Phsar Leu was busy with people and motorbikes pushing past in the cramped lanes, where sellers often display their produce in bowls or on a sheet placed on the ground. I was fortunate enough to pick up a banana blossom (above). This is about the size of a pointed cabbage, grows at the end of a bunch of bananas, and can be sliced into salads. When we returned to the market later, these had sold out, so it pays to go early.
I also picked up some dragon fruit and pomegranates to add to the bananas for a healthy breakfast. The pomegranate seeds were less red than I am used to, being a more subtle translucent rose colour.
Thus fed, we attended to the other errands required by routine into which we have settled over the last week: collect the laundry, head back to the market to replenish our diminished fresh fruit and vegetables, and to the supermarket for those items not easily found among the stalls of Phsar Leu.
In the afternoon, I picked up some small unidentifiable cakes from the bakery to keep us going. The conversation in the shop revealed little about their contents, but some proved to contain sweetened coconut, and the others a sweet orange paste (bean or vegetable?). They were similar to Chinese mooncakes and very moreish.
In the evening we tried out Vinyasa yoga at the Peace Café. This was a different style again to what we had practised before, but there were similarities in the postures. The main difference was the instructor, who greeted us cheerfully and narrated the entire class, which was in stark contrast to the terse directions given by the calm Indian authority of Prasad in the morning's lessons.
Arriving back late from yoga, I had in mind to prepare a quick salad using this morning's acquisition: banana blossom salad. This is apparently called nhoam tra-yaung chek (there appears to be no standard transliteration from Khmer, as I have also seen it referred to as nhorm troyong chek). This turned into quite the mission, as I underestimated the time and effort involved in preparing a banana flower.
Having removed the pretty, purple, but inedible, outer leaves, I discovered rows of tiny florets, which at maturity would turn into bananas. These themselves are edible, but require you to remove the pistil and calyx, which are tough and papery respectively. These instructions taxed my GCSE-level knowledge of plant biology and sounded dreadfully tedious. Peeling back each layer revealed half a dozen or so more florets, so I had a good pile of them by the end. Individually teasing out the offending parts was more effort than I was willing to spend, so I put them aside.
The rest of the flower, comprising cream-coloured leaves and a heart much like an artichoke's, is also edible, but tastes bitter and oxidises quickly unless soaked in acidulated water (a fancy term for adding lemon juice). The internet disagreed on soaking times, suggesting anything from 10 minutes to 2 hours. With bellies rumbling, I tried the tender leaves after only a quarter of an hour and pulled a face. It tasted like eating banana skin and did a weird thing on my tongue. At this rate, dinner would be at midnight.
I admitted defeat, put the still-soaking deconstructed flower into the fridge, and used a green mango instead. Grating carrot, green mango, adding sliced long green beans (called snake beans) with mint and Thai basil, we had ourselves a salad in no time. The dressing of palm sugar, salt and lime juice really made it and combined well with the minty, aniseedy herbs. I topped it with red chilli and toasted peanut and served it in a striking purple banana blossom leaf, because it was pretty. The banana blossom remains in the fridge for another day.
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