Sweets in Phom Penh

I arrived at the big market that looks like a bandit-haven in one of the outer planets in Star Wars, a brown dilapidated concrete megaplex runged by discolored parasols under which a throng went about its brownian motion of primitive market economics. Myself, I briskly rushed past the sunken odor of fish flesh on wooden planks and bucketful of crunchy insects for snack consumption, through the jewelry vendor's voices and out the other side again to catch some sunlight when at last I found what I was looking for: "sweets for the sweet". Now there's this sweet-tooth culture in this corner of the world that's probably incomprehensible to those brainwashed by the old eggyolk-milk-and-flour fascism of western confections. Here, it's ice, coconut milk, baroque and brightly-colored fruits vaguely reminiscent of parts between a woman's legs, taro roots and tapioca, sweet potato and other glutinous forms of jelly-textured semi-transparent cubes and blobs to delight in, sweetened by condensed milk and coconuts, and the occasional egg yolk raw. A little kid was working the stand, a cutie with a hat on but at most 12 years old, ...and after my half-second hesitation over child labor, succumbed to the inevitable calling of a bowl of mid-afternoon dessert, chilled and served with little pink splotches of waterchestnuts and sweet milk. Again the whole affair cost 15 cents which led me to get another bowl of some sticky-rice and red beans (slightly salty) with a syrupy dribble of coconut milk (which they use everything on). The sweet and viscous plops along with the shaved ice drizzled into my throat, and what the hell... I could afford a whole dollar on this, was tempted toget another bowl of that other colorful stuff.... but discipline caught me and I restrained myself to having only a jug of freshly pulped sugarcane juice in the stand next door, where another underage peddleress cranked the gears to squeeze the ambrosia out from the harsh hand-cutting canes.