Cambodian Food

Yes, yes, I know, another article about food...

Tourists who venture into Cambodia are usually so focused on the ethereal carvings of Angkor Wat and surrounding ancient temples that the country's food gets scant attention.

Some travellers fly in just for the day from Bangkok, allowing barely enough time to a quick lunch between temple visits.

Guidebooks are terse on the subject. Frommer calls Cambodia "a difficult destination," and like other travel books, yields no specific details about dining experiences.

Perhaps Cambodian cuisine is overshadowed by the food of its neighbours, the more popular, fiery dishes of Thailand and the French-Chinese fare of Vietnam.

And yet, a Cambodian renaissance is under way. A recent issue of Travel and Leisure magazine proclaimed Cambodia "the next hot spot." Tourist hotels are sprouting on the road between Siem Reap and Angkor Wat, 6 miles away. Markets display plentiful food and tourists can eat very well in restaurants and hotels. The adventuresome, seeking a true taste of Cambodia, can visit the night markets and eat cheaply.

Chef Luu Meng of the Sunway Hotel here defines Cambodian food by comparing it to its neighbours:

"We are not too spicy like Thai cooking, and we don't use fish sauce to cook as do the Vietnamese."

Instead, Meng said, Cambodian food is flavoured with herb pastes, ground fresh daily, or with make-your-eyes-water prahok, a fermented fish paste. Prahok can enliven anything, from a dip for fresh vegetables to a fragrant soup.

The herb paste combines the ever-popular lemon grass, galangal root, turmeric, lime zest, garlic, shallot and dried chilies, though expert cooks tailor the blend to the dish they are making. The paste especially stars in a classic Cambodian soup made with king prawns.

As Cambodia emerges from years of isolation, cooks, Meng among them, are fusing local dishes with the flavors of their Southeast Asian neighbors, adding some Thai and Vietnamese characters. That's the newest trend, he says, speaking of restaurant food.

On his own menu, favorites include grilled king prawns with tamarind sauce and roast chicken with lemon grass. All dishes strive to achieve and balance the four basic Cambodian flavor elements: sweet, sour, salty and bitter.

Home cooking is simpler, with pork, chicken and fish as the flavoring agents. A typical Cambodian family dinner includes three dishes: soup, grilled meat or fish and a vegetable.


Dessert is the same everywhere, for tourists and locals alike: a plate of fresh fruit, usually including watermelon, pineapple and dragon fruit (like a soft, sweet apple speckled with black).

The Tonle Sap, is one of the largest freshwater lakes in the world, is critical to the Cambodian diet. Up to 75 percent of the country's protein comes from fish, and the lake supplies more than 300 species. Probably a few frogs, too: One of the country's signature dishes is barbecued stuffed whole frog.

Like the Vietnamese, most Cambodians begin their day with noodle soup, unless they are breakfasting on rice soup similar to Chinese congee.

"Some people like fried noodles in the morning," said Chhenglay Meas, chef-owner of Cheng Heng, a restaurant in St. Paul, Minn. Meas fled Cambodia with her husband and two daughters to escape the Khmer Rouge.

Meas cooks chha kuy teiv, noodles with bean sprouts, green onions, bits of meat, and a topping of roasted peanuts.

One-pot meals are popular with Cambodian home cooks, particularly samlor kakau, which blends tiny eggplants, green papaya, long beans, leaves from young peppers, bitter melon, lemon grass and roasted ground rice. Fish or chicken might be added to this Khmer stew, she described.

"Cambodians like the contrast of sweet and sour. The sour cleans up the tongue and is refreshing," says Meas, whose hometown is Kampong Cham, "where the real Cambodian food is still cooked."

Raised in a family of educated and professional people, she remembers eating very well on dishes such as river lobster with "burning sugar," the caramelized sauce that appears on finer menus.

At holidays, her family would enjoy a Cambodian version of hot pot, immersing meats and vegetables in a boiling broth.

"We would eat, laugh and joke while cooking," she recalls of happier times in her country.

Meas' daughter, Kunrath Lam, who manages Cheng Heng, described how to make a family-size batch of fragrant machu Angkor, from their soup entree list. An aunt who had just traveled to St. Paul from Cambodia for a family wedding brought the secret ingredient, ma orm, an herb grown in the rice fields.

Though a waitress said she had seen a fresh version of the basil-like herb in a nearby Rainbow grocery store, the dried version is difficult to find, even in Asian grocery stores. Home cooks can substitute fresh Thai basil.

Condensed tamarind juice, also available in Asian markets, adds the sour element to compliment the sweetness of pineapple. It also keeps the vegetables crisp in the soup, Lam said.