Phnom Penh

Apparently when you are pregnant you make more saliva. What the deuce this is for no one will ever know. It's not like you happen to be stepping up your bj game during this time, you simply blame it on the "hormones". and suffer through waking up with your pillow case crusted to your face. It's like the time I flew to Thailand and took a sleeping pill, a muscle relaxant, and three white wines and woke up 13 hours later with a waterfall of dried drool down the side of my face, a la CVA. These days things are a lot less exciting and the best places to find me drooling are on my RMT's massage table and Phnom Penh.

The first rule about Phnom Penh is that you don't talk about Phnom Penh.

The second rule about Phnom Penh is that the lady at the door will choose your fate, so don't piss her off. You won't be seated unless your whole party is there. Expect waits on weekends. Only parties of 6 or more can make resos. And you are only allowed to stay for an hour and a half, then they cut you off. So stuff your face.

The third rule about Phnom Penh is the chicken wings. I know, that doesn't even make sense, I do not care. They are delicious. I am sure there is a generous sprinkle of crack cocaine in the sweet and salty batter but I don't give any fucks.

These are my favourite dishes. 

The fried rice with the little bits of Chinese sausage. 

Chicken wings. 

Deep fried squid.

These days...

I ate the fish tacos from the Tacofino truck on Burrand and I realized that it's really hard not to be happy when the sun is shining like it has been. Like rainbow lasers shooting out of my butt happy. Like I just had sex with a unicorn happy. Like cuddling a pet sloth happy. There is no stopping me.