Cambodia

A proper amok arrives in a little cup of folded banana leaf: fish set soft and mousse-like in a coconut curry, perfumed with kroeung, the pounded lemongrass, galangal and turmeric paste that is the backbone of Khmer cooking. Cambodian food is quieter than its neighbours — less fiery than Thai, less sharp than Vietnamese — trading chilli heat for sourness and the deep, savoury funk of prahok, the fermented fish paste that underpins the whole cuisine.

Mornings start with nom banh chok, cool rice noodles doused in a pale green fish gravy, or a steaming bowl of kuytheav noodle soup fixed to taste at the table. Lunch might be lok lak, a French-colonial hand-me-down of quick-seared beef with a lime-and-black-pepper dip, and down in Kampot the celebrated local pepper perfumes fresh crab. The baguette, too, survives as num pang, a Khmer take on the banh mi. Round it off the local way, with a glass of strong, sweet iced coffee.