainment passively observing the fun…only to find themselves participating in it fully, their worldly been-there-drunk-that jaded facade banished for a few carefree hours.

This past Friday marked Josh’s final run in the oversized Tuk Tuk that was his company’s primary material asset and hallmark, seating ten or more people in the elongated trailer. Josh has sold the business to a friend of a friend who plans on continuing on in the same tradition and even has ambitious plans for expansion within the coming year. The changeover in ownership was prompted by big changes in Josh’s personal life. He and his girlfriend who he met here in the Kingdom are engaged to be married and are (for now) relocating back to Claire’s native Britain.

Josh feels that Phnom Penh has changed a great deal in just his few short years here, perhaps becoming a less than ideal place for him to put down permanent roots. ‘”Everything is shifting here and so many expat businesses in Cambodia are just a lease and a dream, all smoke and mirrors without any real equity or stability involved. I feel like for the plans that I want to pursue next I need a little bit less excitement and a little bit more certainty.”

Still, even with Josh’s misgivings regarding the sort of chaos that goes hand in hand with the frantic growth that Phnom Penh is experiencing, it’s apparent that there’s still a market for the business Tipsy Tuk Tuks is in: showing people who are often either too transient or too new to the scene where the good times can best be had. A typical evening has Tipsy Tuk Tuks shepherding or chaperoning anywhere from a dozen to perhaps 25 or 30 revelers on average (their record so far is 56 attendees) from location to location where they enjoy happy hour style drink specials or freebies from the bars, such as shots, as a way to welcome them to town and welcome their return business.

Josh’s journey as an expat in Cambodia seems to have both started and ended well, even if there were some rocky bumps in the road along the way. Will Josh ever return to Cambodia to grace us again with his free-spirited and good-natured Kiwi debauchery? “Yeah, for sure man, I’ll be around to visit. It’s always going to be a great place to visit. I’ll always have the friends I made here and I can’t ever see that changing, or at least I hope it never does.”

Mr. Woodford, Maxine’s man

WED 11 | Ian Woodford was perhaps best known for the iconic bar he ran on the Chruy Changvar peninsula. Snow, as Woodford was known to all, opened Maxine’s Bar in a large, blue wooden house on the east side of the Tonle Sap River. It was as casual and quirky as he was. A table made from decommissioned AK-47s occupied centre room for a while. A thousand bells hung from the ceiling and when the wind blew they made beautiful music. More than one person thought it the best bar in Southeast Asia, maybe even the world. Woodford came to Cambodia in the early ‘90s. He was a throwback to the country’s bygone Untac era, a tall, wiry character whose colourful Australian language and endless Cambodian anecdotes were a cherished and longstanding part of Phnom Penh expatriate lore. Snow passed away in May 2014, age 56. Tim Corrigan’s film Snow is a vivid “account of expatriate life but one tempered by the political violence and instability” that surrounded Woodford. Corrigan will be on hand for a Q&A session after the screening.

WHO: Ian “Snow” Woodford
WHAT: Film screening and Q&A session
WHERE: Meta House, #37 Sothearos Blvd.
WHEN: 8pm Wednesday 11
WHY: See “WHO”

Post pop maximalism

FRI 16 | Even among the art house crowd, the name Saphy Vong is likely to draw only blank stares. A self-described sound and visual artist, Saphy Vong performs under the name Lafidki. His music is noisy, frenetic, experimental. It’s the kind of trippy electronica found in underground chat rooms or lost Soundcloud channels. His name pops up in Latvian magazines and Bulgarian TV shows. He describes his sound as “spacey winter lo-fi maximalism hymns and impatient post-pop.” As if words could describe it. You just might need to see him for yourself.

WHO: Lafidki
WHAT: Spacey winter lo-fi maximalism
WHERE: Meta House, #37 Sothearos
WHEN: January 16, 8pm
WHY: Noise never sounded so beautiful

Ding dong!

As herald angels prepare once more to sing, here’s the Advisor’s guide to Christmas in the capital.

SAT 20

Christmas Party
Face painting and magic show. 10am at Monument Books, #111 Norodom Boulevard.

TGIO (Thank God It’s Over) 2014
Theme: fire and ice. Dress code: red, white or blue ($24 for as much as you can drink). 8pm at NagaWorld, Hun Sen Park.

SUN 21

Christmas Party
Balloon twisting, Santa photos and treasure hunt. 10am at Monument Books, #111 Norodom Boulevard.

Fundraising Christmas Dog Walk
For CAPA, with healthy treats and Christmas dog costume contest. 4pm at statue of King Norodom Sihanouk, Sihanouk & Norodom Boulevard.

Fourth Advent Party
A big part of the Christmas celebrations in Germany is Advent, the four-week-long season observed in many Western Christian churches as a time of preparation for the celebration of the nativity of Jesus. On the occasion of today’s Fourth Advent, Meta House invites the whole family to celebrate, with live music and special Christmas cookies. 4pm at Meta House, #37 Sothearos Boulevard.

MON 22

Christmas Tequila Party
With Mexican tapas, tequila, beer & wine. Dress code: red & black. Bring a small Christmas gift to exchange. 7pm at D22, 22nd Floor, Phnom Penh Tower, #445 Monivong Boulevard.

TUE 23

Christmas Carols & Bubbly
6:30pm – 8:30pm at The Willow, #1 Street 21.

CHRISTMAS EVE

Celebrate in style
A spectacular seven-course menu ($85++). Reservations: 012 333 276. 11:30am at Topaz, #182 Norodom Boulevard.

Seasonal treats
Chistmas buffet ($20). 12pm at Hagar Restaurant and Catering, #44 St. 310.

Christmas feast
With Chef Craig Napper: four-course Italian dinner ($78++) at Do Forni, and Christmas Eve dinner at La Coupole, Sofitel, Sothearos Boulevard (near Aeon Mall).

Five-course festivities
A specially-designed five-course menu featuring delicacies such as foie gras, venison, and Christmas pudding, paired with an award-winning wine selection recommended by our sommelier ($160++). Le Royal Christmas Eve Dinner, Raffles Hotel Le Royal, Daun Penh Boulevard.

Dine by candlelight
Dinner buffet includes roast turkey, foie gras, salmon and tuna tartare, with salt-and-pepper soft-shell crab. Hosanna School Choir will perform Christmas songs. $48++ at Regency Café, Intercontinental Hotel, Mao Tse Tung Boulevard.

Traditional favourites
Roast ham or roast turkey and an extensive buffet selection, including yule log cakes and mince pies ($125). 6pm – 10pm at Raffles Hotel Le Royal, Daun Penh Boulevard.

Christmas celebration
Goodie bag & party pack; free-flow soft drinks, juice and beer; Christmas buffet spread including roast turkey and gammon; dance performances and lucky draw ($65++). 6:30pm at Garden Terrace, Himawari Hotel, #313 Sisowath Quay; reservations 016 871766.

Under the stars
Khmer-style buffet, free flow beer and live music ($35++). 6:30pm at Hotel Cambodiana, #313 Sisowath Quay.

Chef’s celebration
Set menu created by star Chef Cristia Nou Picart. 7pm at Doors, #18 St. 84.

Gourmet cuisine
Five-course gourmet signature cuisine by French Chef Sébastien Rubis of La Pergola, the new fine dining restaurant ($55++). Reservations: 023 215 151 or reservation@nulltheplantation.asia. 7pm at The Plantation, #28 Street 184.

Santa cruise
Special boat cruise with full turkey dinner and all the trimmings, free-flow beer and spirits, live music and a champagne & wine reception ($35). 7pm – 9:30pm at Jess @ Quealy’s, #209 Street 172.

French indulgence
Array of delicacies, including exclusive products from France: oyster, duck, foie gras, salmon, sole & Champagne. Putting the final touch, the event will be hosted by the Matthias Aspelin and Alan Breen jazz duo ($45 – $65++). 7:30pm at Cabaret, #159 Street 154.

Christmas Shamanism
With DJ Shaman & free Christmas shots. 10pm at D-Club, #3 Street 278.

CHRISTMAS DAY

Christmas feast
With Chef Craig Napper ($89++) at La Coupole, Sofitel, Sothearos Boulevard (near Aeon Mall).

Gifts & brunch
Presents for children and adults included. 11am at Intercontinental Hotel, #296 Mao Tse Toung Blvd.

Lingering lunch
Including premium seafood, Raclette station, chicken saltimbocca, pavlova and other festive specialties. $48++, from 11am – 3pm at Regency Café, Intercontinental Hotel, Mao Tse Tung Boulevard.

Spectacular buffet
A la carte delights served to your table, complemented with live jazz ($125 inclusive of signature wines, beers, mineral water, soft drinks and chilled juices; $165 inclusive of unlimited GH Mumm Cordon Rouge Brut Champagne). Noon – 3pm at Raffles Hotel Le Royal, Daun Penh Boulevard.

Rare delicacies
Five-course menu featuring delicacies such as foie gras, venison, and Christmas pudding, paired with an award-winning wine selection recommended by our sommelier ($130). Le Royal Christmas Day Dinner, Raffles Hotel Le Royal, Daun Penh Boulevard.

Warm welcome
Eggnog welcome drink, green-shell mussels in a tomato & basil broth, turkey with sage and onion stuffing, porchetta ham with orange & cranberry stuffing, lamb & mint sausage, roast potatoes & roast mixed vegetables, cauliflower cheese with walnuts, balsamic red cabbage with apricot, Italian green peas, Christmas pudding or raspberry cheesecake ($19.50). 2pm – 8pm at Alley Cat Café, #42 Street 19z.

Favourites to savour
Traditional favourites such as roast ham or roast turkey and an extensive buffet selection, including yule log cakes and mince pies ($100++). 6pm – 10pm at Raffles Hotel Le Royal, Daun Penh Boulevard.

Celebrate in style
Spectacular seven-course menu ($85++). Reservations: 012 333 276. 6pm at Topaz, #182 Norodom Boulevard.

Chef’s celebration
Set menu created by star Chef Cristia Nou Picart. 7pm at Doors, #18 St. 84.

French delicacies
Oyster, duck, foie gras, salmon, sole & Champagne. Putting the final touch, the event will be hosted by the Matthias Aspelin and Alan Breen jazz duo ($45 – $65++). 7:30pm at Cabaret, #159 Street 154.

Christmas open mic
With Clayton England. 9pm at Equinox, #3a Street 278.

Festive feast
Pork pies, sausage rolls, Scotch quail eggs, quiche, turkey & ham sandwiches, cheese straws, cheese board, Waldorf & Caesar salads, mince pies, cake ($9.50). 7pm at Alley Cat Café, #42 Street 19z.

Guilty Pleasures: Superstition

I spent this past week without the use of my hands and feet. You’d be right in thinking I fancy myself the Lady Gaga of CharmingVille, borne aloft on a marshmallow ‘n’  banoffee palanquin by topless glitterlings burnished to an ottery sheen with litres of virgin civet musk. I’d command my meaty, spangled minions to goosestep up and down the aisles of Bayon while I point operatically to the smoked salmon and order scads of Pol Roger. Unfortunately I am not Gaga. I am currently immobile because I’m infested with excruciating tropical buboes on all four extremities thanks to either amoebically moist gym equipment or a mani-pedi gone awry. Or the ancient sorceress from downstairs. More on her later.

Anyway, it’s gross and it hurts. From my ankles to my wrists I’m blain-free, but from there on out it’s like my purulent digits cameo’d on the Walking Dead without my permission. I won’t go into any more technical details except to say that I can’t walk, The Hubster’s feeding me with a spoon and I’ve watched every single episode of Melissa and Joey because my claw-hand can’t press the ‘Fuck off you awful, awful crap’ button on the remote. Thank you, Nils Lofgren (the Swedish scientist, not the guitarist from The E Street Band) who invented lidocaine: The Hubster fetched a ‘de la Gare dozen’ and I’ve sprayed it over all my festering, sausage-tight appendages. Under Doctor’s orders I also swab my soles and palms with 70% ethyl alcohol three or four times a day. It stings like buggery and I reek like the dancefloor at Heart. On the plus side, a low-grade fever and some dubious Pakistani antibiotics together with a vodka or three have given me a cheeky mid-morning buzz that only Walkabout aficionados will truly appreciate. Seriously, if I was a street I’d be Pasteur. As we speak I’m a little bit shitfaced and tapping out this week’s column one letter at a time using a chopstick jammed into the finally handy gap in my front teeth. I’m glad we got that all sorted then.

Bunster’s also more sullen than usual if that’s zoologically possible, given he’s an ungrateful killjoy at the best of times. To be fair though he has just returned from the pet dentist to get a molar spur removed. It was giving him all kinds of gyp, poor bugger, and he’s still not 100%. So each morning before work The Hubster whizzes us up a mutually acceptable Bulletproof Kale and leaves we two sorry malingerers to our own devices. For the next 12 hours me and my humourless orange sidekick sit together with a bowl and two straws, sucking through our various tooth holes and perving on the neighbours while the drugs kick in. I like to think of us as a postmodern, Bode’s-Side version of Hitchcock’s Rear Window. The rabbit is perfect type casting in Jimmy Stewart‘s role, with his mangled leg and all, and I can be the cool, elegant Grace Kelly. But with pustules.

So it was that we two, supine and helplessly drug fucked in the balcony hammock, watched good old Psah Chas burn to a crisp. We’d been spying on the aforementioned crone across the road. By day she sits at her little kiosk, flogging phone scratchies and icy cold beer from her big orange esky, chewing betel and incantating. By night she sweeps a lot, which is apparently a very witchy sign, along with a shock of white hair and the generally accepted fact that she’s 170 years old. Perhaps she’d pony up some amulets or swivel her head 180 and laser-beam us with coal-red eyes. I willed her to give me a little something.

Minutes ticked by and I was about to give up when I noticed people looking north. There was a smokey tang in the air. Then I heard the sirens. Had my trotter boils allowed me to stand, I could have watched the action from the comfort of my own home or, better still, wandered down to gawk. Instead I made do with a MacGyver-style periscope fashioned from a moto wing mirror, packing tape and a stick from my artfully arranged driftwood collection. I couldn’t see the whole conflagration but enough flame and smoke to know the game was up for my go-to hair-extension place. I know it’s not about me, but this dermal plague had something of the dark arts about it, too. Maybe I should stop scoffing at the old duck downstairs and Khmer superstition in general. Although our beloved hamlet is a-buzz with Thai conspiracy theories, it just might be the old girl settling a beef the supernatural way.

Guilt Pleasures: Memories

Before my younger sibling arrived in CharmingVille yesterday, she’d been up and down Downunder searching for my favourite this ‘n’ that. You know the drill: big pants, the latest Tim Tam, vegetarian egg powder. She Vibered me assiduously, with photos. Which was lucky. Because her written communications looked something like this:

Her: Cld ony grt bl n sort of biurnt red pol fpe pa chrn not huge choive in hammo*.

Me: Your texting is hilarious.

Her: Im bling.

Her: Blond.

Her: Blind.

When my venerable sister ventures into the realm of digital telephony, she turns from a reasonably erudite and comprehensible Anglophone into, say, a Greek speaker in a gaggle of Mongolians, or how we sound to a dog. This is not just despite – or perhaps because of – predictive text, spell check and auto correct. She is a little bit blonde, and totally bling, but, bless her orthopaedic Tevas, her encroaching dotage has also rendered her blind as a noonday owl.

Like sands through the hourglass, time is rushing by we doddering siblings faster than an old bat out of an assisted living facility. ‘Oh no, Ruby!’ you protest. ‘Your skin is as soft as a tiny kitten’s downy arse. Your rhomboids remain sensually firm to the touch. Verily you are Helen to everyman’s Troy.’ Why, ευχαριστω dear reader. The fabled ‘CharmingVille Moist’ may be keeping my follicles deceptively plump and hydrated despite their years, but hey ho, the signs are there even without the aid of progressive lenses and an ear trumpet.

I’m as blind as my sister is, and I’ll never be thin again. No matter how many hours strapped into my inhaler gymside with my personal fitness dictator shouting himself hoarse, I can barely see over my commodious, Eric Kayser-sponsored ‘continental shelf’. Plus all the oil’s gone out me joints – against my better judgment, yesterday I decided to self-pedicure and ended up with a pulled hamstring and a wee accident in the lady parts department. Also a large section of lounge-room tile spastically daubed the very now shade of Tiffany Dawn. Jackson Pollock would’ve been proud, were he not already dead. No doubt we’ll be comparing notes in due course.

Most worryingly I’ve started to forget words. Though Bloody Marys are my spirit animal, I only commune once a week, and then just the one stupendous one at a certain speakeasy in 240½. Plus I’m off the Zolpidems and I haven’t smoked pot or eaten a disco brownie since the last election. I’m a little bit stressed and not sleeping as well as I could, but let’s face it: I’m hardly the ruler of the Free World. The strain of choosing which Koh Rong to go to for Christmas won’t likely nudge me over the brink into drooling senility.

But, like every first-world, hypochondriac narcissist with nothing better to do when you find a lump on your thingamajig or a nasty erg on your dangleberry, I turned to Dr Google and self-administered the SAGE test. I may or may not have a brain tumour and/or whatever Lupus is, but I don’t seem to have dementia yet either. I still know my harps from my rhinos, and I’m pretty sure it’s November something. Still, my days are filled with ‘Can we go to the thing to get the thing?’ and ‘Honey, have you seen where I’ve put my… (trails off as I forget what it is I was looking for)?’ During a hot flush bonanza at work I asked my deskmate to point the ‘wind bicycle’ in my direction.

But hold the plastic box that voices come out of! Although I have not one iota of Khmer to my name despite hitching my love truck to a local life partner, I do know that Khmer takes up 2/3 more space on signs and in that folding gazette with dead bodies on the front that people read every morning. This is because Cambodians use a lot of descriptive phrases where we barang use a single word. Bank is ‘building with money in it’.

Bingo! All this time immersed Bodes-side is not enfeebling my mind at all but has osmotically transferred a wealth of linguistic knowledge: deep inside my brainbox I can speak perfect Khmer and it’s just a matter of time before I find the bloody unlocker thingy.

*I will give $10 to the first person who correctly guesses what this means and isn’t my sister