Funky business [-Prahok time!]

Work in progress: The fish needs to be cleaned, gutted and crushed underfoot before it is salted and left to ferment.

Take your pick: People selecting fish to be made into prahok.

Sun-dried: Fish are laid out to dry.

Monday January 9, 2012
By Jane F. Ragavan
The Star (Malaysia)

The smell of the Cambodian fermented fish paste called prahok may have you reeling, but it is the soul of Khmer cooking.

IT’S prahok season in Cambodia – you can smell it.

On the banks of the Tonle Sap River, hundreds of families lug baskets of finger-sized silvery fish from boats, gut and slice off their heads and then crush them underfoot before the pulp is dried, salted and left to ferment in bags or jars for weeks or even months.

Its pungent smell hangs heavily in the air, but it is no bother to Cambodians because prahok is the soul of Khmer cuisine. Often called Cambodian or fish cheese in English, prahok is equal in value to rice. In fact, farmers will travel from outlying provinces to trade rice for the protein-rich fish paste, a much needed supplement in the countryside where simple meals of prahok and rice are common.

It can also be used in soups, but is mostly used as a condiment in a wide variety of Khmer dishes.

Prahok Troap Khmer - "Prahok, a Khmer treasure": Poem in Khmer by Salen Sy

The Trouble with Prahok: Why are Khmers Turning Against Their Fish Paste Heritage?

(Photos by Jerry Redfern)

March 15, 2010
Karen Coates
The Faster Times

The soul of Khmer cuisine resides in a murky barrel of a potent, fishy paste that graces every meal—prahok . It’s the odiferous spice of Cambodia, the protein-packed punch of grandma’s soup and auntie’s curry. Just a little dab will do, thanks to the olfactory power of fermentation. It takes the country’s blazing sun, it’s muddy waters and the sweat of its people to lug and crush, salt and dry, heaps and piles of tiny fish, which then rot into potent distinction. Prahok is indeed the heart of a nation; its juices, the blood that keeps Cambodia running.

Why, then, are some Khmers shunning this heritage?

“Now I don’t like prahok anymore,” says Keo Touch, who goes by the name of “Toot” and runs a Battambang cooking school with his wife, Nuon Nary.

His statement catches me off guard, so I start asking questions. The answers, I realize, I have heard many times before.

“Now I am a towner, I am no longer a farmer,” he says. “Some people look down on you if you eat prahok , because if you eat prahok , you are a farmer, you are poor.”

I understand his concern. Poverty is a pestilence that Cambodians everywhere aim to escape. This is a countrified state, with 13.3 million people scattered among some 14,000 villages housing more than 80 percent of the population. Read the other way: only 20 percent of Cambodians live in a city. Of those, many have ended up on the urban scene because they lost land, got sick, needed money or suffered some heinous tragedy that left them no recourse. The average Cambodian earns less than $2 a day. Marginally few are the people like Toot, who built a thriving business after years of destitution.

Toot says the scent of prahok reminds them of the farm. And the farm is a place that offers no easy life. Plus, it comes with the added baggage of memory—every Cambodian spent 1975-1979 as a farmer under the genocidal Khmer Rouge. And every survivor harbors stories of slave-like labor, death and starvation. No surprise, people want to forget.

It’s as though Toot internalizes the acrid smell of prahok as a blemish on his character—untrue as that might be. “I am very ashamed if I tell about prahok to my students,” he says. “Because if I tell, and they smell, they run away.” Only if they ask do his recipes and market tours include prahok , that most fundamental of Cambodian ingredients. “Now I use shrimp paste. Shrimp paste is not very strong.”

Still, it’s Nary’s kitchen (she cooks while Toot peruses the market and chats up the students), so I ask her about prahok as she minces an almond butter-colored pad of the stuff. “Yeah,” she smiles, “I like.” No problem for her.

When I get to Phnom Penh—the throbbing capital of hustle, bustle and noise—I ask my longtime friend, Ke Monin, whether he can vouch for Toot’s ideas. “Yeah, sure,” he agrees. He is “100 percent sure,” if people have money, “they don’t want to eat prahok .” He says rich Khmers eat fish paste only once every few months. “When they don’t have money, they eat a lot.”

I ask one more source, the notable photographer Heng Sinith, a longtime friend and confidante. Sinith is the most knowledgeable Cambodian I know. He has Access with a capital A. He makes friends with everyone, singing karaoke with cops and shmoozing with bodyguards while taking his liver to the outer limits. Meanwhile, secrets emerge in the blur of inebriation.

Sinith doesn’t think Khmers willingly forgo the fish of their identity—least of all, he. “I really like real Khmer food,” he says. Nonetheless, he insists prahok will disappear as quickly as the fish in Cambodia’s ailing lakes and rivers (diminished fish stocks are a growing worry). “The people will never deny prahok ,” Sinith says, but “prahok will be finished because there are no more fish.”

And that is a story for another time.
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About Karen Coates

When she’s not crashing her bike or running up mountains in New Mexico, Karen Coates covers food, environment, science, health and social issues. She splits her time between the American Southwest and any other place in the world that interests her (particularly Southeast Asia). She’s Southeast Asia correspondent for Archaeology magazine and for five years was Asia correspondent for Gourmet until the magazine imploded in 2009. Her first book, Cambodia Now: Life in the Wake of War, won the August Derleth award for nonfiction. She’s also co-authored the memoirs of Sharon Sites Adams in Pacific Lady: The First Woman to Sail Solo across the World’s Largest Ocean. Karen and her husband, photojournalist Jerry Redfern, are at work on two forthcoming books: Eternal Harvest: The Legacy of American Bombs in Laos and This Way More Better, is a collection of travel essays from the back roads of Asia. Karen writes the award-winning food blog, Rambling Spoon.

Cambodians claim the amount of fishcatch dropped this year, but govt officials claimed the opposite

Prahok fishes are more abundant than last year but price doubles because of inflation

A view of a place where prahok fishes are being prepared in Phsar Krom market, Kampong Chhnang city (Photo: Rithisen)

Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Koh Santepheap newspaper
Translated from Khmer by Socheata

Kampong Chhnang Province – This year, the yield of fish used to make “prahok” is slightly higher than last year, however, the price has doubled from that of last year. Provincial fisheries officials said that this is not because there is a lack of fish, and prahok is not the only commodity that sees a price increase, in fact, all the goods, especially gasoline, saw an increase in price, and when the price of gasoline goes up, everything else goes up also.

A fisheries department official said that the price of this year’s fresh prahok fish which costs 900 riels (~$0.23) per kilo, and this 400 riels (~$0.10) more than last year. Furthermore, a kilo of ready made prahok costs 2,500 riels (~$0.63) per kilo this year in comparison to 1,200 riels (~$0.30) per kilo last year. This year’s fish catch has increased significantly, but the price of prahok fish is much higher than last year because of price inflation.

The current waxing moon period is the last period for catching prahok fish, and it is also the time that the ready-made prahok are being transported to other provinces, such as Kampong Cham, Prey Veng, and Svay Rieng, where large businessmen are stocking them up before transporting them to sell in Thailand. Provincial fisheries department official added that even if the prahok fishes are plentiful, however, there is not much large fish yet, and their price can fetch up to 12,000 riels (~$3.00) per kilo for those fishes that weight between 300 to 500 grams each. For fishes weighing more than one kilo each, they can fetch up 17,000 riels (~$4.25) per kilo.

The price of “riel” or “linh” (small) fishes is about 2,000 riels (~$0.50) per kilo, but larger “krum” fishes fetch 15,000 riels (~$3.75) per kilo. The “kess” and “klainghay” fish species used for smoking cost about 17,000 riels (~$4.25) per kilo, but once they are smoked, the larger fishes fetch 80,000 riels (~$20.00) per kilo, and the smaller smoked fish fetch 65,000 riels (~$16.25) per kilo. The “slat” and “kray” fishes which are frozen and transported to sale inVietnam cost between 5 to 6,000 riels (~$1.25 to $1.50) per kilo. The “chek” fishes which are frozen and transported to sale in Thailand cost about 7,000 riels (~$1.75) per kilo.

Cambodia seeks special status for Prahok and Kampot Pepper

Cambodia seeks special status for fermented fish cheese, pepper

Thu, 18 Oct 2007
DPA

Phnom Penh - Soon diners around the world may be grinding Kampot pepper on their Siem Reap fermented fish paste and Battambang rice after Cambodia announced it was seeking Geographic Indicator (GI) status for five distinctive regional products. Just as only Nuernberg can boast Nuernberger Lebkuchen - at least under the European Union laws - and only cheese from the Cambalou caves of Roquefort-sur-Soulzon may bear the name Roquefort, so Cambodia is seeking GI status for five products it deems regionally unique under World Trade Organization (WTO) guidelines.

The intellectual property rights-related legislation was required to be put in place by the WTO after Cambodia gained membership in 2003. The EU and the French Development Agency (AFD) helped Cambodia draw up the legislation.

The EU provided nearly 1 million dollars and AFD donated about 100,000 dollars to help Cambodia draft the GI law and protect intellectual property rights, according to the Ministry of Commerce.

Mao Thora, undersecretary of state for the ministry, said the decision to put forward Kampot pepper, Siem Reap prahok or fish cheese, Battambang rice, Kampong Speu palm sugar and Banteay Meanchey silk - products from five different provinces around the country - was an exciting first step in establishing brands.

"When people can identify these products as from a specific area, it will encourage both producers and tourists," he said.

The first product likely to receive GI status is Kampot pepper, named after the coastal province 150 kilometres south-west of the capital, he said.

"By protecting that name, growers will be encouraged to raise more plants and investment should follow," Thora said by telephone.

Jerome Benezech of the Kampot Pepper Farmers Association (KPFA) said GI status would be a major breakthrough but by no means the end of the work which needs to be done.

"It will take several months to formulate policy, and then GI status is just another marketing tool which we need to utilize," he said. "However it's a great chance to strengthen our growers and improve ... quality even further."

He said KPFA works with about 70 pepper farmers in one district of Kampot and knows of at least another 80 farmers, although there are no official figures. Kampot pepper currently retails at about 4 dollars a kilo in local markets and is a sought-after souvenir for tourists.

Kampot pepper has been famed since French colonial times for its pungency and flavour and is already in demand internationally. Cambodia's fermented fish cheese connoisseurs, however, may have a tougher marketing battle before the world clamours for prahok.

The answer to Cambodian cravings

SUVARNABHUMI KIRI

October 4, 2007
By Denise Taylor,
Boston Globe Correspondent (Boston, Mass., USA)

Let the lovers of that stinky, gray, gloppy fish paste called prahok rejoice. Boston (well, Allston) has a new Cambodian restaurant, and it's not afraid to use this odorous but tasty Cambodian foodstuff that all adventurous eaters should try.

But those looking for more familiar flavors need not shy away, Suvarnabhumi Kiri also offers an epic selection of sushi and Thai in a pretty space with a reasonable beer, wine, and sake list. It's enough to make my heart race.

Until now, if you craved inexpensive, authentic Cambodian cooking (and you should), you had to make the trek to Lowell, Lynn, or Revere. There you'll find scruffy little storefronts that cook the best local versions of this fabulously herby, bright, flavorful cuisine.

Those mom-and-pop joints are worth the trip, but they keep odd hours and don't serve alcohol. So the prospect of cutting the commute, eating after dark, and washing down a yummy plate of caramelized beef loc lac with a nice, cool Singha Light, well, that's a good thing.

When we settled into the spacious dining room dotted with dark, glossy tables, we flipped past the Thai and sushi pages and headed to the back of the menu. There we found about two dozen Cambodian choices, and it turns out there's more to come: Later this month, the Khmer section of the menu is going to grow.

We went straight for the prahok. Like the addictive fish sauce used in Thai and Vietnamese cuisine, only more intense, this fermented fish is used as a seasoning in Cambodia. Think of it as going from a standard brie cheese to a superbly stinky Camembert de Normandie.

The paste was in its full glory in the prahok katee ($12.95), adding a rich, salty undertone to this spicy dip of ground pork, creamy coconut milk, tasty Thai basil, and one of the world's greatest seasonings: intensely aromatic Kaffir lime leaves. The dip was ringed by crisp, fresh vegetables, and we couldn't stop dipping. It's an entrée, but it's more fun as a shared appetizer.

Three soups proved the Khmer cooks in the kitchen (who work alongside the Thai cooks) really know how to brew and stew. Cambodian chicken soup (s'nao namgnou, $4.25) looked like a simple broth flecked with scallion and lime leaf, but one sip revealed a seemingly endless roll call of flavors. The cook seasons this soup by the cup, smashing and swishing lemongrass, cilantro-like sawtooth herb, Asian mint, and more in the broth before scooping it all out.

A delicate sweet and sour stew (somlar machu youn, best with shrimp, $10.95) - swimming with crunchy lotus root, soft chunks of papaya, and toasty fried garlic - also had a complex, addictive broth. A thick garden stew (samlor kako, $12.95) with chicken was a tasty tangle of spinach, beans, Asian pumpkin, and squash in a dusky, prahok-tweaked brew.

Other Khmer classics, such as juicy beef loc lac, which you douse with a thimble of tangy lime-pepper sauce ($11.95), and a light, homemade, green curry (samlor katee, $12.95) tossed over super-fresh vegetables, were just as satisfying.

Meanwhile, a brief sampling of the Thai and sushi menus turned up some very good Thai and some gorgeous but average-tasting sushi that we expect will improve under the guidance of co-owner Nathan Chhour, who spent 10 years as a sushi chef at Jae's Café.

But it's the Cambodian flavors that got us most excited, because life's simply too short for yet another plate of pad Thai.