Food brings us together in this dirty but beautiful city.

I am on a working holiday in South East Asia, and am now in Pnomh Penh for 9 days.
One week in, and I was feeling like I haven’t really got in contact with the real city by being on the ‘quiet’ side on the mighty Tonle Sap in a co-working space.

The other two co-working spaces I have visited in Asia have been gently social, having a drink with others, hearing an Australian accent quite frequently. At this location it is more like a backpackers: girlfriend issues, discussions about the state of the world, people trying to find their place by moving around in parts of the world that aren’t theirs.

Understanding

I have come to a few conclusions:

I like my personal audio space. Constant outside noises made by humans annoy me!
I show caring by cooking for others.
I am having a hard time with so much background noise and unfamiliarity.
Food can bring us all together.
Community and embedding yourself in that community provides a sense of belonging, not a mobile search.

So maybe it’s a bit much of an ask for a woman from one of the most pristine, quiet, relaxed places where the sense of community is immense, to embrace a bustling city at the junction of two major rivers in one of the poorest countries in the world. But I found a solution.

Food is my go-to place

I am on the constant search for fresh ideas inspired by street food, local foods.
I have made friends with an awesome human form Croatia who lives in Germany. We hit the city streets.
I cannot remember a time that I have I felt so invigorated by walking busy streets for 8 hours!

Yesterday I took a lovely person I have met at the accommodation and we hit the city. After a couple of false starts to try to use the boat to get across the Tonle Sap River, we ducked into a coffee shop for wifi and caffiene to order a rickshaw to town.
Feeling hungry we took a little risk and ate a soup that was supposed to be beef, but it kind of felt like the beef didn’t make a Moo sound at any point in it’s life. Thinking to myself…What can go wrong? This bustling kitchen had massive metal bowls full of bean shoots, herbs and fresh rice noodles, and about fifteen busy staff fiercely scrubbing pots and serving dishes.
The customer sitting next to me on the long table asked in broken English “Where are you from?’
Smiling, I reply, ‘Australia, mate.’ He grins. I tell him the food is amazing, because it tastes so good, and he beams.
“Where are you from? Do you live here?’ I ask. Yes, he is from Pnomh Penh and is very proud to be going to University doing Civil Engineering. Conversation is stalling, so I get back to my comfort zone.
“Is this food Khmer?’
Yes, he says. It is like Pho by the Vietnamese.
‘What is this?’ I ask, pointing to the pale looking slices of something or other in my bowl.
‘Meat.’ I stifle a giggle. “What sort of meat? Cow?’
‘Ah! Pig!’ We laugh and I thank him in Khmer and we carry on with our respective meal and friends.
It’s food that bought that conversation into unity. It’s a common thread between humans. We all eat! I am keen to share my food knowledge, and techniques with others. But most of all, I love to have small moments of communication with someone, and food provides a universal vessel for that conversation.
In Western kitchens French words are used by all Chefs. Chaud means hot. Fromage, buerre, miel…cheese, butter, milk…The list goes on. When there is a language barrier it is harder to communicate, but pointing and smiling helps a lot. Food is something that can be learnt without words, just watching. Rudimentary sign language! But you need to build language for a deeper understanding of the reasons behind what is happening, tweaks and insights.

The Exchange

My point is, when I was feeling the most unease on the streets of a foreign city I built a small level of respect with a man who was complete stranger but because I was trying his style of food on a filthy sidewalk under a tarpaulin in the rain we had an exchange.

So from there we found ourselves in the Russian market, with shiny gold and diamonds everywhere with women begging for food, dirty floors and or course rain and dirt up the back of my legs. It was at the entrance of this sweltering humid shed that I found a bicycle with a huge basket on the back full of ripe yellow pineapples. Perfect! After a bit of pointing and a man calling the owner of the pushbike, she arrived, a gorgeous timid woman. We asked how much for one pineapple. 2000 riels. ‘We take 5 please.’ You can imagine, my hand held up in indication of what 5 is. Sign language again. Big grin, she ran off to get change for a five dollar note from market stall holders. I carried those heavy little packages around for hours. I reckon it made them taste so much better last night and this morning!

It’s not always about the destination

Passapp is Cambodia’s version of Uber. It’s very simple. The price is agreed before the ride. You cash at the end of the ride. The rickshaws are like a Model T Ford, but three colours! White, red or yellow. Simple little machines that carry three Europeans at best, or a whole family from here! We took a Passapp rickshaw and our lovely driver had no idea where we were really keen to go, so took us to a five storey mall. As chance has it, we found on the third floor a selection of about 15 suitcases!

Happy days, since the Bangkok airport decided to break mine, the wheels don’t wheel anymore, it’s ripped on the bottom. They had been through my bag well. I’m glad there was no cash in there, and the medications in the suitcase were all accompanied by notes from my doctors.

I shelled out a fair bit of US currency and had myself a suitcase. Then we decided to walk the streets for a couple of hours, whilst wheeling a suitcase with five pineapples and a few groceries to make Khmer curry for dinner. There were so many funny looks form locals, us cruising the streets, busy intersections, with this big red suitcase, white skin and colours. My companion for the day had a scooter accident the week before so her lovely white Croatian skin was a few shades of purple, yellow and green. We had a few laughs about all that, and then I heard our laugh mimicked by some construction workers. This alerted me to the fact we were being closely followed. Turns out my small cash wallet was partially visible in my backpack and he was going for it. So we stopped and he went into the shop next to us. Poverty will do that. It’s just opportunistic.
So back to food. We bought Taiwanese cake, Khmer cake.. and then back to the more affluent area for a coffee and massage. So disappointing that the restaurant we went to had not a single Asian dish on it! There was no warmth in the place. We could have been in any European restaurant anywhere in the world. But the Asian influence was there. Classic clean lines, metal pipes with fake flames going sideways.
Small lights to look like flames, but going sideways 🙂

Onwards to a massage place, as found on google maps. Two dogs managed to hunt a large rat amongst some rubbish bags. Squealing rat, two dogs fighting over it. We were quite casual about the situation in from of us. I used the same policy as when a kangaroo is in the road in front of the car. Aim for the tail and hope that it’s moved on forward by the time you get there. It worked for us, in this nasty-smelling back street.

Before long we came upon our flash spa destination. Left the suitcase at the door and settled in for that fantastic thing that Khmer massage is. Like yoga lying down. At one point a tiny lady was lifting my whole body off the bed by my leg, with just my shoulder and head on the bed still. I told her she should be a weight lifter. She giggled.

We left the massage room completely re-invigorated.

We booked a Passapp back to our side of town in that heady massage heaven. Through two small red light districts and across the bridge, we made it back. Showers taken straight away then I cooked up the Cambodian curry I had purchased the ingredients for earlier in the day.

The English teachers using the co-working space daily were most impressed I was cooking Cambodian food. They know me as the chef who whips up a quick Pasta Alfredo or slow cooks a Beef ragout for the day, are we really intrigued as to why I’d cook the local food when we could get it here anyway.  Good point, I said, but as a chef I need to practice using the food before going home and forgetting important elements.

We had a wonderful conversation about their ingredients and I was very happy to have cooked up a big pot of vegetables as I always do. We shared the meal and then I got to try a new-to-me dessert. A couple of the girls had cooked up Sweet Beans and Sticky Rice. The most unusual mixture actually tastes quite good! It would’ve been better if I hadn’t just eaten curry and almost a whole beautiful sweet pineapple!

A great memorable day all round, an experience not to be forgotten.

In case you’re worried about the effects of street food, the stomach is very happy today! 😉

So is my mind. Which has reminded me of another couple of meme worthy statements:

The best experiences in life happen outside your comfort zone.

Food brings us together.

The best thing about memories is making them.