Peter Green

Disgusting? One of the topics that's come up is odd ferments. This can dismay people on two fronts. In the first case, you're basically dealing with things that have been left to rot. Wine, beer, fish sauce, bean curds....this is stuff going bad (consider the noble pot of kim chi). On the second front, in the instance of alcoholic products, what we're interested in is the waste product of a living organism, in this case yeast. A wine's terroir is as much the scrying of a spoor as anything else. And in spirits we're going so far as to concentrate the product. Not that any of this is going to slow me down. Where'd I put that Pinot?

Vientiane - Leaving Lao What a difference a day makes. We’d left in the late morning from Luang Prabang - heavily laden with luggage -flying down to Vientiane on Lao Aviation. The flight was indifferent, which meant that nothing bad happened. I did note that Icelandic Air did not appear to have the operating concession anymore (years earlier I was intrigued to see 6 foot plus blonde pilots and stewardesses about – the air sickness bag gave away their affiliation). The plane was small, but well kept. As opposed to my earlier flights in-country, there were no poultry or large rodents roaming the cabin at will (it was a bad sign when those big marmots from Xieng Khouang gnawed through their cage in the back of the car). Also gone are the days when the Chinese knock-offs of Russian twin props were banned from Thai overflights – based upon their unfortunate habit of falling out of the sky on Thai homes. This made trips down to the Panhandle a pain. But I digress. It was kind of fun coming through the domestic terminal at Wattay. The new international terminal looks too much like all other international terminals. The old one still has character (and good begneit, to dip in Lao café), the upper deck packed with Lao who have come to watch the planes land and take off. Reminiscing…. My second trip, coming out of Penh just before the coup season got going in ‘97, I’d wanted to avoid the hassle of getting a visa in advance. Typical Laos, I just called some people and they had a man waiting for us when we came down the ladder from the plane. $40 each, both our passports, and he was back and walking us through before the first person in the “normal” line had even gotten half way through. A sabaidee to the nice people in immigration, and we were in a Mercedes before you could say “Bob’s your uncle”. This time it was nowhere near so flash. I’d not even arranged for a pick-up from the hotel, assuming that taxis could be found easily enough in Vientiane. I was correct; I was only off in my calculations as to how many would be required. No van was available, so we split ourselves between two ramshackle taxis for the ride into town. We arrived at the Settha Palace soon enough, and were ushered into the soothing calm of their lobby. From there we made it to our connecting rooms on the ground floor….and we were in love. Beautiful wood floors, and ceilings that were way, way up there…somewhere. And windows. After our week in the guest house, I’d become accustomed to frosted panes shadowed by bars, but these old French style shuttered windows were clear, and as tall as the ceilings. And there was a bath tub. We were all entranced. Okay, honestly, all the kids cared about was that there were cartoons in English, and an internet connection. We gathered our bags in one place and did some unpacking, then we pried the children away from the screens and headed out into the mid-day sun. Vientiane has a reputation as an unlovely town. Dusty, flyblown, and subject to all the sensible civic planning you might expect from, say, Houston…or Dodge City. The sidewalks are intermittently seeded with open sewer covers, and the general style of architecture is graciously described as “concrete pillbox”. There is not enough shade, and not enough green space. What green space there is is often just growth jutting out of the sewer trenches, like hair from a pensioner’s nose. Okay, maybe it’s not as pretty as Luang Prabang, which benefited first from the protective embrace of the old leader, Kaysone, who would not allow new development in the town proper, and after him from UNESCO, who listed the town as a world heritage site and ensured jobs for bureaucrats for years to come. But Vientiane has a certain air about it, and not just from the traffic congesting the streets. It’s fun. It’s not as formal as LP, more given over to pubs and shops and restaurants. In a word…affluent. That affluence comes not only from the Lao elite (many educated abroad – before in Paris, Moscow, and East Berlin. Now from Harvard, Stanford, and the London School of Economics), but also from the plethora of foreign embassies and their hangers-on; the aid workers (can you spell “contractor”?) and the ubiquitous NGO’s, all with other people’s money burning a hole in their pockets. Like I said….affluence. Also it suffers, as does Phnom Penh, from the Open Skies Syndrome. This policy has proven a boon to tourists, allowing them to fly directly to a country’s real attraction – LP for Laos, and Siem Reab/Angkor for Cambodia. While this is great news for the tourists, it has been a disaster for the capital cities, draining off much of their medium to high end tourist revenue. What they are left with, however - aside from the mouths and bellies of the foreign aid machine - is as steady stream of visa runners over from Thailand. While not exactly the top end of the travel business, they do have a certain amount of cash to spend, so the level of pubs and small restaurants is at a reasonable support level. Vientiane does much better at this than Penh, given that it’s accessible by rail and road, whereas only a true masochist would go overland to the Royal Capital of Cambodge (which says something about some of my relatives that do so). For Cambodia, most overnight in the casino belt and then come straight back. Vientiane is cheap and cheerful enough that they can do a weekend of it. Enough of all that. We were afoot and our communications were back on-line…..sort of. Inside the Settha Palace, for some strange reason, things would cut out. But as we wandered about our phones would come alive. This was of some benefit, but didn’t do us much good for staying in touch with the kids if we abandoned them to go out at night. In walkabout mode, we stopped at one of the major tourist attractions in town; the international ATM. We’d heard of this legendary device while up-North. “You may not be able to get money in LP”, they would say, “but once you get to Vientiane you’ll be fine. There’s one by the Lao Plaza Hotel.” It was out of order. Or at least, it wouldn’t work with any of our Canadian accounts. Luckily, I happened to have my Bangkok Bank card. Unluckily, I wasn’t exactly sure how much money I had in there. Figuring it was probably a few thousand baht, I drained the machine and breathed a small sigh of relief. From there we stumbled down towards the Mekong, where there were some minor differences to be seen (including a nice looking creperie), but nothing startling until we arrived at the Fountain, the Nam Phu. The beer garden was gone! I was in shock. I stood. I gaped. I blinked. L’Opera was still there. The Swiss Bakery was there. Diethelm was still on the corner and the Lan Xan Hotel (last hold-out of the Russians before they were finally kicked out of the country) still filled up space across the street with the Library. And the shallow bowl of the fountain was there. But the beer garden was gone. In a daze I sat down at the patio seating in front of the Swiss Bakery and had Yoonhi go and fetch me a ham and cheese baguette and a beer Lao. This was not doing my wa any good at all. The beer garden, when I was here before, was always the place to be, exerting a gravitational pull upon one and all, bringing us into its orbit. You could show up in the day or evening, order a pitcher of draft beer Lao served up in a plastic jug of the sort you’d keep orange juice in at home in your ‘fridge, and find another traveler or local or termite to while away the time with. Come dusk and the locals would all congregate in front of the fountain in order to have their portraits taken with old 60’s vintage cameras. The Hammer and Sickle would glare down from the government office on one corner, and you would learn all sorts of interesting things. I learned here that Lao (at the time) was one of the best places to buy silver. A Canadian with a silver shop in Katmandu was here on a buying trip. From someone else I learned about the secret Chinese silver mines somewhere up the Mekong that were being hunted for. The Australian Embassy was the place to be on a Friday night. I played go (or padduk) with an older Korean fellow (who beat me soundly), and I heard about the owner of the beer garden, a foreigner with a returned-Lao wife who had restaked their claim to the concession. I cracked forlornly through the baguette, hardly noticing my food (although the Bakery is quite famous, having been here in the circle for ages). The baker, Sune Wissmar, had followed his wife Inger on the embassy circuit, and found himself baking in her wake. They came to Laos in 1993, and he opened the bakery in 1994, just after my first trip. I remember it as a pleasant, well-established place in 1997, where you could buy excellent Lao coffee, either in a cup or in the form of beans. I won’t go into too much more detail – you can read more about the Wissmers at http://www.scandasia.com/viewNews.php?news...62&coun_code=se Leaving the family to finish their lunch, I poked about the restaurants. As I did so, I struck up a conversation with one Lao family. I had to ask them what had happened, and they sadly advised me that the beer garden had been moved out by the government a couple of years ago. There was no good reason, and they obviously missed it as much as I did. We commiserated over the event, and then went our separate ways. But, I have little time to spare for wallowing while on vacation. I took my family down to the riverside to admire the Mekong, wider and more placid this much further south. The riverside – the corniche – was a mess. It was good to see some things hadn’t changed. I was here last in ’99 it was pretty torn up already (that was the trip down the Panhandle). They’d cleared out the stilted bamboo anarchy of the Russian Club (with some of the finest sunset views of the Mekong), and a petition was circulating to try and halt the planned development of a parking lot that would have cleared all of the restaurants off of the embankment, these then consisting of the traditional “metal chairs and equally ugly metal tables”. We found the park towards the palace nicely done up with children’s swings and such-like, and Serena took ample advantage of this. While she frolicked under Yoonhi’s watchful eye, Scud and I meandered along the main road. Did I already mention “dusty and flyblown”? Still, there were some interesting places. Chinese restaurants. Some Lao spots. More Thai eateries…..and even a Russian spot offering shazlik. We cut back up from the Mekong into town proper, and, the lunchtime beers calling to us, we stopped in at what turned out to be a Korean restaurant, although named the Dok Champa, after the Lao national flower. I’d actually chosen it based on the add for “pool”, but that turned out not to be an option, as the owner was playing on the table. A minor downside, but the facilities were our primary requirement. They had beer Lao on tap (albeit served in glass jugs), so having made room, we settled into refilling our bladders. They also had an excellent coconut milkshake – at least by my standards; Serena didn’t care for it; and red fire ants on the menu, but as guests crawling between the pages, and not as the usual salad item. We moseyed back to the Settha with the kids, they being at about their limits of no-TV time, and Yoonhi took the opportunity for a long bath. I checked with the concierge on restaurants, knowing better than to push my luck dragging the family on a hike, only to be turned away. I walked first to Krua Lao, an upmarket, slightly touristy Lao restaurant near the That Dam and the American Embassy. But they were closed. From there I walked over to the Patuxai – the Vertical Runway. Legend has it that this version of the Arc de Triomphe – modified with a Lao flourish slopped onto the top – was created with funds and cement originally intended for a new airport runway. Be that as it may, it is something I had to stop by and see again while I was in the neighborhood. What I was looking for was Le Na Dao, a longstanding Lao French restaurant that I had passed by some years before, with a fairly loyal following. I found it, conveniently located next to Le Parasol Blanc, that wonderful rambling hotel that is located just a little too far out of the thick of things. I say “convenient” as it appeared that Le Na Dao was closed, and the kind people at the Parasol were able to confirm this for me. It would be worth more than my life for me to have dragged Yoonhi and the vermin over here just to be turned around. Disconsolate, I headed home. But, I was happy to see, I was not without options. Near to the Morning Market was an interesting looking little place – Le Grillot. This, I decided, would be dinner for Yoonhi and I. It had a certain charm from the outside, and, of great importance, they took MasterCard, which would allow us to husband our dwindling hard cash resources. Yoonhi agreed readily enough, and we turned the children loose on the room service menu. The two of us dressed, and walked the five minute trek over to Le Grillot, taking in the evening ambience of outdoor pool tables, glowing tv screens playing Thai soap operas, and motos belching out fumes. At Le Grillot we took a seat outside, but found that we’d chosen the local tuk tuk mafia engine-reving point. Still, we would not let this interfere with our night out. I asked for the wine list, and was pointed at a rack by the bar……. Somehow, I had expected something more from a French restaurant in Vientiane. Like a wine list? When the dazed waiter came by, I asked him for one, which caused a minor panic on his part. He mumbled something, and disappeared. After a few moments I decided I’d best take the initiative, walked over the rack, and chose a rather non-descript cabernet sauvignon Bosquet Cannet 2002 which I plonked onto our table. I figured he’d work it out. We returned to the menu. The food itself looked quite pleasant, very farmhouse French, and I planned out the meal with some enthusiasm. I ordered the prawn bisque for soup, while Yoonhi wanted to try the creamy spinach. For appetizers we had the asparagus wrapped in salami with tomatos, cucumber, and “bread baked with cheese”, and the Panier de crabes en salade. Mains would be duck fillet with a creamy sherry sauce over tagliattelle, and a rabbit with mustard sauce for myself. Aside from the tuk-tuk drivers seeing at what point they could blow the pins out of their engines it was a pleasant setting. The evening was cool, yet not so chill as Luang Prabang had been. The low tones of French came from a table in the back, two bureaucrats discussing an upcoming meeting with the Foreign Ministry. Some cats slinked about. And the candle at the next table broke off and fell to the ground amongst the unswept kindling. Yoonhi pointed this out to our waiter in mime. He responded with alacrity bringing a candle to our table and lighting it for our benefit, ignoring the burning mess on the ground. It was going to be one of those nights. But the food was quite good. The asparagus was just right, and there were no complaints regarding the portion sizes, the salad that came with it was quite a bit more than expected, but I will never argue with an abundance of fresh greens, although I’m not certain how the corn crept into the dish. The bisque was done well, nice and thick. The creamy spinach was beautiful to behold, but turned out not to be spinach. The flavour was much more of morning glory. Perhaps they meant “water-spinach”? Be that as it may, it was a good soup, albeit on the gargantuan serving size. This was really getting to the point of “don’t eat anything larger than your head”. In typical Asian fashion the food was coming out as it was ready, so our table was buried under the asparagus and soups when the crab tarts came out. The crab was a pretty little fancy. It’s a shame the picture didn’t focus properly. It was a mince of crab and tuna meat baked into six little pastry barques, or canoes. The canoes themselves formed from crisply baked pie dough. And again, it came atop a mountain of greens (and corn), with a base of cabbage down below somewhere. The rabbit carried the mustard sauce well. There was enough meat on the animal to more than satisfy me, given my gorged condition from the earlier courses. The little bow-tie pasta were lightly herbed, and there were “kebabs” of zucchini, tomato, and yam. Yoonhi’s duck was likewise a good hearty meal, which isn’t exactly what we needed at this point of gluttony. A drizzle of cream on over the meat lightened the dish, and improved it’s looks. The flavour was excellent, and I forced myself, groaning, to help her finish the dish. Mistake number one, underestimating the size of the dishes. Mistake number two, underestimating the ability for things to go sideways in Vientiane. We called for the cheque, feeling quite content. This arrived vertically on a small standing clip. I removed the paper from the clip, and our waiter reacted in panic. As Yoonhi said, you could read the reaction on his face. “Oh my God! They’ve taken the bill off of the clip! What’ll I do? What’ll I do?” I put the bill down, and he immediately reattached it to the clip, an audible sigh of relief coming from him once the paper was in place. Then I gave him my credit card. This led to an almost complete melt down. After some time spent of him going back and forth and becoming more and more distraught, it became clear that they didn’t take credit cards. Yoonhi was able to clarify matters in that it appeared the sign on the door was just a sticker “for décor”. Yup, sideways it was. The final straw came for the waiter when we asked for the cork for the wine so we could take the rest of the bottle back with us. I believe I heard a “sprong” as a sprocket ratched out of position in his head. Luckily, we had enough cash upon us to cover the meal, but we were now in dire straights again. Still, it’s not an expensive town if you’re careful about your money. Vientiane – Day 2 – Spend Spend Spend (with apologies to Haruki Murakami) Things started off well enough, with our taking breakfast in the Settha’s dining room. A fairly typical hotel breakfast, hardly worth the comment except for the shear beauty of the room, the crisply starched white linen, and the fresh morning light through the windows. I savoured my coffee, the kids filled up on pork products, and we enjoyed the fresh fruits and juices. After this was done, Yoonhi and I left the kids in the room with instructions on using the pool, and we went to the Talaat Sao – the Morning Market. Things had changed a little bit. There was a bunch of new construction going on on the south side of the market, a whole new wing going up where the open air market used to be. Across the street from this was an “ethnic market” which drew us in. The street was alitter with little blankets topped with animal bits obviously at odds with the international treaties on endangered species. (this one's a video capture; apologies for the poor resolution. It would've been good to get some translations from the signs) There were probably about a dozen small “shops” set up along the streetside, selling barks, medicinal herbs, horns, paws, and some other moderately disturbing items. This was in front of the Ethnic Market proper, a covered series of stalls that existed as a marketing point for the minorities to sell their goods. If you have an interest in sowing, this is the place to be. Yoonhi settled down for some serious shopping, picking up material for collars and detailing. With a few bags of trimming material in hand, we went into the market proper. This is shopping central for Vientiane. Stall after stall of “antiques”, silver, silk, cotton, coffee, running shoes, t-shirts, you name it. After a bit of looking about on the ground floor we went upstairs to the silver and gem shops, where we came to rest for awhile, or rather, Yoonhi did. I stayed long enough to enjoy a very nice, rich cup of Lao coffee with condensed milk. It tasted more like hot chocolate than coffee. Thick and rich as it is, it comes with the ubiquitous cup of weak tea to help wash it down. I was tempted to ask for a second, but figured I'd better do some pre-emptive shopping while Yoonhi was distracted with sparklies. I found my niche downstairs, a woman with some very nice pieces from Sam Neua up in the far North. She had a couple of her mother’s pieces from the the 60’s, and more modern goods. As we went through the shopping motions, we talked about the market a bit. It appears the Talaat Sao is being completely redone. Some bright young stars in the government have decided to rebuild the market (as I’d noticed already) with Singapore money and use this as an excuse to skyrocket the rents when they move everyone to the new “mall”. As most of the current tenants see business working out just fine with them as is, this move isn’t being well received. At the start of this amiable bit of shopping, I’d asked if she took credit cards. She assured me “of course”. Why was I surprised when it was time to pay and it turned out that I needed to go across the street to the bank in order to make a cash withdrawal on my Visa? And from there to find out that I needed my passport with me to do so (locked up back in the hotel). When I finally turned up back at the market to finish the deal, Yoonhi was well on the way to needing food. We took our bags of silk, coffee, needlepoint (Yoonhi bought a dozen hand-stitched purses while waiting for me), and gems and jewelry and made our way back to the Settha Palace. I asked at the desk for lunch recommendations, and was told that Kop Chai Deu was quite popular. This turned out to be just around the corner from the Nam Phu. A nice, restored building, with a good sized patio in front; tables and chairs clustered about the bar. Inside was a serviceable pool table, so we settled down in the interior shade and I ordered a jug of beer Lao. As usual, things never go to plan. Serena really wanted the grilled pork tongue. As this was to be cooked at the table, we needed to go outside, so we gathered up our cameras and equipement, and shifted tables. But the waitress dealt with this with aplomb, there was no melt-down as there’d been the night before at Le Grillot. Once outside and settled, we found that the pork tongue wasn’t available, so we switched to the tripe. Then it seemed this wasn’t on. In short order the fried spring vegetables were stricken from our order, and was the Hor Mok Gai. But, it was a nice day, the beer was cold, and we’d been assured that, yes, they really did take credit cards. Third time was the charm. Scud went for the largest thing he could imagine on the menu, the German pork leg. Our grill had devolved to strips of beef, and we’d added on a pork laab (salad). They also had crickets and larva on the menu, so I had a plate of this brought out for snacks while we waited. The crickets were good bar food, albeit a little oily. And the legs can get stuck in your teeth, making you wish for some handy dental floss. The laab was good, well herbed up, and, while laced with chilis, not overwhelmingly hot. Our boy the Neanderthal was content enough with his meat, and bypassed much of the rest of the food to concentrate on his daily protein supplement. The small dish of pickled cabbage on the side seemed to be adequate vegetables for him. The grill was nice enough, but you really need a level table to do this sort of thing, and it was hard going keeping the liquid up on all sides. It’s nice that you get big strips of pig fat to grease the grill with, not something you see often enough in the West anymore. Lunch out of the way, we relaxed a bit, making use of the pool at the hotel and the pool table in Kop Chai Deu, which Scud and I returned to later for beers and a few games with some of the older Lao Chinese who were hanging about and shooting. Dinner was a return to L’Opera, the Italian place at the Nam Phu. I’d enjoyed meals there in the past, and with our Lao lunches and French dinner under our belt, we felt Italian would be a good change for the kids. The meal was okay, but unremarkable. The restaurant was quite dead, with our table being the only life to be seen. We had a half bottle of the Quceto Chianti, gnocchi with fontina cheese sauce, carpacchio, penne gorgonzola with walnuts, and a salad Russa, with meat, salmon, caviar, and a vodka and cream sauce. Serena, the heathen, had a pizza. As I said, the meal was serviceable, but not outstanding. The carpacchio made for a nice opening, the thin slices of meat fitting my mood. But, while there was nothing wrong with the pasta dishes, they all felt a bit heavy for us. Perhaps we were becoming jaded? Or maybe it was just Yoonhi and I, as the kids were quite content with their food, Scud hoarding the salad Russa. I’d had the penne gorgonzola, which had plenty of cheese, but perhaps not enough walnuts for my taste. This malaise could not be tolerated. It was obvious that measures needed to be taken to salvage the evening, and so I called for the cheque, bypassing dessert. We packed up, and moved to the creperie we’d seen back up the street. The Ty-Na creperie is a work of art in its own right. The restaurant is beautifully decorated in soft tones, with comfortable, uncrowded seating. As opposed to L’Opera, there was a good buzz to the room, with most of the tables occupied. We settled down and looked over the menu of desserts they were offering. We ordered a selection of crepes, the kids concentrating on the chocolate versions: one with chocolate sauce and whipped cream, another with vanilla and chocolate ice cream with whipped cream and chocolate sauce. Yoonhi and I were more interested in the flambéed marmalade and cointreau, which came out and was lit with the appropriate “oohs” and “aahs” from our table. I’m ever a sucker for Calvados, so I had the caramelized apple, vanilla, and calvados crepe, a pretty thing on the table top Sated, the children abuzz from the sugar rush, we made it back to the hotel, luxuriated in the bathtubs, and nestled into our respective beds. It would be a leisurely awakening the next day, breakfast in that beautiful room, and then a couple of cars to take our loot and ourselves to the airport. Our time was done. When we left Luang Prabang, I was wishing I’d had more time there. Now that I was leaving Vientiane, I was wishing I’d had more time here. I guess I just need more time.

In case I ever get to Mongolia, what IS the tooth-breaking white stuff? ← It's a cheese they make from mare's milk. You can take the stuff and beat large creatures to death with it. It falls into what the Mongol's call White Food, which are things that can be made and stored for most of eternity. It is not on my list of "must eat" items, by any means.

I dunno......by not eating you put pressure upon the others in the party. They assume that you're suffering by not eating, and then your suffering transposes onto them. At some point they take responsibility for your decision. It may be your life, but it's theirs, too. It also depends on the culture. For most Asians it would be unacceptable not to eat. You cannot visit with people and not eat something. I've been told pretty much point-blank in Mongolia that if I value my skin I'd better eat that piece of white stuff, regardless of whether it's hard enough to stone bears with or not. The polite thing to do, as above, is to order something small (and inexpensive), and keep up the appearances of eating, while not doing much real munching. That said, the above only matters if you care about the people you're dining with. I get subjected to these horrible "appreciation luncheons" at work, which consist of fried foods left out on the counter to chill, and various hosting points for food poisoning. I've just let it be known that I have better food back in my office, and I'm doing just fine until then, thank you. Some people get their backs up, but they're learning.

Hsimay, For the river weed, you need to use sunflower oil or canola at a high heat (not peanut oil, although it would get hotter, the flavours not right for the Lao). I've been playing with the stuff I brought back. Cut it up first into manageable squares, then just "wash it" in the hot oil. Maybe a five count, that's all. Put it into a metal sieve as you work up a few sheets for snacks. After that, let collect it on some paper towels (it is way oily on the hands) and serve it up quick before it cools off. As you'd seen, too low and it's soggy. Too long and its horribly burnt. LP is really short on rooms. It's okay if nothing's happening, but for New Year's, Pimai, Tet, whatever, you can find yourself living in the street. And, yes, it is not vegetarian friendly, I must admit. As a partial vegetarian, you can get by, but a true Vegan wouldn't be able to get around the padek and other elements of dead stuff that gets into everything. Heck, pig fat is almost guaranteed in everything. The "burned" element is also common to LP cuisine. A lot of the ingredients are charred prior to use, giving a smokiness to the flavour I quite like. Tamarind looked interesting, but like you said, it's only open for a limited time for lunch, and when we did drop by they were shut for New Year's. I'll get the write-up on Vientiane added in here soon. I must admit, the town is a bit of an acquired taste. A lot of people have a bad first reaction to it.....and a second.....but it can grow on you with time.

Good stuff, Nakji! Please keep it coming. Did your vegetarian ever fall off the wagon and join the carnivores?

Good stuff, Nakji! Please keep it coming. Did you vegetarian ever fall off the wagon and join the carnivores?

Here's a bit from 2005 when I did a class with Cyrus Todiwalla from London's Cafe Spice Namaste when he came through Bangkok: "Our other spice topic was turmeric. My main reaction to turmeric in the past has been an interest in the alacrity with which it manages to run through my system and come out my fingernails, making me look even more jaundiced than usual. But, it appears, turmeric is the new wonder drug. It is one of the best disinfectants, killing all surface bacteria, and also a coagulent. When Cyrus cut himself on a knife awhile back, a quick dab of turmeric cleaned and clotted the wound quite nicely. Talking with some of my Thai friends about this later, they agreed, it was an old folk remedy to rub tumeric on a wound. Likewise, if a child is hurt, they’ll feed them turmeric in a drink, to address possible internal injuries. A jar of turmeric is also standard issue in most Indian autos, acting as a sealant for radiator failures. In breaking news, Cyrus noted that new research from the US indicates that it can stop the spread of breast cancer cells. Coming back to cooking, it turns out that it is not only important for the colour it imparts, but also, as a coagulent, it will thicken the dishes in which it is used, working from the bottom up."

I've seen the Lebanese truffles once or twice in the stores here, but it's been a few years. Unfortunately, it was one of those things you see once, and then it's gone. There's a good piece here in Aramco World from 2002 talking about these.

2007 – A new beginning A miracle happened. I woke up early. It was dark. It was quiet. It was cold. Real cold. I bundled myself up, slipped out of the room, and then had to wake up one of the staff to let me out the door. They must be used to it, as they keep one guy sleeping behind the desk all night long. Outside it was still dark. I was coming to the conclusion that the lack of sunlight probably played a large part in this. I looked in on the Antique House as I headed up the Mekong. There was still a small group of people talking over bottles of Beer Lao, while others snoozed, huddled against the cold on the wooden benches. I was glad we had hotel reservations. Past the Museum, and there was the odd vendor trying to sell a bag of sticky rice for $5. “For the monks”, and giving me quite the hard look when I begged off. This was not what I’d expected. All up the Rue Sakarine there were tour buses pulling up. These would be on the East of the street, while on the West side there were reserved packets of pavement with sticky rice containers lined up. There’s probably a nice little piece in there of life passing away to the West, but it was too damn early for such things. It was quite the spectacle. The Saphron Trail, they’re calling it. I understand now the posters I’d been observing all about town. Please show respect. Please observe silence. Please don’t chase the monks with your tour buses (honest, that was on the poster). The crowds were, by Luang Prabang standards, enormous. I know that there’s a developed section for “resorts” outside of town, beyond the UNESCO zoning, but I hadn’t appreciated how big it had to be, given the number of buses I was seeing jamming up the streets. Each bus had a local agent, cell phone jammed against his or her ear. They were checking the placement of the rice containers, straightening the mats, and checking their watches as they waited for their charges. When the tourists came, they were mainly Chinese and Thai. Of these, it was hard to stereotype the behaviour. Some were quite respectful and new what was expected of them, others, and not just the young, were not. I can picture one, a 50-something Thai lady yelling into her cell phone in a Bangkok accent while dropping rice into the monks’ bowls as they went by Still, with the bad comes the good. Regardless of the crowd, the monks exist outside of themselves once they begin the walk. I recognized some of the young men I’d talked with the day before, and they weren’t the same people while they were out here. And there was no shortage of food. The monks would empty their bowls into sacks carried by others, and would pass out food to some of the needier looking children who were begging from them (but this wasn’t seen on the main street). I watched everything from a respectful distance, across the street with the bus drivers, a cloud of cigarette smoke hanging around them. Once I’d soaked up enough, I headed back to the room, stopping first to check out the internet at the local travel agent. I was caught off guard, as were the Thai. The New Year’s bombings in Bangkok were a surprise. I don’t know if you could say they were unexpected, but, even with the years of violence in the South of Thailand, and the few thwarted terrorist operations in the capitol, this blindsided many. I suppose it was just a case of being lulled by the remoteness of the troubles. Still, in the initial investigations, it wasn’t clear if this was linked to the South. One string had it that it went back to forces backing the Thai Rak Thai. The way things go in this part of the world, we may never know. It was several years ago that there was a string of bicycle bombings in Laos. They came, some people got hurt, and they stopped. The best my sources could ever come up with was that there’d been a power play between the pro-Vietnamese old guard and the China faction. China’s done a fairly effective job of buying off Cambodia, and by bringing Prathet Lao into their camp they would have Vietnam well-isolated. Sobered by the news, I collected the family and we did breakfast at the Café des Arts. This was the small place on the Rue Sakarine that advertised chacouterie. Scud had recognized it as the home of the MasterCard machine he’d used the day before, so we thought we could give it a try. This was not a wise move. The breads disappointed, which is a sad thing in this land of bounteous baguettes. And their escargot, although served in the shell, were a dismal disappointment in comparison to what we’d had at L’Elephant. I ordered their chacouterie platter, and was likewise underwhelmed. Also of interest, the same Listel Chardonnay I’d enjoyed at their sister venue, Café Mekong Fish, was available here, but for $17 bottle, as opposed to $10. Ah well, live and learn. We went by the museum to check that it was closed. It was (we never did catch it open), and then walked up Mount Pouxi to take in the view. The same old anti-aircraft mounting is still up there. It appeared to have been subject to regular oiling and maintenance so that it could be used as a toy for the local kids, who were engaging in the universal game of “spin around in circles until you throw up”. We came down the backside of the hill, and walked up the Nam Khan, looking for the Khem Karn Food Garden, one of the older restaurants in town, going back to my first trip. I remember hours of fun spent here watching termites eat through the furniture while a goat bleated on the sandbar down below. Hey, you find your fun where you can. This was a far better meal. We had ice coffee and beer Lao (dark), and ordered up way too much food. The river weed crackers here were thicker, with a better texture than elsewhere. They’ve likewise gone to the sesame and garlic method, but it still had a difference to it here. The fried pork with “yoster” was a bit on the tough side, a complaint I had of much of the pork in Luang Prabang. Mind,you, the fried wild boar was excellent. It had been done up in a dry red curry, and had a good juicy drip to it as you worked the meat with your molars. The squid was tender, almost melting as it and the piles of onions made their merry way into your gullet. The basil and kaffir filled the table when this was placed down. I decided to try the spring rolls here, and was very satisfied. They’d been stuffed with a variety of mushrooms, noodles, and banana blossoms. Their only detraction was that they were not crispy enough and a little greasy (they must’ve been impatient, not waiting for the oil to heat fully). A large bottle of beer Lao (regular) and some canned ice tea for the kids, and I was in an expansive mood. All was well under heaven. We strolled back through town, and Idecided to check out the Palace grounds, even if the museum was never going to be open to us. While I was thus engaged, the rest of the clan were being beaten to a pulp. They’d checked themselves in for three hours of spa treatment, and weren’t expected to surface for some time. They were running the gamut of foot massages, facials, shampoos, aromatherapies, body scrubs, and full body massages. The last sort of fell apart when Serena began giggling, which in turn spread to the staff, all of whom were killing themselves with chuckles. Somehow, general hilarity doesn’t go with with a relaxing massage, says Yoonhi. That took much of the rest of the afternoon. I camped out at the Pack Luck Liquor wine bar across the street from their massage. A well appointed, pretty little place, with comfortable seating on the streetside. By the bottle they had a good selection of French, Italian, Australian, and Chilean wines. By the glass, though, they were rather restricted as a wine bar, having only a Chilean sauvignon blanc and a South African pinotage. I started with the sauvignon blanc. A little warm for the afternoon, but a good fruity wine, with a nice dig at the back of the throat. I took this as I read the daily papers in from Bangkok with the morning flights. The news was of the bombs, and you could hear the echos in the conversations about the street. Finished with the white, I called for a glass of the pinotage. This was a good, strong wine for an Indochine afternoon, and I worked on my notes and people watched as I enjoyed the red. Part of my people watching consisted of the two young pirates who were working the crowd for trinket sales. Bored, the young entrepreneurs managed to upset an umbrella onto the table next to me. But, rather than the rancour one might expect in such a case, the table of Laos caught the umbrella, laughed roundly, and put things back to rights. The kids giggled and scampered off. Also, for people watching, after five days I could start to recognize some of our fellow travelers. The thing was, I didn’t necessarily recognize their faces right away, but rather their clothes. Some of these people had been wearing the same thing for the better part of a week. And this in a town where every other building is either a guest house or a laundry. The spa disgorged the family, and the little girl who’d been patiently waiting now approached Serena to sell her a bracelet for a dollar. Serena was happy, the little girl was happy, I was a dollar down but that was okay. Exhausted from all this physical exertion, I proposed dropping down to the Mekong for a bottle of Georges Duboeuf Cuvee Blanc. Actually, I’d wanted another bottle of the Listel, and a sunset, but we’d finished off their stock the other day. The Cuvee Blanc was a compromise. A little oily, but nothing like the Gewurtz we’d had at Mango a couple of nights before. We used this interlude to give some thought to dinner. We decided we were returning to the Apasara, to see if the evening meal would be as good as the lunch we’d had there a few days before. It was. We sat outside in the early dark. Across the Nam Khan there were some fireworks being put up, and we took that in with the kind of stillness you don’t find in a lot of places. Serena had the penne carbonara (from which we had them drop the chilis), and Yoonhi ordered a “local dish of chicken cooked with exotic green leaves, apple, aubergine, and flavoured with dill”. To start we ordered the prawn and green papaya salad, dressed with chilis and coconut, and another salad of tomatos, spring onion, and basil, topped with balsamic and olive oil. The papaya salad was very interesting. The papaya was only lightly pounded, more like fettuccine than the usual pounded shreds, perhaps closer to the Vietnamese papaya salads I’ve had. And the dressing comes across very smooth, lacking the cut I was expecting. I nice easy opener to the meal. The other salad was very much about the tomatoes. These are very sweet, the glossy red set against the green of the fresh herbs on top (I wish that photo had worked). Yoonhi’s chicken dish is interesting. Again, there’s a hint of the medicinal in the smell, and we do trace this to the bamboo in the broth. I couldn’t turn away from the pork belly; braised and served on roasted pumpkin with aubergine chutney and a star anise broth. When this came out it was the anise that hit you in the nose at first, and then crisp smell of the coriander. After that I was too far gone into the basic goodness of the pig fat to notice much of anything else. It was now official, the Apsara does have the best baguettes. Their bread is the best of the trip. And the wine was interesting - in a good way. A Sicilian; Lamura Nero d’Avola 2005. Almost treacly in the poor, with a very strong flavour. “A manly wine”, said Yoonhi…..mind you, she says that when I’m complaining, too. We finished with bananas flambé with rum and honey ginger ice cream for Yoonhi and Scud, and chocolate and coconut ice cream for Serena. I content myself with a calvados. As this was our last night, we ditched the kids in the room and headed out to see what the nightlife was like. We walked back up past the old market site to check out the Brown Sugar bar, which looked like it could be interesting…..at least in the daytime. With darkenss it became apparent that they were not open for business, so we headed back behind Mt. Pouxi to see if the Hive was all it was (self) said to be. I liked the Hive. Dead quiet, but likeable. We’d been warned that the inside could be too loud, but the backyard - done up with a beer Lao Christmas tree, beer Lao Christmas lights, and bamboo reindeer – was really quite festive. Thankfully, they didn’t play any Christmas tunes. With the kids out of the way, we were quite content to enjoy our beers and recap our year past. A stumble back to the Guest House, some more beer at the Antique House (no bodies about), and our time was done.

I'm not sure. I've never tasted soju. I imagine it would be though. Shochu is popular with hot water and umeboshi, or "on the rocks", or with a sweet flavoured soda water. I didn't like it so much. But I might like it if it were mixed with some grapefruit flavoured soda water or some other kind of sweetened soda. I took a real liking to sake whilst in Japan and tried to taste as many kinds as I could. All in the name of research of course. ← I've had shochu with lime and soda at a few places. My impression is (was) that it's not quite as "thick" on the palate as soju. However, that could be the brands, or the weather, or a number of things.

The last day of 2006. This was the time to get all of the year’s business out of the way, and start with a clean slate. We all slept in, so we didn’t make the monk’s route that day. After foe, we headed into town. Yoonhi needed to find a massage, and was checking out the different offerings on the main drag. Pizza massage had been okay, but she was looking for more of a work-over. Spa Garden had been recommended by the folks at L’Elephant, and Yoonhi spotted a couple of their outlets on Rue Sakharine. Strolling up the road, we came across more of the local food processing industry. This time it was the charcuterie business, just hanging out on the corner of the street. We wandered back down the main drag and figured this was as good a time as any to do the museum thing. We figure wrong, as usual. By the time we arrived and got our shoes off, they’d closed admissions for the morning. It was apparent. We needed to go for food. We exited from the rear of the Palace grounds and hung a right. We’d enjoyed the setting at Café Mekong Fish the day before. We’d only snacked there, but their Lao menu had looked good, putting paid to my earlier condecension towards restaurants advertising a mix of Western and Lao food. Having grown up with “Western & Chinese cuisine – our motto: we can’t do either well” as a kid sort of scars you for life. We clambered down the battle ship staircase to the lower level, looking out over the river, said our hellos to the wait staff, and settled down. First things first, we ordered a bottle of the Listel Chardonnay. A pleasant, crisp Golfe de Lion white, that went very well with the Mekong below. At $10 for a bottle it was a great deal, especially considering the work the staff had to go through in terms of climbing back up the banks of the river and cutting across the street to the restaurant proper. Not that he went over with such a minor order. We also called for fresh coconuts and a cup of Ovaltine for the girl. Serena, always on the cutting edge of cuisine, ordered a “beef burger with cheese”. I did try to steer her towards the pork burger, but that was a little too avante garde for her tastes. And then Scud failed me, too, indulging in a ham and bacon pizza. At least there was pork on his. This left Yoonhi and I to hold the line. We ordered some riverweed to tide us over while we reviewed the menu (back up the river bank goes the waiter), and came to a few easy choices. We had the gai mok, another kranab of chicken. We could compare this with the one from the first night. And we had a “Mekong fish” in coconut, which sounded like the Khmer fish amok. Having passed their brethren drying in the street, I had to have more sai oua, the local sausage. I figured those three dishes would be enough to get us through the next couple of hours. One of the great, and simplest pleasures, of Asia is drinking a fresh coconut on a warm day. It’s a wonderful way to rehydrate. Another great, but less simple, pleasure, is to scrape out the coconut meat after you’ve had the fluid, and take the flavour out of that, bite by bite. We asked our waiter, who was still getting over the vertical nature of our ordering, if he could open the coconuts. He looked at us as if we were space aliens for a second, and then took our nuts away to the table behind us, where he had at them with a machete. I wondered if this could mar the finish of the table, but held that thought to myself. After about five minutes of brutality, he gave Scud his coconut. Then Yoonhi asked for hers to be opened. Given that he was panting, with a machete in hand, this might not have been the best moment. But, then again, the Lao are always gracious. The sausages were good, but not quite herbed up to the extent that the 3 Nagas were. Nor would they quite compare with Chiang Mai. Still, I had no qualms about finishing them. The fish mok was very gentle. The broth was extremely rich, worked up from coconut milk and fish stock. There was no burn to speak of, just potatos, green beans, bamboo, and, of course, kaffir lime leaves. And the kranab kai – the chicken mousse – was extremely good. I appreciated that the galangal had been julienned so that it could be eaten, whereas the one from the first night had been coarsely cut for the aroma and flavouring. Yoonhi preferred that earlier version for that reason, while I liked the taste in my mouth as I crunched through. And meanwhile Scud’s pizza was quite acceptable. I suppose I shouldn’t rail at the children for taking a break from Lao food from time to time. It’s a path I follow often enough in dining. I was pleased to see that the pizza came with a choice of condiments that included chilis in vinegar. For dessert there was more home made ice cream……it’s beginning to dawn upon me that in a country with little to no industrial infrastructure, home-made isn’t such a big draw. Actually, it had taken the trips out of town the last few days to convince Yoonhi that the fabrics were indeed hand woven, and that there wasn’t some big Korean factory hidden just over the hills. When it came time to pay, we were happy to see that they accepted MasterCard. We used this as an opportunity for Scud to get used to using his card. We wanted to instill a sense of independence; we wanted to get him used to taking financial responsibility; mainly we wanted to avoid having to hike up the staircase until we absolutely had to. After about half an hour, we were beginning to wonder what had happened to the boy. We climbed up to streetside to find him getting off of a motorcycle. It seems that when they say they “take MasterCard” it means that they have another shop somewhere within a day’s travel that does. The afternoon saw us split up. I went off templing, while the rest of them stopped in at Spa Garden for a workover. I did the tour. I wandered in and out of a dozen of the more than 125 wats that make up Luang Prabang, chatting with the monks, who are all eager to work on their English, and filling up my cameras. The highlight at this end of town is Wat Xieng Thong; where the old royal barges are kept, and where you find some of the prettiest carvings. From there I ambled back through town, following the parade route down Sakkarine, past the palace, and beyond Pouxi to where the road becomes Chao Fa Ngum Road (Fa Ngum being the founder of the royal house way back when), past the fountain (that I never saw working), up into Wat Pramahathat, through another name change to Phothisarath Road, and then past the old Legion d’Etrangers barracks and across the old parade grounds to Wat That Luang. I came back to the guest house some time later to find Yoonhi and the kids already at rest. Spa Garden, while a professional set-up, wasn’t fully staffed. They could a little of this or that, but without an appointment they didn’t have the people on hand who were trained for the different specialties (facials, scrubs, etc). As Yoonhi says, this is a good sign, at least. It means that their people are trained, and they’re not just hacking away at whatever anyone asks for. So, she made an appointment for New Year’s Day for the three of them, and headed home. As she read on the verandah, there was a steady stream of people coming in, looking for a room, any room. We’d noticed the same about town that day. People pleading for a bed to sleep in…preferably for twelve dollars or less. The Antique House, the bar next door to us, was advertising all you could eat and drink for $10 for New Years. I suspect it was going to be pretty full. We ambled our way back into town, stopping to shoot a bit of pool en route, while putting back some beer Lao. The karaoke place boasts two tables in mediocre condition, but the complete lack of customers inside ensured that Scud, Serena, and I could play without having to make room for others. New Year’s Eve dinner was the much awaited return to L’Elephant. We started with some puff pastries topped with cheese and ham. This was followed by a Mekong fish and crab meat ravioli in crème brulee style with parmesan for Yoonhi, Scud, and I. This came across agreeably smooth, the “crème brule style” doing what it should to the palate. Serena, for her part, had to have the onion soup, baked with a topping of Gruyere. After this Serena ordered the pan-fried gambas with pastis on a “Gindara fish” mousse cake with mixed greens dressed with almond oil. This was extremely soft and buttery, sitting well with the crunch of the greens on the plate. There was a bed of blanced watercress between the gambas and the mouse that worked particularly well, and little dots of crimson pomegranate oil around the plate. Scud ordered the venison terrine with Cep Mushrooms, cognac flavoured, with a mango and pineapple chutney. Agreeably chunky, this was perfect with a bit of baguette. The pineapple chutney wiggled temptingly, and bits of star fruit gave a nice contrast along with the balsamic on the greens. Dabs of basil oil set the whole thing off. Yoonhi had the pan-fried foie gras with red fruits on a sweet potato bed. The sauce bled liberally against the soft glistening fat of the foie…..(I’m drooling again). I wish I’d had a picture of this, but she wasn’t waiting for my camera for this one. And I ordered the foie gras mi-cuit maison (with toasts). How could I turn down a nice stand-up terrine? I lathered my toast with the “butter” then topped it with a bite of the foie. For the mains, I ordered the duck filet with red fruit gravy and caramelized peach, potatos, and a green vegetable mousse. Yoonhi, likewise, had the same. The duck chewed very well, and the moussse was beautiful. By now we’d forgotten the details of the dishes, and bit into this thinking it a pesto mash, and finding something much more about fresh vegetables. Scud had the lamb for his main. A roasted saddle with fresh thyme gravy and fried sage leaves, served with a potato gratin, and a green vegetable mousse. And Serena went for the mixed mushrooms lasagna with Gorgonzola sauce. The salad was a mixed greens with Roquefort dressing and shavings of Nashi pears, with an apple cider vinaigrette. The room is bustling, with all the tables filled out. Down the street there’s a band playing, One comment on L’Elephant, which does apply to many of the restaurants; pouring. Wine comes to the table, and from that point on, it’s up to you. Don’t wait patiently for your glass to be poured. Once you realize this, of course, it’s no hardship, and you can avoid the typical problem in South East Asia (aside from Singapore) of having your wine glass topped off to the brim. A selection of petits fours came out which we nibbled upon, and then the desserts; a “warm chocolat fondant with lightly salted caramel custard” for Serena, and Omelette Norvegienne avec glace au miel-gingembre et sorbet a la Roselle et son Coulis aux fruits rouges; or rather a Baked Alaska cake. Serena’s chocolate fondant was as advertised, and had her happily nestled in her seat. The baked Alaska (a Norwegian omelet, eh?) was just right. The ginger ice cream down in the lowest part was a pretty little taste to go with it all. I took an espresso to finish, along with an armagnac, and Yoonhi some tea. The boy was quite content with the little bit of champagne we’d afforded him, and the girl had a hot chocolate to go with the mignardises. Content, we settled the bill, and, with some two hours left in the year, we went to the Governor’s residence to see the old out, and the new in. On entering I did my part for the local economy and purchased a large, warm bottle of Beer Lao, and fancy hats for the women folk. There was little question that these were hand made. On stage there was a continual string of speeches and variety acts – karaoke, national dances, and general invitations for everyone to come up and dance along, which Serena did with alacrity. Scud, meanwhile, prayed for a swift death. Part of the purpose for all of this was to raise money for the poverty eradication fund. Last year they had raised a total of $350 for the province….it sounds like a lot more when you say 3,500,000 kip. I did my part by buying another beer. In typical Lao fashion, it was decided that they’d waited long enough, and New Year’s was brought in 12 minutes early, with the traditional anthem of Auld Lang Syne being ditched in favour of “A Hundred Miles Away From Home”, to which they were line dancing. After watching this, Scud has advised that he’s scarred for life. The prettiest part was the release of the balloons; hand-made paper sacks with small burners inside. I’ve admired these often as they drift through the skies, looking for a bit of dryness to land upon and set ablaze. “Pyromancy”, muttered Scud, wishing he was somewhere – preferably somewhere with electronics - else. And the highlight of the night, which did get a grin out of the boy, was when one of the balloons caught fire and fell onto the governor’s roof. This had the local fire truck (which had been standing by) roll up and spray down the building. What more could you ask for? And Scud managed to get his door open by himself.

There were problems with viewing some of the last pictures, so I'm reposting them here (I can't get in to edit the post). These are the two morning foe (pho) shots. There's something about the colours of the table that makes the morning a lot easier to take. Above are the moonshining pictures. Not quite the same as a tour of the Hennessy facilities...... Things in bottles. Just a picture of some boats..... Mandatory Mekong sunset shot. Entry to the 3 Nagas Laap krouaille; minced raw buffalo and bean sprouts. Sai Oua Moo; pork sausages and the Kaeng Bpai Champoo - Betel leaf soup with dried beef Kranab Pa – grilled river fish stuffed with pork and herbs, wrapped and roasted in a banana leaf. And, the last shot, the baked goods out on the street. An odd little stand.

It's broken. I like all of the things I shouldn't. (I wonder if I could do a coffee sauce to glaze some brussel sprouts?.............)

Well......... The obvious, of course, is unpasteurized cheese from France. Caviar, I believe, is now on the restricted list. At least we were told not to try and bring any back from Moscow last July. And tonka beans, which can be used in a variety of desserts. That's a starter! Let us all know how the meal works out!

Some friends went to Tony's the other week. Great foie gras. And definitely a place with an expense account attitude. Is Cafe Annie still around across from the Gal? I know Americas, with their Klingon rain-forest decor was cleared out awhile ago.

For octopus, I would go with the Koreans and najibokum, a nice stew of octopus with chili paste and chilis....I think they also add chili powder....and some more chilis. Rub the octopus with salt and rinse. Fry garlic (sliced), carrot (diagonalled), and onion (coarse chop) in some oil add the red pepper paste (gojujang), red pepper powder (gojugaru), some soy, sugar, coarse chopped green onion, green chilis, and the octopus, and continue to fry. You should get a lot of fluid coming out, which will reduce to a nice, thick consistency. When it's about ready, season with sesame oil and sesame seed and mix it up. This works well with squid or cuttlefish, but I prefer octopus.

Okay, here's tonight's attempt. I've taken Foodman and Nicolai's advice (Thanks!) and have gone with a variation on a common theme. I've done the usual of searing my tenderloin, then finishing it in the fat from pan frying the foie gras. The dice in the upper right is the dessert truffle, cleaned of sand (and a root, in one case, that it had wrapped itself about). They'll go into the jus, and then I'll serve them over pasta with some good Spanish EVOO. This'll increase the surface area, and distribute them nicely. I must admit, I was in a rush tonight, with a starving wife and two vermin. But generally the approach met with some acceptance. Seeing as I had the wife do all of the sand cleaning, I have to be careful about this. The kebab approach is intriguing, and the soup sounds excellent. I wonder how much trouble I'd get in trying to milk a camel out here?

Nicolai, Those sound good. Especially the EVOO routes. I've got some good Spanish and Italian oils I'm going to break out for these. Thanks, Peter

Things started with a phone call. Be in front of the building now. I have 3 kg. Bang! I was out of the office, down the staircase, and in front of the building. Or was I? I didn't see my contact, so I sprinted through the building and out the other side, running for the wire. When I got to the gate, I remembered that this entry was decommissioned a year ago. Back through the building went I, and there he was, wondering where I'd gotten to. A shopping bag passed hands, a flash of money, and I was holding. I started getting looks in the elevator. It's natural when everyone stares up at the numbers going by, hoping against hope that four will come before three for once. But not now. Everyone was looking at my loosely closed plastic sack. Back in the office, I tried to sneak in, but I couldn't manage it. I was made. "How much a kilo?" "Hey, look at these! You won't find these in Riyadh!" "Where'd you get those?" I mumbled a few things and closed my door. I was on the phone in an instant. "Get over to the lab gate. I've got the stuff, and it won't keep." Back out of the building, through the wind tunnel, careless now of who would spot me. I brazed the gate, and then waited for the pick-up. The Rover pulled up on schedule. She's on a clock. I opened the passenger door, plopped the sack on the seat, said "Godspeed", and closed the door. She was gone. My work was done. But not hers. I got off of work and home in time to find her only 1/4 of the way through the cleaning. What we have here are about 3 kg of dessert truffles, or fuga in the suqs. It's arguably not really a truffle, but rather a member of the Trefezia family of subterranean mushrooms. They're spotted by walking the dessert. After the rains, they'll broach the surface, and then are descended upon by the hordes roaming looking for them. The last couple of years have been bad, with very little to be found. This is the first material I've had to work with in three years now. Cleaning these is the sore spot (at least in my family, as I don't do it). The manner in which the truffles grow subducts veins of sand into the body, so long hours have to be spent manually working through the fungus with a paring knife. Also, you are on a clock. These things need to be cleaned, and then either put sealed into the freezer, or else wrapped up in paper towels with dry rice added as a dessicant to keep them from going moldy (and they go moldy really quick). So, with a little less than 2 kg once we're finished cleaning, what should we do? Previous successes have included: - risotto (similar in effect to the Arabic tradition of making kepsa with this rather than meat) - stuffing for turkey (decadence is bliss) - pan fried in good olive oil with a bit of herbs and served over garlic'd pasta What else is suggested? Moderator note: This post has been edited to fix the broken links to the great and unique pictures Peter posted. Enjoy.

I've always had a love-hate relationship with Houston. Mainly, I love to hate it. But I was poisoned against the city, I must admit, by a 2.5 year stint there with no car, no tv, and no money. I was back last year, on someone else's money, a company car, and one of my old buddies who likes to spend all of his available income on food and wine. Here's what I liked: Beso - inside the 610 (the Loop) on Westheimer (I believe). Excellent atmosphere, nuevo latino cuisine, and a tenderloin with blue cheese I loved. Very good martinis and a nice selection of sipping tequilas. Ragin' Cajun - on Richmond, again, just inside the Loop. Right next door to the liquor store. Go for the upscale experience and take a spot in the tacked onto the side of the place waitered section to the right after you go in. Excellent crawfish, good oysters (but not as good as Vancouver, of course), and a boudoin I love to distraction. Goode Company up on I-10. I think that was it. The bbq is good, but part of the experience is wandering through the gun shop next door. Perry's in Clear Lake. 6 inch pork chop. 'nuff said. The Raven, on Bisonnet, has a nice, local feel to it. Their breaded oysters are good, and they make much ado about their blue corn meal and grits batter. Good, but perhaps not a place for the list of "must dos". Also, if it's still there, Marfreles is a fun place to take people late at night. No signs, and the entrance is on the back of the mini-shopping complex on the south side of West Grey. It's not as seedy as it used to be back in the 80's and 90's but still a great place for a martini. 2006 Peden Street. Recommended, but I haven't eaten (or drank) there: Arvid's Wine Bucket - out on Alabama on the East side. A friend called Arvid saw this place and had to go. He came back well impressed with it as a good spot for a nice, knowledgeable glass of wine.

February 15th. Post Valentines. This means I have to make up for not doing anything for Valentine's Day. So, I went back through the notes, and pulled out Sergi Arola's recipe for a prawn suquet. He'd done this in 2005 in Bangkok. I spent the early part of the day reducing prawn stock. I had a big supply of heads, so I fried these in olive oil with some thyme and garlic, then watered up, and added some diced tomatoes and paprika....and let it go for the rest of the day. Just before dinner, I pan roasted a skinned peach in some more thyme and butter. Once this was close I pulled out the peaches and fried up the prawns, adding a little olive oil as I went. Then the prawns went in the bowls, the peaches sliver in, and the broth gets added. I top with some fresh parsley, and sprinkle some chopped nori on top of that. Dollops of fresh aioli go on (I should've used a squeeze bottle), and we're done. This wasn't going to be enough, though. I'd rooted through the fridge, and found that I had two foies left. One of them was going to go to the cause of domestic harmony. I also had the thick end of a tenderloin, so I crusted this in pepper and sea salt, and seared it with fresh rosemary. Then I slowly roasted it. While that was going on, I blanched some spinach, and set it aside with some sesame oil and garlic. The last package of ink pasta went into the boiling water, and I shredded some parmesan. The mushrooms were cleaned and ready. I pulled the tenderloin out to rest a bit. I cut the foie, cleaned out the blood (not much), and then quickly pan fried the slabs, trying not to lose much of the fat, but with a plan for what does come off. Once cooked through, I took the roast, now cut to steaks, and finished the steaks in the foie butter. This let off more of the meat juices. Removing the steaks, I tossed the mushrooms in, and let them soak up the good stuff. Meanwhile, our starch, the ink pasta, was tossed with some olive oil and garlic (we like garlic), and went to the table with parmesan, the foie gras, meat, and spinach. I yanked the 'shrooms from the heat, and got them out while things were still hot. And I'm almost in her good books again. I probably would've made more points with her if I hadn't told her she couldn't eat until after I took some pictures.

It was December 30th, and pushing a respectable hour of the morning. Breakfast was foe. The verandah outside our guest house was a nicely established breakfast nook; little wooden tables, rickety stools, and bottles of condiments at the ready. Chilis in vinegar; various pastes; fish sauce; and a plastic bin of fried rice cakes, which are sort of the Lao equivalent of pickled eggs. They’re always there on the table, eternal guardians of some lost secret. I ordered four bowls of pork broth while Yoonhi banged off the walls in the bathroom, Serena skipped about, and Scud fumbled with his door (to the amazement of his fan club, who were gathering around every morning to watch him). By the time the soup was at the table, the family was in place. I like the foe here. The broth is rich enough to get my tastebuds going, the noodles are always fresh (I see them being delivered), and the greens have slightly different flavours from those of Hanoi. Plus, unlike Vietnam, I’ve never contracted worms from eating pho in Laos. As we ate we laid out the day’s activities. This took us a while to get settled, as any deviation from the routine of wake up, eat, sleep, massage, and eat more takes cerebral activity that was quickly getting beyond us. The distraction of watching some of the locals take their dog for a drag behind their motorcycle didn’t help. First up, we headed for Baan Phanom. This Thai Lu village to the east of town was a respectable tuk tuk ride away, so we ditched the kids, as our primary interest was fabric shopping. Our driver was confused about our intentions, and destination. It seems that the area’s been built up as a “site”, with the elephant camp and sundry facilities clustered here. There’s also Henri Mohout’s tomb, but I’d seen that back in ’93. However, he got us to the communal fabric market, and it was a trip down memory lane. This building is relatively new, having shown up some time between my ’93 and ’97 visits. Fairly clean, metallic, and packed with low wooden platform, which, themselves are packed with Lao ladies and their material. The attitude is much the same, though. It’s dead calm, almost comatose, up to the point where you pull out a wallet and start putting down some baht (or kip, or dollars). Then all the fabric goes up in the air, and your besieged with a clamour of “Monsieur! Monsieur!” The more you buy, the more frantic things become. Just like the old days. My first trip I was warned that it was an off day, and that there wouldn’t be many people in the co-op, if any. I bought one piece, and a few more people came in. I bought four more, and there was a flurry of activity. By the time I had picked up a dozen pieces, all hell had broken loose. I was told after that they didn’t put much stock in Westerner’s shopping, but would pull out all the stops if the Thai came by, as volume dealers from Chiang Mai will come here to fill their stores. That’s why, then as now, Thai baht are more commonly taken, while in town the almighty dollar has taken over (although you can still get by with baht). Now, as then, the Baan Phanom was quoting in Baht. Like I say, it’s refreshing to find some things unchanged. “Kind of pathetic”, says Yoonhi. I got out of there with only about a dozen pieces. The prices were better than in town, and a little more high end than the street market, comparable with the boutiques (which are way more expensive). After this we retrieved our children from the one-eyed babysitter - they were glued to a Lao dubbed version of Ed, Ed, and Eddy – and headed up the river to Pak Ou. The boat trip to Pak Ou gets on a lot of lists as a “thing to avoid”. Admittedly, while the caves are historically very important – being royal shrines lining Buddhist Laos with its animist/shamanistic river spirit worshipping side – they’re kind of lame, and get downright claustrophobic when you fill them to the brim with boatloads of tourists. But the trip is more about the trip, taking in the Mekong on this rough stretch. And, we had to get the kids out of town at least once. I haggled for the “last boat”, and then headed up river. As usual, our first stop was the Whiskey Village (maybe I should use the Doors for this segment on the video). It was the same but different. They’re down to one still, and the old guys I used to discuss techniques with are gone. They’ve left the kit to be minded by a kid, who’s claim to fame is his ability to dump a bucket of mash into the barrel. The town is quite tarted up, though. Lots of “antique” shops, and every other house is selling fabric. There were even a few satellite dishes about. They were also doing a brisk trade in what is referred to as “stuff in bottles”. It’s not enough to just make moonshine. If you want real good ‘shine, you need to put a snake, or a scorpion, or something into it. Everything imaginable ends up pickled in rotgut…sort of like my liver. We picked up a gold beadspread for half the price of the night market, and then headed back up river. Being old, I can reminisce about the things that used to be there. As I watched the whirlpools in the water (a sign of nagas at play), I thought back to the old days. Take the gold miners (or minors, as the case may be). They were gone in ’97, but I remember them from ’93. One of the villages on the West bank was busily digging up the sandbanks of the Mekong, and panning out the gold dust they could find. It was all young girls, and we were told that they were doing this so they could afford to buy the things they’d need if they got married. I offered to buy some of the gold, and then found out they were amalgaming the stuff on the spot over an open fire with quicksilver. I waited upwind. And I didn’t see the traders. The road to China is in good shape now, but before there was a longtail express that would take traders up to the Chinese border of the Tai enclave of Sip Sawng Panna. The boats would blast past us. In ’97 they were still working their trade, but had picked up a bit of HSE, insisting that passengers wear helmets and life vests. The month before we’d arrived, one of the boats hit a shallow outcrop of rock and killed everyone on board. Anyways. The cave was as expected. The hike up was good enough exercise, and it does go on for a little bit. But we didn’t dally longer than needed. Timing was about right when we returned to town. The kids were at that happy point where they’re bored out of their skulls and about to slit our throats. Yoonhi had had about all the scenery she could take, and I found myself parched. This was now pushing late afternoon and I was still without a beer Lao! This was readily rectified. We stopped at the riverside for ham and cheese baguettes, coffee shakes, Ovaltine, and beer….and a sunset. Now that we’d eatend, it was obviously time for dinner. This evening we tried the 3 Nagas restaurant, across the street from the Mango they also run. This was their Lao venue. We were wise enough to have made reservations the night before, as they were quite full up when we arrived. Again, a nice room. Well renovated French colonial (as if there’s any other choice), and I do note that there are a/c vents in the ceiling, which will be important if we’re back for Pimai – the Water Festival – one of these years. Pimai is in April, when temperatures are at their worst. So, for the details! We had Saa Moo, a salad of pork and banana blossom. Laap krouaille; minced raw buffalo and bean sprouts. Sai Oua Moo; pork sausages Kaeng Bpai Champoo (I’m guessing at this one); Betel leaf soup with dried beef Kranab Pa – grilled river fish stuffed with pork and herbs, wrapped and roasted in a banana leaf. And we decided to go with the house chardonnay. They brought out the ubiquitous rice crackers with a tamarind sauce as an amuse bouche. The tamarind stood out very well, the tartness grabbing the front of my mouth. The laap was well mixed with chilis, and had a great burn to it. And the fried banana blossom worked in with the minced pork is a good idea, one I’ll try at home. The buffalo was a definite winner. Ltos of chilis, and fresh long beans worked in with the bean sprouts and herbs. Far too hot for Serena, but the rest of us loved it. As I’ve said before, and will say again, I’m quite happy to make a meal just out of the salads of Laos and Thailand. The sausages were as expected, which is to say they were really, really good. I noticed on the menu that they refer to sai oua as “Luang Prabang” pork sausages. In places in Chiang Mai the menus will refer to these as “Lanna” sausages. Without a side-by-side taste test, it’d be hard to find any major differences in the flavours. Fried sausages in a good tight skin of intestine. Lots of chilis and herbs in with the “material”. It’s another case of the long intertwining of the affairs of the Northern Kingdoms (and one I am happy to study). The soup was very mild, carrying the smell of the betel nut leaves to some extent, but mainly dominated by the basil. Still, with the heat of the salads, this makes a comforting match, removing some of the heat. The fish was great. I like kranabs, the burnt smell of the banana leaf just wrapping up through my nose, holding my attention for the unwrapping of the fish inside, liberally salted with galangal, peppers, coriander and basil and pork… Pardon me for a moment. Dessert, for those who indulged, was coconut ice cream with a Lao coffee syrup. After dinner, it was a chilly walk back down through the night market. I stopped in for a beer with Serena while Yoonhi shopped….okay, I had a beer. Serena had hot chocolate. Scud had forged ahead to wrestle with the door, otherwise we would have shot some pool. And next door there was a beguiling selection of baked goods we’d been studying for the last few days. Serena and I bought some of the apple and coconut cakes, and took these back to the room to enjoy once Yoonhi rejoined us. The only glum note to the day, the crepe lady wasn’t there. She'd obviously gone home early, based upon the remnants in the gutter. Business must be good.

I was in a similar (kinda) situation, with only a few nights to get in some meals while in London. I recommend St. John, as others have. Here's my first attempt at a link to another egullet entry Other People's Money

As a note on Rules (on Maiden Lane - come down from Covent Garden) they do (or did) a pre-theatre menu that was a pretty good deal. Their pheasant was great.