Peter Green

December 29th Getting my family out of bed before nine was becoming a task. Scud and I needed to be at school. We had signed up for Tum Tum Cheng’s cooking class and needed to be there by 8:30 to start. So, I decided this called for a 7:15 wake up for the boy and I. This would give him enough time to get his door open. We were about 25 minutes early, our breath hanging in front of our faces, fog on the Mekong. Luckily, they had coffee ready to take away the chill and to while away the time. Chandra is the founder of the Tum Tum empire, which consists of the restaurant, cooking school, the other restaurant we were at earlier, and his Hungarian wife Lisa’s boutique, where she’s working gothic styles with Lao materials. I may have missed a few other shops. It seems very much the thing here to branch out into a number of options as shops come available. Spa Garden must have three or four outlets (two on Rue Sakharine at least, and the one back near L’Elephant, which itself also covers The 3 Nagas, and Mango. As we thought over these matters, we watched the school kids work their way down the street, cleaning up the trash from the night before. Imagine what places like Cairo or Mumbai would look like if we could convince the children there to police the streets every day? I spent my time working through my copy of Phia Singh’s book, thinking on which recipes to work with. Then, by 8:30, the entire class was assembled; the boy and I; a couple from Colorado; a pleasant Australian from Melbourne; and an Hungarian from Holland. In all, an interesting mix. The Australian, in particular, is working his way through this Asia trip cooking school by cooking school, hitting as many venues as he can find. 8:30 comes and goes, and by a little after 9, things are ready to begin. I notice on the board in front of the restaurant does state “class starts 9:00 A.M.” A famous Lao saying I have to remind myself of, “Time is plastic”. Our choice of recipes covered six dishes, of which I could locate four of them in Phia Singh’s book. Or Lam – the typical dish of Luang Prabang; a rich stew of buffalo (recipe # 23). Stuffed lemon grass and stuffed bamboo – a farci, and one of those things that always distressed me when I try to do them (recipe #53B). Chicken with red chili (recipe #36). Laab kai –(cooked) minced chicken salad (recipe #92). And fried rice salad and fried tofu curry with vegetable, which I could not locate in the book. By 9:30 we were on the way to the market in the care of Phut, who advised us that he would not be shopping, per se, but rather escorting us for a tour, as the food has already been bought. Our tour will take in the Pho Sy market, out on the west side of town. The old main market just below Mt. Pouxi is closed off, and something much more modern is being constructed behind raised walls. Pity, as I liked the old market, with its dark passageways and bales of marijuana. It reminded me of the Russian Market in Penh. The market is as one expects, a wonderful mix of fresh greens, fruits, and dead animal bits. I note down the “spicey wood”- sak khan - which is used as a substitute for chilis to add heat to the dishes. There were beautiful "der ry" mushrooms. I mistook the bpai il eua for bpai cham ploo (betel leaves), which had me excited for a few moments, as I can never find these in Bangkok (at least not where I shop. I get called old fashioned for mentioning them). The knobby water cucumbers looked good, and the Siamese coriander is interesting, long barbed blades on an elongated leaf. The sopadillas are in season, as are the strawberries, and the grapes are huge, the size of my big toe (which isn’t a pretty comparison to make, but it’s what’s afoot). As for the meat and offal..... Anthony Bourdain would be very happy. There are bright red cubes of buffalo blood…..in ’93, a topic with my guide had been the high cost of congealed chicken blood. This was a particularly good accompaniment to lao lao (the local spirits…the kind you drink, that is) and was held in high esteem. The problem was that the merchants would only sell it in units of one chicken, rather than portioning it out. “Why can’t they just sell us the part we want, and keep the rest for the next day?” I demurred. But, back to the tour, we had bristly tripe, amputated hooves, jawbones, hearts, lungs, spleens, and most of the other makings of a good zombie movie. And then there’s some game. The dried dachau-like corpses of bats. A large swamp rat, the size of my thigh (but lacking the meat and fat) stretched out alongside some off-looking stripped down birds (Phia Sing, when he talks of quail, recommends keeping them until they go slightly moldy). And then there are other fowl still in their bright green plumage, the makings of nok noi, a delightful dish of small birds I’d seen before in Hanoi. If you like markets, this is a place where you’ll have some fun. My earlier trips were coming back to me, but I was still continually surprised at the extent to which the Lao could find something of value in anything. If it had a leaf, it was there in the market. If it had moved at some point, it was there in the market. Heck, if there was the slightest question whatsoever, it was going to turn up in the market. If I’d had my wits about me, I would’ve bought more at this time. As was, I came away with some of the river weed and some of the sak khan. On the down side, it turned out that our needs for the day’s cooking were all in hand back at the school, so we didn’t get to work at picking out the goods themselves. I can appreciate, though, that this was pretty much the way it had to be if we were going to be done before dark. So, we were headed back to the classroom. We returned to the school, and found that Chandra wasn’t in the kitchen today; Linda would be taking the class. I had no complaints, as her English proved to be very competent, and her teaching skills quite good. Likewise, whereas Chandra is from the South, she’d grown up in Luang Prabang (and had studied to be an accountant). She’s been with Tum Tum Cheng since it opened in 2001. As we sat down at the concrete table, the chill removed by cushions of big-eyed puppies (c’mon! This is a town with a main street that sounds like “saccharine”!) rice cakes were ready for us, with a tamarind paste to give them a good, sour contrast. These were just like the ones we’d seen drying outside the day before. As Linda tells us, these are the leftovers – uneaten sticky rice (khao niao) which is touched up with salt, and then worked into patties and left to dry in the sun for a day or two. This will dessicate them to the point where they will crisp when deep fried, otherwise the khao niao will never fry properly. Linda then gave us a bit of a talk on the table manners of the Lao. Again, this is very much from the book. In general, being old, I win out. In Laos, it is always eldest first, so, in this crowd at least, I’m getting mine before anyone else. Scud goes last. Serving drinks is a little different. The server takes the first shot, not letting the cup touch his lips. Then the eldest is served next. Everyone sits on the floor, the food being served (as in the North of Thailand) on a large bamboo tray, food taken by hand – except for a spoon for the soups – using balls of sticky rice to mop things up. Niceties out of the way, we move on to the actual business of making food. For a Lao meal, the major effort is the prep, the meez. This will take up two to four hours of your day before the actual 20 to 30 minutes of cooking. And that 20 to 30 minutes is important, as the food is meant to be eaten very fresh. For the salads, the dressing will change taste in ten minutes, so it’s important that the food come quickly to the table. This demand for freshness requires that a Lao kitchen will have a large work crew, with the aim being to bring all the dishes on the table at the same time. For the restaurants, about 60% of the food is coming direct from the gardens (farms). If this was a home-cooked meal, that would be 60 to 70% from the jungle. I’d noticed this before when in Laos, the housewives checking anything green on the way home, and stripping the bushes when they find something with the right smell and taste. The restaurants do tend to tone things down a bit. A pity, as I see nothing wrong with hot and bitter (I’ll make no wife jokes, I swear). For heat, there’s the spicey wood I’d mentioned before, as well as the liberal selection of chili peppers that one expects. And then the peppers, both peppercorns and the Szechuan pepper. This this is the divide in Lao cooking; hot and cool, the two balancing the dishes. The three requirements, the Lao trinity, are galangal, lemon grass, and kaffir lime leaves. The cuisine will change as you move around the country, but these three will remain constant. The galangal is either jullienned for eating, or else cut thick lengthwise for flavouring. The lemon grass is bottomed and thin sliced up through the white for eating and flavour, and then tamped and rough cut for flavouring and scent through the greens (but not eaten). And the lime leaves can be either dropped in whole for general flavours, or else julienned by removing from the central stem and then rolled and sliced thin, this later approach for when they’re too be eaten. As you look around the region you see the Vietnamese not fitting into this schema at all (which makes sense considering the migration routes, but that’s another story); Cambodia being similar, but using a lot more fish sauce; the Thai are schizophrenic, with a distinct split between the North (Lanna) and Northeast(Isaan), and what the Lao call the South, but what is really central Thailand. I suppose this is pretty close to the Western Canadian concept of Ontario as the East. The real South of Thailand, down the peninsula, isn’t touched upon at all, which makes sense again on ethnic grounds. A bit of history. Lanna and the Northern cities of Chiang Mai, Chiang Saen, Lampun, et al, are tightly linked through royal ties and a shared history, so you see food culture traveling between the two regions quite easily. Isaan is a more direct linkage, with the bulk of the Lao population being moved into the Thai orbit with the destruction of the Lan Xan Kingdom in 1828. At the present time (as is often pointed out) there are more Lao speakers in Thailand than in Laos. And to this day they’d been providing most of the cheap labour, although they’re now being displaced by Burmese and Khmer as Thai standards of living creep higher. If there’s a national dish in Laos, it’s tam mahaan, (som tam in Thai) - Papaya salad. But the Lao will also do this with cucumbers – skin on – as an alternative to the papaya. Or you could use carrots, cabbage, and/or long beans. The long beans are taken raw or cooked, in contrast to the normal green beans always taken cooked. I can bear witness to the wide variety of this dish. In Udorn back in the 90’s the place across the street from our hotel had over a dozen versions available, with lots of cold beer. We worked our way through them, and they worked their way through us. Bamboo, like chilis, comes in many guises. But all should be boiled for one hour before cooking, and others shouldn’t be eaten no matter what. How to tell the difference is not something we dwelled upon. Lime and lemon are the same thing to the Lao, with tamarind often being used as an alternative to give the sour contrast. There are four types of basil in use. Spicy, from the jungle; minty, from the jungle; sweet (or Holy) from the garden; or a fourth, with little yellow flowers, with a bit of spice, found in the jungle. Tomatoes are commonly used; both the big sweet ones and the small sour ones. Purists rail against the introduction of the tomato to South East Asian cuisine, but just try to separate any of these people from their little red darlings. It’ll probably cost you an arm. Morning glory comes in two types; green and small from the garden, or big and purple from the water. Mushrooms always take a special place in my heart, and Luang Prabang has beautiful fungi. Mouse ears are used heavily, as are oysters, and a huge number of others. And then there are eggplants, more than ten kinds; from the big purple aubergine we’re used to, to the tiny bitter pea-like things we find in Thai curries down south. The small purple ones – the size of a large marble – can be eaten raw, and are often served cut in half with sticky rice, while the others are all cooked. After this morning’s tour, the group had pretty much decided that if you can’t identify something, call it an eggplant. And then there’s rice; your sticky or your steamed. The Lao grow this “dry” in the country, and there are 10 different kinds. With a three month cultivation, and a 1 kg for 9 to 10 people ratio, this can meet the food needs of a large population. The Lao, however, don’t have a large population, and much prefer sticky rice, which takes a lot of water and 6 to 7 months to harvest. As it doesn’t expand very well, 1 kg will only feed around 4 to 5 people. It comes here in over 30 different varieties, with a host of colours. The rice needs to be soaked for about 4 hours if it’s less than a year old. In foreign climes it’s likely it’ll be older, and would require 7 hours if it was two to three years old. It’s rinsed two or three times, and then steamed with a bamboo cover to trap in the moisture. Turn it once, steam ten more minutes, and you’re ready to put it into those cute bamboo containers to keep it moist. If it’s left out it’ll only keep for 30 minutes, so wrap it up if you don’t have the bamboo containers. Sticky rice is only cooked twice a day. First in the morning, so that it will be ready for the monks when they make their rounds, and then for the evening meal. It doesn’t get reheated, as this can lead to stomach problems, so at the restaurant they’re constantly getting complaints from the tourists about how the rice is cold. Given what I’ve seen in the markets, I asked if there were any restrictions on what was eaten. The answer is, basically, no. But, a lot of people have personal limits, and it’s rare to see dogs or cats eaten……and I haven’t seen a Macdonald’s here (but I think that may be more of a commercial thing, to be fair to the Golden Arches). And thus endeth the lesson. They’d already prepped everything for us, but took us through the exercise of cleaver prepping the meez. The galangal is enough to qualify as a work out, and we were looking around to see who’d be the first to lose a finger as we bore down on the roots. I find it’s not too difficult if you bring the weight down from your shoulders and hips, but then I probably weigh the equivalent of three Lao. After an enthusiastic mauling of the galangal, lemon grass, eggplants, and some other items, we moved over to the stoves, of which there were four, each set over a charcoal brazier. At this point we went over the choices of seasonings. I’m of two minds concerning this part of the course. They’re using a lot of bottled sauces, mostly of Thai origin. However, all the shop kitchens I’ve passed by have had copious bottles of stuff on the shelves, so it’s probably fair to say that this represents the “urban” side of Lao cooking (as urban as Laos gets). One thing I do notice is that they’re making more use here of nam paa rather than the traditional padek, a chunky mix of fermented fish. However, they find the use of nam paa imparts a smell, so they’ll almost always cut it with lime juice at a 1:2 ratio (lime to nam paa) to change the smell. This makes the traditional base of much of the dressings for their salads, and, as mentioned, must go in just before the salad is served, so that the flavours don’t have too much time to change. Their preference for oyster sauce is the Thai, which comes across a little tangier than the Chinese. Soy bean paste is used quite a bit, and both white and black soy. Regarding oils, even though you get a hotter cook from peanut oil, they avoid it due to the flavour. Sunflower is generally preferred, which makes sense, thinking back on the fields of sunflowers to the East on the Plain of Jars. Curries, so dear to the the Central Thais, isn’t much used. Only the yellow curry powder is to be seen, none of the greens and reds of a Siamese kitchen. We begin with a couple of extra bits. First, we start preparing some rice powder. Sticky rice is dry toasted in a wok until browned, then a kaffir lime leaf and the greens of some lemon grass is tossed in for another few minutes to get the smell. Once done, it’s allowed to cool, the leaves and stalks are removed, and then the rice is pounded down and then set aside. This will keep for a few weeks if needed. The river weed “crackers” are prepped with a quick wash in hot oil (about 2 seconds), after which they’re put in a colander to drain. We did up a few of these, served them with peanuts and the whites of some lemon grass, and had a good (if somewhat greasy) snack as we approached the next dish. As a fast dish, they go through a chicken, tofu, and morning glory dish. First, the basics – ginger, garlic, shallots, chili. All of these go into the oil. Then some sugar, to counter the “hot”. Then morning glory goes in, with some soy bean paste and oyster sauce. Linda also recommends some green apple here, if you want, to make an interesting backdrop. Then add some white soy sauce (thinner than black) and some water. In a parallel wok…..now there’s an engineer’s description. Running your woks in series or in parallel…..cook up the chicken in oil, then remove the chicken and introduce garlic, shallots, and ginger to the wok, adding water and oyster sauce once the aromas open up. Then some cornstarch to thicken, and a bit of nam paa and lime juice at the very last to the sauce. Bed the chicken on top of the morning glory, and then pour the sauce on top of everything. This dish is portioned out and eaten quickly. It’s in part to show a “fast” Lao dish for unexpected guests, and also in part to stave off our hunger pangs. With this some Lao fruit liqueur is served up. This isn’t the dreaded Lao Lao, the white spirit of the Mekong, but rather a fermented “punch”, something my Lao friends back home had done up from old recipes, allowing fruits and stuff to sit and ferment, and then bottling them up. This one, a red sticky rice drink, was sweet and thick, with a couple of pieces of ice in it to drop the aromatics. Not bad, and, in the interest of young Scud’s tender years, I drink his for him. My station is the stuffed foods – the lemon grass and bamboo shoots. The method is to slice open the middle of the bamboo and lemon grass stalks in thin cuts, and then accordion them, creating a cage within which to stuff the mince. The mince itself is a mix of diced pork, shallots, garlic, nam paa, pepper, and sugar, all squeezed out and on the verge of disgusting feeling in my hands. I took the birdcage apparatus that I’d created, and rolled it first in flour, then in egg yolks, and then in breadcrumbs. Now my hands were well beyond the verge of disgusting feeling. Against the traditional method, the only difference of note is that Phia Sing would have grilled the mince in banana leaves prior to stuffing (as my friend said “burnt food”). Scud’s working on the fried rice salad, composed of cooled long grain rice (old rice is not used for this), minced pork, shallots, garlic, chili powder, and egg yolks to help bind. They make a lot of use of powdered chicken stock here, added dry for salt and background flavour. Again, I wonder about the traditional element, but if it works, it works. The finished mush is then rolled up into balls, and the balls are transferred to the oil for frying. Meanwhile, the laab of minced chicken is being prepped. This’ll be cooked, as opposed to laab dip, which is a different, raw preparation which relies on a light ceviching (and an iron digestive track) to avoid some of the unpleasantries that can occur. Along with the liver flukes in the padek, this probably killed off more CIA operatives in the Secret War than did the Vietnamese. The chicken is prepared similar to the fried rice; the mass of minced meat being mixed up with pepper, salt, sugar, oyster sauce, and white soy. This is then rolled in flour, eggs, and breadcrumbs as was the case with my stuffed items. I’m interested in this method of frying; rolling the items into balls first. Linda explains that this will give differing contrasts in texture, from the crisp elements from the outside through to the softer, almost rare parts in the middle. The items are fried at a low heat, carefully rolled over to make certain that all of the exterior is evenly browned. Once cooked through, the balls (rice or chicken) are broken open, allowed to cool a bit, and then “smashed”. The separated material is then mixed in with the herbs; lemon grass, galangal, spring onion, coriander, shallots, chilis, banana blossom, and rice powder for the laab gai, and lemon grass, kaffir lime leaves, spring onions, long beans, chilis, mint,and peanuts for the fried rice salad - and then doused with the dressing. For the fried rice salad, the dressing is 2 tbsp of nam paa, 1 tsp of sugar, 1 tsp of salt, 1 tsp of soy bean paste, and 4 tbsp of lime juice. The laab gai is a more standard 3 tbsp of nam paa, 4 tbsp of lime juice, 1 tsp of salt, and 1/2 a tsp of Knorr’s chicken stock. Good old Knorr’s! So, how far from the traditional is all of this? Checking back to Phia Sing, he would add a kheung lap with the minced chicken before cooking – a pounded mix of bitter eggplants, roasted garlic, seared shallots, galangal, and chilis grilled until brittle. Some or padek is added for salt, this being a reduction of padek in water which is boiled down to almost dry, bones removed, and then reconstituted. Ideally, this dish should be served with a sour soup and eggplants. However, I should qualify this. It is almost impossible to find any two Lao who will ever agree 100% on recipes for traditional dishes. It just comes down to what looks good at the moment. The chicken wih coconut cream was getting put together over on another wok. Onions, shallots, lemongrass, kaffir lime leaves, galangal were fried in a couple of tablespoons of oil until golden(with a touch of sugar), and then the chicken pieces were added and messed around for a minute or so before adding a half cup of coconut milk to cover the chicken, and then chili powder, and oyster and fish sauces. This cooked for a bit, and then they came back and tossed in a selection of vegetables, the potatoes being the check point of when the whole thing is done (and acting to thicken things a bit). At the very end another half cup of coconut milk is added, along with some lime juice and a big handful of basil, which I can still smell when I close my eyes. Again, comparing to Phia Sing, he would’ve cooked the chicken first in the coconut with onions, and then added the flavours after the chicken was cooked. The approach here, more like what William Ledeuil is doing at Ze Kitchen in Paris, infuses the flavours in the oil at the beginning, and gives a more developed, though not as fresh, flavour. The Or Lam was a recipe I was particularly interested in. The Lao version of the pot au feu. Not only did it address my need for slow cooked meats, but it utilized the spicy wood – Sak khan – that I’d been interested in. The method here was perhaps too simple. The meat was boiled for about 20 minutes, and then pounded eggplant, grilled chilis (green and red), and the sak khan were dropped in, and allowed to boil for another 10 minutes. Then it was flavoured with nam paa, chicken stock, and a touch more salt, before handfuls of dill, basil, and crispy pork skin were tossed in. This diverged a fair bit from Phia Singh. In his recipe, the meat was boiled (on the bone) from the start with the other ingredients. Then, after an hour, the bones were tossed, and the grilled chilis and the eggplants were removed, then pounded, and then added back to the broth. The tofu curry was fairly straightforward. Like the chicken, the oil is infused first with lemon grass, galangal, and some yellow curry powder. Then sugar and coconut milk are added to give a broth, seasonings are added, and the various veggies go in, holding back the cauliflower and mushrooms for a bit later in the boil. The tofu goes in at the end, followed by some more coconut cream and some fresh lime juice just before serving. One note I have is that, being bean paste, you don’t use nam paa with this, but rather rely on soy bean paste for the required salt. And that wrapped up the class for us. We were close to starving at this point, so we moved quickly back to the puppy cushions and tucked in. The dishes worked well. The tofu curry was somewhat mild, as expected. The chicken could’ve been spicier, but the flavours were a nice blend, so I wouldn’t complain. The stuffed lemongrass and bamboo shoots were very good, although I will warn you that the lemon grass, with its long fibers, is somewhat self-flossing. I’m a sucker for Lao salads, so the laab gai was very good and something I would revisit at home, and the rice salad was probably my favourite dish. The baseball method of frying gives a good range of texture, from the golden crispy external, to the almost underdone in the centre. This was definitely getting reworked in the home kitchen. The only disappointment was the or lam. This came out too thin, which is to be expected from a short cooking period (only 30 minutes). The meat, like much of Lao meat, wasn’t broken down enough, and the broth was insipid, carrying the spiciness, but lacking a solid depth to fill it out. Obviously, I’d be having to try this again. Add some sticky rice and a few bottles of beer Lao, and my new friends and I were soon comparing cooking schools and restaurants in the region. One other comment, which isn’t a real concern, but you should be prepared, you don’t get the recipes for the dishes with the class. These are sold in a separate book for $5. A couple of us bought the book, a 23 page collection of the restaurant’s recipes. If you have Phia Singh’s book, this is a good thing to have, as there’s an interesting story in there about how some of the methods are changing. But, all good things come to an end. We packed up our odds and ends, and headed out into the busy streets of Luang Prabang. Meanwhile….. With Scud and I out of the way, the girls had gone for a foot massage, shampoo, and various other frivolities….for about three hours. They’d lighted upon a place called Pizza Massage, which, quite appropriately, had half the shop given over to a spa, and the other half being a pizza. Their main claim to fame, however, is that they take credit cards. The cash situation was becoming a concern, and something that I would soon have to address. Credit card signs had also lured Yoonhi into the 3 Nagas’ Mango restaurant, where she had a “perigord” salad whose memory would linger with her for weeks after. Along with the traditional walnuts, it was dressed with a dozen slabs of smoked ham, and an equivalent serving of duck breast. Serena had had a bowl of pumpking soup which she likewise loved (for all of one afternoon. Her short term memory tends to reset every night). Yoonhi had a main of a duck leg confit with a tomato sauce. We’d caught up on the riverside, as communications in LP are not all they could be. In all of Laos, for that matter. I’d hoped that my Thai cell would function well enough, but 1-2-call wasn’t tied in with the local network, and Yoonhi and Scud’s Saudi based cells, which work well for texting in Thailand, weren’t of much use here. So, there we were. Comms shut down, running low (for us) on cash, the wolves veritably at the door! Hence, I was at the Riverside catching up on my notes and drinking more of the wonder amber liquid of the Lao Brewing Company, and enjoying an order of the riverweed crackers. After some discussion, I set out for the money issue. First I went to the bank, but a sign there advised that they would no longer make cash advances against credit cards. Then I found that most of the tour companies in town will undertake this service, at a charge of 6%. At first I balked, and then reality took over and I realized, even at a 6% surcharge, anything I spent money on here was still a fraction of its value to me. Rationalized in this manner (remember, I had been drinking a lot of beer Lao), the decision was easy. I could breathe (and shop) easier now. Dinner that night was at Mango. Yoonhi was enthusiastic enough about her lunch that I was eager to see how their fusion menu would work for a larger meal. For starters Yoonhi and Scud had the camembert quiche, while I ordered the riverweed (dubbed “Mekong seaweed” here) with dried beef chips and roasted sesamed, served over buckwheat noodles and a vinaigrette, and a Lao risotto just to go out on the table somewhere. The mains would be pan fried filet of pork with a confit of lime perfumed tomato for me, salmon in Lao herbs and flowers fried in a brick pastry for Yoonhi, chicken and pork Bucatini with bergamot flavoured coconut milk for Scud, and taggliatelle a la pesto for Serena. Add on a big jug of the house Gewurtztraminer (which for some reason I found a little on the oily side), and we were ready to eat. The river weed was nicely dressed up, and the noodles were very good. I would have to say this was more about the homemade noodles than about the weed or beef chips. Still good, but not distinguished. The risotto, while it had a wonderful aroma, suffered, as they'd used the purple variant of sticky rice, and this doesn't quite work, not giving out enough starch into the mix. The result comes out a little crunchier than I'd hoped. The salmon was a nice flavour, and Yoonhi quite enjoyed this, although her appetite was waning. My pork was very good, and the lime and other herbs they’d slid in worked well with this dish. Scud’s bucatini struck me as a little too wet, but the boy himself felt that it was okay. And Serena destroyed her tagliatelle before any of us could get an opinion, so we’ll assume it was good. Armagnacs and ice creams for dessert, and then we headed home. Scud and I had saved room for a walk-by crepe-ing, and then we called it a night (once the staff had opened the door for the boy).

Sleepwalking The ATR banked as it approached Luang Prabang. Below me I could see the familiar line of poster-quality hills outlined in the setting sun. The peninsula of the old town stretched below, and I co uld see the temple up on top of Mt. Pouxi glittering. I’m a sucker for this sort of thing. Inside of the plane the bulkheads were festooned with Merry Christmas and Happy New Year stickers. This made for a much friendlier flight than the one from Bahrain, but I suppose I shouldn’t fault Gulf Air for not celebrating Christmas. On the ground, much had changed. The new airport was in place, and it was no longer a walk up through the dust to get to the customs shed. Now it was a walk up the tarmac to get to the customs shed. Once at the shed, and in the general confusion of a line-up for visas with a planeload of Italian tourists, I had time to contemplate the changes. For instance, I could contemplate how different countries paid different rates for their visas. The old East Bloc countries got away at $20 a shot (and why is South Korea considered Eastern Europe?). Asia (which is where we find North Korea) is running around $30, and Western Europe is $30 and $35, depending on who’s winning at football. And then there’s America, under which heading there are two countries listed; USA at $35 and Canada at $42. After a brief tirade, Yoonhi quelled me a bit by noting that it was the same in Turkey. It has something to do with Canada not charging for visas, we think. In everyone else’s eyes it makes us the richest of the rich. There’s also a note on the window that, for flights arriving after 4:30, there’s a $1 charge for overtime. Knowing roughly how much Lao officials get paid in this, one of the world’s poorest countries, I didn’t mind too much. But the Irishman behind me was quite irate. Still, this is not the country to be irate. The people picking us up beyond the baggage had the same graciousness I remembered from before; soft spoken, polite, and very easy on the senses. They took us to our guest house along the Mekong, and wewere ushered into the hands of the establishment’s teeming horde of staff (okay, perhaps there are only ten, but that still seems like a lot). This began one of our trip’s primary amusements; seeing if Scud could get his room open. After scrubbing the trip residue from our skins, we wandered out. It was already dark, and becoming quite chill. We walked along the Mekong, noting the increased traffic and general commotion of the town. We must have seen at least three scooters , two tuktuks, and a truck in the first ten minutes. The little places along the river had flourished. Blinking Christmas lights lit them up, with a somewhat odd looking Santa poster in front of one spot (does Santa mince?). There were still only a handful of people spread out over the seats, and many of these were Lao. Aside from one of the backpacker places, there was no overbearing music to contend with. We turned away from the river when we reached the corner of the old palace (a museum with elusive opening times), and were greeted by a fine selection of grilled things on sticks. Grilled chickens (at least three ways that I could count), grilled pork, sausages on sticks, and even hard-boiled (?) eggs on sticks, although I didn’t see them grill the last one. These had our juices going, but we wanted a place that we could sit at. However, I realized I was on borrowed time as far as my entourage went. Thanon Sakharine, in front of Mt Pouxi has now become a night market, all the woven wares of the area coming out on display every night for the tourist horde. And again, with the exception of one place selling CD’s, I was struck by how quiet and civilized things were. There was no aggressive selling, no blaring music; just small, cold women crouched in their shawls trying to keep warm, patiently waiting for you to show interest in something….anything. But this is all the fluff of travel writing. Our main concern was food, and finding it soon. I had two kids and an unfed Korean on my hands, and I could feel the potential for violence beginning to brew with every stop I made to look at a piece of silk. The initial offering of eateries did not look too promising. There was a lot of “pizza” and “spaghetti bolognaise” on hand. There was also the offering of Lao cuisine in the same places, but I was unsure of how well executed it might be. I found a chacouterie, but, upon inspection , their menu looked more appropriate for breakfast or dinner. Up the street seemed a little better, with a Swiss restaurant that I’d heard of. But I wanted Lao food. We settled on Tum Tum Bamboo, a branch of the Tum Tum Cheng group that I’d read about. The group is under Chandra, from the Pakse area in the south, and his Hungarian wife. He had had a restaurant in Budapest for years, but had come back and opened up in Luang Prabang in 2001. We started with spring rolls with tofu, a Viet/Laos favourite. These came out appropriately hot and blade-sharp crispy, with a nicely tart sweet sauce to set them off. Serena had some issues with picking them up and eating them without complete disintegration, but otherwise they were quite enjoyable. Then we had the riverweed crackers. This is something I always remembered from my earlier trips. Back then it was presented in folded squares fried in chili oil. Now the fashion is to have it prepared with sesame oil and garlic slices fried in. It has the aspect of good nori, but a thickness and juiciness you don’t get in the Korean and Japanese variants. This something you only seem to find in Luang Prabang. When I’ve been in Vientiane I couldn’t even find people to acknowledge that it existed. Then there was some pork satay. This, I must say, was generally unremarkable. The meat was still fairly tough, not having that falling apart feel that I’ve had on satay further south (or even shaszlik in Moscow). The house soup that came next was pleasant. Very mild, with a medicinal smell to it. Part of this must’ve come from the bamboo shoots and mushrooms, but there was more in there that reminded me a bit of some of the herbal cooking I’d had in Singapore earlier in 2006. Scud had ordered some fried pork with sour lettuce. This came out very wet, the general presentation of Lao fried dishes, and lacking enough sourness to make it really stand out. The Lao generally like food to be very sour, and I’ve had some dishes that would just pucker you up, but this wasn’t one of them. Fried bamboo shoots were good for their texture, but again weren’t as sour as I’d expected (or remembered) them being. The last dish was definitely a winner , though. Minced chicken, coconut milk, chilis, galanga, and other odds and ends worked into a mousse and then steamed up inside a bamboo leaf. This was probably the best dish of the meal. I’d been reading about their cooking school on-line, and there were more details available here. As I’d suspected, their claim to royal Lao recipes came from Phia Singh. This is the cookbook for Lao dishes. I’d seen an earlier copy many years ago. The book was pieced together from original manuscripts ferried out of Laos just before the end in the 70’s. Phia Singh had been not only the master of protocol at the Lao court, but also the head of the kitchen, and had kept detailed notes of the cuisine of Luang Prabang and its many peoples. The earlier editions carried the even pages as copies of the original manuscript, and the odd pages the English transcription. The copy that I had secured from Prospect Books in the UK lacked the original manuscript pages, but was still the only real documentation on Lao cooking. Having said that, one of my Lao friends (originally from Vientiane) who had the book, referred to the cuisine as “burnt food” for its reliance on charring in many of the recipes. Anyways, I was hooked. I owned the book, so I was interested in seeing how the the recipes would be handled in these times. Meanwhile, of course, I had been indulging my lost love, beer Lao. It never tastes the same when it travels (but is still well worth drinking), and these bottles of fresh beer Lao were reawakening my most ardent desires for this country. And then I found they had a dark now, at 6.5%, crisp, with a head to cut with a knife, and a deep maltiness that I much admired. So, we had one meal under our belt, and any mutiny was pre-empted for the moment. However, the meal was not a stellar success, and I was having some trepidations about my future if I couldn’t entertain the troops’ palates better than this. We left the restaurant, and made our way back through the bazaar, stopping to look at the odd bit of material (Laos has some of the most beautiful hand-woven textiles to be had). Up on the hill, the temple was lit, hanging there like a disembodied spirit house in the dark. On the street the blankets of goods would be lit by a single lone bulb hung out on a stick, for all the world like a fishing pole staked out to catch the unwary shopper. On the way home we stopped to admire the neighborhood creperie. A woman and her trolley. She would dollop the batter onto the plate, then, with a beautiful flourish, spin the batter out over the top of the crepe pan. A few dabs of cheese, then some meat, then some greens, and another deft movement of the wrist to flip the goods into a cone and move them into a paper container. We arrived home in good spirits, mocked Scud as he had to ask for help to get his door open, and then, with the children busy watching Lao-dubbed episodes of the Teen Titans, we retired to the banks of the Mekong for a couple of bottles of beer Lao. December 28 Languid is a word that works well in Luang Prabang. It was 10:30 by the time we woke up, and we had obviously missed the chance to gain merit for the day. Instead, we made our way along the riverside - an orientation tour for the family. From our guest house we come soon to Nazim’s. For no particular reason we decided that this was as good a place as any to get some food into us. Not our wisest choice. After seeing the menu I limited myself to a cup of café Lao, Scud had “fried eggs chicken” which appeared to have shreds of chicken in the fried eggs. For some reason, this combined consumption of mother and child left me uneasy. Serena had two soft-boiled eggs. She’d asked for hard, but this was as close as it would come. The first was edible, the second required a straw to do anything with it. And Yoonhi had pancakes banana honey. This sounded presentable, but when it arrived, it was clearly that. A pancake with diced raw bananas on top, and a little dish of honey on the side. Alright, it’s my own fault. If you’re in Laos, and go into a place that’s main draw is “we have Indian cuisine” then you have some issues to work out. However, my coffee did come with a sachet of sugar that informed me that it was “for the good times”. From there we arrived at the backside of the National Museum, once the royal palace for the unfortunate monarchy of Laos. We’d taken in the thriving charcoal sales under way, and watched a vigorous bout of boules. There was a monkey chained to his cage, and dogs under foot. There were even a few cars about. We tried to enter the Palace grounds, but the gate was shut just as we walked up the steps. We’d missed the morning opening, it would seem After the museum, we strolled the river, passing a promising wine bar and several other venues that looked to be worth our while. We also found the sign for L’Elephant. When Id asked about regarding dining here, this was the one restaurant that everyone had been recommending. We popped up the one block to check it out, and found a very colonial French bistro set out on the rounded corner of the building. Around the corner from there was The Tamarind, which had also received some good reviews We returned to the river, making our way up the peninsula. We arrived at the Nam Khan and from there rolled around the point of the city. The kids were asking where the main road was, and I had to explain to them that there are only three roads. If you wanted to, you could consider the streets of Luang Prabang to be an integral part of the food processing industry. You’re always tripping over things that have been put out to dry, such as meats, or river weed, or just about anything. In this case, we found racks of rice cakes out soaking up the sun; the sticky rice giving up the meager moisture it had put away. Around the corner we found both The Apsara and our appetites. This was a happy occasion. The dining room was very nicely done up in Indochine chic moderne, and the staff quite professional. Yoonhi and I each ordered a glass of chardonnay, settled the children with fresh lime sodas, and then looked to the menu.\ The baguettes in Luang Prabang while arguably not quite as good as in Phnom Penh, are still very attractive. And the idea of stuffing one with home smoked ham and imported Emmenthal cheese is very attractive. The kids go for this. Yoonhi ordered a salad of watercress, and a dish of fried rice noodle with pork, and I cannot let pass the caramelized onion tart with pesto, with a carrot, coconut, and lemon grass soup to start. The baguettes were as promised; the dough just pully enough, with a good crisp to the outside that had Scud sounding like a crocodile working a thighbone. The tomatoes were fresh, and the ham was wonderful. I purloined half of Serena’s sandwich in order to preserve her figure. The things I do for the children…… My soup arrived, and I quite like how the coconut has lifted a bit of the heaviness out of the carrots, and the lemon grass gives both a pleasant smell and a contrast in texture as you crunch through. Yoonhi’s watercress salad came Lao style, with eggs, mushrooms, peanuts and tomatoes, and with a dressing that had a soft but tangy flavour. Her noodles were good, a little on the wet side, but my tart was wonderful, bleeding out brown juice with every stab it took from my fork. The pesto was almost a chutney, and went well with the softness of the tart. Dessert, and homemade vanilla ice cream for Serena; coconut ice cream for Scud, and a fantastic vanilla coconut pannacotta with spiced pineapple sauce for Yoonhi. I had a beer Lao, but sniped at every one else’s food. The pannacotta in particular is a very, very nice dessert. Overwhelmingly rich with the coconut and cream, and set off by the chunky tartness of the pineapple sauce. With all of that under our belts, it was time for some more walking. Our kids hate walking. I figure this is a good way to teach them to think about what they ask for. Scud and Serena had had this big thing about finding a book store called l’Etranger (next to the Hive) for which cards had been pushed into our hands the night before. At least someone here understands marketing. Anyways, we’d now got the kids on the equivalent of the Bataan death march. We came out of the peninsula, up the Nam Khen, and then drove up into the backside of Pouxi, where we found the Hive (which advertises itself as “next door to l’Etranger bookstore”) and the bookstore, and found that this isn’t quite what our kids were looking for; more of a café and lending library than a bookstore proper. To which I say “Bo bpen nyang” - which is the most important Lao phrase you can know. It translates across a wide range of things, from “you’re welcome” to “it’s okay” to “please don’t worry yourself” to “stuff happens”. Use this in Bangkok, as I do from habit, and find yourself laughed at as a farang baan nok, which is sort of like saying you’re getting in touch with your inner Appalachian. Anyways, we did the circuit, made it back to our guest house, and started to think about dinner. We had an elephant on our minds. L’Elephant (evening December 28th) We arrived in trepidation. They had to check to see if they could fit us in. Luckily, they could. I was shocked. Reservations required in Luang Prabang? What was the world coming to? (Pay no attention to the picture below, I went back later in the trip for the shot in order not to bother the diners). Considering what it must take to run an establishment like this here, saying that L’Elephant is quite good is probably something far beyond an understatement. Consider a stereotypical French colonial bistro. It would exist on the rounded corner of a block of buildings. There would be a verandah. Due to the cold, the verandah would be covered with bamboo shutters, and tasteful fabrics draped down to cover. There would be a bar (but of course) and it would take centre place in the establishment, buttressing one of the main walls. There would be well traveled wood floors, there would be appropriate lighting, there would be a ceiling whose fans would even be beyond the reach of the NBA, and there would be, beyond all else, a sense of community and, well….graciousness. I liked L’Elephant. We took our seats, and considered the menu. Between the whites and reds, there must be eight or more choices by the glass. The cellar is limited, but within reasonable reach of us working class stiffs (stop choking, you lot!). The generic Mouton Cadet 2003 was only $25, so I ordered one of those to keep us busy. Scud went for a virgin coloda, and Serena, the trend setter she is, had a cup of hot Ovaltine, which she devoured with a spoon. While Gallic in nature, the table comes with very Lao touches. A small note suggests “you feel cold? Ask your waiter for a shawl” Mind you, they’ve thoughtfully placed strategic coal braziers about the place to ensure that the chill never settles in the room. So, what about the menu? Our order: 1 dozen Escargot de Bourgogne (we’re the sort of a family that likes snails) Cappellini A la Tomate et au Basalic Mixed vegetable salad with Roquefort cream dressing. Roasted filet mignon of pork with fresh thyme served with pan fried local mushrooms and garlic mashed potatoes. Onion soup with Swiss ementhal. Raw tartare (there’s a redundancy there) of buffalo, served with French fries and green salad. Roasted duck breast with moh tau sauce and grand Marniere served with dauphinois gratin and vegetables in butter. This sounds too good, and Yoonhi and I bypass our usual variety of dishes to order this for both of us. Scud wanted to order the sanglier, a fricassee of wild boar served with a Luang Prabang sauce, but found that the boar had just served its last customer, and he was left with alternate choices. He went instead with the buffalo filet served with a garlic butter. Myself, I would of taken their suggestion of venison as a quick switch for the boar, but it wasn’t my meal. Outside the drapes and bamboo, we could see the Christmas lights sparkling. We see people turned aside now, as the seating is all taken. Panic sets in! Are we too late to book for New Year’s? At first, it seems, we are. But then l’hostesse returned and advisesd us that she’d been negligent. We can, of course, forgive such petty sins. She has a table for us for the 31st. I’d seen the menu, and was already in a state of aroused passion. Corkage is allowed, and it’ll be pleasant to bring our own champagnes to the dinner The onion soup is, for me perfect. Serena objects to the presence of bread in her soup, and I roundly berate her for the barbarian she is. Scud quietly destroyed his bowl. The escargot arrived (sans shells), and were in turn demolished by the family. Serena accounted for four of the twelve, myself only for four. I must admit, I’m more interested in the garlic oil juice that rests in the cup (no shells here) as an object for dressing a good piece of bread, and the bread here is very good. But Serena anoints these as the best she’s ever had, and even Yoonhi admits that she may be correct. My tartare was very good; succulent. I’ve had better, but not often. And at Laos prices, I would not complain. The meat was knife cut, rather than ground, and was liberally laced with cognac, capers, shallots, and all the good things that make life enjoyable. Yoonhi was caught out a little by her salad. It was very good, but came with a vinaigrette rather than a creamy Roquefort as advertised. Good, but not as expected. Scud’s buffalo was very pleasant. Quite gamey, as they advised, but still good, and well balance with the garlic butter. A not-quite classic steak frites. The duck comes, dotted with squeeze bottle dabs of bright green basil oil. I find the first bit a little tough, but that’s the only one. The rest is just right (as Yoonhi affirms), with a good background sauce. The potatos - the dauphinois gratin – were good enough for me to raid Yoonhi’s plate when she was distracted. Even Serena’s pasta dish is very good for what it is. And the final test….dessert. Scud orders tiramisu. This is something done well, or not at all. In North America, Yoonhi’s pretty much given up on ordering this. And Scud had come back from the walking trip in Tuscany with very clear ideas of what a good dessert should be. Everyone approved. Serena, adventurous as always, went for vanilla ice cream. But when you have home made ice cream, it’s hard to go wrong. Yoonhi went for a jackfruit sorbet. A wise choice, and one bourn out by the smoothness of the dessert. Very well done. As a comment, someone is doing a good business in homemade ice creams in LP. We noted the same flavours throughout the town, which hints at a central source, but one we never tracked down. Myself, I had a Lao espresso, with a good crema, accompanied by an Armagnac du Busca, the fumes of the spirit sitting nicely upon the fullness of the coffee. Not a bad evening. And topped off quite nicely by a chocolate crepe on the way home. After which we watched Scud fumble with his door key.

At last I have another eating trip to China, this one lined up for March/April. We're planning the following itinerary, and would be very happy to get suggestions for restaurants, classic dishes, and things to avoid! Here's the plan: Beijing - 5 nights Qingdao - 2 nights Xian - 2 nights Chengdu- 6 nights Guilin - 2 nights Shanghai- 3 nights This should be fun.

I finished off the Cheers and Thai just before heading to the airport. For the Cheers, I found it fairly smooth, a bit more malty than some of the others. Not a distinguished beer, but it could go well with a number of Thai dishes. As for Thai, well, I gather it was brought out as direct competition for Chang for the over 6% crowd. It had some rough overtones, and I can't say that I'd be looking to linger over this in the afternoon. I was sort of reminded of Rainier Ale, but without the sense of humour.

It's Khmer. Lao and Thai are similar, but this is definitely Khmer. Note the "r" where the front element drops down below and hooks up from the left to the right.

The first addition comes only hours after the post. I was in Tokyo Joe's last night, and they had a sign up for Phuket Lager (I think). So there's another entry. Unfortunately, I was sticking with cold sake as a carryover from dinner on Thonglor, so I can't say anything yet about the beer itself, other than it's out there. more news as it happens

This is something I should've taken care of a long time ago............. Okay, I've been to the beer section in the Emporium, which is as good a marker for the market as any, and have collected a number of brews for comparisons. (Bear in mind, I've been drinking the excellent Beer Lao for a week, and so may be hard to please) Here's what we have available: Archa (Horse lable) - 5.4% - comments: general swill, a little on the sweet side for me. Bubbles aren't bad, but head isn't very good. Chang (Elephant) - The standard bearer of bad headaches the nation over. there are now three to choose from. Light - 4.2% Comments: why bother? draught - 5.0% Comments: softer than the normal Chang. It releases the odd, occassional flatulance of a bubble, but is generally still, holding a nice frothy head for about five minutes, which then breaks down into a still- appetizing surface scum. regular - 6.4% Comments: very good bubblousity, with a crisp but shortlived head. A slightly repellent backwash on the palate that goes away if you drink enough. I've had a number of very good eveningings drinking this from the back of a pick-up truck with the kitchen staff of my favourite 5 star hotel. Leo - 5.5% Comments: Poor head, good bubbles. Again, it's sweet for me, and it tends to come across as a little bilious. This beer came out (coincidentally?) as Leonardo diCapprio (or whatever his name is/was from Titanic) was in Thailand filming The Beach. I don't think I've ever seen anyone drink this from choice. Cheers - 5.6% Comments: Thai - 6.5% Comments: Asahi - 5% Comments: A Japanese "dry" brewed under license. Palatable, and a beer of choice for soi 33. Unfortunately, outside of the Japanese bars and restaurants (and soi 33 - the Dead Artists' Street) it's difficult to find. Crisp, and with that tell-tale dry taste that can help you get over a very hot day. San Miguel The well respected Filipino is served in three forms: Pale Pilsener - 5% Comments: A fair Pils. Generic, but it does the job. Not great bubbles, but the head is good enough for a short time. Light - 5% Comments: They're selling a "light" with the same alcohol content as the regular? why am I even bothering trying this? Blue Ice - 6.4% Comments: Didn't this name come from the Zoolander movie? The lable is very (any lawyers out there?) reminiscent of Labatt's Ice from Canada, which isn't something I'd want to associate myself with. Obviously, the people brewing San Mig in Pathumthani decided that if Beer Thai was going to go head to head with Chang, they weren't going to miss out on a fight. A fairly leprous head, mottled with a variety of bubble sizes, with inconsistent bubbles being released. the flavour, however, is as advertised, fairly smooth, but with a sodden backdrop of wet flowers. Heiniken - 5% Comments: your general "as long as it's not Singha, okay" beer. It's a little sour as you take it, and the bubbles die quick. Don't pour this beer, but keep it in the bottle, and it'll get you by. Good bubbles, but no head to speak of. Tiger - 5% Comments: again, brewed under license. Good, with a reasonable head, good bubbles, and fairly crisp, but slightly "not there" in your mouth when you take it anything but very cold. Kloster - 5.2% Comments: we'd thought that they'd driven a stake through the heart of this veteran of the Thai beer years, but I found bottles of it in the cold section. It's still, well.....Kloster. A slightly different taste from Singha, but it doesn't really do much for me. Perhaps it's a shade more golden, but I could never see the "German style" they claimed. Singha (pronounced "Sing") The flagship beer for Thailand, and their ads are very good. I see those scenes of the stockbroker back humping a six pack through the hills, and it almost makes me forget the taste. regular - 6% Comments: the first time I tasted this, I was immediately reminded of Egyptian Stella. I may be scarred for life. Light - 3.5% Comments: I actually might prefer the taste of this over the regular. Being lighter, it's more watery, but on a hot day, with this served very cold......no, I'd still order a mickey of Maekhong, some coke, and a spritzer of soda. Beyond........ Beer Lao You can find this beautiful central European lager dotted about the lower part of Sukhumvit. An excellent beer, with few detractions to speak of. Heck, this passes the "would I drink this warm" test. On Tap: - I'm going to avoid the places that provide the standard imports on tap. There's now a good selection of Guiness, Kilkenny (Southpark), and others available across town. I'll concentrate here on locals: The Londoner - I'm a fan of the cream bitter. I appreciate that it's a compromise bitter between the North and South, so no one's going to be completely happy, but I still like that beer. They also do a good Pils. At happy hour, these are very good value. Tawan Daeng - good German micro-brew. The beer will come out in these things that look like the old service station gas pumps: a tall cylinder with a spigot at the bottom. RoadHouse BBQ - Dana has the Strong and the Honey Bee Pils from the people that used to have the Brew House on Sukhumvit, and the Brew House at Don Muang Airport. Okay, technically, it's not brewed on premises, but this is still a good place for a pint. Days past..... There used to be a beer called Amarit. I can't recall seeing it since the 80's though. Also, there was the German brewhouse, Taurus, on soi 24, with a reasonable selection of home brews. And there was the BrewHouse, both the one on Sukhumvit and the one at Don Muang. A half dozen very good beers, and excellent Thai food. And I noticed today on Silom that the Paulaner that used to be there seems to have passed. These last lists are very short, and now's the time for everyone out there to chime in with their favourite small brews (and any of the big ones I've missed).

I love Luang Prabang. We're on limited internet access, but I'll update soon. They almost burned down the governor's residence last night with one of the lantern balloons.

Man, I got it wrong. I'm out from behind the fire walls and the odds and ends to protect me against such things as beer and wine (which would, of course, undermine all of humanity). The Brewerkz brewmaster is not a Toronto lad. Here's the blurb from the site: "Scott Robertson, our Brewmaster, is from Regina, Saskatchewan, where it's really chilly in winter. He's spent 7 years perfecting his craft at Bushwakker Brewing Company and is responsible for the best beers at Brewerkz. Scott's also had Brew gigs in Japan and was a certified Beer Judge. Way to go Scott. And here's something Scott wouldn't tell you — he has a BSc (Hon) in Physics and a MSc in Medical Physics. So who says it doesn't take a rocket scientist to make terrific beer!" I stand (or a close approximate to standing) corrected.

I don't own it, but a friend just received a copy of Herter's Bull Cook & Authentic Historical Recipes and Practices (Vol III) for Christmas. He brought it over last night to gloat. I'm still sort of traumatized, having read that kim chi was created by a US serviceman. I've gotta find copies for myself.

Has it been so long? Eight years since last I dreamwalked through the Land of a Thousand Elephants? And that last time I did not get North, but was in the Panhandle chasing dolphins (but that's another story). I missed Luang Prabang. I found the old capitol to be a drug, one that would take you away somewhere and return you blissful and groggy after a few days, or weeks, or months. I remember wonderful clear soups at Santi's place, and entrail salads at Malee's Food House. But most of all I remember the river weed, thicker than nori, folded up and fried in chili oil. That, a bottle or ten of Beer Lao, and some termites for entertainment could while away a whole afternoon. The old French proverb for Indochine was: The Vietnamese grow the rice The Cambodians watch the rice grow The Lao listen to the rice grow And now I return. For six days, taking us over the New Year, we shall eat, drink, shoot pool, and eat some more along the banks of the Mekong in that little gem of a town. And from there to Vientiane. A city that can be difficult to appreciate at times, but one I have many fond memories of (can you still get begneits at the domestic airport with strong kafe dam?) What do I look forward to? My friends who have been there more recently recommend L'Elephant. Others recommend TumTum Cheng, run by an Hungarian woman and her Southern Lao husband (and who also run cooking classes, for which I shall sign up with my son in a desperate attempt to avoid museum tours with the rest of the family). I wonder if the old wooden place along the small Nam Khaen is still there? Or have the termites reduced it to rubble? Santi prospers by all accounts, and many others are there. Can you get draft beer Lao in Luang Prabang now? Before it was only available near Vientiane. Ah, what to expect? Please, send recommendations, any of you who've been of late. And I shall write, of course, as the internet connections allow. However, don't be surprised if I wake seldom. This should be fun.

Ah, Christmas Eve! The children are tracking Santa on the Norad site, the spouse is outside the wire gathering school supplies, and I've been catching up on Christmas greetings. And, being the 24th, we've a traditional meal of miyok guk.... Well, it's gotta be a tradition of someone besides nursing mothers! They had nice oxtails the other day, so we've boiled these down, sheets of kelp, loads of garlic, spring onion, and "that's it". I get grief 'cause I put my rice in the bowl with it. But I'm a savage. You could also make this with clams, like my sisters-in-law....... I would've taken pictures, but everyone was too hungry once they were all assembled. Merry Christmas, everyone!

Small Beer It was early afternoon, I’d just finished two cooking classes, hadn’t really had much to eat, and I was happy to find out that my evening meal was for 8 p.m., rather than 7. This gave me a little time off to investigate the city. I had two leads to follow up from the Safari. Both concerned beer. I had detailed directions to two places doing their own brewing. My first stop on Millenium Walk ended up being Paulaner, that ubiquitous chain of Germanic brew pubs that keep showing up. The place is typical Paulaner. Clean lines, tall ceilings, tiled floors (easier to mop up), not the most comfortable seating, and no customers. Okay, it was 2 p.m. or so, which isn’t exactly peak time for bars, but still……. Their traditional dark is more of an amber. It’s a typical Paulaner/Munich dark, running at 4.8% by alcohol, with a creamy head and a thick taste on the tongue, staying mainly on the mid palate, with a bit to the front. The wort behind this is a 12.4%. At 14.50 Singapore dollars, this is an expensive half pint. As I work down the half, I ruminate upon things. Singapore and Bangkok. Now there’s a contrast. Singapore seems like Asia progressing on Canadian rules. Clean, green, orderly. A certain restrained, very proper joy running through the air. Bangkok, alternately, is the chaos of Blade Runner, given over to a certain immediate wanton ecstasy. Both have their attractions. What I can say about Singapore is that I can walk on the sidewalks. Heck, the fact that they even have sidewalks to walk on puts them miles above Houston. Like Bangkok, the people I’m eating with love their food, and are well educated on what to look for in a good meal. I finished the dark, and ordered a lager, thinking that it might be a better fit for the climate. It has good bubbles, but is generally lifeless in the mouth. It’s a little too rounded, not crisp enough for where we are. The climate here cries out for contrast, and this is trying to compromise too much. From Millenium Walk, I went over to Clark Quay. This part of town has been heavily tarted up in the last few years, with a plan for it to be developed as an entertainment area. The overall impression is a little too touristy, but this is made up for by a significant lack of tourists. Another upside is the presence of a very large Kinukuniya bookshop in one of the malls. So, with a good bundle of new books, I approach Brewerkz. This is good. First off, the menu lists a number of Belgians (served in their proper glasses), and several of the Canadian Belgian styles (including the sublime Mordite). And they do a tasting menu for their beers, of which there are a dozen. So, I order some beer steamed clams and a tray of beers. The first round of seven takes front and center. I start with the Golden Ale, advertising a low bitterness and a floral hop. 4.5%. The colour is an off-urine, it’s got a great head, poor bubbles, and light hops for my taste. Crispness is a little on the softer side. While I’d happily drink this in any airport anywhere, would I remember this? The answer, alas, is no (but I like it much better than the Paulaner). Beside it is a German-style Kolsch Ale – “medium body and bitterness with a fine hop nose” at 5%. This is more memorable, growing on the back of the palate and showing more character. Good head, great bubbles, more hops, but not quite there for crispness. The clams are properly grit free, and give a neutral backdrop for the beers. Moving, on a Czech style Pils, with Saaz hops. “Subtle malt, nicely bitter, good hop, clear finish. 5%”. The beer has a nice champagne colour, very good head, almost no bubbles though, and although not hopped enough for me, is much crisper than the preceding two. The German Alt Bier is a “Dusseldorf style – with amber colour and strong American hops” 5%. This is very bubbly, is properly amber in colour, crisp, but light on the hops. It compares very well against the Paulaner from earlier on, but at half the price. Then there’s the Irish Red Ale – “smooth, malty, light on hops with a medium body”. 5.5% “No bitter taste”. That last comment should’ve twigged me. The head isn’t great, and the bubbles are comatose. Hops and crispness are weak. It smells oddly of a urinal. Not something I’d order again. The IPA is pleasant. “Very popular. Shows strong malt and hop flavours” 6%. I find it tangy on the epiglotus (try saying that quickly five times after a few beers). A strong bronze colour, the head was good (but not great), bubbles were weak, but the flavour of hops and the crispness were all there to make for a very satisfying beer. Last on this tray was a Belgian style cherry fruitbrewz, their current seasonal – “not too sweet” 4.5% A nice coppery tone to it, but somewhat insipid in comparison to the framboise and others I’ve had. My waiter isn’t as up on the material as he could be. I do gather that all of the materials are being sourced from the UK. He promises to send the manager my way when he has time. I now look to the second tray. First up is the Hopback. “Real ale, dry hopped, cask conditioned.” “Lots of hops, better bitter” is the tagline. Hand pumped and coming in at 4.5 % This is a good beer, still, with depth in the flavour indicating a well crafted ale. Quite drinkable, but not appropriate for the weather (I’m sitting outside along the water, trying to stay out of the sun). Then there’s the XTRA IPA. “Majorly malty, hugely hoppy” “Can you take it?” 7.2% This is a winner, and it shows it. Gold medal in the 2004 World Brew Cup. Very good hops, excellent bitterness. The head and bubbles aren’t there, but who cares. Perfect for this climate, I could drink this until I start bouncing off the walls. The Moh Gwai comes next – a Singapore Olde Ale. “Strong malt character made with a special Belgian yeast” 7.7% Good head, good bubbles, soft hoppiness, and not very crisp. This is an incredibly complex beer, making its statement with the wrapping tones of the malts as opposed to the XTRA’s banging on the hops. (As a note on the name, remember the little critters from Gremlins?) I finish on the Oatmeal Stout. “Oats give this rich and very dark beer a silky mouth-feel”. It’s a nice enough stout, as they claim, it’s smooth. Very good head, reasonable bubbles for a stout, hops are there, and there’s still a nice crispness to it. Having worked through 12 mini-tastings of the beers, I now had to make a decision on what to drink. There was no real choice. I ordered an XTRA IPA, with my plan to chase this with a Moh Gwai. It’s about time to check out the interior of the bar (for obvious reasons). It’s quite extensive, stretching a long way back. The place opened in 1997 (I read the sign). And, as I know any beer review has to cover the facilities, the porcelain was clean and well kept. Also, with every automated flush, there’s a refrain of “where the sky is blue and clear, clear water….” The manager came by, and entertained a few questions from me. Q: how did you get started, and where are the owners from? A: The original owner is from the US. Basically, he couldn’t get a good beer in town, so he decided to do something about it. The brewmaster is a Toronto boy. Q: the XTRA IPA was an award winner, but what about the Moh Gwai? A: We haven’t entered the Moh Gwai. It’s seen as an Asian beer, so we don’t think it’ll do very well in the competitions. Q: Where do you source from? A: Germany, Australia, East Kent, Herefordshire, Toronto, Czechoslovakia. Whereever the material is good. Q: Is there a future for microbrewing here in Singapore, or is it more of a niche market? A: It’s about 50-50. It started out as an expat hangout, but it’s been catching on with the local crowd. XTRA IPA and Moh Gwai are both available for off-sales in bottles. The first draft selection was 10.49 Singapore for 7 beers, and the BrewMasters Reserve sample set is also 10.49 Sing, but for only 5 samples. Until 6 p.m. the pints (and 375 ml glasses of the premium brews) are 6.99, after that they go up to 8.49 until 8p.m., and then close out the night at 9.99 Sing. www.brewerkz.com My new line to explain why I’m asking them these questions: “I drink a lot and….well….umm….I drink a lot”.

In the Lab with Paco Roncero I’m not even going to try and be coherent about this, but rather fall back upon my notes and the images that still sit in my mind. And even at that, my notes are a shambles. Consider the mix. A brilliant, award-winning Spanish chef, considered Ferran Adria’s leading disciple, who’s English is limited; five pages of recipes; a local commentator who doesn’t speak Spanish; and a clock that’s already a half hour behind. Fun, eh? Let’s look at the resume. Coming from a cooking family, he graduated from the Madrid school of Tourism and Hospitality at the age of 18, then in 1990 was at the Zalacain, and then the Ritz. From there he moved to the Casino de Madrid, where he was made chef of banquets in 1994. Then 2nd place in the Competition for Young Chefs in Madrid, and 3rd place in the Spanish national competition. Then, in 1998, Ferran Adria came to the Casino as the gastronomic consultant, and in one year turned everthing upside down. This led to Paco spending three years training with Ferran Adria at El Bulli. In 2004 he, Ferran, and Juan Marie Arzak were the chefs for the Spanish Crown Prince’s wedding. I was keen on this class. First, I’d loved Sam Mason’s (WD-50 in NYC) class in 2005 in Bangkok, where he’d talked about the things they’d been inspired to from the molecular chemistry movement. Plus, I was all set for Santi Santamaria’s dinner the next night, and was looking for the contrast of the molecular gastronomy of El Bulli against the traditionalism, the sense of terroir of Can Fabes (hmmm, what’s the Spanish for terroir?). Paco’s a very nice man; very polite. His photos show him in the strident, serious pose taken up by all young men with a manifesto to espouse. But when he comes out he’s very likeable, a big man with the voice of a youngster was what struck me immediately. He’s assisted by Fernando Lopez, who’s come from the Casino to assist him. Our commentator touched a bit upon his tasting menu from the other night, and I kick myself for not having given myself more time in Singapore to catch the chefs in their host kitchens. The meal was “full of surprises”. Perhaps that’s an understatement, as we shall see. He loves olive oil, and it forms the foundation for the class. We would investigate what can be done with this beloved of the Spanish, working, as he says with the three required concepts of his cuisine “technology, creativity, and olive oil”. “We can do everything with olive oil.” For instance, cocoa butter taken to 40C and mixed with the olive oil in a measure of 30 gm to 100 ml of oil will give us an olive oil butter Textures are one of the major concerns, working with temperature differentials, new products, and technology to make things that aren’t what they might seem. Products in this case, are things like pectins and xanthan gums that will bully things around their phase diagrams, changing their natural states; and others, more traditional, such as citric acids that will cleanse the mouth as needed. We started off with an olive oil wine gum, a simple thing, but last item on the menu, which had me scrambling to figure out where we were. This used isomalt for the syrup; an artificial sugar targeted for diabetics. Some glucose powder, gelatin to hold things, and vanilla scraped out of the pods for flavour. Just a few minutes to set, and we were already heading somewhere else. Somewhere else was a big clear bowl of ice water. Olive oil spaghetti. He does caution that this needs a cold room. We’re cool in here, but it’s hardly meat locker temperature. The oil, some xanthan gum, and garrofin gum (with the romantic name of E-410) is mixed together, while agar is introduced to water. Here he’s going with agar, as he feels it works better in the tropics than gelatin. The mix of xanthan and garrofin gives you a jelly you can heat. The oil and agar is mixed hot, and whisked to emulsify. Then a syringe you’d use to sedate King Kong is filled with the mix and tapped to remove the air. I can still see him there, brandishing the syringe by his head, with an angelic look on his face as he approaches the ice bath. This is a service to be done at the table in the Casino, the act as important as the food. A bit of pressure, and the noodle is drawn out in the water, one long even press, making me think of Orson Welle’s famous opening shot in Touch of Evil. Then, to the plate, coiled in a wheel and dressed with some herbal flowers, balsamic, and parmesan. One lucky audience member is coaxed up, and instructed to take it all in one suck, taking it like a hose from a spindle. She described it as the taste of olives, with no friction to hold it in your mouth. And then an olive oil ravioli with a cauliflower puree and trout roe. This started off with xanthan gum introduced into the oil at 60c, and then emulsified with some water, and then agar. This is then sandwiched between two sheets of parchment paper and pressed down with the flat of a knife. Then it goes into the fridge for an hour. But, as we don’t have an hour, the prepped version is brought out. This is then cooked up, or, as Paco says “now I’m going to hot it”. This is what blowtorches are for. I’d like to give you details on the puree, but Fernando was taking care of that, and all eyes were on Paco. Let’s just say that the ravioli was nicely topped and served out on a spoon. Next we were reconstructing an olive. This was nowhere on the recipes, so I just gave in and kept on taking notes wherever. Consider olive oil as the essence of the oil. How can you put that back together? We took oil and stabilized it with xanthan gum and calcium, and prepped some water with agar. Then we mixed it up, and then dropped a dollop into the ice bath. The result, which I tried, was a thick skinned olive, with a perfect green olive flavour, but wet on the inside, like an olive dreaming of being a grape. Another off the menu was an olive oil dumpling, served with oysters and “truffles”. The “little truffles” were made from green tea, a stabilizer, and white and black sesame seeds. A siphon is used to dimple out yogurt to roll into the tea and sesame. Meanwhile, oysters are liquefied, and the fat is shot into the broth. Two dumplings are set out with a pair of oysters, a couple of the “truffles”, and then garnished with the oyster broth. “Everything on the plate must be eaten”. That shouldn’t be a problem. And then, something fun. “Some times you must eat to be fed. Other times you eat for the experience. There is no nutrition to this”. Dragon oil. First he works up the air. “Foam and air are not the same”. This is an emulsion of a vinaigrette worked up with balsamic soy lecithin mixed with the oil to give a very foamy result. I have got to get some liquid nitrogen for the kitchen. Paco and Fernando manhandle a big canister into the work zone, and then crack it open with a screw driver. Paco is grinning over the liquid nitrogen now, like an old friend has just shown up for a drink. “At –196 C you should respect this. Don’t fear, but respect.” However, we next hear “normally when you work with nitrogen you must wear gloves. Me, no.” And then it goes into a chilled metal bowl, tendrils of vapour creeping over the countertop like Morticia Adams’ skirt trails. It’s a fantastic table for a Halloween. The “air” goes into the cloud, and comes out looking for all the world like a marshmellow. Our victim from the audience, cautioned to take it all in one go, can’t do it, and opens her mouth. Everything is vapour everywhere. The second volunteer does better, and the effect is one of a dragon blowing smoke down from its nose. The entire thing evaporates as soon as it hits the inside of your mouth, leaving a taste of olive oil, but exiting so quickly through your nose that you’re left amazed. Cool. I gotta get me some nitrogen. I think the F1 fans in Bahrain might be able to help me out with this. And we’re still not done. Water and methyl (or methil?) powder had been mixed together the day before to give reverse gelling with the oil. This is used to create a chocolate centered dumpling that can be steamed. This way the heat will set it, and the chocolate will erupt out as lava when it’s pierced. If you are cooking with nitro, be sure to chill your containers beforehand. We go back for a quick sorbet of orange juice, olive oil, syrup, and vodka, whisked up in the nitro bath. A little more syrup goes in for texture, and this is served out in spoons. And finally we end up with olive oil candy, made with caramelized isomalt and edible bronze, garnished with a bit of rock salt. My reaction to all of this? I was exhausted. And I had little hope of ever recreating any of these things (although I’ll try). There are some fun ideas there, and as he said, “You mustn’t copy, but you can pay attendance”. And as I look at my class notes, I have to smile at his little note above his signature; “Cook is passion!!”

I would definitely go off the meds...... Barring that, many of the fish dishes will be fine, and the mains - the savoury dishes like stir fried whatevers - won't be abusive. If you get to the farang oriented places (Condoms, Baan Khanitha, etc) they'll be able to work to your needs. Plus, there's a great selection of European restaurants to work with, but I assume that this is not what you're after on this trip. So we get back to....ditch the meds.....

The Tenth WGS in Singapore - part 2 - Antonin Bonnet It’s a good thing that these food trips make me more social. If I hadn’t had a nice chat with my dinner mate at Il Lido the night before, I’d’ve been hard pressed to find the Singapore Tourism Board’s office down below Orchard Road. As was, I had enough local landmarks to allow me to talk the driver into the vicinity. Again, I was way too early. But this gave me time to wait for them to get the Miele/Illy machine working and to get a decent cup of coffee into me. While working through the crema I admired the Wusthof knives they had out on display, and looked over some of the other goods the sponsors had put out to draw interest. On the one hand, there is a very overt commercial aspect to the set-up, especially in comparison to the very low key approach of the Four Seasons in Bangkok. But, on the other hand (I still have two) someone has to foot the bill for all of this. If I had a third hand, I’d use it to point out that commercialism is in the blood down here, as much as fun (sanuk) is for the Thai. Anyways, after killing some time downstairs, I headed up to the auditorium and took up a cozy position, notebook in hand. The STB has a good set-up for these things. Stadium seating gives everyone a fairly good view of what’s going on, and they run an overhead trellis for the cameras, so the screens give you good vertical shots on the counter-top action. Antonin Bonnet – The Greenhouse, London Artichoke Risotto with Aged Parmesan Cheese and Roasted Chicken Jus Sea Bass Roasted with Wild Fennel Chocolate Tart with Praline Ice Cream, Tonka Bean Bitter Sauce This was to be a double bill for me. First up was Antonin Bonnet, with the one-starred Greenhouse in London for the last three months. Abela had moved Antonin there from his club, Morton’s, when Bjorn Van der Horst moved on. This wasn’t that big a change, as Bonnet had consulted on the reopening of the Greenhouse, having just come over from Michel Bras’ 3 Star in Aubrac. Besides all the press on his Michelin career, I also liked that he’d started in the industry back when he was 14 at the Boneveine’s cooking school. I have a certain feeling of solidarity with people who have used up their teenage years in kitchens. You get a solid, no-nonsense sort of soccer-hooligan feel that makes for good cooking (Mick Edwards at Nobu London was the one I also liked for this…..sort of reminded me of Barry the Baptist from Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels). This attitude carries into the cooking. Simplicity in the approach, exemplified in today’s first dish, a risotto. Easy for people to do at home. Then we’d do a seabass, a nice base (sorry) upon which to build other flavours. And then he finishes with a torte. For the risotto the primary flavour is artichoke, a vegetarian approach, but not for vegan purposes (as we’ll put a chicken jus on the side), more for the delivery of a particular flavour. He would avoid a chicken stock here, as it would condense, imparting too much intensity He went over the trimming of the ‘chokes, one of his tests for the new kids in the kitchen. First, prep a little bit of lemon in some water. Shave back the bottom leaves, using a diagonal rim. Roll the knife along the leaves as you turn the artichoke, working the blade outside down. Cut towards the thumb, rotating the ‘choke. Almost like a lathe, the heart with its crown will appear. Then, either scoop out the middle with a spoon, or quarter and remove. Quickly pop the artichoke into the lemon water to avoid blackening. In a stock pot he reduced some wine with herbs, and then added the artichokes and the stock. At this point my notes indicate that I was somewhat traumatized. What about the leaves? I have fond, fond memories of sitting about the table with my friends, bowls of lemoned butter, and fresh Egyptian artichokes, do the tear and scrape of that wonderful fleshiness you find on the leaves, liberally drenched in mammary fluids. (My last trip to Cairo saw my only tourist purchase being 20 artichokes, gregariously jammed into my suitcase….I do tend to confuse the people at customs. Luckily, I don’t live in a place that has an agricultural base to protect). I digress. Afterwards, I approached Antonin and asked about the trimmings. I shouldn’t have worried. Like all good (economical) chefs, nothing goes to waste. The leaves made up the basis for the stock, something that wasn’t covered in the class. We talked a little of rice, like potatoes the main concern being the different levels and types of starch to be found. Alongside the rice, the other important factor is oil. Lost of oil. We start off two teaspoons at the beginning in order to raise the essence out of some garlic, intensifying the depth of the flavours. Then another two teaspoons as we sweat the onions. As these break down in the oil and heat, he swirls them to distribute the heat. Meanwhile, the artichokes are cooked in some bouillon and then set aside. Once the onions are ready, the rice goes in bit by bit and softly coats and absorbs. Then the wine. As always, the same you drink with the dish. But just a little. Too much and you may stop the cooking, and you may also bring out too sour a taste. The boil remains continuous. Our best friend, salt, is introduced as a touch, and then the risotto is left for a quarter of an hour, kept topped up with hot stock as it goes, binding with the starch to give that rich, gravy consistency. With this underway, he takes the mandolin to the ‘chokes and slices them fine. Not all, some are reserved to be added raw, later, to the risotto. These are rough chopped and then hit with another bit of lemon and some oil to keep them fresh. They’ll go into the risotto about halfway so as to stay crunchy. For the barigould, the artichokes go in, along with shallots, coriander, thyme, stock, garlic, more wine, and some vinegar. The artichokes here are sautéed at 140 C to a (just) golden appearance. As a note: avoid risotto at large functions. Generally they’ll stop the cooking at 7 minutes and set it off on the side, then give it a quick start and a 5 minute cook to finish. For the chicken jus, he started with dicing the wings, and then roasting them in butter to get a good caramel. Then some onion, garlic, bay leaves, and thyme along with the chicken stock. Work here with a deep, wide pan, providing lots of surface area to give a good reduction. Now we come back to bless the risotto, cutting the heat off and dolloping a bif spon of butter in, along with 2 heaping spoonfuls of parmesan. This all gets actively beaten to emulsify the fat that’s been brought into the risotto. Rely on the bowl to keep the temperature right. A fresh artichoke is mandolined and put in to contrast the fried artichokes; the chicken jus is doled out around the lump of risotto, and a splash of very good olive oil gets introduced. And then it’s time for the fish. As usual, fillet with the skin on. Olives are roasted in the oven to dry up. Chop the dried black olives, and mix in with Muscovado sugar. Then a some anis and almond powder. Set this aside for the liquorice seasoning. Now to the fennel broth. Cut a sweet white onion in half, then slice. He draws his blade in. As an obsessive behaviour, I find it interesting how different people cut onions. Toddiwala of the UK declares for the straight drop, while others will cut away, or towards. He uses the baby fennel as it will cook faster. The first layer is peeled, then it’s cut into long quarters. Then he sets up the olive oil, and puts the fennel in the bottom. Here you want a golden caramelization. A pinch of salt is added to bring out the flavours. Once the golden shade is achieved the fennel is removed and in go the lemon zest, onion, thyme, and bayleaf. After these have developed a little, in goes the fish stock, worked up from the bones of the seabass. Let this reduce a bit. Interestingly, Antonin is not disposed against electric. He’s running around 90% gas in the Greenhouse now, but he likes the economics of electric. When you’ve got ovens blasting gas all evening long, the bills can rack up. We sidetrack to the topic of anchovies. What could be more important in life than anchovies? Get them fresh, and clean them by hand, soaked in cold water, pulling out the spines. Then put some rocksalt and leave them in peace for a month, then settle them in some garlic and olive oil, wait three more days, and then snack on them with bread in the middle of a hungry night. Okay, we didn’t do that here for the class, but that’s the proper approach. The anchovies had already been prepared and ready. We return to our regularly scheduled programme….onions. We take some new sweet onions, peeled, quartered, and then sweated in good olive oil. The golden, caramelized fennel is added, with some lemon zest and a bit of seasoning, and then lidded and cooked on low heat. Prep a mayonnaise. An egg is boiled for 6 minutes. A tiny hole is put in the shell. After the 6 minutes is up, it’s put in ice water. The egg yolk is extracted, and then it goes in a mixer with the dried black olives. Starting with the dried olives gives a nice simplicity to the flavour. Soft. He prefers to work with the milder flavoured Nyon olives (I thought Nicoise, but was corrected). The oil is introduced in small bits to emulsify. The fish, having been first seasoned, is cooked in very hot oil to attain a good crisp to the skin, then turned down right away. Going back to the fennel, he tests it with a knife, having removed the lid to avoid soupiness. At this point we get the famous “When you work in the restaurant that’s what you work against – Time.” I bring this out only because the good Mr. Knipp, Bluetooth phone piece firmly in his Terminator-like ear, is behind me complaining about how Antonin is behind schedule, and how this is going to throw off the next class. He cooks the fish skin side down, plateing and pressing to avoid curling, and agitating the pan at first to invade the fish with the hot oil, and then leaving it still to attain a very fine, golden finish. This works well with fragile fish, such as mullet, very much a French favourite. “I used to be very angry at the customers. As a French person I used to think that beef must be rare, fish must be crisp. Now, if you want your beef well done, that’s your problem, not mine. I don’t have to eat it.” Did I mention already that I liked his attitude? Along with this are the standard comments; things will continue to cook after you take them from the heat; paper towels are your friends; and always paint you plate. He begins the painting with the a daub of the mayo, then puts down the onions, adds the fish, details with a piece of the fennel and the fennel greens to garnish, and finalizes with a piece of anchovy. The fennel broth sauce fills in the “black space”. Ta da! Dessert, and the dreaded pastry dough. We start with 3 eggs, to which he takes the traditional “no fingers” approach, working and kneading, then allowing to rest. The flour is the classic combination of almond powder, and he talks a little of the boundaries of almond and hazelnut. He hand mixes the soft butter in, looking to coat all the particles of the flour. He runs his thick hands in and then feathers the flour, butter, and almonds. Beware of fat coming out of your powders. Then he carefully works in the yolks, avoiding any burning. Again, he relies on his hands, not paddles, in order to get the proper binding. Not only does this give him a tactile measure of how he’s doing, but if there’s a lot of the ingredients on his hands when he takes them away, then the recipe isn’t accurate. And then a rest. Ten minutes in the fridge. He turns to the sugar. He prefers it as raw as he can get it, avoiding the blandness of refined sugar. This goes into the pot to build a nice dry caramel. Then out come the tonka beans. These are fun. They’re also probably illegal in Singapore (as is much of everything else). I remember that Sam Mason from WD-50 in New York was having lots of fun with these in Bangkok in 2005. But they do fall into the “restricted products” list. Mind you, so does nutmeg (I’ll talk sometime about Uncle Scrooge and his MMDA habit). Tonka doesn’t have this aspect, however. It’s been banned due to its anti-coagulant features, which can be lethal in large doses. Mind you, water in large doses can be lethal as well, so I’m not going to worry too much. It’s interesting, in the literature, that the tonka bean makes a good alternative to vanilla. They also refer to its “hypnotic fragrance” which has aroused my interests. The tonka beans are grated, and mixed in with the caramel to give a nice “Praline Tonka bitter sauce”. The nuts are toasting in the oven at 140 to get an even colour and texture, while he tosses and swirls the sugar. This is kept dry for the flavour. He then takes a cloth to settle his bowl, a proper non-flat-bottomed bowl, so stabilize it. The caramel comes away from the heat feeling burnt, but just right for its purpose. At this point Peter Knipp gives Antonin his first five minute warning. Some brandy and water is introduced to the caramel, and then we wait for it to dissolve, and then the pollonez (toasted hazelnuts with sugar, pounded together) last. This gives us our caramelized nut sauce. Peter then gives him a second five minute warning, five minutes having already gone by. We take a pie plate, and set in the dough. What we have here is precooked at 160 C. You want this, as you only want the mix to cook for around 15 minutes (5 minute warning?), which wouldn’t be enough otherwise. The ganache of cream and milk is brought to a boil, and then the eggs and sugar are beaten in, as with a sabayon. Finish with some whisking action. Add the 66% chocolate, now avoiding the whisk as you bring the cream/milk together with the chocolate. You want to avoid bubbles in the ganache, so fold in. This all goes into the pie, and you get your short bake. The torte is sliced, and then the tonka bitter sauce is spponed out, along with the hazelnut praline, and a dollop of the Praline “A l’ancienne ice cream” is put to the side. This ice cream was basically a standard work up of whole milk, skimmed milk powder, sugar, whipping cream, and hazelnut praline. If Peter Knipp had hair, he would’ve been pulling it out at this point. As it was, there was little to do but grin and bear it (and he’s been in Asia long enough to have mastered this art to a “t”). We were behind schedule, but the point of these things is to have fun, and so we headed downstairs (after a brief chat with the chef on the issue of the artichoke leaves) to taste the products. Whereas the STB auditorium is a great venue for “hands-off” cooking classes, as a dining hall it’s cramped and hard to run. Sorry, but I don’t expect a lot of people go there to eat, anyways, so it’s not much of a fault. I took the dishes any order I could get them, starting with the torte, and then having the fish. Both worked very well, the liquorice on top of the seabass being something I’m going to go back and have fun with. I gave up on waiting for the risotto, as I had to get back upstairs for the next class. As Antonin said, “avoid risotto at large functions”. Here, not because it was partially cooked, but because it wasn’t, each load of rice being done up on the moment, with fifteen minute waits between batches.] Next, the laboratory of Paco Rancero.

Tristar does have a good point. Just buckle down, get sick, get over it, and then it's relatively clear sailing. One of the benefits of living in Egypt for awhile is that I can now go anywhere, eat most anything, and (outside of the odd, wee parasite) not suffer too terribly. Plus, if nothing else, there's nothing wrong with weight loss through dysentery!

Like Julian, I don't think that they need to be touting the sponsors too much, although I didn't find it too intrusive in the dinners overall. I'll get to the seafood and champagne brunch at the end, but they were pretty honest up front about the sourcing for it, so I wouldn't be too harsh there. As another note, and a sign that my memory's going with old age, a glance through the actual menu reminds me that the cheese was accompanied by a 2001 Pagodes de Cos, and the Semifreddo had some of the Piper Heidsieck Cuvee Sublime to keep it company. Plus, there was a shot of Macallan Sherry Oak 12 that I actually can remember now, the heft of the glass in my hand as I weaved across the grass........ Okay, now to get down to work on the cooking classes.

This is one of those things I should've finished writing up back before the summer, but you know how it goes. Soooooo........here's Part 1 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ It’s been a long time since I was last in Singapore. Fourteen years? Probably close to that. It was 1992, and our flight from Seoul had been delayed stranding us for three days at Singapore Airline’s expense. To their credit, they took care of room and board for us for the entire stretch. What they couldn’t take care of, unfortunately, were diapers for the boy. My one clear memory of that trip (besides the garlic lobster) was of trying to find Pampers on Orchard Road amidst the throng of Filipina nannies out for the Sunday. Given my regular attendace at the World Gourmet Fest (WGF) in Bangkok, the WGS had been touted to me for a number years. I’d always been hesitant, as there’s no one location for the events. It’s overseen by the Singapore Tourism Bureau and coordinated by Peter Knipp Holdings. My hesitation revolved primarily around the twin concepts of hot, humid weather, and me in decent clothes. But, I’d been down at BA using up my frequent flyer points to send Yoonhi to Italy for a walking tour, and it just struck me that there was nothing in particular stopping me from heading out to Singapore for three nights of eating. These sort of thoughts strike me from time to time. So far, no bruises. And here I was returned for the Tenth World Gourmet Summit (WGS). Disgorged on a quiet Thursday morning from that transient sky-borne tube, I was here to eat. In the first of many disconcertingly short taxi rides I was whisked to my hotel where I checked in, unpacked, and washed. That done I made the phone calls I needed to make, talking to D over at Peter Knipp about the events for the day, and then calling up my old cronie Lee to arrange for lunch (with a name like Lee, I don’t have to even try to disguise it in Singapore). Lee picked me up shortly thereafter, and we took off for some curry in Little India. Our destination was the Apollo Banana Leaf. Along the way Lee complained heartily, but with some pride, about the metro system that automatically took money out of your pocket with every block you traveled. When we arrived at the restaurant he happily showed me the prepaid parking tickets that were to be punched and displayed, and how to sneak an extra few minutes out of them. Lunch itself was quite good. We made our choices from the cafeteria style bins at the back, giving our orders to our red dotted waiter, and then settled down to catching up on old times. As the name proclaims, the food is served out on a banana leaf, the chutney and vegetable first, and then the rice. The rice is topped off with some thin chicken curry broth, and then the dishes themselves arrived. First up was the Sri Lankan crab, a mistake I always make. I hate getting my hands dirty when I eat, but crabs look too good to pass up. Lee didn’t make me feel any better as he deftly broke his apart with his fork and spoon while I struggled like something from Dawn of the Dead with the sauce drenched carcasses. They were okay, but obviously weren’t fresh. And my hands (and beard) were becoming something of a spectacle. Alongside of this was a very nice little squid curry, the ink seeping out of their corpses and blackening the rice I dolloped them onto. These I could toss back all day long. And then there was the main, a very pleasant fish head curry. Lots of meat back up behind the gills, and a pleasant aroma (to me) of low tide about the whole thing. Lee introduced me to the method for taking the eye, digging the spoon back in around and clearing out the socket, then detaching the soft tissue from the eye and taking this back. Sort of like a soft boiled egg…..or an exceptionally large hunk of mucus. Tasty. And, in case you’re wondering, in a rare show of restraint (damned rare) I enjoyed some lime juice as opposed to the usual beer. I figured the evening could get messy enough, and I’d punished the economy class drinks trolley well enough on the flight out. The Apollo’s a great room. It’s your typical cavernous hall, cheap tables and chairs, with a side bar packed with Hindu bits and pieces and about half a dozen staff loitering about (at least at first – we were early). One section had a couple of guys up a stepladder doing something odd in the ceiling tiles. We sat by the window with a view of the park across the street (I commented upon how it was suspiciously well-graded, and Lee told me it was one of the old airstrips) and took in the traffic as the place filled up with the lunch crowd. A lot of the passing talent liked the look of the fish head curry, and it wasn’t long before the whole place was pretty much packed out. We took our cue, paid the bill, and cleared space for the waiting clientelle. All in, about 60 Sing for the lunch (around CDN$ 42 – forty-two is always the answer). That afternoon I went shopping. Lee dropped me off at Takashimaya up on Orchard Road, the Japanese shopping mall that my Bangkok friends had been recommending. I was looking for some odd cable, but they didn’t have the lengths I needed at Denki, so I headed out, promising to come back later. I did do a tour through the basement food floor, and lusted after the fresh mushrooms that I saw on display. I hit up a number of spots along Orchard Road, wonderfully shaded by the trees reaching up to the fourth and fifth floors, finally finding a shop with the cable I wanted, but a price that scared the bejayzus out of me. I made the always-acceptable excuse of “I need to ask my wife” and hit the road. This demoralized me to the extent that I forgot myself and took the underground to get back home. In Bangkok I take rapid transit because it’s just that – rapid – at least in comparison to the brain deadening creep of traffic on the street. In Singapore I walked four minutes to the station; headed down the stairs (another minute); stared in despair at the ticket machine for a few minutes before I figured out what to do; wondered why the cost was so high and then realized I had had to pay a deposit on the card; went down some more stairs; waited for a train; got off and transferred to Bugis Street; waited for another train; and then got off at Bugis Street; figured out how to get my deposit back; and climbed to the surface. All in? About half an hour. This is the longest travel time I did in Singapore. After this, it was cabs. I strolled through the once-infamous Bugis Street, taking note of the low end teenage fashion on sale, and then, almost at my hotel, I found what I was looking for on Bencoolen. Electronics heaven. Lee told me it must have been Prinsips. Whatever the name, they had the cables I wanted at the prices I wanted. Plus, upstairs, they had a shop specializing in Japanese cartoons. I spent a happy hour up there shopping and discussing the relative merits of Naruto and One Piece before it was time to go. I was in a much better mood. Washed, dressed, and prepped, I was off to Sentosa Island for the Masterchef safari. I was a little concerned about getting there, but I had D’s directions and a map of the island to show my driver. He happily set off, questioning me as to my reasons for coming to Singapore. When I told him that I was here to eat, he didn’t quite call me a fool, but did give me a lecture on how I should go to Hong Kong instead. I thanked him politely for his advice, and let him know I would take it under consideration. But for tonight, I needed to be on Sentosa Island. Driving through Singapore, I almost felt homesick. The city is so lush, with so many parks and green areas that it does remind me of Vancouver. Clean like Vancouver, too. My previous trips, so many years before, had been limited more to the traditional downtown zone and to Orchard Road, but driving across town gave a much better feel to things. With the overhead clouds and the effect they have on the light, you could’ve (almost) been driving through parts of Stanley Park. As Buckaroo Banzai says in a moment of clarity “where ever you go, well, there you are”. I was at the Sky Bar on Sentosa, near the cable car looking for where I was supposed to be. In typical Bangkok fashion I had given myself loads of time to get to where I needed to be, and now found myself way in advance of everyone else. But luck was in the air as two pleasant young people showed up to open umbrellas. At first they told me that it would be a matter of some minutes, and then changed their minds and sent me into the bar to be cozied by some Piper Heidsieck champagne. I was feeling much, much better. It occurred to me, as I looked out in the gloaming at the container yard below me, that women are so much more sensible than men. They carry purses. They have somewhere to keep cameras. Here I was, perched above the city, with beautiful soft light, lush greens, and a view that showed the cranes of the yard as giant giraffes peaking out of the jungle. I contented myself with a chilled (as in very cold) glass of champagne. It was far from dry, my usual preference, having a soft, flowery side to it, rounding over the mid palate, the experience fitting that description of the milkiness of a baby’s skin that I remember so well from the WGF5 class. The bubbles were furious and undisciplined, rising in clusters and bursts. I stopped the waiter to admire the red labeled bottle, and used this as a ploy to get my glass refilled. Nathan, Johnathan, and Matthew, all with Peter Knipp dropped by to greet me and to give me a brief on what to expect of the evening. They also dropped off a copy of the admirable Cuisine & Wine Asia, a beautifully packaged glossy, filled with what Bourdain would describe as “food porn”; lovingly posed photos of New Zealand venison, racks of lamb, and lemon grass skewered prawns. This, along with more details on the chefs taking part in the World Gourmet Summit, kept me occupied. As a credit to Johnathan, who looks after the mag, once back in Saudi, at the pool, a number of women were stopped in their tracks by sight of the open pages, and had to tell me how good it looked. Maybe it’s just that everything looks good next to me in a bathing suit, but I think this magazine should take the kudos. Our plan for the evening was to conduct a proper “safari”, with a mobile kitchen hopping about the island to cook for us at three different venues. This is an interesting take on the traditional approach of conducting a moveable feast through different restaurants over the course of several hours. We moved from the Skybar soon thereafter, at just about the right moment as the champagne notched up the boisterousness of the crowd. We made our way in twos and threes (and singularities in at least my case) to the cable lift, for all the world an alpine ski bar perched atop the hill, and I headed out on the first flight, along with a group of the Norwegian delegation; a pleasant couple from the embassy, and a young fellow who was down as part of the Norwegian seafood promotion being undertaken in conjunction with the WGS. Talking with him, Norway is very keen to expand their market share in South East Asia. This’ll be tough going, I should think, as the Australians and Kiwis have a pretty firm lock on the food industry here. Meanwhile the Americans had just had the green light to undertake beef exports again. That and the spiraling Euro wouldn’t help things very much, but you never know. From the base of the ski lift we were shunted by tram over to the twin towers, erected on the Southernmost point of continental Asia. These are two wooden multi-level platforms connected with a walkway. Our party went to the Eastern side, and the other (when they arrived – they were definitely having fun back at the Sky Bar) took the West. This broke the group up a bit, but it afforded everyone a great view of the sunset. We took two courses at this spot. One was a stuffed zucchini blossom, an interesting concept of flowers and seafood as a tribute to Singapore. Packed in with crab and truffle stuffing, this was really good. Not only do you get a kind of bizarre triffid-like presentation, but the texture and flavours work well together. The next course was a very pleasant soup, with an exceptionally long finish and an interesting overtone of Chinese herbs, and a ravioli that we were advised to eat first so that we could take it at the right temperature. Later the cook advised that the soup had been the subject of some eight hours of cooking. One of the items I was missing was a session on herbal cooking being undertaken during the WGS. So many meals, so little time. Our chefs were Kenny Yeo and Justin Quek. Ken is the executive chef for the Sentosa Group, and Justin is one of Singapore’s more famous sons, having been the head chef for ten years at Les Amis - that iconic haven of fine dining on the Island - and now in residence in Taiwan at La Petite Cuisine. Justin, in a year’s time, has taken La Petite to the top rankings for French cuisine on the “other island”. Both Kenny and Justin stopped by to talk about their food, and the things they were looking to do. As I’d mentioned, Kenny was looking to incorporate the theme of flowers and seafood as a hallmark of the island. Justin is looking for French cooking in Asia. Not fusion, but more of doing proper French cuisine with the best ingredients at hand. Looking over the edge, I loved what I saw. There was a field kitchen in operation to match the best I’d seen in Kenya. Heck…it was better! Everyone was bent over their stations, busily working away on the plates with an attention to detail that you wouldn’t see at Little Governors. (I wish I’d brought a camera) From there we boarded trams and were carted about the coastline and up the hill to Fort Siloso. Okay, I’m not Singaporean, so, for me it was a nice venue, but a little touristy. But for the local crowd, this was a big hit. Everyone was buzzing about being up here for a meal. Plus, we received our drinking mugs, little tin tea cups ala military service that had the majority of the diners reminiscing about their service years (yes, we’re “well into our cups” by now). Kenny Yeo opened up with a fish dish to get us started. A pan seared fillet of turbot, with a Jerusalem artichoke-potato puree with summer truffle and some cherry tomato confit, topped with an asparagus and red wine sauce. The wine for this was a 2000 Domaine Michel Gros, Vosne Romanee 1er Cru aux Brules. Both the wine and the fish tasted good. I liked the hint of truffle in the potato, although I think I liked the artichoke background even more. But then we had two sensations that took my mind completely away from the fish. Justin Quek served a grilled smoked prime rib of wagyu beef, with spring vegetables and Bordeaux sauce. I admit, I was a virgin. I had never had wagyu before. I know, it’s a big thing, but I’d been put off by reports from a number of my friends who’d had Kobe beef and just couldn’t see what the hype was about. This was really, really good. When I put that first piece into my mouth, I could feel it melting on my tongue. The fat was so evenly distributed in this piece of meat, that I was awestruck (“gobsmacked” some would say). And the 1983 Chateau Figeac was a beautiful companion to the beef. I pulled my face away from the meat for a moment, and buried my nose into Figeac. Think of being young and holding your first love in your arms and nuzzling yourself into that tussle of hair behind her ears…… That was a hard combination to top. You know, I worry if I risk becoming jaded at this tender age of my life. At what point will we lose this “wow” in our dining. I don’t know the answer, but I’ll continue working at it. With an 1812ish soundtrack of cannons filling in the background, we dined and chatted. The Figeac made several rounds (but I couldn’t cadge a second helping on the wagyu, alas), and everyone was enjoying the meal quite well. In the best of moods, we were carted up to the golf club and Il Lido. We entered the building, and had a very nice tour through the restaurant, taking in the general ambience and décor, and the lovely view. But we weren’t stopping here. We were escorted outside to find a long table set up on the tee box, crisp white linen against the green, green grass. Pretty. Plus we get a view. Tony Poh, the chef de cuisine for Il Lido, started us with the cheese dish, a Gorgonzola sabayon with homemade pear mostarda and balsamic cream. Nice. Smooth, and not overpowered by the Gorgonzola. Of course, by this point we were all in pretty good form, so I may be lapsing in my critique here. I do enjoy mixing up seatings during the meals. You never know who’ll you’ll meet. I had the chance to get some details on the Singapore Tourism Board, and I’d garnered some details on the herbal cooking business. I was up to date on the Norwegian food industry, and I don’t think I embarrassed myself too much at any point (maybe). And, to finish, Michel Pavanello, their executive chef, rolled out a coffee and rum parfait with cocoa cream that I have fond memories of, but little in the way of notes. You’ll need to be patient with an old man like me if my memory starts to lapse. I recall enjoying the dessert, and the company, and somehow being the last man in a taxi back from Sentosa. A good first night.

oh my god those are so cute!!!!!! They look like late 70's hello kitty. I have about 2 sets of hello kitty chopsticks and one set of my melody. I only use these at school when I am eating lunch. are those hk chopsticks porcelain or plastic? ← Only the best in high quality molded plastic, I believe.

It's only a single pair, but I consider them family heirlooms! That's right! Plastic "Hello Kitty" chopsticks. A must have for everyone's kitchen.

Dave H. Excellent, excellent work (plus, I've now got more Steingarten to read!). I was at one of the WGF dinners in Bangkok this last September when the PETA crowd staged a "protest". These were not, by any means, local people, but "tourists" who had been conducting a number of events in the capitol. In this case, they were not violent, just noisy. Michael Ginor was on hand in the kitchen, and came out to discuss the matter with them. As always, he is (obviously) very well informed on the matter, and very articulate, and put the case for foie gras and offered the protestors the opportunity to observe his operations at Hudson Valley. They didn't seem too interested in listening. I'm afraid that point is that, as with Michael's well-reasoned and presented arguements, research and facts won't have much impact upon these people. As a related article, read Tony Bourdain's The Nasty Bits. On page 179 starts a four page piece on Food Terrorists, detailing Tony's reaction to the anti-foie gras crowd's attack on Sonoma Saveurs.

I echo Nathan's response. What is this human trait that arises like something from the grave, that needs to suck the joy, life, and colour from this world, and won't rest until everyone is as grey and lifeless as they are?

I second that. If you haven't looked at it yet, get into the "Stomping through the Savoy" thread and see what sort of things in there you like. You could also check out Tiki bar TV on the net for an alternative take. But I still say, evil lurks in that bright green bottle!

I'm generally ignorant, but that doesn't stop me from speaking out. I've seen a number of occassions over the last few years when infusions have been used. What I've noticed is that "waters" are generally allowed to sit, while oils are brought into action through heat. For example: for his ceviches in Bangkok, Rodriguez allowed the coconut water to steep with magrood lime leaves and lemon grass overnight, and then hit the mix with the lime juice at the last moment before introducing the fish. William Ledueil sweats lemon grass in almost everything he does, and I've used this technique to good effect. Both of the above are basic (yet beautiful) approaches to bringing flavours together. I think part of the question is how much do you want to concentrate? I found cognac an eye opener in this. I would've thought they'd use a more alcoholic base to get a solid drink, but they look to a weaker base, as the distillation will concentrate the flavours, and perhaps take them over the edge. The best advice would be, obviously, to experiment. If there's no rush, try the overnight approach. And consider the medium. Is it better to work with distilled, mineral, or tap water as the base? Have fun.