Savoury ode to the remains of summer's green glows (and lasagna)

By 1:05 PM


Cambodian Cultural Village, Siem Reap, Cambodia. Not rural per se, but it's such a gorgeous depiction.

 If Cambodia was a dessert, it would be a kuih. A Kuih Lapis, to be more specific. Soft steamed layers of glutinous rice full of pandanus leaf and mung bean flavor. I might be skewed as I only saw one specific area of Cambodia, one that was lathered with paddy fields, one where bouquets of rice frawns valsed with the rare teasing breezes. Tapestries of chartreuse and spring bud are draped over the country, stitching a silent promise, although it has been broken more than once during the turmoils of history, in the spirits of its kroma-wrapped local rice artisans. A promise embroidened into time and seasons: there will be comfort, all in due time, when the rainy seasons are over, there will be chewy, soft grains, a hint of sweetness and even perhaps, sometimes, a wandering overlooked husk amidst the mouthfuls of kernels. But that's okay.

Arriving in July, I was in the heart of the rice planting season. Every week, on our way out of the city, my eyes met with the nonchalant, heavy-lidded eyes of water buffalos and white cows lazying in the waterlogged paddies, the bright reflection of sunrays on straw hats of bent down heads or the colorful play of lights entertwined in the threads of worn out kromas. 

Wizened black irises observed from a thatched hut, a smile ready behind the sinewy braids of a hamoc. Strong cheekbones held up the grin, plastered over skin kissed by sunrays once too many times. 
Ta Om Village, Cambodia

 A wavelet of childish laughters dashed across the hues of harlequin, shamrock and lime, rebounded on the dapples of olive green and ended its frenzied happy course with ripples on a pistachio-tinted natural pond that found its resting place in a depression of the soft earth, its waters enriched with the surrounding vegetals' sap and extracts. 
Kuih Lapis, or Banh Da Lon. Photo credit: Vietnam-sketch

 I have compared, earlier, Cambodia with this soft, chewy rice cake, whose layers alternated with pandanus leaf and mung bean: kuih lapis. In Vietnamese, we call it banh da lon (It literally translates to "pig skin cake" but that's a detail, ay?) Yes, I do have a massive craving for the dessert, and yes, my love of food might have something to do with this uncanny analogy, but if you have ever tasted the treat, you might have an idea of what I'm about to describe. Pandan, for one thing, is unique in itself. The vanilla of the East. It has a slightly floral scent, perhaps a bit coconutty. It is very delicate and subtle, but for many it is a comfort in the belly. It reminds me of the rice season activities in the local regions: a promise of incoming sweetness, a tinge of exoticism to account for the Eastern foreignness. The cake itself may stick to the palate, a property of the glutinous rice, and one the local Cambodian community that is so cohesive and close-knit, but the bite slides off easily with a smack of the lips and teasingly hits all the right tastebuds on its way from the roof of your mouth to that corner on the left and that forgotten spot at the back of the tongue. Mung bean can crumble if not moistened enough, and resembles the dry earth of Cambodia, hardened and fissured under a very harsh sun. With the right amount of moisture, however, it melts, becomes this smooth, creamy paste with custard flavors. The land of Cambodia, being sandwiched between Thailand, Laos and Vietnam, receives very little moisture from the seaside, contrarily to its neighbors. Thus, the rainy season is where the streets become thai teas, alleys overflow, and the heat wave falls down, if only for an hour or two. With the right amount of rain, the entire land is moistened, its geographical harshness subdued.

The city of Siem Reap, the urban hub, makes me think of a rough gemstone conspicuously lying amidst grass fronds and the kaleidoscope of light plays, that in any novel a young protagonist might have dropped on her way to the meadow. Outshined by one of the Jewels of the World Heritage Sites, Angkor Wat, set right beside on velvet and a honorific pedestal, it is often glanced at, appreciated, and left behind. It is not perfectly polished, as some facets shimmer more than others, but it is there, and it would be a beautiful surprise for whoever decides to pick it up, treasure it in the center of his palm and observe its intricacies. He might notice that there is a crack on the left side of the stone, leading from the uneven facet underneath to the pyramid formation that always points to the clouds if the stone is dropped, but that the area of that fissure is the smoothest one, where countless rainfalls have caressed and soothened. But the story of Siem Reap, the city, will be for another time. 

On the other hand, the rural area of Siem Reap, in one expression, would be "shades of green". 
Not green like the boreal forests' hills full of grizzlies, but a cheerful, youthful green.

Consider this as an ode to those beautiful dyes. 


Green Goddess Lasagna (:

(You'd think that after all this talk about sticky rice cakes, Kuih Lapis, pandan and what-not i'd have a recipe for the dessert, .... but na. I just wanted to share another snippet of my travel in Cambodia :P)

Green Goddess Lasagna
(Adapted from Yummy Addiction)
6 lasagna portions
Ingredients:

10 spinach lasagne noodles, cooked, drained and cooled down (12 if you want to be safe)

Filling:
8 chicken thighs, de-boned
1 medium yellow onion, cubed
4 garlic cloves, crushed and minced
6 cups spinach, rinsed and coarsely chopped
450g button mushrooms, cleaned and cut into fat slices
1/4 cup white wine or chicken broth
Olive oil

Green sauce:
1 cup kale leaves, washed, unstemmed and coarsely chopped
1 1/2 basil sprigs, washed and unstemmed
2 + 2/3-3/4 cups skim milk
4 teaspoons unsalted butter
4 Tablespoons all-p flour

Tomato sauce:
5 italian tomatoes, whole, washed and unskinned
2 teaspoons fine herbs
1 basil sprig, washed, crushed and leaves coarsely chopped
1 small yellow onion, sliced
2 garlic cloves, crushed and minced
A pinch of nutmeg

Salt and pepper to taste
Fresh parmesan cheese, grated

Skim mozzarella cheese, shredded


Green Goddess Lasagna :3 With kale-basil sauce.


Instructions:

Filling (Part 1):

1. Drizzle some oil to coat a medium pot. Turn the heat on medium-high. When the oil starts to give off wisps of smoke, add in the garlic and the onions. Stir until the onion is translucent and the garlic is golden.
2. When the onion and the garlic begin to stick, add in the mushrooms. As soon as the mushrooms stick a bit too, deglaze with the white wine (or the chicken broth). You should have a nice golden brown sauce coating your pot. 
3. Add in the chicken. The mushrooms should have broken down and shrunk a bit by now, releasing more juices into the pot. This should keep your chicken from sticking. Reduce the heat to low-medium. Cover, and let simmer for 20 minutes or until the chicken is no longer pink inside. 
4. When the chicken is ready, add in the chopped spinach. They will wilt very fast. Mix it well to coat it with all the juices and flavours. 
5. Take off the heat and set aside. Fish the chicken thighs out. You will need to shred them later and it will cool faster alone.  Loosely cover and let rest.

Green sauce:

1. While the first part of the filling cools down, prepare the green sauce. In a medium pot, melt the 4 teaspoons of butter. Then, add in 4 TBSP of all-p flour. Make sure that the butter is completely liquid by this point. The added flour will make a very thick paste. Stick the mixture for a minute or two to make sure that the paste is cohesive.
2. Add 2 cups of milk, 1/2 cup at the time. You want to avoid morsels of paste and let the flour-butter mixture dissolve smoothly in your milk. If you do get some crumbles, however, it's okay (we're putting everything in the blender after anyways). Do not let the milk boil. Stir over low heat and try to get your sauce as smooth as possible. Set aside for 5-10 minutes or until the sauce is lukewarm.
3. In a blender, add the sauce and blend until smooth (if you had any bits of paste). Add the kale and the basil. Blend everything until it is creamy and smooth. 
4. Pour the green sauce back into the pot and put it back on the heat element. Turn the heat on medium. Once the surface starts to bubble a bit, add in the nutmeg, and salt and pepper to taste. Stir constantly for the next 5 minutes. Now is time to work on your desired consistency. If it is still too thick, add 1/4 cup of milk and stir for 3 minutes. Repeat if needed. 
5. When your sauce is ready, set aside and cover to avoid having a film forming at the surface of the mixture.

Filling (Part 2):

1. Take your cooled down chicken thighs and put them on a large cutting board. With a fork, shred the chicken into filaments. It doesn't need to be perfectly thin. Set aside.
2. Turn the heat on medium-high. Coat a medium pot with some olive oil and stir in the garlic and the onions. Stir-fry until fragrant and golden. Add in the tomatoes. It shouldn't stick but if it does, coat the bottom with a thin layer of water. 
3. Once the tomatoes have broken down, stir with a wooden spatula. Break the larger pieces into mushier, smaller ones if needed. Add in the basil, then season with salt and pepper to taste. Remove from heat.
4. Incorporate the shredded chicken with the tomato sauce, making sure to coat everything. 

Assembling the lasagna:

1. Preheat your oven at 375C. 
2. In a ~17x21 cm pan, lay down 3 spinach lasagna noodles (for me, the noodles were really long so 2x2/3 of noodles was enough. I used the remaining 2x1/3 noodles for the "3rd noodle"). 
3. Slather with green sauce, and add the mushroom-spinach filling. Add another layer of lasagna noodles.
4. Slather again with green sauce, and add the chicken mixture. Sprinkle with a handful of parmesan (or more if you want). 
5. For the last layer of filling, combine the mushroom-spinach and the chicken. Lay down your layer of lasagna noodles, coat with green sauce, and add the filling mixture.
6. Finish with your last layer of lasagna noodles. You can put the layer together the same way as you did for the previous ones, or you can braid it like mine (i had too much leftover noodles). Slather with green sauce, and sprinkle with a generous handful of parmesan and of mozzarella. 
7. Loosely cover with aluminum foil and bake for 30 minutes. Then, remove the foil and bake for an additional 20 minutes or until the cheese is melted and golden.
8. Remove, let cool down for 15 minutes and enjoy (: !

P.S. You can put cheese in every layer of course. I put it on the last one because I just like the 'gratinated' aspect of cheese. 

About the Author

Half-baker. Half-bookworm. Full-fledged daydreamer.

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