Fish popsicle in a grocery store in Cambodia
Or maybe I should call it a "fish-sicle" or a "fish-wich." Maybe "frozen fish-fection?"
Either way, they're obviously successful in Cambodia as they've been going strong since 1991.
Showing posts with label Fishapalooza. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fishapalooza. Show all posts
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Fish-sicles
Fish popsicle in a grocery store in Cambodia
Or maybe I should call it a "fish-sicle" or a "fish-wich." Maybe "frozen fish-fection?"
Either way, they're obviously successful in Cambodia as they've been going strong since 1991.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Running Amok
Siem Reap, Cambodia, 8/6/11
I am an absolute champion at sharing food. If collaborating on consuming dishes at a restaurant was a company, I would be CEO. I am someone who does not like to force a decision between sweet and savory at brunch; I must have both. Whether or not you actually want to share. I can think of nothing more boring than dining out and spending the entire meal consuming one single dish, palette so fatigued by the end you can't tell if you ordered fish or chicken pot pie. I feel sharing dishes is such an important part of dining that I secretly judge people who insist on hogging plates to themselves.
Angkor Palm restaurant in Siem Reap caters to my deepest food sharing fantasies. In front of Amit and I is a shallow hand woven bamboo basket filled with six petite bowls fashioned out of banana leaves, almost as if they were origami. Each is filled with a Khmer specialty. This is Angkor Palm's signature platter ($7/person) and is a food sharing enthusiast's wet dream. First up are fresh (not fried) spring rolls filled with cucumber, lettuce, carrots, bean sprouts, and noodles, and dipped into a sweet vinegar sauce. Second course is a salad of julienned mango and green papaya with smoked fish. The dish is made with vinegar and lime juice and is quite tart, almost like the famous Som Tom, green papaya salad in Thailand, except missing all the spice. Next are fork tender spare ribs, made from locally raised pork. The ribs are roasted with honey, created a crunchy outer crust protecting tender, spicy meat inside. They're similar to the classic Chinese takeout dish, except packed with flavor and not at all dry. Forget Buffalo wings, these sweet and spicy niblets should be the go-to tailgate food.
Amit and I tried Amok the previous night. It's one of the most famous Cambodian dishes, a cousin of Thai green curry. Amok is traditionally made with catfish (Amok Trei), although pork, chicken, shrimp, beef, lobster, or snails can be substituted. The meat is combined with coconut milk, garlic, galangal, lemongrass, caramelized onions, turmeric, paprika, sugar, egg, kaffir lime, chilis, fish sauce and gently steamed in a banana leaf. It's traditionally garnished with a small dollop of coconut cream, as thick as Greek yogurt, and eaten with rice. Amok Trei is traditionally eaten during Cambodia's Water Festival, a celebration of the beauty and biodiversity of the Tonle Sap River. Our first Amok experience was on the Mekong River in Phnom Penh. It was pleasant, albeit more like a watery soup than a curry. In Siem Reap, as the fourth course, it's a revelation. The catfish is fresh and silken, broken up into large fish filets. The bearded fish floats in a thick curry that is herbaceous, slightly spicy and sweet, with strong notes of onion and garlic. As the catfish is extraordinarily fresh and thickly cut, it is not overpowered by the complex curry sauce. The dish is hands down one of top two curries of the trip to date, maybe even the best. It's even better considering the pleasant surroundings of Angkor Palm Restaurant, a cream-colored restaurant, flooded with light, and staffed by a team of professional, genial servers. Amit and I sit in the spacious patio on comfortable padded wicker chairs, reclining as we try to come up with new laudatory adjectives to describe the restaurant's fish Amok.
The following courses are expertly prepared as well but certainly not the miracle of Angkor Palm's Amok Trei. Fifth course is a spicy traditional green curry with chicken, eggplant, long bean, potato and bell pepper. The final savory course is Cha Trorkuon, stir fried morning glory with oyster sauce. It's funny, when I was studying abroad in Australia, the leaders of our residence hall hazed new recruits by making them consume gratuitous amounts of oyster sauce until nausea was induced. So I always have bitter memories when I see the sauce listed on menus. That said, I love oysters in all forms and the concentrated sauce can really elevate an Asian dish if used with a deft hand. In addition to being the name to one of my favorite albums of the 1990s, morning glory is also the nickname of a native Chinese water spinach popular throughout Asia. Unlike traditional spinach, where the stems are typically removed, morning glory has narrow stems and is sauteed and eaten whole. With the oyster sauce and chilis, it's a richly savory dish with hints of spice.
Final course is a cloyingly sweet bowl of roasted bananas resting in a soup of coconut milk and tapioca. It could have been a soup full of razor blades, after that Amok Trei, we could care less.
Siem Reap is known as the gateway city to the Temples of Angkor. Prior to arriving, most other travelers derided the city as a bit of a dump. However, I enamored with the city the second I arrive. Siem Reap literally means "Defeat of Siam" referring to the centuries old conflict between Cambodia and Siam (modern day Thailand). Today, the city has a low-key charm, with wide cobblestone streets and French and Chinese influenced architecture. Khmer restaurants with large patios pour onto the streets next to craft and fruit vendors. As Angkor Wat is one of the original Wonders of the World, the gateway city is not just backpackers. Rather, grand luxury hotels are found just down the street from the dorm rooms. One in particular is an entire hotel with only one suite (maybe on my honeymoon).
Amit, Louise, Elaine and I are staying at OK 1 Villas, five minutes outside of town. As with Hostel 88, this hotel is uncomfortably luxurious compared to most of my trip's dorms and sweltering bug-infested private rooms. Our spacious room has two king sized beds with silk sheets, gold throw pillows, a marble en suite bathroom, a desk, armoire, and large windows with velvet drapes ($24/night or $6/person). The penthouse of the hotel has a pool, picnic tables, and hammocks.
I am an absolute champion at sharing food. If collaborating on consuming dishes at a restaurant was a company, I would be CEO. I am someone who does not like to force a decision between sweet and savory at brunch; I must have both. Whether or not you actually want to share. I can think of nothing more boring than dining out and spending the entire meal consuming one single dish, palette so fatigued by the end you can't tell if you ordered fish or chicken pot pie. I feel sharing dishes is such an important part of dining that I secretly judge people who insist on hogging plates to themselves.
Angkor Palm restaurant in Siem Reap caters to my deepest food sharing fantasies. In front of Amit and I is a shallow hand woven bamboo basket filled with six petite bowls fashioned out of banana leaves, almost as if they were origami. Each is filled with a Khmer specialty. This is Angkor Palm's signature platter ($7/person) and is a food sharing enthusiast's wet dream. First up are fresh (not fried) spring rolls filled with cucumber, lettuce, carrots, bean sprouts, and noodles, and dipped into a sweet vinegar sauce. Second course is a salad of julienned mango and green papaya with smoked fish. The dish is made with vinegar and lime juice and is quite tart, almost like the famous Som Tom, green papaya salad in Thailand, except missing all the spice. Next are fork tender spare ribs, made from locally raised pork. The ribs are roasted with honey, created a crunchy outer crust protecting tender, spicy meat inside. They're similar to the classic Chinese takeout dish, except packed with flavor and not at all dry. Forget Buffalo wings, these sweet and spicy niblets should be the go-to tailgate food.
Amit and I tried Amok the previous night. It's one of the most famous Cambodian dishes, a cousin of Thai green curry. Amok is traditionally made with catfish (Amok Trei), although pork, chicken, shrimp, beef, lobster, or snails can be substituted. The meat is combined with coconut milk, garlic, galangal, lemongrass, caramelized onions, turmeric, paprika, sugar, egg, kaffir lime, chilis, fish sauce and gently steamed in a banana leaf. It's traditionally garnished with a small dollop of coconut cream, as thick as Greek yogurt, and eaten with rice. Amok Trei is traditionally eaten during Cambodia's Water Festival, a celebration of the beauty and biodiversity of the Tonle Sap River. Our first Amok experience was on the Mekong River in Phnom Penh. It was pleasant, albeit more like a watery soup than a curry. In Siem Reap, as the fourth course, it's a revelation. The catfish is fresh and silken, broken up into large fish filets. The bearded fish floats in a thick curry that is herbaceous, slightly spicy and sweet, with strong notes of onion and garlic. As the catfish is extraordinarily fresh and thickly cut, it is not overpowered by the complex curry sauce. The dish is hands down one of top two curries of the trip to date, maybe even the best. It's even better considering the pleasant surroundings of Angkor Palm Restaurant, a cream-colored restaurant, flooded with light, and staffed by a team of professional, genial servers. Amit and I sit in the spacious patio on comfortable padded wicker chairs, reclining as we try to come up with new laudatory adjectives to describe the restaurant's fish Amok.
The following courses are expertly prepared as well but certainly not the miracle of Angkor Palm's Amok Trei. Fifth course is a spicy traditional green curry with chicken, eggplant, long bean, potato and bell pepper. The final savory course is Cha Trorkuon, stir fried morning glory with oyster sauce. It's funny, when I was studying abroad in Australia, the leaders of our residence hall hazed new recruits by making them consume gratuitous amounts of oyster sauce until nausea was induced. So I always have bitter memories when I see the sauce listed on menus. That said, I love oysters in all forms and the concentrated sauce can really elevate an Asian dish if used with a deft hand. In addition to being the name to one of my favorite albums of the 1990s, morning glory is also the nickname of a native Chinese water spinach popular throughout Asia. Unlike traditional spinach, where the stems are typically removed, morning glory has narrow stems and is sauteed and eaten whole. With the oyster sauce and chilis, it's a richly savory dish with hints of spice.
 |
| Chinese water spinach, "Morning Glory" |
Final course is a cloyingly sweet bowl of roasted bananas resting in a soup of coconut milk and tapioca. It could have been a soup full of razor blades, after that Amok Trei, we could care less.
***
Siem Reap is known as the gateway city to the Temples of Angkor. Prior to arriving, most other travelers derided the city as a bit of a dump. However, I enamored with the city the second I arrive. Siem Reap literally means "Defeat of Siam" referring to the centuries old conflict between Cambodia and Siam (modern day Thailand). Today, the city has a low-key charm, with wide cobblestone streets and French and Chinese influenced architecture. Khmer restaurants with large patios pour onto the streets next to craft and fruit vendors. As Angkor Wat is one of the original Wonders of the World, the gateway city is not just backpackers. Rather, grand luxury hotels are found just down the street from the dorm rooms. One in particular is an entire hotel with only one suite (maybe on my honeymoon).
Amit, Louise, Elaine and I are staying at OK 1 Villas, five minutes outside of town. As with Hostel 88, this hotel is uncomfortably luxurious compared to most of my trip's dorms and sweltering bug-infested private rooms. Our spacious room has two king sized beds with silk sheets, gold throw pillows, a marble en suite bathroom, a desk, armoire, and large windows with velvet drapes ($24/night or $6/person). The penthouse of the hotel has a pool, picnic tables, and hammocks.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Do the Cha Ca
Hanoi, 7/22/11
Vietnam's lack of any recognizably legitimate copyright laws is quite frustrating. Especially when I go to find "Cha Ca La Vong," one of Hanoi's famed restaurants, and find four restaurants with identical names and decorations adjacent to one another. I think I find the right one as it's the most popular with the locals and only serves its eponymous dish. Plus unlike the neighboring copycat restaurants, the wait staff is so busy that they do not have time to try to pull me into their establishment.
The restaurant is quite small. Two stories with ugly teal walls, worn brown wooden chairs, and long communal tables that have seen better days. Patrons are sat shoulder-to-shoulder by hurried wait staff. Instead of menu, guests are given small laminated signs that read, "One dish: Cha Ca, 150,000dong" [$7.50].
Cha Ca is a famous Northern Vietnamese fish stew cooked in front of you on small propane grills. Once the metal frying pan is hot, servers place diced fresh fish filets in the pan along with chilis, peanuts, fish sauce, lime, vinegar, shrimp paste, dill, and lastly, noodles. The ingredients are tossed together with metal spoons for a few minutes to concentrate the flavor. The whole thing makes a rich oily fish stew that is herbaceous and spicy. A cold Bia 333 beer is the perfect compliment, only bested by my friendly, attractive tall Irish neighbors (lower images from Google).
New Irish friends and I continue to local Bia Hoi stands after dinner. "Bia Hoi" translates to "draft beer" and hundreds of small, narrow storefronts dot Hanoi selling homemade draft beer nightly until the kegs are kicked. Patrons sit outside on the sidewalk on small blue plastic chairs with equally low tables. We share the remnants of the keg and are eventually joined by Ashley and Yom.
There are multiple signs around my hostel telling travelers to avoid motorbike taxis in general, but especially at night. It's really unfortunate I didn't read these prior to going out. The friendly-at-first driver is parked outside my bar and agrees to the price (10,000dong = $0.50). We're a block from the hostel when I pay him the agreed tariff. He is less than content, however, and aggressively demands more money. I double the fare and try to exit the bike, but the additional money does little to quell his now enraged red face. He throws me aside and violently grabs my wallet and helps himself to a bill. I snatch it back and sprint off to my hostel, hoping he isn't carrying a gun. Or Vietnamese ninja stars. I'm not sure the bill he took, but even if it was the largest (500,000dong) that's only $25 and I still have my wallet and beating heart. When reciting this story at the hostel, bunk mates say their group of seven was held up my gun point and robbed blind by a motorbike taxi driver. Maybe chock it up to insecurity; some people have such unique ways of making new friends.
Vietnam's lack of any recognizably legitimate copyright laws is quite frustrating. Especially when I go to find "Cha Ca La Vong," one of Hanoi's famed restaurants, and find four restaurants with identical names and decorations adjacent to one another. I think I find the right one as it's the most popular with the locals and only serves its eponymous dish. Plus unlike the neighboring copycat restaurants, the wait staff is so busy that they do not have time to try to pull me into their establishment.
The restaurant is quite small. Two stories with ugly teal walls, worn brown wooden chairs, and long communal tables that have seen better days. Patrons are sat shoulder-to-shoulder by hurried wait staff. Instead of menu, guests are given small laminated signs that read, "One dish: Cha Ca, 150,000dong" [$7.50].
Cha Ca is a famous Northern Vietnamese fish stew cooked in front of you on small propane grills. Once the metal frying pan is hot, servers place diced fresh fish filets in the pan along with chilis, peanuts, fish sauce, lime, vinegar, shrimp paste, dill, and lastly, noodles. The ingredients are tossed together with metal spoons for a few minutes to concentrate the flavor. The whole thing makes a rich oily fish stew that is herbaceous and spicy. A cold Bia 333 beer is the perfect compliment, only bested by my friendly, attractive tall Irish neighbors (lower images from Google).
New Irish friends and I continue to local Bia Hoi stands after dinner. "Bia Hoi" translates to "draft beer" and hundreds of small, narrow storefronts dot Hanoi selling homemade draft beer nightly until the kegs are kicked. Patrons sit outside on the sidewalk on small blue plastic chairs with equally low tables. We share the remnants of the keg and are eventually joined by Ashley and Yom.
***
There are multiple signs around my hostel telling travelers to avoid motorbike taxis in general, but especially at night. It's really unfortunate I didn't read these prior to going out. The friendly-at-first driver is parked outside my bar and agrees to the price (10,000dong = $0.50). We're a block from the hostel when I pay him the agreed tariff. He is less than content, however, and aggressively demands more money. I double the fare and try to exit the bike, but the additional money does little to quell his now enraged red face. He throws me aside and violently grabs my wallet and helps himself to a bill. I snatch it back and sprint off to my hostel, hoping he isn't carrying a gun. Or Vietnamese ninja stars. I'm not sure the bill he took, but even if it was the largest (500,000dong) that's only $25 and I still have my wallet and beating heart. When reciting this story at the hostel, bunk mates say their group of seven was held up my gun point and robbed blind by a motorbike taxi driver. Maybe chock it up to insecurity; some people have such unique ways of making new friends.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
One Final Fish
Vientiane, Laos, 7/20/11
Vientiane is the capital city of Laos, but you would never know it. The town is beyond sleepy. I arrive in the pouring rain and spend thirty minutes searching for a cheap hostel. The most economical I can find is Youth Inn, which is quite expensive at 50,000kip ($6), but at least it has its own bathroom. Unfortunately, the bed is made up of a thin concave twin mattress as thick and comfortable as 2x4.
The rain briefly subsides which is perfect for an open-air lunch in a small cafe overlooking the Mekong River. Selection is easy: If I'm on the Mekong, I'm having Black Mekong River Fish. "Caught this morning" the waitress/cook proudly says. It's served alongside a large crispy rice ball that is crumbled into a pilaf of chilis, peanuts, scallions, and strands of pork skin which look and taste like transparent rubber bands. The pilaf and fish are accompanied by a large platter of fresh herbs: mint, coriander, lettuce, basil, and some terrible unidentifiable vegetable that looks like a parsnip but tastes like chalky dirt. No thanks. I combine everything else into little lettuce fish tacos, like Vietnam-SoCal fusion cuisine, drizzling on a small amount of the sweet vinegary chili sauce. The fish is beyond fresh and buttery and the whole taco is bright, spicy, and crunchy. The rain starts back up on the tarp above my head but I couldn't care less.
The following morning, I have a quick breakfast of hill tribe coffee, a pineapple fruit shake, eggs, and a cheese croissant at Vientiane's famed Scandinavian bakery (a cousin of the one in Luang Prabang). From there, it's goodbye Laos. I really fell in love with the country and wish I had more time to visit Kong Long Cave and Si Phan Don (Four Thousand Islands), eat more river fish, and fraternize with more smiling locals but that will have to wait for another trip.
Until then, Laos, khwap jai for the memories.
Vientiane is the capital city of Laos, but you would never know it. The town is beyond sleepy. I arrive in the pouring rain and spend thirty minutes searching for a cheap hostel. The most economical I can find is Youth Inn, which is quite expensive at 50,000kip ($6), but at least it has its own bathroom. Unfortunately, the bed is made up of a thin concave twin mattress as thick and comfortable as 2x4.
The rain briefly subsides which is perfect for an open-air lunch in a small cafe overlooking the Mekong River. Selection is easy: If I'm on the Mekong, I'm having Black Mekong River Fish. "Caught this morning" the waitress/cook proudly says. It's served alongside a large crispy rice ball that is crumbled into a pilaf of chilis, peanuts, scallions, and strands of pork skin which look and taste like transparent rubber bands. The pilaf and fish are accompanied by a large platter of fresh herbs: mint, coriander, lettuce, basil, and some terrible unidentifiable vegetable that looks like a parsnip but tastes like chalky dirt. No thanks. I combine everything else into little lettuce fish tacos, like Vietnam-SoCal fusion cuisine, drizzling on a small amount of the sweet vinegary chili sauce. The fish is beyond fresh and buttery and the whole taco is bright, spicy, and crunchy. The rain starts back up on the tarp above my head but I couldn't care less.
***
The following morning, I have a quick breakfast of hill tribe coffee, a pineapple fruit shake, eggs, and a cheese croissant at Vientiane's famed Scandinavian bakery (a cousin of the one in Luang Prabang). From there, it's goodbye Laos. I really fell in love with the country and wish I had more time to visit Kong Long Cave and Si Phan Don (Four Thousand Islands), eat more river fish, and fraternize with more smiling locals but that will have to wait for another trip.
Until then, Laos, khwap jai for the memories.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Addicted
Luang Prabang, 7/15/11 - 7/17/11
I'm completely addicted.
And I crave more and more every day.
Each hour I'm apart, I feel my blood boiling for just one more hit. One more trip into that world of bliss.
It would be an easier habit to break if our whole group wasn't perpetually high, spending the days yearning for one more fix.
We get high in a dark, dirty, cramped alley, filled with Lao locals who speak no English. We're all packed together like sardines under plastic tarps, while rain spatters down.
The supply is cheap, fresh, and completely pure.
I watch as my friends consume each hit with a slow zest, eyes rolling backwards in their heads.
I'm completely addicted.
And I crave more and more every day.
Each hour I'm apart, I feel my blood boiling for just one more hit. One more trip into that world of bliss.
It would be an easier habit to break if our whole group wasn't perpetually high, spending the days yearning for one more fix.
We get high in a dark, dirty, cramped alley, filled with Lao locals who speak no English. We're all packed together like sardines under plastic tarps, while rain spatters down.
The supply is cheap, fresh, and completely pure.
I watch as my friends consume each hit with a slow zest, eyes rolling backwards in their heads.
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