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Why does canned beer taste tinny?
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Part of the romance of drinking in a Third World nation is finding yourself in an unfamiliar place with an unfamiliar can of beer. Beer can often be trusted more than the local drinking water supply and the can is a sign that the beer within hasn't been destroyed by exposure to light, a problem with bottled brews the world over.
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The can is also an indication that you're back in a bona fide nation, as Frank Zappa put it, "you can't be a real country unless you have a beer and an airline - it helps if you have some kind of a football team or some nuclear weapons, but at the very least you need a beer."
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Is there a ham crisis on the cards? As China and America lift a ban on importing jamon iberico, Phil Lees anticipates a scarcity of the prized meat for all but the most pork-hungry gourmands.
The recent news that both China and America are now importing the prized Spanish ham, jamón ibérico, is spoken of by pork aficionados in the muted tone that you might speak in if you were confirming that a shipment of rocket propelled grenades had just reached your private guerrilla army.
One of the smaller joys of eating abroad is a poorly translated menu; a small joy because it tends to precede a meal that contains a disproportionate quantity of offal. This happens regardless of which of the wackier named dishes that you order. The crazier the name is, the more lungs that it has to offer.
But the novelty of a list of foods given the literal translation treatment never wears thin. I still find myself laughing at the Cambodian menu at the Teo Hotel in Battambang, Cambodia (pictured) that offered the cryptic but peace-shattering "Dove on Fire (one)".
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About this Blog
A blog about what the world eats, when and where it eats it, and why it matters to us all. Only much less ambitious than that sounds and with more excruciating puns.
Phil Lees grew up in rural Victoria, the first generation in his family to not have lived on the farm and thereby not slaughter their own meat.
In 2005 he moved to Cambodia and started the nation’s first food blog, Phnomenon.com, named after the best pun that he has ever made. It turns out that Cambodian food is delicious and unlike the warnings in most guidebooks, is not likely to kill you with any immediacy. Gridskipper called him a “national treasure”. Lonely Planet’s Greater Mekong guide called him “the unofficial pimp of Cambodian cuisine”. The New York Times laughed at a funny hotdog he saw.
Phil makes a mean sausage, a hoppy pale ale, a modest laksa. He owns three barbecues and is in the market for a fourth. He’s never eaten at a Michelin-starred restaurant. There is more important food in the world to be eaten.
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