Consuming Identity Abroad

I’ve experimented with the Amok Fish, I’ve enjoyed the Cambodian spin on vegetable soup–thanks to my being sick—and I’ve even considered ordering Loc Lac, but all these Khmer (Cambodian) dishes surely cannot fulfill my desire to be closer to home.

I understand I should step outside my comfort zone sometimes, but I need some familiarity.

After my illness escapade and my watching other students fall victim to the food at some of the sketchiest restaurants around Siem Reap, forcing them to make their own trips to the international hospital—staying overnight, by the way—I was apprehensive about venturing too far into Cambodian cuisine.

I took a time out Sunday.

Already declaring to the other students that once I got back to Atlanta my first stop—before home—would be Chick-Fil-A, I was homesick.

It’s just something about those lightly breaded, sauced-up chicken nuggets and waffle fries that tug at my pockets at least twice a week in Athens.

There’s no other taste like it.

Throughout each day, I find myself reminiscing over my encounters with some of the tastiest food back home. I can’t help it.

Although I’m beginning to experiment—only slightly—with Khmer food, my taste buds are not always geographically sound with the rest of my body.

I hadn’t even been in Siem Reap for a full week and I was having American food withdrawals.

I longed for a good ol’ fashioned, artery clogging, juicy and greasy burger. Lettuce, tomato, onion, mayonnaise, a thick beef patty and two fluffy buns were all calling my name.

A few of the students in my group and I headed out around noon Sunday to scavenge our own food. Everyone else wanted Indian food—another cuisine I’m remotely unfamiliar with—but I wasn’t interested.

So, I continued my local hunt for a burger.

I ended up going to The Blue Pumpkin, a bakery-lounge-restaurant, to find my beef patty.

The Blue Pumpkin is the only place in Siem Reap that looks like it doesn’t belong. The unbearable humidity fits, but nothing else about this facility screams “Cambodia.”

Once I stepped through the threshold, I was in a baked goods lover’s paradise. Danish and pastry displays were spread across the floor, filling up every area but the walking space. There was even an ice cream freezer for those desiring cold treats on any scorching hot day.

Upstairs was the good stuff. White furniture everywhere. Couches—decorated with pillows—for customers to enjoy after kicking off their shoes and white tables and chairs for a less relaxed feel.

And the icing on the cake—WiFi capability throughout the restaurant.

It reminded me of home. I wanted to get that same feeling when I explored the menu.

I’m not sure if it’s a bad sign for me to be homesick so early in my trip when I have more than a week before I depart, but I really wanted that burger and I would stop at nothing until I safely ordered one.

I’m about 90 percent confident that the burger I ordered was beef, but not sure what kind, and I really didn't care to ask.

The waiter placed it in front of me on a square, white plate and the excitement hit me immediately. The final product was tall in stature, wide and juicy. It was accompanied by a small pile of skinny fries, a bright red ketchup bottle and an ice-cold Coca Cola.

It’s the American way.

With my first bite, I was no longer a foreigner in a third-world country. I was American. I felt more in my domestic element than in any other experience I’ve had so far in Cambodia.

I devoured that burger, savoring every bite even more than the last.