In Search of the Perfect Laab in Laos

November 25, 2011

Dear Friends,

Laab (also written ‘larb’) is a dish originating in Laos that has become a staple of menus across Thailand.  Its name means “luck” and this dish is a frequent star at the table during festivals and special occasions. It also makes the perfect gift for guests, conveying your good wishes along with some fresh sustenance all on one plate.

Some Laab Ingredients: Mint, cilantro, shallots

To me and my family, laab is a perennial favorite. Loving simple, speedy Southeast Asian cuisine, I became enamored of Thai dishes long ago.  My children, at very young ages, when asked their favorite foods, would cite “pizza, peanut butter and laab,” raising quizzical eyebrows on inquiring adults.  To this day, turning to the laab page in my Thai recipe book, the tell-tale scribbles of my two-year-old daughter (who is now 14) attest to this dish’s place in my family history.

So finding myself in Laos recently in the company of my colleague, Chris Roper, who shares my culinary interests, we decided to go on a pilgrimage to find the best laab. In Luang Prabang, we settled into the lovely Bamboo Garden restaurant, by the fountain, and ordered Laab Gai, the chicken version.  It arrived with a garnish of cucumber and cabbage, and young, delicate sprigs of cilantro and mint. The usual seasonings of fish sauce (usually squid) and lime juice were subtle, with scallions and cilantro dominating, textured by the barely perceptible crunch of roasted rice powder.  The spice was very tame, and Chris and I felt a little disappointed.  Very good, but this laab had not reached full potential.

A monk in Luang Prabang prepares a spicy green papaya salad

We moved on to a place recommended to us by our Lao guide, Mr. Kamh. He claimed it was the best laab in town.  Skeptically, we claimed a two-top at “Pizza Luang Prabang.”  A two-tiered terrace of exterior tables camouflaged an unattractive interior, where plastic-covered tables, a linoleum floor and kitschy decorations made me question our choice.  Two Italian men chattered away next to us, enjoying a smoke after their LP Pizza.  We ordered our laab—beef this time–and some Lao coffee.

When the waiter placed the dish on the table, we leaned in to inspect it.  Interesting: this time we saw unexpected ingredients.  Baby bean sprouts and thinly sliced lemon grass added texture and citrus to the overall freshness of this lucky Lao salad.  The rice powder was also more prevalent, adding a nutty undertone that was very pleasing. Again the lime and fish sauce were subtle, almost after-thoughts.   And there was another ingredient that was hard to identify, a barely discernible vegetable.  Again the spice level was low, and for us, spice addicts, a bit disappointing. Nonetheless, we agreed this laab won over the Bamboo Garden’s.

Our third laab tasting was compliments of Mr. Tie (pronounced “tee”), our chef on the Mekong Sun, a lovely little ship that travels from Luang Prabang to the Golden Triangle. Mr. Tie is a baby-faced 26-year-old who has been cooking since he was a teen.  He clearly loves his craft and puts his heart into every dish. He provided a full cooking demonstration for all the passengers, revealing a few aspects of preparation that were new to me.  For example, he added fish sauce as seasoning to the chicken before cooking it in the pan.  He not only added fried shallots but also fresh ones. He taught us how to roast our own rice: with lemongrass and kaffir lime leaves—in a dry pan.  Then the browned rice is transferred to a mortar and pounded into a powder (I buy small packets of rice powder at home, saving at least 30 minutes!). Then he revealed the secret ingredient I could not identify in Luang Prabang: raw yard-long beans, sliced into tiny rounds.  This addition adds a whole new, greener dimension to laab.

Mr. Tie's ingredients are laid out for laab gai preparation

Mr. Tie’s laab was very similar to Luang Prabang Pizza’s—excellent in its freshness and crunch.  Again, I would add more lime juice and chili powder, but this is a personal preference.

My time is Laos is a gift I am not soon to forget, and laab is one lucky way I can continue to keep a little piece of Laos in my life and in my heart.  For all those who dream of going to Laos, I present you with a recipe that I hope will bring you the good fortune of one day seeing this magnificent country.

Larb Nua (Beef Larb)

1 lb beef, minced or ground

2 cloves of garlic, chopped

1-3 red chili(s), chopped (spice level according to taste, of course)

1 tbsp chopped shallots

2 tbsp Thai basil, chopped (can replace with coriander, if you prefer)

2 tbsp mint, chopped

1 tbsp roasted rice powder

1 tbsp spring onion, chopped

1-2 tbsp of Nuoc Mam or fish sauce, to taste

Juice of 2-3 limes (taste and see if you like it with more citrus!)

2 hothouse cucumbers, sliced lengthwise and seeded, cut into 6 inch “boats” OR iceberg lettuce leaves

Hot peppers dry in a village along the Upper Mekong

Variations Seen in Laos:

-         Add fresh bean sprouts

-         Add chopped yard-long green beans

-         Add chopped lemon grass

Fry the beef in a wok or large frying pan, without oil, until browned and cooked through. Leave to cool.

Lightly brown the garlic, chili and shallot in a pan over medium heat, again without oil. Pound them together then mix this paste with the meat.  Stir in the fish sauce, lime juice, rice powder. Toss in the Thai basil, mint and scallions and stir. Serve at room temperature.

Prepare the cucumber “boats” and/or separate the iceberg lettuce leaves and place in dish for serving.  Laab is then spooned into the cucumber boats (my children’s favorite!) or wrapped in the lettuce leaves.

Sóen Sâep!

Wishing you Luck and Happiness with a fresh plate of laab gai!

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A Lao Village Along the Mekong

November 4, 2011

Boy plays and swims around boat docked on Mekong beach

The splashing of water lures me out to my stern balcony. They must be diving under the ship to fix the faulty propeller, I think. As I lean over the edge of the railing, I discover I am wrong: four Lao children are swimming gleefully around the boat on a competitive circuit, the weakest swimmer ending up dangerously swept downriver by the strong Mekong current before grasping the stern of a longtail boat docked nearby.  He struggles hard to keep up and eventually disappears with the others upstream again.

The Mekong Sun, our ship

The clean, sandy beach where we have docked for repairs presents cameos of life along this mighty Indochinese river.  A woman in a straw hat busily plants her vegetable seedlings, while keeping an eye on her nearby toddler, who happily digs her own holes.  Another woman waters her sandy field, and scolds children who come too near as they practice their somersaults, cartwheels and handstands. Three children emerge from the water and run to join the gymnastic group, one of the littlest pausing to remove her chafing, sandy underwear and continue on unimpeded.

From the beach, one of the crew beckons me to join them. He and a group of passengers seem to be heading inland. Clearly, the
repairs are going to take a while.  Within minutes, I emerge on the wide, sandy expanse, impressed by how the muddy Mekong, during the drier season, can sport beaches to compete with the seaside resorts of the world. Our small group climbs the dunes into the jungle to discover wooden pens containing healthy piglets, sows and ducks.  A few more steps upward, and the stilted
thatched traditional Lao homes emerge, neatly arranged along a main artery parallel to the Mekong.  Hearing giggles
behind me, I turn just in time to see two naked boys of seven or eight years rushing past, wet clothes in hand.  They grin at me unabashed, then stop at a clothesline up ahead and neatly lay out their shorts and shirts to dry, disappearing into their home.

Children in Khokphu Village, Laos

Every adult and child we encounter smiles broadly and the traditional greeting echoes throughout the village “Sabaidee!”  Hens and chicks scuttle under a home, two pot-bellied pigs squeal their way under a fence and trot past us, ducks of all kinds paddle around a small central pond, and random dogs and kittens sun themselves on ledges and in doorways.  Mothers wearing the intricately woven sarong skirts lean in doorways with babies on their hips, and occasionally call out to older children, perhaps admonishing them to behave. Giddy children follow our progress, as we tour their empty new school (it’s Friday afternoon), complete with five classrooms, desks and blackboards.  The villagers saved for years to buy the construction materials to build this school, and now they are able to educate not only their little ones but also several other nearby villages’. Neatly piled bricks, wood, and bags of cement under eaves suggest that another construction project may be under way soon.

Heading to the top of the village, at the highest point, we come upon a temple, home to a handful of monks.  A boy of eight or so in a saffron robe is busy sweeping the large fallen teak leaves and debris from around the temple grounds.  An old monk
and his young apprentices sit idly under a thatched pavilion, talking and relaxing.  Saffron robes catch the saturated rays of sun on a clothesline behind the temple. Marigolds, Helliconia, and Crown of Thorn flowers abound, adding even more color and a sense of paradise to this elevated, peaceful scene above the Mekong.

A young monk tends to the grounds of his temple, Khokphu village, Laos

As we come back down through the village on our way back to our boat, an old woman with high cheek bones and twinkling eyes strolls past elegantly, clothed in a woven Lao skirt and simple shirt, with a towel regally wrapped around her head.  “Sabaidee!” she repeats again and again, smiling at each of us toothlessly.  Something about her makes me wonder if she dressed up just for us.

View from Mekong Sun deck

Returning to the Mekong Sun, our floating home, I return to the orchid-ringed sun deck and take in the soft light of the waning sun on the river.  The breeze is fresh and I marvel at how this major waterway and South East Asian lifeline can be so clean and smell so sweet in the Pacific Century.  It can’t last for long, I fear.  The Chinese and Thai have many dams planned in the next decade, and the industry that is so absent now will arrive, no doubt marring the beauty of this land and spoiling the purity of these waters. I only hope that the happiness and serenity of Khokphu village and many others along the river’s edge will survive the inevitable development ahead.

The Mekong at Dawn

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Cuba: Survival with Passion

June 6, 2011

Dear Friends,

I confess, I love the stories behind a revolution. They are exciting, bold, romantic, epic. They also entail struggle, pain, blood and death.  Unlike wars between nations, revolutions attempt to throw out an old system and replace it with something fresh, more just, more virtuous. Idealism runs rampant until reality sets in and human nature, with all its foibles, takes over and finds itself once again with a system that is flawed, and often as unjust and cruel as the previous one.  Yet through this process, a national fiber is stretched, yanked, distorted, and pounded, until the country re-emerges into a new dawn, and rediscovers who it has been all along.

Dawn over Havana

There is something very distinctive about visiting a country that has lived through a revolution, and even more so when the citizens still remember the event firsthand.  The experience of strife and distress tests the human mettle, and makes those who survive stronger and more keenly focused on life’s priorities and their fundamental cultural values. The end result is a distillation of culture that conveys the soul of the place with more potency–a full embrace of authentic cultural identity.

I found this to be true in Cuba, from which I returned a few days ago.   The island nation exudes a warmth and passion that have clearly been a part of the national fiber since the beginning, but perhaps have become much more powerful over years of hardship.  Here is a people who speak of love freely, who call each other (whether lover, friend or colleague) ‘mi amor,’ who begin to move their bodies the minute they detect a musical beat, and who kiss you on your second encounter.  Feelings are not beneath the surface as they are in many cultures.

In Cuba, expressing emotion is the only way to be, to exist, even when conducting business. They pour their heart into all they do and say. There is a sincerity of purpose and pride that struck me as refreshingly pure. Whether it was the sociologist in charge of the Clinic for the Prevention of HIV/AIDS or Papa Tin who founded the Colmenita project to help children with disabilities become happy, well-adjusted teens, I marveled at the amount of heart every Cuban I met put into to their work.

Children sing and dance at the Colmenita Project

Suffering is no stranger to Cuba–traumatizing events, from the Revolution in 1959 to the Soviet Union’s pull out in 1990, have put this island nation through hell.  Yet that national fiber appears stronger than ever and an indomitable spirit endures—one that loves, dances and sings with renewed gusto.

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Never a Dull Moment

May 11, 2010

Dear Friends,

When an earthquake occurred in China during students’ spring break, and an Icelandic  volcano spewed ash across European skies, and Greeks threw projectiles on Syntagma Square in Athens, several friends and professional associates asked me the same question: “Why are you in this crazy business?!”

Well, it all harks back to why we list “Never a dull moment” as one of our corporate values.  Those of us who have committed our careers to the world of travel and international education love the ever-changing world in which we live and thrive on its unpredictability, its surprises, its challenges and its mystery.  None of us could survive in clock-watching jobs, where routine is the norm and changes cause great discomfort and anxiety.  Quite the opposite:  we love the dynamism of change, the rewards of evolution, the promise of a different tomorrow—a world in which learning truly never ends.

After 22 years in the educational travel sphere, I sometimes think “I have seen it all.” I couldn’t be more wrong, because no sooner has that thought occurred than I am presented with yet another “first.”  Whether it’s having a group return from Turkey on 9/11 and have to land in Nova Scotia to be accommodated on a Canadian military base, or facilitating the return of stranded travelers during a volcano eruption, or accommodating a request for a wedding ceremony to be performed on our chartered yacht in the Aegean Sea—I am confident now that I will never have seen it all.  And for this, I am eternally grateful.

The fields of educational travel and international education (representing both sides of the Academic Travel Abroad business: tours and study abroad programs) usually attract individuals who are intellectually curious, enjoy challenges, have a sense of exploration and discovery and a deep appreciation for life in all forms.  This rich community is well represented within ATA.

During our Spring Dance Party at my house last Friday, this positive energy and love of life was very apparent!   Our community is diverse (representing not only various states around the country, but also Japan, China, Syria, Iraq, Israel, Italy, France and Panama!), the conversations were animated, and the dancing was energetic and fun.  This is a group that works very hard, yet understands the importance of work-life balance and knows how to relax.

So in the midst of world upheavals, I thank my lucky stars that I work amidst such talented, intelligent and spirited individuals.   Thank you all and may we continue to learn new lessons every day.

 Kate Simpson

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Going Back: Kinsale, Ireland

August 10, 2009
My daugther Sasha on the bench

My daughter Sasha on the bench

Dear Friends,

Having spent the first half of my life changing homes every two years, there was only one constant place in my world: Folly House, Kinsale, County Cork, Ireland. This was the house my parents bought in 1972 to allow their four daughters to escape the oppression of Algerian summers. This was the house in which we spent innocent summers surrounded by pastures, overlooking the Bandon River, sunbathing on the dry barn’s roof and listening to Billy Joel and The Eagles under the surprisingly hot Irish sun (when it appeared). This was also the house of my parents’ retirement after my father’s career in the US Information Service. Here we spent many a warm, cozy Christmas before peat fires in the cast iron fireplace, played board games on the great oak refectory table, and heard the mysterious sounds of the beloved Folly House ghost late into the night.

A Kinsale Institution: Max's

A Kinsale Institution: Max's

In 1998, we all said goodbye to Kinsale, Folly House was sold, and my parents settled in suburban Maryland to be within reach of their daughters’ care and comfort as life wore down their ageing bodies. Eleven years later, after both my parents had left this world, the four daugthers felt it time to return to Kinsale. Our mission: to commemorate our parents’ lives in the place they loved so much and to dedicate a park bench in their honor.

I had mixed feelings setting out for Kinsale–a place so familiar and yet so distant. I knew one can never go back, never relive the joys of the past. So I set out with measured expectations, keeping in check my hope that it would be, in fact, magical.

As my sisters and I gathered, with several children and one brave spouse, we marveled at the comfort of our fisherman’s cottages overlooking the harbor. We toasted our return as the yachts sailed in past the 17th-century forts guarding the town, we smiled at the delighted giggles of our children playing on the small zip line in the gardens below and we reveled in the familiarity of it all.

Our bench dedication took place in a blustery storm (“ah, sure, it will clear by this evening” had reassured several of our Irish friends when we tried to rethink our plan), where my sister Lisa and I stood with umbrellas, perched on the bench itself, attempting to deliver a commemorative address. The wind caught hold of us at one point and threatened to transport us, Mary-Poppins-like, across the Bandon River. The ceremony ended early and we all headed to the shelter of our cars and the reception at my parents’ good friends, the Doyles.

An evening of poetry readings and addresses followed, with memories being shared liberally of my parents’ joie de vivre, their unmatched hospitality, their devotion to friends and family, and their unfailing respect and love for each other.

The following days, we settled into Kinsale like longtime residents. We met for coffee with Irish friends, we went sailing on the harbor, we ran into people we knew in bakeries and pubs, we took the children into town for “99s” (soft serve creamy ice cream pierced by a Cadbury’s Flake), and we went for a stroll along the Salmon Walk to Summercove.

Yacht in front of Charles Fort

Yacht in front of Charles Fort

One day, sitting perched on a rock above James Fort overlooking both inner and outer harbors, my daughter Sasha remarked “this is so beautiful, Mommy.” I took in the dark blue sea, the sculpted apple-green grass dappled with wild flowers on the hills above us, the rustic grey stones of the fort, and the saturated Irish light and had to agree–yes, this is very beautiful.

In this moment, when my own child stated the obvious, I realized I had never fully appreciated the place of my childhood. I had taken it for granted and made Kinsale a backdrop, rather than a centerpiece.

I had fully expected to close the Kinsale chapter in my life through this one commemorative trip. Yet, I found that, through connecting with old friends, seeing the place through the untainted eyes of my own daughter, I had, in fact, opened a new chapter. Kinsale will always be a part of my fabric, and I now know that I can and want to weave new tales into this tapestry.

Our friend, Mareta Doyle, is chairman of the annual Kinsale Arts Week.  International and local artists of all kinds come to Kinsale to share their talent and enliven the town. This sounds like the perfect enticement to return to Kinsale in summers to come.

As my sisters and I prepared our departure, it became clear that we had come to the same conclusion: we will return–not to commemorate the past, but to make new memories and carry on a family tradition. And if you are ever passing through Kinsale, the “Gourmet Capital of Ireland,” stop by the park on your way out of town, by the “new” bridge, and settle yourself on the only bench there. Take in the beauty of the lush green grass, the wind-bent trees, the deep blue river, and lonely Ringrone tower in the distance. My parents will surely make you feel welcome.

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Authenticity in Travel

May 5, 2009

Dear Friends,

St.-Cirq-Lapopie: The Ideal or Authentic French Village?

St.-Cirq-Lapopie: The Ideal or Authentic French Village?

On a recent trip to the southwest of France exploring the culinary delights of foie gras, truffles, duck and walnuts, a question kept occurring to me: what can be described as “authentic”?  Is a truffle farm authentic because its owners hunt for its precious fungi in a traditional way passed on for generations and does it lose that authenticity if science and technology allow a more efficient cultivation for commercial ends?  Is a walnut oil mill’s authenticity in question if the owners establish a restaurant to accommodate visitors curious about the mill’s production process and anxious to sample some dishes the walnut flavors so delicately?

In Merrion Webster’s, the definition of authentic is genuine, bona fide. In other words, what is described as authentic is actually and exactly what it claims to be. The designation of “authentic” implies the subject is fully trustworthy and presents itself truthfully.  Authenticity means the actual character of something is not counterfeited, imitated, or adulterated in any way.

So when one imagines an authentic farm, is one that belongs to the 21st century with all its technological advantages less authentic than one that has lingered in the 20th century?  Both are representing themselves truthfully, and are not counterfeits of the farm concept. With a successful restaurant added to its services, has our romantic image of a walnut oil mill been tainted, leaving us doubting its authenticity?  By definition, only if the farm or mill pretend to be something they are not do they lack authenticity.

I believe that, as we travel, we yearn for the nostalgia of yesteryear and the romance of simpler times.  When we encounter a magical place that meets these romantic expectations, we are thrilled and feel we have come in contact with authentic culture.  And sometimes we have. Yet, it is when the image in our mind’s eye is challenged by modern reality that we truly learn about the world, about its diversity of culture, about what the future may hold. 

 I welcome a dialogue on this subject, as ATA’s commitment to cultural, educational travel is tied to our ability to seek out and explore authentic experiences—whether they conform to travelers’ established preconceptions or not.  We want to share the world as it is, not as we expect it or imagine it to be.

 Kate Simpson

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Thoughts on Family Travel

August 20, 2008

Dear Friends,

When I think back on the success of our family vacation this summer, I realize that there are key elements that contributed to our enjoyment. I wanted to share these with you:

1. My Children’s Ages

We’ve traveled to Europe many times before with Nick and Sasha. This time, at ages 10 and 14, their stamina, their sense of adventure, and their flexibility made it more relaxed and enjoyable.

Outside a mini glacier on La Tournette

Outside a mini glacier on La Tournette

2. A Variety of Activities

Let’s face it, in this day and age, neither adults nor children have long attention spans. Making sure to plan days that include both active and cultural outings helps keep everyone engaged. A museum in the morning (when everyone is fresh) and an afternoon of sailing, for example. In our case, we went to the Chateau Musee d’Annecy and then rented a sailing boat on the lovely lake that afternoon.

3. A Home Base–with good meals and a pool!

Moving around from hotel to hotel and spending long hours driving or traveling between points is not recommended on a family vacation. There is a reason why European families often return every summer to the same hotel. Settling in to one hotel for multiple days (in our case, five) allows the family to feel a part of the place, to get to know the hotel staff, to return after a long day with a sense of home. Even better, book yourselves in “demi-pension” (half-board), withbreakfast and either lunch or dinner included. Given our daily schedule, we opted for dinner. The children love the certainty of a full meal, with dessert, every night. Furthermore, it relieves the stress of finding an appropriate, good restauarant every night-one that your children will agree upon unanimously, especially.

Our Hotel Pool, Les Grillons, Talloires

Our Hotel Pool, Les Grillons, Talloires

A pool during the summer makes your home base even more appealing. On some days, when my daughter was dragging a little, I would hold out the promise of a swim before dinner as a reward for her perseverance. This carrot usually had the desired effect!

4. Experiential Activities

Whether cultural or active, the kinds of activities to plan for a family vacation must be interactive and engaging. This is, of course, fairly easy with active options like hiking, riding horses, kayaking, and zip-lining. When choosing a museum, for example, seek out any special visit days that involve more creativity in the presentation. On our trip, I waited for a weekend day to take the family to Chateau Menthon St Bernard (http://www.chateau-de-menthon.com/) because they featured a costumed tour done by actors who portray the various family members (including 11th-century St. Bernard himself) and introduce each room in the Chateau. The actors spoke French, and I am lucky my children are bi-lingual, so the experience ended up being doubly educational for them. They even translated for their father at times!

5. Flexibility

Any time you travel as a group, it’s important to gauge members’ energy and interest level, and remain flexible on timing and the order of activities. The first day we arrived, I reviewed the various options we had before us and had each member of the family state their priorities. It became clear that we wanted to: hike, paraglide, sail, see Annecy, take a cruise on the lake, swim, ride horses and do a forest parcourse. We managed to fit it all in, except for the paragliding (which my husband decided, after the 2300-meter hike, he’d have difficulty jumping off a cliff).

Ready for some zip-lining!

Ready for some zip-lining!

Though I know France and this region fairly well, I did feel that I missed having the more in-depth educational input in places like the cheese farm, the Chateau Museum of Annecy and elsewhere–context that we provide to our groups on our travel programs. And certainly, having someone else do the planning for such a trip would have been a wonderful relief. In short, even with my insider’s knowledge of travel planning, the value of an organized family program was not lost on me!

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