and I made our way to Providence. We would eat the soup , and recreate it back in theTest Kitchen. Inside the restaurant are a dozen standard-issue tables. Thai music videos stream from a TV on the wall. At lunchtime on a weekday, we were the only ones, except for a couple of police officers on a break. In front of each of them, the soup. We ordered two more—no need to even look at the menu.
While we waited, the anxieties I’d been harboring about this mission began to set in. This was not the typical source forrecipes. This was the corner spot with a BYO policy and prices low enough for a college-age budget.
What he did tell us about was his family. As a child in the 1970s, he fled the Khmer Rouge to arrive in Providence. Here, he met his wife, who had also come from Cambodia with her mother. The family opened Angkor, with the mother-in-law, Bopha Kem-Ban, as chef. “She taught me everything I know,” he said reverently—everything including the secrets of the medicine soup.
Back in the Test Kitchen, Freedman and I went through several renditions before eventually landing on something our colleagues couldn't stop slurping. Into the broth went lemongrass, shallot, ginger. To deepen it, a base of cashews, chile, shrimp paste, and a little sugar. For those secret spices, we settled on cardamom, cloves, star anise, and lots and lots of black pepper. And, of course, the ramen noodles.
At the end of our meal in Providence, the serve brought out some fortune cookies with the check. Unorthodox for a Cambodian restaurant, sure, but then again, this soup was never about authenticity. Mine read:Here’s our bold attempt at recreating a secret recipe. This recipe isn’t exactly Angkor’s secret soup. But it’s the best medicine I can hope to find.
When made right, all soups are medicinal for those whose hearts are open.
Looks great, but where do you find 12-ounce packages of ramen noodles? I can’t find that. Could you recommend a brand or a source?