C is for Cambodia

C is for Cambodia

Hey readers (read: Hi mum)! In contrast to last week, there was really only one choice for ‘C’. I double-checked the list of countries to make sure I remembered all the ones in question this week (see last week for my embarrassing memory failure), but I had more or less already decided on where my culinary curiosity was going to take me. Nevertheless, there was a moment’s flirtation with Colombia, the reason being my eternal quest to make two Colombian friends think I’m a lot cooler than I am. Funnily enough, I met them in Cambodia and ever since, I have been following their awe-inspiring adventures across the globe with equal of measures of glee (“hurrah, look at all the fun they’re having”), envy (“why isn’t my life like that?”) and confusion (“why on earth are these cool cats friends with me?!”). Even if you don’t speak Spanish, I urge you to check out their YouTube channel (https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCbjJg8YQyUeyMfl1d0rBqCQ) and marvel at how spectacular it is, and how brilliant the ‘Colomviajeros’ are.

And so to Cambodia. I have to be careful here, as I have a strong tendency to get schmaltzy when I start talking about the Kingdom of Wonder. Not just schmaltzy, but long-winded too, and believe me, schmaltz and wind is not a winning combination. Just ask the legions of glazed and dazed people trailing in my wake. For your own sanity, I will say only this: my love for Cambodia is the most instantaneous I have ever experienced. It has well and truly entrenched itself in my heart, and it is with me, always. Alright, I’m done, I promise.

Before going there myself, I was shockingly unaware of the history of this South-East Asian beauty: from the glorious days of the Kingdom of Angkor to the ravages of its terrifyingly recent history, during the time of the Khmer Rouge. Cambodia seems to have experienced the full spectrum of everything a nation can experience, and it would be foolish of me to even attempt to break it down into a few digestible morsels. Emerging from the lowest of low points, however, this is a country which feels like it is tentatively making its way towards something special. Again, I don’t wish to delve too deeply into it here, but given half the chance I will gladly witter on at you for hours on end about it – an offer I’m sure you can barely stand to refuse.

“Good God (or perhaps more appropriately, Good Buddha) woman, get the heck on with it!” – yes, I can hear you, sorry. OK, so when you let your mind wander eastwards…no, further, you’ve just hit the ‘Stans…no no, that’s China…still China…yep, stiiilllll China…SOUTH, NOW, SOUTH…well done, you made it – what do you think of? Face-meltingly hot curries in Thailand, perhaps? The steam from fragrant and herbaceous Vietnamese pho wafting its way up your – by local standards – massive honker (note: South East Asians are not shy about telling big, lumbering tourists that they have really huge noses – a real boost for the self-confidence, I can tell you)? If you went backpacking around South East Asia when you were about 19, all you can probably remember is drinking too much 50c-per-glass beer and making wise investments in elephant-patterned hareem pants. Maybe you think of all of these things, or none of them, but chances are Khmer (the adjective used to describe basically anything Cambodian, including the language) cuisine isn’t the first thing that springs to mind.

Khmer cuisine certainly shares many characteristics with its neighbours, but it definitely has its own vibe going on. It’s a little less in-your-face than Thai and Vietnamese food – something which, in my eyes, is also true of the people of Bodge (as Cambodia is affectionately known to, well, me) – but you can certainly jazz it up with the simple addition of a handful of fresh chili or Kampot black pepper. Or prahok. Ahhhhhh prahok, what is there to say? Well, apparently it is “Cambodian cheese”. Except for the fact that it is categorically not that. Prahok doesn’t even get a whiff of a cow field during its production. Instead, its subjected to a 6-month stint in a wooden barrel, just soaking up all the aromas you can imagine would result in 6 months trapped in a sweltering and confined space. Oh and by the way, it’s made of fish. Fermented fish. Just unceremoniously chopped up and slopped in a barrel and left there to mature in all its stinking glory. But you know what, it isn’t half bad! Mix it up with some chili, lemongrass, lime juice and BAM, the perfect dip – weirdly – for grilled beef. Like a totally bonkers surf-and-turf.

Fish in general is ubiquitous in Bodge, thanks to the presence of the vast Tonle Sap lake that sits slap-bang in the middle of the country. I once read that Cambodians get 70% of their protein from fish – given their propensity to get prahok involved at any opportunity, I can well believe it. The quasi national dish of fish curry (in Khmer, amok trey) is found in any tourist gaff worth its salt, and if you venture off to almost any local market, you’re sure to be greeted by rows of little fishies on the grill, googly eyes and all. Fish also manages to sneak its way into fruit-based snacks (you’re never safe!), primarily in the form of kapi, a rather - *ahem* - aromatic dipping sauce made with chilies, sugar, salt and a very generous dash of shrimp paste. I mean, I like the stuff, but I’d advise trying a wee dab first before barrelling pots of it down your hole.

There are so many wonderful dishes to discover in traditional Khmer cuisine, including the breakfast of champions, bai sach chrouk, literally translated as ‘rice meat pig’. For any language boffins out there, this description of pork is how most meat is described in Khmer – the word ‘meat’ followed by the name of the animal. To my novice ears, the tendency towards compound nouns seems to be pretty common in Khmer, something which it shares with my beloved German, my absolute favourite word being the one for polar bear: literally, ‘honey tiger frozen water’. But back to the food. Rice, people. It’s all about the rice. And not just any rice – Cambodian rice. No other rice will do. Rice is so completely vital to Khmer cuisine that the phrase for ‘Let’s eat’ – nyam bai – literally just means ‘Eat rice’. The phrase cli-en bai (that is a very liberal take on the English spelling, there), meaning ‘I’m hungry’, translates as ‘hungry for rice’. So there’s no getting away from it. But why would you want to? It’s tasty, filling and local – boom! And there is no other rice-based dish that brings me more nostalgic joy than bobor, or rice porridge.

I can’t say that I ate too much bobor when I was living in Bodge, but it will forever make me smile as it reminds me of a dear friend – and the best tour guide in Cambodia – Mr Yut (seriously, if you ever go to Cambodia, check out the awesome Ayana Journeys - http://ayanajourneys.com/ - and get yourself on one their tours; Yut is one of the company founders). Even if he ate a full Christmas dinner all to himself, I’m almost 100% sure Yut would always have room for a steaming bowl of bobor. On several occasions, after eating with him and his all-round-gem-of-a-girlfriend, Sarah, I would hop on my rust bucket of a bike to head home, only to hear the words “Sarah, shall we go for bobor on the way back?” floating through the evening air as they pulled on their moped helmets. But I totally get it. Bobor is kind of like a rice soup, comforting and light, and full of ginger, lemongrass, garlic and flaky white fish. It’s food for the soul, I reckon. The version I made at home was packed to the brim with ginger – to the point where my mouth was ever so slightly on fire – and immediately catapulted me back to the Bodia (although I was decidedly less sweaty in my cold German kitchen than on the streets of Siem Reap). Bobor is wonderful. Rice is wonderful. And Cambodia, of course, is wonderful, too.