Our resident chef prowls the beaches of Myanmar in search of sustenance
Darkness falls quickly and absolutely in western Myanmar. I arrived in the tiny, coastal fishing village of Sinma just before nightfall after having endured a six hour, kidney-bruising minibus ride past endless fields of verdant sprouting rice and the occasional roadside tea house.
There was no electricity when I first arrived and the sun was setting fast enough for me to literally watch it descend into the Bay of Bengal as I finished checking into the hotel. Electricity in Sinma is a commodity that the wealthy take for granted and everyone else consumes consciously and sparingly, so even when the hotel’s power is switched on, it comes with an unspoken message of conservation.
Without the ubiquitous buffet of internet distractions and all-you-can-eat electricity, there was little to do but focus on food, drink and the stars glittering against the velvety-black veil above my head. Before coming to Myanmar’s western coast, I had read tales of eating uni pulled straight from the sea and vendors patrolling the beach casually offering grilled prawns from platters balanced on their heads. But there are no vendors walking the beach in the dark, so I flicked on my mobile phone flashlight and made my way down the beach in search of fresh seafood and cold beer.
I came upon a nearly deserted, thatch-roof covered restaurant and was immediately greeted by a young Burmese girl who seemed relieved to escape the monotony of staring into her mobile phone. The vague English subtitles on the well worn, laminated menu simply read “fish curry” but the young girl elaborated in well-rehearsed English, “Rakhine fish curry. Very spicy. Spicy ok?” “Yes,” I said, I love spicy! I’ll have a Myanmar beer as well.”
One day earlier, I had been in Yangon sampling meaty and tomatoey Shan sticky noodles just outside Bogyoke Market, devouring smoky and crisp tea-leaf salad (lahpet thoke) at a small shop near Sule Pagoda, and ending the night on 19th Street in Chinatown, drinking far too many Myanmar beers while eating my weight in the best grilled short ribs I’ve ever tasted.
But 24 hours and 150 miles later, I found myself in this small coastal village that happens to be home to a group of ethnic Rakhine people. Centuries ago, the Rakhine people originated the powerfully flavorful “Rakhine fish curry.” While Burmese food is a blend of Chinese, Indian and Mon influences, Rakhine cuisine has a flavor profile all its own that emphasizes tongue-numbing spice, light flavors and lots of fresh seafood.
I smelled the curry long before it landed on my table. The pungent chiles mixed with the fragrant lemongrass made my eyes involuntarily close in near ecstasy. When I regained my composure and opened my eyes, I could barely contain myself.
Set before me were thick, flaky chunks of butterfish drenched in a golden yellow curry sauce and dotted with fresh cilantro. The ingredients are simple, but the flavor is extraordinary. Spicy, savory, aromatic and rich, with a touch of sweetness—Rakhine curry is everything a fish curry should be.
The bad news is that there are very few written recipes for this dish. The good news is that I brought a recipe all the way from Sinma, Ngwesaung, Myanmar. You can thank me later.
Rakhine Fish Curry
Ingredients :
- 2 lb firm white fish fillets, cut into 2 in cubes
- 3 tbsp fish sauce
- 4 cloves crushed garlic
- 1.5 cups chopped onion
- 1 stalk of lemongrass, chopped into 2" pieces
- 2 tsp finely chopped ginger
- 2 tsp turmeric
- 4 red chiles, seeded and finely chopped
- Salt to taste
- 3 tbsp cooking oil
- 2 tbsp fresh cilantro, chopped
Instructions:
Place the fish in a shallow dish and pour the fish sauce over it.
Use a mortar and pestle to blend the garlic, onion, lemongrass, ginger, turmeric, chiles and salt until it forms a thick paste.
Add the oil to a hot wok, stir in the blended paste and cook for 10 minutes on low heat. Add a tablespoon of water at a time until the paste reaches a thick, gravy-like consistency.
When the paste is cooked, add the fish (without the fish sauce) and stir to completely coat the fish with the paste. Raise the heat to medium and cook for 5 minutes or until the fish is just cooked on each side.
Transfer the cooked fish to a warm serving dish. Reduce the remaining sauce over high heat if necessary, then spoon over the fish. Sprinkle with cilantro and serve with white rice.
Longtime food writer and professional chef Mike McJunkin is a native Chattanoogan currently living abroad who has trained chefs, owned and operated restaurants. Join him on Facebook at facebook.com/SushiAndBiscuits