Me: 'I've
booked us in for a cooking class on New Year's Eve.'
The Boy: Pretending not to hear as if that would make
it not real.
The tuk tuk collected and deposited us at
Nary's Kitchen in Battambang, that’s Cambodia, just before 4pm. A French
Canadian couple were already there. Another couple, him a quiet Dutch man and
she a reserved New Yorker arrived. We all sat studying our recipe books then it
was off to the market with Toot!
That’s with Toot, not for toot; as if it
were some bizarre Khmer ingredient. Toot
is the chef and while he is super friendly, knowledgeable and funny, as always
the Boy’s ironic sense of humour is lost in translation. The markets are a revelation through him. The snake fish the most memorable. Specimens leaping out of baskets in a last
bid for freedom before being deftly sliced, diced and chopped by cleaver and
scissor bearing assassins. The thud of
hitting the wet concrete footpath, gills clutching the air, slithering for
survival, before being scooped back to death row.
But our snake fish had already been
procured and awaited us back at the kitchen, fully prepped. Our market visit purchases were not of the
sentient type and included unique Asian ingredients: lemon grass, fresh pressed
coconut milk, Thai mint and basil. We
also bought eggs, chicken not duck, which are always brown by the way. Egg custard maybe? No turned out it was just for a fried egg –
as a side. The ash encrusted century
eggs - that are really only preserved for several weeks to months, for the
yolks to attain a dark green to grey colour, with a creamy consistency and an
odour of sulphur and ammonia, with the white becoming a salty, dark brown
transparent jelly – were easy to leave behind.
Back at the
kitchen we were allocated aprons. The Boy
got a strawberry one! Maybe his irony
wasn’t lost on Toot after all? What
followed was a super organised and very precise lesson. It was really less
about learning than it was about measured instructions, but I don’t really think
anyone expected to be training as a cordon bleu chef that night. In fact I struggle to recall what we cooked
but I think the menu went: spring rolls, fish amok, marinated tofu in spicy
sauce, fried egg, there must have been rice, and then banana custards. Each pair of us cooked our own dishes - we were
Team Banana Leaf when the fish amok went into the steamer. And also when it was due to come out of the
steamer, but Toot had not turned on the gas.
Planned or not, he busied us with the deep frying and the eating of the
spring rolls. The Boy was in his
element.
Some more
prepping and presentation, frying and dipping, then it was out into the
restaurant for the eating and beer. The
restaurant is really just the small front section of Toot and Nary’s house,
with maybe 6 tables and 28 seats; full house would be cosy. Highly entertaining and tasty, as well as
great value at $10 USD each, the whole event was over by 9.30pm, and remember
it was New Year’s Eve.
Cast out to wander back to our hotel, we
threaded our was through a kind of mardi gras carnival alongside the river with
the aim of a bar for a drink – preferably champagne. The neon light atop the hotel next door to
ours beckoned with the promise of a rooftop ‘SkyBar’. Stepping inside, we were hardly acknowledged
by the already sleepy concierge and security officer. Defaulting to charades, the Boy pointed up
with one hand, while drinking from an imaginary glass with the other, and we
did a counter clockwise lap of the foyer to arrive back near the door, at the
external wall lift.
The Boy:
“This is ritzy. Wonder how they
clean the glass on the inside?”
The answer was soon apparent. They didn’t.
A notice on the inside wall of the lift proudly announced the opening of
the SkyBar from 1 December, open 6 til 11.30pm every night. And remember it’s New Year’s Eve.
As the lift rose our expectations lowered,
the rate of progress of the first slow enough for us to speculate on the state
of the decor when we reached the top.
Our expectations, which had lowered at a greater rate, were duly met,
when the doors opened to what appeared to be the bar storeroom, complete with
cartons, old but operational drinks fridge, and a stack of dirty dishes on the
counter. There was a plant, but it may
have been plastic.
For want of any signage, we chose left and
startled the staff, who seemed genuinely surprised that a bar would attract
patrons. Remember it’s New Year’s Eve,
and they can see the party going on across the river. Did they have champagne? Did they have a wine list? Did they have snacks? The common denominator here was, No. Ever persistent, the Boy somehow ascertained
they did have spirits. Okay we can do
this.
Me:
“Gin and tonic?”
Bartender:
“Yes!”
Me:
“Can I see the tonic?” I’ve been
caught before with sugar water drinks masquerading as plain or 100% juice.
Out to the drinks fridge and sure enough
Schweppe’s Tonic Water; cold and in Cambodia. The Boy settled on some other aperitif, I
think the equivalent to either a 1970s sweet sherry or French Cinzano, a
ctually Dubonnet! The
real bonus came when the drinks were delivered to our table, followed by a bowl
of only slightly spicy masala nuts. One
or two drinks later and still well before closing time we were done and on our
way. Remember it’s New Year’s Eve.
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