Eating like Locals

I thought it would be fun to take Radek to one of the local restaurants in the village.  I wanted Cynthia to get to know him as well, so I ended up taking them in shifts on my moto.  First, I drove Radek to the restaurant with instructions to find a nice table.  The waitresses were clearly nervous when they realized I had just deposited a large white man alone with them.  They tentatively asked him, "Your friend speak Khmer?" 

I soon returned with Cynthia.  The waitresses had done their best to accommodate him by putting some glasses and ice on the table.  Most restaurants don't have a menu, and if there is one, it's in Khmer.  I know how to order vegetable meals for myself and how to ask a few questions about chicken dishes for Cynthia, but that is where my food ordering knowledge abruptly ends. 

Radek wanted to try a typical Khmer dish, so we called Laum.  He explained our orders to the waitress over the phone.  We requested: watergreens for all to share, vegetable fried rice for me, a chicken dish for Cynthia, and a typical "hot pot" soup for Radek. 

Meanwhile, the place was filling up with families and a large group of cops/soldiers, all of whom were blatantly staring at us.  This was the moment when Radek first started hearing the word, barang, a lot.

In Cambodia (and often other countries), they bring out a meal as soon as it is prepared, so everyone gets their food at a different time.  I'm used to this, and it's not considered rude to start eating right away because you don't want to eat cold food.  The water greens came first with a delicious garlic sauce.  I don't know the actual word for this vegetable.  They are long green, stringy stalks that they pull out of a lake or something, but they are delicious.  I have become completely obsessed with them and have a sticky note on my wall reminding me to get the recipe from one of my Cambodian friends.

Cynthia's chicken and my veggie rice arrived next, which we both loved.  Unexpectedly, an odd looking plate of meat arrived.  We all stared at it, wondering what this could be.  It was meat, but beyond that, it was unclear.  There was just something weird about it.  Since Cynthia only eats chicken, Radek tasted it.  His face conveyed a range of emotions in this order:  optimism, confusion, disgust.  Cynthia asked if it was chicken.  He pulled a bone out of his mouth and announced, "It's definitely a bird."  "This is the neck bone."  They both sampled it a couple times, attempting to find pieces that didn't look like innards.  They concurred it was not fit for human consumption.  (However, Cynthia brought it home, and Gogo and Isa loved it.)  There is an Asian saying that goes something like this.  "Eat anything that swims except a submarine, eat anything with four legs except a table, eat anything that flies except a plane, and eat anything that travels by twos except a bicycle."  Truly, this dish fell into that category. 

There is a reason why Radek's soup was called a hot pot.  He opened the lid, peered into the middle, and exclaimed, "Oh, there is fire inside."  He enjoyed it very much.

It's black dark at night in Mongkol Borei, and the turn for the path to our school is a challenge to find even during the day.  I will confess to a U-turn on the way back to school with each of my guests.  At school, Radek was amazed at the absolute darkness and silence.  We stood there, looking at stars and absorbing the tranquility for a while.  After living here for five months, I sometimes forget these simple pleasures.