Cooking with Toot

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, actually 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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