Saturday, October 30, 2004

The Khmer Kitchen

The Khmer Kitchen

“Many of the people own their houses, but possess no tables, benches, basins, or buckets.

An earthenware pot serves to cook the rice, and sometimes earthenware stove for making sauce. Three stones are buried to form a hearth; ladles are made from coconuts. For serving rice, they make use of pottery dishes from China or copperware. To hold sauce, they fashion leaves into little cups which, even when filled with liquid, let nothing escape. "Chiao" leaves are also used to make little spoons for carrying liquid to the mouth; these they throw away when the meal is finished. They also keep beside them a tin or earthenware bowl filled with water for rinsing the hands, since only their fingers are used in eating rice, which is sticky. Wine is drunk from metal goblets, but poor people content themselves with earthenware cups. Every person dining in the houses of the nobility is given silver plates, and sometimes even gold ones.
At royal banquets a great number of food utensils are used, fashioned in a very special manner. Mats from Ming-chou are laid on the ground, and in some houses skins of tigers, panthers, deer and so forth, are laid down, as well as rattan mats.
Food is protected by cloth, and in the King’s palace use is made of double-woven silk spangled with gold, all of which are gifts of foreign merchants.
To hull the rice the Cambodians do not employ grindstones, contenting themselves with bruising it with a mortar and pestle.”

Chou Ta-kuan
Chinese envoy writing back to the Emperor in the 13th Century


These paragraphs from the celebrated account of Chou Ta-kuan on the customs of the Khmer Empire are the only available written description of the home and kitchen of ordinary Khmers at the height of their king’s power in the late 13th century. Chou Ta-kuan was part of a Chinese mission and spent a year between 1296 and 1927 at Angkor, the centre of power of what the Chinese knew as Chenla.

He returned to China to write Notes of the Customs of Cambodia in which he tells of the lives of the Khmer king and his people, from what many scholars say is his Middle Kingdom perspective. His keen observations are most valuable nonetheless.

The only other description of ordinary life in the Khmer Empire can be seen on the south wall of the Bayon temple, built in the 12th and 13th centuries during the reigns of Kings Jayavarman VII to Jayavarman VIII. All the monuments of the Angkor Empire serve religious purposes or honour rulers and their ancestors. The carvings on the south wall give us a glimpse of how food was prepared, what utensils were used, and how the cuisine was enjoyed. Many of the utensils and cooking techniques seen carved into the stone can still be found in homes throughout Cambodia today.

On the south wall the bas-reliefs even show a busy restaurant and a few steps away a scene shows people dressed in Chinese attire cooking a deer. An Angkorean kitchen is believed by some to be located at Wat Athvea, four kilometres south of Siem Reap city.

The structure was built during the reign of Suryavarman II (1113-1150), one of the greatest Khmer kings who initiated the construction of Angkor Wat. Villagers from nearby communities believe the temple, located by the Siem Reap River, once housed a kitchen which catered to the Khmer kings.

The villagers point to loose stones from the temple, which have fallen over time, and describe them as the kraya cham-en meaning "the preparation of the royal meal".

The villagers talk about brick stoves and a wall where meat, baskets of ingredients, and utensils were hung. There was never a roof over the structure so as to allow the smoke to escape quickly. Local people say this is what they were told by their parents, who in turn were told by their parents.

Professor Claude Jacques argues that there is no archaeological evidence a kitchen has survived the centuries since the Angkor Empire. The reason for this, he says, is simply that anything that was not to honour the gods was built of perishable material – even the kings’ palace. He says that was because men are mortal and will cease to exist one day and so too are the materials relating to his life. The gods, however, are immortal and thus stone was used to honour them forever.

The professor believes that the only glimpses of the ancient cuisine are those in the writings of Chou Ta-kuan and those on the south wall of Bayon. The Khmer kitchen today, as it is found in the countryside, is usually detached from the main house. It is close enough to be of easy access, but far enough away and airy to ensure smoke from firewood and undesirable odours do not disturb the main household.

The most important utensils found in the kitchen are:
  • The mortar and pestle to make the kroeung
  • A bamboo sieve for filtering the prahok stock and ripe tamarind juice
  • Various earthen stoves providing the different intensities of heat required to cook different dishes
  • A coconut grater
  • Earthen pots for cooking rice and soup, and for storing water
  • Jars for storing prahok and kapi, and other ingredients, and
  • Loose bamboo baskets for storing vegetables.


In many kitchens aluminium pots have replaced earthenware. Utensils are usually hung on the walls of the kitchen so they are in easy reach. The frying pan is also commonly found these days since the Khmers adopted frying from Chinese cookery. Traditional Khmer cooking is centred on boiling, grilling and roasting.


In some houses, there is also a bigger mortar for grinding rice, and flat round bamboo trays for separating the husk from the grain. There are not parts of the kitchen, however, but considered part of the household possessions.


Thursday, October 21, 2004

Khmer Builders



Khmer Builders: Part I – The Morning


So here we are, Monday the 4th of October. I roll into the office at 07:00 as normal, swing round to park my bike only to be confronted by a huge mountain of sand – 9 or 10 foot high, odd I thought, that is not normally there, so I ride round the next corner to be greeted by an equally large pile of bricks. All very odd, I think. Maybe they are branching out from fish into build supplies – after 8 months, I am being surprised by less and less. Plus it is early on a Monday morning, I have not had a coffee [or any rice] yet so I am probably not firing on all brain cells yet…After parking my bike I stroll over to the office, fishing the keys out of my pocket and thinking about the many things I had to do this week.As I reached the secret side door into my office I noticed that something was wrong, but did not immediately register what it was.Ah yes, now I could see.The entire office is a building site.Internal walls were missing, so were the tiles of the floor.All of the desks had been piled into one corner, in an opposite corner 3 square feet of new tiles had been laid.Rubble and dust were everywhere, staff standing around looking blank, workmen sleeping in the corner.As I was standing there feeling, and probably looking, slightly baffled, the office vice-chief wandered in, his eyes go wide as he looks around, turning to me with and with his mastery of the English language, says ‘oh, mess’And I thought that I had a knack for understatement…He has a hurried, and what seems slightly heated, exchange with one of the builders [who have now woken up] it seems that they will be here for about, maybe, around, half a month.So as more staff start to drift in we manage to commandeer a few desks in the adjoining office, although none of those are connected to the office network or the internet…About half the staff just shrugs and says that they will ‘work at home’ which is a Khmer euphemism for ‘ we are going to have an extra couple of week’s holiday now’The office chief is out of the Country this week, attending some seminar or another, and next week is a bank holiday. Well, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday are Bank holidays, which translates as – nobody will be in the office all week.Every time that I think that I understand Cambodia, that there will be no more surprises.


Khmer Builders: Part II – The Afternoon


So having spent the morning fighting over desks and climbing over piles of desks and rubble and sleeping builders to get from one side of the building to the other, I award myself a long lunch break and head off to a restaurant for some quality peace and quiet.

Wonderful.

Upon my return to the office I actually manage to do an hour’s work, then the rain starts, pounding down on the tin roof of the extended part of the building that we are now in, deafening as I am sure that many of you are aware of.

After an hour of this dull semi rhythmic pounding, and the start of some throbbing behind the eyes, there is a god almighty crash, followed by much shrieking and wailing in K’mai.

The next thing that I am aware of is being very, very, wet and slightly confused – oops no, make that dazed.

The roof had fallen in.

Several hundred gallons of built up water that had leaked into the false ceiling had proved too much for it. Those of us crammed, squatting, into this office were drenched and covered in plaster, rubble, and bits of polystyrene roofing tiles.

There was about 2 inches of water on the floor and more was pouring in.

Dashing around like a lunatic I started unplugging the dozens of extension cables and adapters that were strewn across, after a moment my colleagues finally realised why I was doing it and joined in.

After I had made sure that none of us were about to be electrocuted, I looked around at my Khmer colleagues who were all now giggling and laughing.

Cultural differences not withstanding, sometimes I do think that they are all CRAZY

Field Trip - Part Two

Friday afternoon in Kratie

So we are in Kratie for a couple of days, having arrived by boat from K. Cham.
We have our meeting with the Provincial Office early afternoon and then my Khmer colleagues insist that I go and see the dolphin. an excellent idea after a few days of fairly solid travelling. The vice chief of the local office says that he will go with us, so he gets his moto. As there are 3 of us, he calls two of his friends to drive me and my other colleague – luxury 3 motos between 6 people !

His friends turn up and they turn out to be the vice-chief of Kratie tourist police and the chief of Kratie Military police!?!

As motodope drivers go, you can not get much better !

I go with the Chief of Military Police. A stocky Khmer who it seems speaks no English, as we approach his bike I am a little surprised, instead of the requisite Honda Dream, he has some customised 250 low-rider, complete with oversize forks, ape-hanger bars and a king~queen seat.

As I see the bike he looks at me and utters 4 of the 6 words in English he knows,

“I love Peter Fonda”

He then smiles and pull out his [fake?] Rayban’s…

mmm???

Being somewhat larger than the average Khmer I feel quite exposed perched high on the back of his seat, which in reality was designed for some petite girl to be sat side-saddle on. But we head off down the road.

Now, as anyone of you who has been to Kratie will testify, the 15Km of road from the town to the dolphin place are not the best bits of road in the country, even the bits that have tarmac are full of holes, strewn with gravel or just general full of high pitch and yaw undulations due the large trees and their roots by the roadside, so after a few Kilometres my arse is beginning to feel a bit numb – due also in part to the fact half of it is perched on the chrome plated rear light rather than the actual seat.

All the way along he is humming something to himself. After a few K’s I realise that he is humming ‘Born to be wild’

Then as a Daelim careens past us on the wrong side of the road, he lets out an almighty roar, shouting and screaming at the rider and he then opens the throttle up full giving chase - I should point out at this point that we are on the dirt road starch and the road has more holes than surface at this point – as we bounce along as fast as the bike is capable of going the guy on the Daelim puts his head down and desperately tries to get away, now this chase only lasted about 5 minutes – until the guy on the Daelim hits a pothole the that was actually bigger than his bike – but it was enough to scare the shit out of me. I am caked in mud, my spine feels as though it has fused and my arse is almost completely off the back of the bike.

Reaching the pothole we skid to a halt and for a second I think that we are going to drop the 2 feet down the hole to join him, but we swerve just enough to stop on the side of it instead.

In a flash the MP Chief is off his bike and dragging the guy out off the floor and out of the hole, giving him a few slaps around the head for good measure , just in case the fact that the guys bleeding scalp wound was not enough, at this point the others catch up with us. There is lots of fast talking in Khmer, the upshot of which is that my 2 Khmer colleagues get on the back of one bike and I get on the back of the tourist police bike, leaving the MP Chief on the scene with his perp [victim?]

We carry on riding in silence the 10 minutes out to the dock where you get a boat to go out to look for dolphins.

As we all pull up there and stop I can contain myself no longer.

“fuck fuck fuck what the fuck was that fuck fucking fuck about?”

I ask in a less than erudite manner.

After a little discussion / translation I get the full story. It seems that a couple of weeks ago the Kratie Military Police arrested 4 guys coming over the border from Laos with 400,000 tablets of some kind of amphetamine – yes, that is right, I said 400,000 !

They were all arrested and flung into jail. It seems that our guy on the Daelim was one of them, the Chief had no idea why or how he had got out and was now riding around, but it seemed that he took great exception to him being a freeman rather than languishing in a prison cell awaiting trial

“So He escaped from prison” I [naively?] ask, feeling a little better about the whole incident.

“Maybe” my colleagues say, “or maybe he pays some money to be let out”

Well, judging by the Chief’s reaction, I pity the poor sod who was bribed to let him out when the Chief gets hold of him…


Oh a good note, we then saw lots and lots of dolphins, including some very brave and curious baby dolphins who came right up to the boat :-)



Saturday night in Kratie.

Ate at the Mlob Dong restaurant. About 5 minutes moto away from the river – don’t ask me for more specific directions !

While we were waiting for a menu a waitress brought a dish of pickled ginger and garlic cloves, as well as a small plate of wind dried shredded beef – the beef was actually very tasty, although it was a little on the chewy side it was full of flavour and a refreshing change from the freshwater fish and rice we had been eating 3 times a day.

The owner came over and chatted for a while to the Chief of Fish, he obviously knew him well. Having run through what food we wanted the owner disappeared back behind the scenes, presumably to talk to the chef.

While we were waiting, more beef turned up and so did large amounts of Tiger beer and ice.

The first of the food arrived, venison steaks with onions and French fries !?!
Now I know that venison is illegal in Cambodia, but hey what can you do?

They were so tender it was like cutting through pate, soft, moist, so full of flavour – I was in gastronomic heaven. Even the oddness of eating chips with chop sticks could not detract from it.

Next, the whole deep fried cat fish arrived, not a giant Mekong cat fish [Pangasianodon gigas] but just a regular 18 incher !
It was covered in shredded ginger and soya beans – lovely!

Next the rabbit and lemongrass soup, again excellent, very rich, suspect the base for it was venison stock.

All the while we were eating my colleagues kept asking me if I liked this food – between shovelling great mouthfuls down, grinning like an idiot and swilling Tiger by the gallon I managed to say yes a lot !

Have to say, some of the best food that I have had in a long time.


Nov Field Trip - Part one

Thursday in Kompong Cham


So it is our 2nd night of the field trip, and the moment I had been dreading arrives.

We had just finished our dinner - Fish and lemongrass soup, fried fish in ginger and spring onions and fried assorted vegetables – as we are wondering out of the restaurant, my colleagues turn right and start wandering down the road. Strange, I had thought that the hotel was to the left…

Knowing the answer from long suffering field trips with my Khmer colleagues I ask the question anyway.

“Where are we going?”

The answer that I knew was coming was indeed the one I was dreading.

“We go karaoke, maybe one hour? Maybe two. Very good here”

Yes, we were heading towards the dubious pleasures of a Khmer Karaoke Club.

As we enter the dark unlit stairwell, I feel a wave of resignation wash over me. My colleagues are warm, friendly, well meaning, but they have no idea what a trail they are about to put me through – again!

Reaching the second floor at least two of the lights in the corridor are working. Upon seeing us a gaggle of girls leap up from there plastic stools, the bored looks instantly replace with Formica smiles and lots of ‘hello’ ‘hello’ ‘how are you’ ‘what is your name’ et cetera.

We are led down the corridor to one of the converted hotel rooms, upon entering it looks pretty much the same as all the other private karaoke rooms I have been dragged kicking and screaming to over the last seven months.

Three of the four walls are taken up with sofa style seating, a large low coffee table in the middle of them. The fourth wall is covered with a large television set and enough speakers to produce a Led Zeppelin concert.

The three of us take a wall each and the girls start shouting, screaming, to try and outdo each other:

“Anchor” “Lao” “Tiger” “Heineken” “San Miguel”

My colleagues look at me expectantly, the girls suddenly concentrate their yelling at me and move closer, pressing themselves around me, mobbing me as if I was John Lennon and this was the sixties, all the while screaming beer brand names at me, feeling claustrophobic and more than a little heady due the amount of cheap perfume in close proximity I yell at random ‘San Miguel!’

Silence.

Five of the girls walk out in silence looking forlorn, the sixth girl – Ms San Miguel – smile at me, walks over to the table and picks up the phone. A few moments later, more girls appear bearing litre bottles of San Miguel, glasses and a large bucket of ice.

Three of the girls sit down, one next to each of us, fill our glasses and theirs with ice, and Ms San Miguel goes around topping up each of the six glasses.

She then perches on the end of my sofa and pours herself a glass – then the ritual chinking of glasses and toasting begins – they start out with the K’mai – soka peap la’or – excuse spelling! – Good Health. Then the girl next to me raises her glass, looks me in the eye and says ‘Cheer!’ I smile and say cheers, clink glasses and down my glass in one, this of course initiates everyone else having to do likewise.

I may have to sing later, so I need a few drinks inside me, plus if these guys are going to make me sing [something I do not do well] then I am going to make them drink [something that they do not do well!]

So as Ms San Miguel is topping everyone’s glasses up, in comes another girl, this one carrying the karaoke menu, my colleagues pour over this as if it is the Priory of Sion keystone describing the resting place of the Holy Grail.

Choices are made, songs picked, orders barked.

The girl picks up the phone and a minute later the music starts.

Yes, it is some sort of Khmer love song.

You know the sort, a lone woman walking through a field looking for her one true love, whom she then runs into, which means that they have to go and sit on a rock by the river.

So I endure several of these, drinking as much as I can, waiting for the next step in this little dance.

So it came, ‘Darren you sing one song!’

‘No, no, maybe later’

So on they go with the karaoke, the field is replaced by a forest and off they go to sit by a rock next to a river…

Several songs later, several beers later, some discussion in K’mai later, my colleague starts singing in English ‘I don’t like, to sleep alone’

Yes, that is the next step in this particular dance. With me having declined the direct request to sing, they are working around it by singing a song in English themselves.

I could almost count backwards from 10 for the next step in our little dance…

‘Darren you sing one song with me, we sing together’

This is invariably the point at which I have to sing my first song of the evening.

This was the point at which ‘Hotel California’ was murdered like it has never been murdered before – well, since I was last forced to sing it - me, tone deaf and half drunk, my colleague, half drunk and pigeon English – Don Henley will haunt me like Banquo’s ghost for the rest of my years.

As we finish, the polite applause follows cries of ‘very good, very good’

I am temporarily let off the hook.

All the while that I had been singing the girl sat next to me had been massaging my shoulders and neck. As my colleagues carried on singing in K’mai she started giggling and talking to Ms San Miguel, putting her thumb and index finger around my wrist, giggling some more and pointing at my wrist to Ms San Miguel, who reaches over and encircles my other wrist?!? Now they are both giggling and holding a wrist apiece. A third girl nearest us shuffles away from one of my colleagues, near to us and also has a grope of my wrist – what the hell is going on!?!

The three of them are highly entertained.

Opposite, the fourth remaining girl with my other colleague is far to busy trying to fend off his octopus-like arms and hands from her breasts and butt to notice the great mirth and hilarity that my wrists are causing among her friends.

One of the girls starts to massage my legs, which again, results in some ‘ooo-ing’ so all of a sudden I have a girl massaging a leg each and the third one stroking my arms, plucking at the hairs on them muttering ‘sa’aat nah’ you are very handsome…

Damn, I need more beer, reaching for my glass I raise it in a toast, chink some glass and down it – the girls suddenly remember that it is there jobs to get us to drink [thus spend] as much as possible so they chink glasses and drink as well, do a quick tour of the table topping up everyone’s glasses and then return to the business of poking and prodding me while giggling and talking amongst themselves.

After an hour or so of this my friends call for the bill – thank god.

We settle up for the beers and I end up having to tip three girls instead of one as them had all descended on me for the majority of the time there.

As we leave the room Mr Octopus hands is seen scurrying ahead of us with his girl swiftly in tow, no prizes for guessing what is going on there…

The other girls take their places back on the seats looking bored; my other colleague is off down the stairs as I bring up the rear.

Then I feel a hand on my waist, I half turn and there is Ms San Miguel grinning at me saying ‘me massage you?’

‘No thank you, I reply’

‘Me massage you?’ she repeats, rubbing her groin against my hip and tightening her arm around my waist so that the stupid barang gets the message.

‘Oh, sorry’ I say, ‘I have to be up very very early tomorrow’

She pouts – Khmer girls do that so well, do they get special training in pouting and looking hurt? ‘You no like me!’ she accuses me.

‘No, no, you are lovely, but I have to go now, I have to be up very early tomorrow’

Pout, pout. More groin gyration, more hugging.

‘Sorry’ I say one more time and walk towards the stairs.

But suddenly I am unable to walk, my left ankle is in a vice like grip, I look down and Ms San Miguel has thrown herself on the floor and is clutching my ankle with both hands!?!

‘Me go with you, me go with you’ she cries

Not knowing quite what the hell to do I look around, my colleagues have vanished, the other girls sat on their little plastic stools are watching this exchange intently, pointing and a few are giggling.

I crouch down, and say to the girl, ‘sorry, not tonight. I come back tomorrow, I see you tomorrow’ as I say this I slip a couple of bucks out of my pocket and hold them out towards her.

This puts here in quite a dilemma, in order for her to take the money, she has to let go of her vicelike grip on my ankle.

She says, ‘ I see you tomorrow?’ ‘Yes, yes’ I promise.

She takes the money, leaps to her feet, kisses me on the cheek and runs off down the corridor – thank god!

I walk swiftly down the stairs before she can change her mind, hop onto a nearby moto and thank god that we are leaving for Kratie at the crack of dawn tomorrow.