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Flavours of Laos
CHARLIE WINTERMAN TAKES A CULINARY TOUR OF LUANG PRABANG AND DISCOVERS A WHOLE NEW MEANING TO HAUTE CUISINE
LUNCHING in Luang Prabang certainly has its moments. Diving into my watery Laotian broth at the small Maly café, my lower jaw collided with the soup’s main ingredient, a small fi nger-thick log of what looked like Scot’s Pine.
With one crunch, I sensed a dull tingling of my tongue as if I was undergoing anaesthesia at the dentist, followed by a rapid, zesty rip of fi re through my cheeks.
It was a bizarre sensation, but certainly was not one that any self-respecting Laotian foodie would balk at.
This is a nation where anything that provides nourishment is appreciated; large chunks of medicinally-charged wood, ox blood and weeds are on the daily menu; and jungle produce, such as bark, grubs and ants’ eggs, are considered delicacies. Even mouth-tingling twig offers precious sustenance while suppressing the appetite.
HEART OF THE MATTER
Ask any Laotian what lies at the heart of this nation, and he or she will almost unquestionably declare with gusto, “aahaan Lao” – food!
This passion has not yet translated to the cookery-crazed West where few good documents exist on the country’s superb gastro-traditions. Too often, Lao cuisine is simply – and erroneously – summed up as “ ai food without the chillies or coconut cream”.
Certainly, in theory, this is not entirely incorrect, according to Chiang Mai hotelier, Somock Inthavong, a delightfully modest Laotian who is gastronome by repute rather than self-confession.
He admits that much of the cuisine lacks the sweet waxy coconut and . re of ai food, though there are many resemblances to traditional Chiang Mai cooking – not surprising, as under Lanna rule, the ai city and Luang Prabang were part of one kingdom.
Laotian cooking is a law unto its own, blended to the eater’s tastes. It de. nitely shuns the culinary pedantry demanded by European chefs. If you like it hot, add chillies; if you prefer it sour, add lime. is point is warmly noted in the wonderful culinary essay, “Ant Egg Soup” by Anglo-French food addict, Natacha Du Pont De Bie, who is one of the few writers who has fervently and charmingly documented Lao cooking techniques and recipes.
There are no real meal times, iterates the well-travelled Inthavong; Laotians eat ALL the time, snacking on siin sawan (bu7 alo jerky) or chewing on sheets of glassy khai phun, : avoured dried river moss which is extracted from the co7 ee-coloured Mekong. ere are no starters or mains, everything arrives at once, usually accompanied by a huge bowl of broth.
STREET FEASTS
In the nation’s former Royal capital, Luang Prabang, the streets are full of food-related activities. Down one alley, I spy the river algae being prepared. Resembling sodden green felt when wet, it is sprinkled with chillies and sesame a! er being chopped and pounded, then laid to dry outside.
Kids nibble on mieng, tiny lettuce-wrapped bundles, dark soy sauce-soaked noodles or deliciously sticky rice from huge round baskets. Rice is the nation’s staple, growing wild on the high, serrated mountains, rather than in paddy elds.
As a hotelier, Inthavong has travelled the world, but still misses home cooking. He reminisces about a good local salad known as laap, which usually contains rawfish or meat. He recalls how, during special occasions such as births, weddings or funerals, huge numbers of cooks would unite at his family’s home to provide their best delicacies for friends and relatives.
Indeed, food is everywhere in Luang Prabang and the country’s dusty capital Vientiane, where, next to my guesthouse, I found huge catfish sizzling on a brazier at 8am, and a pile of fresh baguettes – a colonial legacy le) behind by French bakers.
In Luang Prabang, strings of air-dried sausages were laced across the town’s only main street, while in the small back lanes, sweet pappadums or rice crackers were laid out on lattice bamboo trays in the sun.
Each evening, Luang Prabang’s food market is a plethora of tin bowls lled with fried vegetables, soups, leaf-wrapped mieng, fried dim sum, or grilled sticky rice lollipops. A giant conglomeration of take-away food!
ROYAL FLAVOURS
The unique heritage of Laos’ Royal cuisine still lives on in the restaurant of pretty Villa Santi, a colonial house later built as a home for the deposed royals, where its jovial, French-speaking owner, Santi Inthavong, (a relative of Somock), has tried to keep up royal traditions. He has good reason to do so, for he is husband to a Lao Princess. At our meeting in his hometown of Vientiane, he was uncharacteristically shy of speaking on Lao food at first.
“I am no gastronome,” he said, almost shamefully. And yet, he then went on to regale me with memories of the sakhan wood used in soups, the sausage and mushroom recipe cooked for the king, known as aw no, and the pheasant, hung for three days before being cooked in the typical Luang Prabang dish, aw lam.
According to Inthavong, Luang Prabang dishes are “richer” and “more sophisticated” than those of Vientiane. Pig’s brain was one delicacy that no one in Vientiane knew, simply because the Lao word for edible brain “oh pong” did not exist in the modern capital.
LEADING LIGHT
It was the former British Ambassador to Laos, the colourful Alan Davidson, whom many regard as being responsible for reviving the interest in Lao cooking in the 1970s. In particular, the dishes of Phia (Honourable) Sing, the royal chef extraordinaire from whom Davidson gleaned a copy of the Court’s precious culinary archives, which he later published in England. It was a feat of incredible foresight as the major members of the Royal family were arrested soon a3 er by the incoming Communists or Pathet Lao, and died in incarceration.
TOAST OF THE TOWN
Facing the idyllic Khan River on Luang Prabang’s peninsula, e Apsara is a small hotel which has fast gained a reputation for serving some of the best food in town.
It is managed by Ivan Scholte, a man whose Basil Fawlty-esque wit, tirelessly jovial disposition and unending hospitality makes him seem like a time-lost remnant of the British Raj.
Scholte’s love of all things alimentary had led him to spend much of his life travelling Asia foraging in markets, dining on dodgy food stalls or whipping up Asian cookery courses for the likes of Brit-chef, Alastair Little. Since fi nally settling in Luang Prabang, his culinary venture has wowed critics from top chef Anton Mosimann and New York Times journos to culinary nobodies like me.
Feasting on his zesty boiled egg and watercress salad (a local favourite) or the superlative buffalo blood sausages dipped in tamarind sauce, it was clear his own passion for aahaan Lao had fuelled the same reaction among his upmarket diners.
Unlike Scholte, I would never dream of eating a raw fish or meat laap at a street stall, but at e Apsara, we dug into a beef laap like it was our last meal. So/ and moist, it was like a good beef carpaccio served with fresh, crispy herbs, roasted rice powder and chilli, and of course, sticky rice.
The Lao-style spring rolls accompanied by a sweet dip and fresh herbs also went down as a treat, as did the goat casserole. All were completely authentic but for the risk to our large intestines.
LEARNING LOST SKILLS
The next day, I toured the local Phousy market with an ebullient Australian woman who had spent most of her life living under media-wary Lao Communist rule (as such, she asked not to be named). She led me through the dimly-lit stalls, pointing to huge bowls of congealed blood, edible wood or jungle creepers and the ubiquitous stinky paa daek – fermented rawfish, the never-to-be-missed Lao bouillon that looks and smells like vomit but, I was assured, tasted delicious.
My affable guide was the owner of a small restaurant on the main street, and her passion for aahaan Lao had led her to start a cooking school in a dark red-painted house just down a side alley. She admitted that she had had to teach her sta* how to cook traditional Laotian recipes – they were hill tribesmen and had never prepared or eaten the food of the ethnic Lao!
A few other places were now also teaching local cookery. Britain’s popular TV chef, Jamie Oliver had recently signed the Tum Tum Cookery Class guestbook with the words “Top Tucker”!
A sign of hope perhaps, or the beginning of the end? I pondered. For lunch, I went with Ivan to his favourite pho shop, serving the aromatic Vietnamese noodle soup that many Laotians have adopted. How would I like to take my soup, asked the waitress, referring to the many varieties of ingredients I could choose from.
“With beef,” I con rmed. 6 en I added, with a wink, “Oh, and no wood.”
FOOD AFFAIR FOR ALL
There is, in the home, a hierarchy of Laotian table manners, with the elders eating fi rst. When finished, a little food is left on the plate as a courtesy. The spirits must be fed too; every home and temple will have a place where blobs of sticky rice are put out to feed the gods and atone for errors.
TABLE TREATS
The Apsara
Top-end riverside restaurant mix the best of Laotian dishes with Paci c-Rim air and superb desserts. Reservations are advisable. Kingkitsarat Street,
tel +856 (0) 212420
Villa Santi
Royal recipes recreated in a lovely colonial-style house. Cookery classes are available on request. Sakkarin Street, tel +856 (0) 252157
Maison Souvannaphoum
A chatty Lao chef cooks upmarket Lao meals in this smart, refurbished hotel. Phothisarat Street,
tel +856 (0) 212200
Maly
A no-frills street diner that o( ers consistently good local fare, including the famous “wood soup”. Outside are braziers for Chinese hot pot. Phu Vao Street, tel +856 (0) 252013
Cookery Courses
Enquire at Tamnak Lao/three Elephants Restaurant, opposite the Villa Santi, for daily cookery courses from 10am-6pm.
email: tamnaklp@yahoo.com.au
Bangkok Airways ies daily between Bangkok and Luang Prabang. For more information, visit www.bangkokair.com
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