By fish and noodle soup
By Jane Dornbusch, Globe Correspondent May 2, 2007
LYNN -- When Cambodian native Kimthorn Penh arrived in the United States in 1984, she brought her husband, six of her eight surviving children, and little else. Her daughter Chanthou Taing, who was a teenager then, just laughs and shrugs when she's asked what the family was able to carry with them out of Thailand, where they lived in a refugee camp for nearly four years after fleeing the violent clashes between the Khmer Rouge and the Vietnamese in their homeland. The large stone mortar and pestle Penh uses to prepare her traditional dishes -- surely that came from home?
"Oh, no," says Taing. "Nothing that big or that heavy."
But the family did bring an intangible legacy with them: the elegant, refined cuisine of Cambodia, which Penh 70, has passed on to her children, and, they hope, to the next generation: Taing's 10-year-old daughter, Shainlee, loves Cambodian food, her mother reports. Today, Penh and her husband share a comfortable home in Lynn with Taing, Taing's husband , Hong, Shainlee, and another of Penh's daughters, Chanthang Ros.
"All my siblings know how to cook," says Ros, at 28 the youngest of Penh's children. "My mom is the root of all of it. I learned traditional dishes at home, where we cook together." Still, she says, "I wouldn't compare my skills to hers."
At home in Cambodia, Penh and her husband farmed, and she had a sideline selling her homemade specialties for parties, weddings, and temple ceremonies. When the communists took over, and the Vietnamese invaded, the family headed for the Thai border. "We were lucky," says Taing. "We made it through." In the refugee camp, Taing received some medical education and worked assisting American doctors there. After four years, those doctors used their influence to help the family relocate to the United States. Today, Taing is a nurse; Ros -- an infant when she left Cambodia -- is a senior human resources administrator for John Snow, Inc.
In the kitchen, the sisters defer to their mother as she prepares num ba chok, a rice vermicelli soup with fish. It's a typical dish, says Ros, in that it's light, healthful, and deeply flavored.
"It's complicated to describe and time-consuming to make," she says, a special-occasion dish. To make it, a trip to a well-stocked Asian grocery is in order, to obtain ingredients such as krachai , a rhizome that faintly resembles ginger root; the Cambodian anchovy paste known as prahok ; and the subtly tart, green Thai plum leaves or mokak leaves, whose bright flavor is far preferable to the puckery sourness of lime juice in this dish.
Once home, there's chicken soup to prepare, then simmer with tilapia and ground seasonings. In the oversized mortar and pestle, Penh grinds the kroeung, the characteristic spice paste of lemon grass, krachai, and turmeric. She deftly wraps cooked vermicelli around her fingers to form tidy bundles for serving. The vegetable garnishes that complete the soup are sliced paper-thin, lending the dish a sublime delicacy. The soup is delightfully layered in flavors and textures, served with a sweet-spicy sauce made from peanuts and coconut milk.
In her bright, airy dining room, Taing has created a space that echoes the feel of the homeland she remembers perfectly but hasn't seen in nearly 30 years. "It's open, more like Cambodia, with lots of sun for the plants," she says. "I wanted it to be open, for my mom." And in here, her American born and bred daughter can also connect with her heritage. Will Shainlee carry on the family cooking tradition? "She's trying to learn," says her mother.
LYNN -- When Cambodian native Kimthorn Penh arrived in the United States in 1984, she brought her husband, six of her eight surviving children, and little else. Her daughter Chanthou Taing, who was a teenager then, just laughs and shrugs when she's asked what the family was able to carry with them out of Thailand, where they lived in a refugee camp for nearly four years after fleeing the violent clashes between the Khmer Rouge and the Vietnamese in their homeland. The large stone mortar and pestle Penh uses to prepare her traditional dishes -- surely that came from home?
"Oh, no," says Taing. "Nothing that big or that heavy."
But the family did bring an intangible legacy with them: the elegant, refined cuisine of Cambodia, which Penh 70, has passed on to her children, and, they hope, to the next generation: Taing's 10-year-old daughter, Shainlee, loves Cambodian food, her mother reports. Today, Penh and her husband share a comfortable home in Lynn with Taing, Taing's husband , Hong, Shainlee, and another of Penh's daughters, Chanthang Ros.
"All my siblings know how to cook," says Ros, at 28 the youngest of Penh's children. "My mom is the root of all of it. I learned traditional dishes at home, where we cook together." Still, she says, "I wouldn't compare my skills to hers."
At home in Cambodia, Penh and her husband farmed, and she had a sideline selling her homemade specialties for parties, weddings, and temple ceremonies. When the communists took over, and the Vietnamese invaded, the family headed for the Thai border. "We were lucky," says Taing. "We made it through." In the refugee camp, Taing received some medical education and worked assisting American doctors there. After four years, those doctors used their influence to help the family relocate to the United States. Today, Taing is a nurse; Ros -- an infant when she left Cambodia -- is a senior human resources administrator for John Snow, Inc.
In the kitchen, the sisters defer to their mother as she prepares num ba chok, a rice vermicelli soup with fish. It's a typical dish, says Ros, in that it's light, healthful, and deeply flavored.
"It's complicated to describe and time-consuming to make," she says, a special-occasion dish. To make it, a trip to a well-stocked Asian grocery is in order, to obtain ingredients such as krachai , a rhizome that faintly resembles ginger root; the Cambodian anchovy paste known as prahok ; and the subtly tart, green Thai plum leaves or mokak leaves, whose bright flavor is far preferable to the puckery sourness of lime juice in this dish.
Once home, there's chicken soup to prepare, then simmer with tilapia and ground seasonings. In the oversized mortar and pestle, Penh grinds the kroeung, the characteristic spice paste of lemon grass, krachai, and turmeric. She deftly wraps cooked vermicelli around her fingers to form tidy bundles for serving. The vegetable garnishes that complete the soup are sliced paper-thin, lending the dish a sublime delicacy. The soup is delightfully layered in flavors and textures, served with a sweet-spicy sauce made from peanuts and coconut milk.
In her bright, airy dining room, Taing has created a space that echoes the feel of the homeland she remembers perfectly but hasn't seen in nearly 30 years. "It's open, more like Cambodia, with lots of sun for the plants," she says. "I wanted it to be open, for my mom." And in here, her American born and bred daughter can also connect with her heritage. Will Shainlee carry on the family cooking tradition? "She's trying to learn," says her mother.
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