(gentle music) Welcome to my world. (upbeat, exciting music) Two escargot, Pâté Brisée. Two green salads. Okay, Lamb chops, (mumbles) [Anthony' Shouldn't
you be doing something? Two (mumbles) filet
and a pepper steak. Come on, make the dessert. Chocolate tart, please! As a cook, tastes and
smells are my memories, and now I'm in
search of new ones. So I'm leaving New York
City, and hope to have a few epiphanies around the
world, and I'm willing to go to some
lengths to do that. I am looking for extremes
of emotion and experience. I'll try anything,
I'll risk everything, I have nothin' to lose. Traveling through Cambodia,
one can experience a wide array of tastes, smells, and textures. From the mysterious kelp-like
jello, to fried insects, and little birds, some things
completely unidentifiable. Today, I'm starting
a two day journey to an outpost on the
western edge of the country, near Thailand,
for a little taste of border town cuisine and life. I've already decided early on, that as part of my whole
obsession with Apocalypse Now, I wanna go up river, just
like they did in the movie, to the scariest place on Earth. And I'm reliably informed that
the scariest place on Earth, in Cambodia anyway, is the Khmer
Rouge stronghold of Pailin, which until recently, was
inaccessible to any Westerner. Okay, we're on the S.S. Minnow, on the first leg of our journey
to Pailin, via Battambang. Pailin is the place that some
genius recommended that I go and his description
of it at the time was, "Oh, you'll love this
joint, it's populated by "black market diamond
merchants, timber merchants, "Khmer Rouge," and described
it to me as sort of like border town
in Mad Max Three. Sounds pretty good to me. And here's the kicker, this one
time Khmer Rouge model town, is these days, the center
of vice and gambling. And gambling means casino, and
casino means buffet, right? So, I think we're
reasonably sure we can get Beef
Wellington there, and Escargot Bourguignonne. All the casinos
have that, right? Basically, this place
was described as sort of the last place in the world
that any sensible tourist would want to go, so naturally we're going there. So we head out across Lake
Tonle Sap in search of the river that will take us
into the heart of darkness. My ride isn't the Miami
Vice cigarette boat that I'd imagined, but I've
come prepared. I've procured some
imported western fare from my hotel. All right, I'd picked this
little jewel of a recipe up from Martha Stewart's
last TV special, Cambodian River Journey Picnics? You probably saw it. First, dress a deck chair
with a red and white checkered scarf. Borrow it from one of
your Khmer Rouge friends. Then, a little hard
Italian salami, some honey baked ham, gently warmed camembert
and fresh baguettes. All accompanied by a
crisp Bordeaux Blanc. (bright playful music) It really is a good thing. We're pushing up
river at a good clip, glimpsing snippets of
day to day river life. It's all very relaxing, so I take a little nap. And that's when things turn. We make an unscheduled
stop and pick up three lads wearing olive drab. Three mysterious travelers. Oh, no, no, no, no,
they assure our skipper. You don't want to go this way. You want to take a shortcut. The word shortcut always
fills me with dread. Especially when it's
sinister looking guys in army fatigues. Is he a cop? Is a disgruntled ex-Khmer Rouge? Is he a madman? Is he going to stand
up, whip out a meat ax and start disemboweling me? I'm thinking Deliverance. (sings "Dueling Banjos") The deeper and farther we
go up river, the more back into the Stone Age
we seem to be going. People are living
in sticks and huts. We don't get a lot of hellos
and waves and happy smiles. I'm not liking this. I don't know where I'm going
and I'm thinking if the propeller fouls,
if we get grounded, I won't be seeing my local
American Express representative. I'm getting scared. (groans and yells loudly) I thought I wanted
Apocalpyse Now. How romantic. I get to go up the river
in search of Kurt's. That was the Love
Boat compared to this. I don't remember the
episode of Gilligan's Island where Gilligan gets, like,
kidnapped and killed. Do you? Life at its best, and its most vivid is
often a mixture of fear and excitement. By the time I hit Battambang,
I am both excited and afraid. 6 1/2 blistering hours
on a no-name river. We're finally
pulling into shore. This (beep) meal I'm
heading toward better be a Michelin-star quality. Well, we finally reach Battambang
which is about 1/2 way on our journey. I'm pretty happy to see
dry ground at this point. Okay, we are on the
fabled road to Pailin, which is intermittently
a moonscape and pool-sized vats of sort
of a wet chocolate brownie. I'm told that cars can
disappear into these potholes and never come out. What was that sign? The most heavily mined
part of the country is the Battambang and Pailin area, but mines are a problem
all over Cambodia. In short, do not stray
from well marked paths under any circumstances. It's a little intimidating. The frequency of
landmine warnings, including particularly lurid
paintings of the aftermath of stepping on a landmine. This is not the Vince
Lombardi Rest Stop. Stick to the main road. Seems like a good idea, right? Halfway down the road to
Pailin, there's, I guess, their version of the truck stop, a bunch of locals, sitting
around watching Thai kickboxing which is very popular in
these parts, apparently, and it seems like a
hospitable enough little place to tuck into some lunch. I'm having a hearty bowl
of samlar, a traditional Cambodia one-dish meal. A little chopped pork, fresh lemongrass, chicken broth, and some homemade rice noodles. A little green onion
garnish and voila, lunch is served. Bowl of noodles and pork. A splash of chili sauce
and a squeeze of lime, and I'm good to go. This is good. It's the last bowl
of noodle soup, maybe the last look at a
television set for awhile. Then nothingness
until we hit Pailin. All right, next? Next stop, Caesar's
Palace, Pailin style. We've seen a lot of
livestock out here too so I figured we can get
a good steak by the pool. I think this should
be pretty interesting, and I'm looking forward
to that rubdown. This bouncing around
a lot in here. Maybe a Cesar
salad, I don't know. Maybe a Nicoise salad,
what do you think? Dressing on the side. (traditional Asian string music) It's been a two-day journey
which began on a nameless river that gave way to
one hellish road. We've just driven 75
miles in 4 1/2 hours. We're 15 miles from the
Thai border and we finally reach the literal and
proverbial end of the road, Pailin. I can't wait to sink my
teeth into some of that. Beef Wellington at
the casino buffet. All right, all right. Listen, Las Vegas looked a
little rough too, you know? Early on. It used to be a one-hotel town, like the Flamingo, that was it. (car horns beep) It's a frontier town, and
like most border towns, it's a little rough, and
it's a little rugged. You know the story. It plays out like
that cowboy movie. You know? New guy in town walks
into the saloon, the doors swing open and
everybody in the saloon turns around and
gives a hostile look. That's the feeling
I get in Pailin. All right. The action in this one-horse
town is probably back at the hotel, the Hang Meas, the only hotel in town. Welcome. Okay, it's not exactly
Caesar's Palace. There's the sinister foot
stains on the wall there. I admit that's a little creepy and a kind of fluid
over there I see. I find the tiles a little
unsettling too, you know? Like this and the place in
Battambang, they seem to be designed to be hosed
down quickly and easily. I gather how this works is
you stand here by the bowl and just sort of like hose
yourself and the whole bathroom down. I'm guessing this is soap. At first I thought
it was condom but it's kind of mushy so
I'm hoping it's soap. And the casino's not
exactly on the roof. Apparently it's about 30
clicks outside of town, and I'm told we
can't shoot there as we might ourselves get shot. But hey, you've still got
the fine outdoor restaurant. All right, let's rock. There's got to be
something happening there. (rhythmic drumming music) Here we are. Lost in Margaritaville. Apparently, our dreams of a
destination resort, a dirt track, go karts, swinging casinos, Siegfried and Roy, have been dashed, so it looks, it looks like I'll
be eating Thai food, and watching, God help me, Cop
and 1/2 with Burt Reynolds, on the tube here,
during my meal. Ray Sharkey's in this too. This is like both the good
guy and the bad guy in this film have like
freakishly bad toupees. I mean, I know, I'm ashamed
to be a junkie in my past, but I don't have
that under my belt. Okay, it's not the Cambodian
Las Vegas I'd been promised but seeing as though
we're on the Thai border, the food should be
pretty interesting. Though the two countries
use similar ingredients, the Thai cuisine is far
more intense when it comes to flavor. The turmeric and cumin
seem to jump out at you. I'm having spicy Thai chicken, curry, ground peanuts, a little salt and
sugar, and scallions. All stir-fried together. I'm also having a very
traditional Thai soup, Tom Yum. Fresh chopped
lemongrass and ginger, which is simmered
in a chicken broth. Shrimp from the Gulf
of Thailand, I hope, is quickly boiled. Coconut milk is added. The soup is finished with
chili oil and fish sauce. While both Cambodian and Thai
cuisine have a really nice balance of sweet, sour,
salty, and bitter, it's the Thai food
that brings the heat. The chili really lifts it. All right. This isn't all that bad, but
it's not the casino buffet I'd hoped for. The earliest moment tomorrow
morning, we're going to slink into our four-wheel
drive and beat feet the hell out of here. Bon appetit. Cambodia, with its rich and tragic
history is both unnerving and rewarding. The Khmer people radiate
charm and determination, and the cuisine with
its subtle use of spices and aromatic herbs
is truly memorable. But next time I'm told
about some border town meal I just have to check out,
I think I'll stay home and order it in. Next stop, Japan, for a
change of pace and taste. (airplane engine booms) Japan seems light years
away from the western edge of Cambodia. And I'm going to need to
slide back into things slowly. A decompression
period, if you will. I'm just not ready for
an elaborate Japanese dining experience. But my guide and translator,
Shinji, assures me he has just the thing, something familiar yet something
different at the same time. Soba. Soba, as I understand
it, is an everyday food. It's a fairly casual thing,
yet again, it's taken very seriously. There's good soba. There's mediocre soba. There's bad soba. And there's really,
really good soba. This is really,
really good soba. Soba differs from
western-style pastas. It's richer in
taste, less porous, and it doesn't depend on
sauces to give it flavor. If you look at the seriousness
with which this stuff is made, the delicacy
with which it's handled, the technique and the skill of
the chef who's preparing it, it's a pretty impressive sight. What's gone in there so far? Like buckwheat flour? [Shinji] Buckwheat flour. Water? Water. Must build strong wrists. People who are expert
at working the dough seem to handle it very casually, you know, very, buck, buck, buck, makes it look easy. It's not. If I were doing
this with the dough, it would be breaking
and stick to the pan, I would be crying. Right now, it looks
like pie dough. I mean, that is thin. And really delicate
at this point. I mean, look. You can see like the
frame at the end. Look how thin that is. Reverse roll up. Working with filo
dough at this point. And then slices. When he picks up his knife
and starts cutting it into absolutely perfect,
identical ribbons, like hand cutting linguine. But it's thinner than linguine. Hand-cutting angel
hair, capellini. I've seen some
master pasta makers, you know, guys who
make garganelli, they make fettuccine, of course, the flat pasta, and I am just absolutely
blown away by how good they were and how quick but, I mean, look at that. I mean, that's
filament-thin and uniform, every strand the same. I would just love
to, like, you know, all expenses paid, get this
guy on a plane to New York, bring him down to like an
Italian restaurant and just, do this in front of
some pasta cooks, probably be able to do
that while he's sleeping. (laughs) Incredible. They go in the box. (mumbles) That's impressive. [Anthony] The freshly-prepared
Soba is then gently placed in boiling water for
a mere 30 seconds. Then shocked in cold
water for a minute. It's carefully
separated and plated. One of the favorite
ways to serve it is, as in this case, cold. At which point it is lifted... Just a quick dip. Dumped into a hot, in
this case, duck broth, with chunks of duck meat, a little bit of scallion, and fresh grated wasabi. It's fabulous. Very subtle but at the
same time a very hearty and warming dish. Mm! Ooh, that's good. That's appropriate? Dip and then slurp? Yes. Slurping is good, okay. Mm! Good, a nice pitch there. Got a great consistency too. This is really a treat,
it's really good. That's so good. Nothing like it. Soba, just the comfort
food I was looking for. (upbeat pop music) When one thinks of Japan,
one thinks of formality, you know, proper etiquette. But actually, just beneath
the surface is a great casualness and ease. You can just slink
down these back alleys, just follow your nose
and find a great meal. The scent of yakitori
fills the air. Yakitori refers to simple,
grilled, skewered items, kind of snacklike,
like a shish kabob. The distinctive flavor
comes from a marinade made of sugar, soy
sauce, and mirin, a sweet rice wine. There are whole neighborhoods
here filled with yakitori joint after yakitori joint. The entire neighborhood
smells of yakitori. You know when you're
getting close. Generally the places that
serve yakitori are fairly informal, very popular with
and catering largely to business people who've
just gotten off work and want to grab a few
beers or some sake. (women laugh) We're at a, this has been, this is a yakitori joint, you know, a light snack
accompanied by generous amounts of alcohol, a place to stop off at after
work and have a good time. This is the sort of
place I would hang out in much too much if
I lived in Tokyo. This is the sort of place
I would get off of work, I'd come here and I would hang
out much later than I should. And I'd come home drunk. I get really lucky
at this joint. I sit down and almost
immediately, a large table of Japanese business people
sit down, start drinking, pull my table over, and start buying rounds. Food tastes better in a
comfortable environment. This is perfect. They start ordering up, it
seems, everything on the menu. I feel right at
home, right away. 24 hours ago, in Pailin, I
was greeted with steely stares and cold shoulders. Now I'm embraced. I'm just another salary
man out for a good time. This is like elbow cartilage from the chicken, and it doesn't sound good, frightening to the western mind. I've been told ahead of
time that this is something I should have, so, not scared, but, it has that, the chewiness and
the consistency of calamari, actually. And really flavorful. Crunchy. This is like a
meatball but chicken. Ground chicken, it's a
specialty of the house, I understand. (women laugh in background) Mm. This is, you know, kind of
like a big Italian meal. You know, same thing. Everybody's sitting
around, talking, and drinking and eating. Controlled chaos. Sake pouring is yet another
little thing I had to learn. Somebody pours you sake,
you pour it back for them. This can lead to a breaking
of social barriers, good conversation... I will try that! And serious inebriation. It's a very unusual experience. Nothing like this has happened
to me in Tokyo before. It's enormously gratifying
and a lot of fun. So as I stumble away
from the yakitori joint, I'm reminded that just as
in Cambodia, it's the simple food, and the casual dining
experiences that are often the most satisfying. And surprisingly memorable.
