Surprised by Soy: the Toxic Bean You Thought You Knew

update from July 13, 2008

NB- Since writing this blog, I was so amazed by what I learned about Hitler’s favourite food, soy, that I pitched the story and landed a gig at Gremolata. I urge you to follow this link and read a more refined and well researched article with quotes and insight from a thyroid expert, a scientist and nutritionist, a vegan cookbook author, and a woman who almost died from eating soy.

www.gremolata.com/soytrouble.htm

Beware of soy!

What if I told you that all that heart-healthy, cancer-fighting, protein-rich miracle soy food is a lie? You would laugh in my face.

So I won’t tell you that. I’ll say this instead: on top of actually being devoid of all these properties, soya food products are actually toxic and poisonous!

I see my vegan Vancouver friends throwing darts at my picture. While vegetarians have several thousand options for vegetable foods, somehow they think soy is a major food group. Soy milk, scrambled tofu for breakfast, soy bars, soy protein supplements, mock meat made of soy, soy patties, soy bean marmalade, yada yada. At the time, I thought it was a hopelessly meagre variety. Now I think it’s damn dangerous. Soy is one of the reasons that meat eaters think vegetarians look grey. I always thought it was the tobacco and weed. In fact, vegetarians who love soy are turning out to be MALNOURISHED in comparison to both meat eaters and their non-soy fellow vegetarians.

Now I was a vegetarian for about five years, and have been eating meat again for about eight. I also bought into the illogical arguments against meat, and replenished my protein with the so-called superior soy. Now I can say with absolute certainty that nutritionally speaking, there’s nothing like fish, meat, and eggs. But I won’t diss vegetarian people because there IS something to be said for the humane treatment of animals. If you aren’t eating meat because you care about our furry friends, or because today’s flesh factories are morally abhorrent, you are totally right and that’s great. Unfortunately, though, despite it’s ridiculously bad rep, which I myself bought into for years, animal protein is extremely vital to the body. Yes, you can live without it. But it’s better not to.

That said, the veg camp will often show up healthier because they must avoid a huge number of additives as they ban themselves from most fast food and unfoods and eat more plants. They avoid the sick hormones and drugs that factory farm meat is saturated with. Most meat eaters do not stick to organic, free-range, grass-fed options. Most meat eaters also eat massive amounts of sugar and never try things like carrot juice or wheatgrass.

What both camps do wrong is feast on starchy grain products and on sugar. The health nutters look to whole grains, the could-care-lessers indulge in white flour and have never heard of other grains like teff or quinoa. The problem is that humans have been eating these grains, whole or otherwise, for about one percent of their stay on earth. We are slaves to our biology in many ways, and vegetarians who claim health superiority are delusional. I used to tell people myself that hunter-gatherer people ate very little meat. I was constructing our history to suit my nice-girl spirit. I couldn’t imagine us to be killers. That’s just the truth of it: sometimes we tell ourselves nice fairy tales to avoid harsh truth. Our history is one of savage hunting. But the gathering was important, too- the foods that are good for us are meat and fish- hunted foods- and vegetables, fruits, and seeds- gathered foods. Low-carb camps threw the baby out with the bathwater: we need carbs, oh, how we need them. Fruits and vegetables, all you can eat. Along with that big juicy slab.

What you eat is up to you, but I don’t want to hear about the wonders of soy any more. Umm, can you READ? The news is everywhere. I can totally respect a person’s vegan diet because they care about animals. But telling me soy is healthy just means you have refused to read or believe the truth in science. You can tell me for hours the nutritional value of carrots, of green beans, of kale and chard, or tomatoes and apples and kiwis. But you have to accept that the soybean industry pulled one over on you, just like it did me once upon a time. Your health depends on it, and so does your credibility. You wouldn’t try to tell me Kool-Aid is good for you, without looking like a total idiot. You could say you love it, and we’d all agree we like soda pop or any other guilty pleasure. But imagine if the nation’s favourite health food was worse for you than soda? And it is.

I have nothing personally against the soy bean or any other bean or plant, believe me. But I won’t touch it with a ten-foot pole, treating it like the poison that it is. I believe in plants, yo. But why is it so hard to swallow that some plants are poisonous? Every scientist knows that. Did you know that just a bit of soy milk every day can irreversibly damage the thyroid in a healthy person? Unfortunately, not only did I deprive my thyroid of much-needed animal protein for five years, but I pumped it full of soy. I didn’t know then that I’ve been hypothyroid since I was a child. Imagine the further damage I did. Though soy has thousands of ill-health effects, thyroid suppression is huge, instant, and automatic.

I know, you’ve all heard about the Okinawa diet. They live longer than anywhere else in the world. Hmm, they also eat a large amount of raw fish, the healthiest food on the planet. You’ve heard about those Asians and their lower rates of cancer. Hmm, but actually they average less than two teaspoons a day of soy: it’s a garnish. They eat massive amounts of fish and vegetables.

I don’t ask you to buy into my anti-soy theory. I do ask you to inform yourself, even if you think you already are sure, because the soy industry is laughing all the way to the bank. So I’ll list the many dangers of soy, and then I’ll tell you to go and do your own research. Why believe me, when I could care less about your man boobs, your poisoned infant formula, your reproductive sickness, your thyroid, or anything else? Actually, I do care, in the general way I care about people, and if you are my friend and know me, then please hear me out as obviously I am not attacking you. I care about you very much. I’m much more stubborn by nature than you are, and I’m admitting my deception publicly! It’s hard to let go of a belief, especially if you feel foolish or love a food. But you deserve the integrity of the truth, and if you are standing up for soy, you don’t know the truth yet. I mean, we all love potato chips and ice cream, but few would argue that they’re health food. We may excuse the occasional indulgence as well-deserved, or as delicious, but never as nutritious.

What’s wrong with soy?

• high levels of phytic acid- this blocks mineral absorption, meaning your body won’t absorb the nutrients being digested along with the soy
• these phytates cause malnutrition, effectively nullifying the other food you eat!
• high levels of enzyme inhibitors, which means you can’t make use of the protein in soy, either- fermented soy products like soy sauce and miso soup do not have this particular problem
• haemagluttin, which is an inhibitor of oxygen uptake to your cells, and also stunts growth
• phytoestrogens, long pumped as ‘healthy plant estrogens’ to women, causing endocrine disruption and disease on a massive scale- plus, it puts major amounts of estrogen into male bodies, causing some boys to grow up infertile, or hormonally confused, or to grow breasts
• eating soy causes ‘inexplicable’ loss of vital minerals like copper, calcium, iron, magnesium , selenium, and especially zinc, even in people who are ‘getting enough’ because of the malabsorption that soy causes
• this leads to bone problems, psychiatric problems, intestinal problems, reproductive problems, and much more
• soy is one of the top allergins, along with wheat, peanuts, dairy, corn, etc
• 2/3 of people allergic to dairy will also be allergic to soy, though they are encouraged to switch to soy if they must exclude dairy-best to exclude both, and fill up on healthy fish and veggies
• soy protein isolate is acid-washed in aluminum. hello, Alzheimer’s!
• even one serving of soy a day in clinically proven over and over to seriously suppress thyroid function. yet millions with thyroid disease are never told to religiously avoid soy products.
• soy hormones eaten in pregnancy cause brain damage in infants
• ‘vegan’ infants fed nothing buy soy formula actually die of malnutrition
• nursing infants of soy-eating mothers receive toxins through the milk!
• soy-eating vegetarians have a five-fold chance of giving birth to a boy with hypospadias, a birth defect of the penis, due to toxic estrogens
• babies on ‘healthy soy formula’ have estrogen levels up to 22 THOUSAND times of other babies
• soy-fed babies are likely to develop serious thyroid problems
• about one percent of soy fed baby girls begin puberty before the ago of THREE
• breast is best, obviously, but soy is not second best
• for those of you who do not know, the thyroid is a tiny gland that regulates hormones and every cellular function of the body, and it also is connected with liver function, totally vital to all aspects of nutrition, detox, etc- every single function of the body’s metabolism is dependant on the thyroid. love yours, and throw out that soy.
• eating just two servings of tofu a week causes accelerated brain aging and puts you at a high risk of earlier dementia
• women are told that soy helps prevent breast cancer. funny, because excess estrogen is a major CAUSE of breast and other cancers. Genistein, a soy ingredient, promotes breast cell proliferation, which often turns cancerous.
• the long process of fermenting renders the toxins in soy neutral, so miso, tempeh, and soy sauce are better options if you insist on soy- that doesn’t mean they are nutritious, but not toxic!
• genistein and daidzein, which are chemicals that occur naturally in soy, are proven to cause chromosomal damage and DNA disruption
• nitrosamines are often referred to as known cancer-causing chemicals. but no one tells you that soy is loaded with them!
• the body can’t use the B12 analogs in soy
• soy causes vitamin D deficiency!- which causes osteoporosis, among other things
• but it’s a complete protein, right? wrong again- another sick lie they told us. soy is not a complete protein- it is very low in methionine and cystine: plus, lysine levels are easily destroyed.
• soy is trumpeted over meat because it is low in fat…the fat in meat is not unhealthy, but that is still to come out in the wash. we are more sedentary than our hunting ancestors, so we need less, but small amounts are vital.
• processed soy products like soybean oil are high in trans fat, the only ‘bad’ fat, because it is artificial and not recognizable by the body
• the worst offenders are soybean oil, texurized vegetable protein, soy protein isolates, and all the soy products and their derivatives that are stuffed into veggie dogs, tofu nuggets, veggie patties, yada yada…still, eating the plain edamame bean is still toxic!
• while many studies claim that high-protein diets may cause health problems of every ilk, if all of these were revised with reduced grains, sugars, and chemicals, and increased vegetables and fruits, the opposite would be shown. animal protein has been used by humans for millions of years, and our brains are made out of DHA, found only in fish.
• soy contains many toxins, and one is naturally occurring MSG
• it is a toxic myth that soy helps prevent cancer- longer-term scientific studies show that it CAUSES cancer
• soy is not a green option, as often assumed- in fact, soy crops are usually genetically modified and use very high levels of pesticides
• soy toxins are often hid under labels like ‘vegetable oil’- not only are they hydrogenated poisons, but those allergic to soy will not avoid that product because of its misleading ingredient names

I’m not done yet. The list GOES ON AND ON. Don’t take my word for it- places to start your own research:

http://www.soyonlineservice.co.nz/index.htm
A New Zealand nutrition expert and scientist tells all.

http://www.soyonlineservice.co.nz/articles/veganism.htm
Read the New York Times article here: yet another vegan infant starves to death. Even babies BREASTFED by a vegan mother are deficient nutritionally.

http://www.amazon.com/Whole-Soy-Story-Americas-Favorite/dp/0967089751
The Whole Soy Story- the dark side of American’s favorite health food

http://www.utne.com/2007-07-01/TheDarkSideofSoy.aspx
The Dark Side of Soy: Is America’s favorite health food making us sick? from Utne Reader

http://articles.mercola.com/sites/articles/archive/2004/07/21/soy-cancer-part-two.aspx
Soy Maker Omits Studies That Soy May Cause Cancer

http://www.vegansareevil.com/soy.html
umm, well, the site name is harsh, but there is lots of real information here

http://www.second-opinions.co.uk/vegetarian.html
lots about soy dangers, our history of omnivorous eating, misconceptions, etc.

That should be enough to get you started. Please protect yourself and your family. If you are a vegetarian or vegan, remember that soy is not synonymous with vegetarian. We all eat too much soy, even if we think we’re avoiding it. There is a growing movement of vegetarians who do not eat soy or any other kind of poison. Here are a few resources to start with:

http://www.amazon.com/Mediterranean-Vegan-Kitchen-Donna-Klein/dp/1557883599
soy-free Mediterranean recipes

http://www.foodallergysurvivalguide.com/
a book about avoiding certain food groups

http://www.amazon.ca/Alternative-Vegan-International-Straight-Produce/dp/0977080420
a soy-free vegan cookbook, with many gluten free recipes as well!

http://ths.gardenweb.com/forums/load/vegex/msg0917221522922.html

visit writer Lorette C. Luzajic at www.thegirlcanwrite.net

Toronto Kensington Market’s Hot Hot Box Comedy Night

Despite the unfortunate fact that in my youth I had ‘free the herb’ permanently emblazoned on my upper arm, I’m not sure I can handle the pot smoke in the Hot Box Café.

Thursday night comedy is one of Toronto’s Kensington Market’s legends, where a bunch of stoners gather in a crowded café and smoke pot and then laugh maniacally at a handful of ranging comic talents. Last night, I patted myself on the back for making it out of the house and laughing at something other than Kramer’s slapstick for a change. It is, after all, finally spring, even though it was snowing. So I went.

And like, man, I had to open my heart wide, wide, wide in order to endure such a thing. Don’t get me wrong: once I thought marijuana was a spiritual, healing thing, world’s away from drugs and alcohol, and I still do. But yo, how much can you kids smoke for crying out loud?

I know, I know, I used to say it myself: “Man, you can’t trust anyone over 30.” Now that I’m practically pushing daisies at 36, it’s with a shudder that I look back at those experiments where I stopped using shampoo, or went vegetarian and ruined my thyroid forever. Still, it’s only been a few days since I shared a joint with a pal, so I’m not totally sold out. I still think it’s medicine, I still think it’s green, I still think it’s spiritual food. But yo, how big can a single joint be?

All around, these greasy dreadlock types are giving new meaning to ‘rolling a fattie.’ Then the air is a dense curtain of smoke and I’m choking just before I find myself higher than I’ve been since my kid brother turned 18 and finally started rolling ‘em smaller. And while I had half a mind to get up and get the hell out, I forced myself to just let it be, man, let it be. No one was hurting anyone else, despite the shampoo shortage. What was I really so afraid of?

Well, the washrooms for one thing. I mean, I love a dive more than most people. But these washrooms were unforgivably filthy. Why do hippies eat all those seeds and juices, only to catch medieval viruses from their own damn bathrooms? And while I am not a diva- I have mismatched furniture, and a life of ‘starving art’ has made me, um, creative, with the home décor, I can’t sit on chairs that are a hazard to my life. Plus, I can’t breathe.

I’ve been to Hot Box Comedy twice before and felt the same sort of panic attack and hyperventilation problems, especially when I had to pee for the third time. ARRGG! I don’t want to go down there! And my newly corporate old friend, draped comfortably over a broken stool, looking lame and weird in his top-opened button-down with his work tie slung over one shoulder, said, “since when did you get so uptight? I appreciate what they’re trying to do, man. The kids are all right.”

This is what I remember as the whole room turns into a communal ashtray. Appreciate what they’re trying to do.

And that is totally valid. For here, new comics can get acquainted with the spotlight in a, um, stress free atmosphere. Old hats can spin new yarns and see how they fly. And you can’t get a better deal in town- for a toonie, you get to see a number of comic acts. Seeing as they don’t sell booze, and in fact sometimes don’t sell coffee or tea either- that’s a night anyone can afford. Though I would gladly donate ten bucks toward hiring a bathroom cleaner.

Plus, laughter is the best medicine, and this longstanding run has provided years of laughter to audiences, stoner or otherwise, while showcasing some great talents and helping newbies polish their game.

Plus, everything I just mentioned is mere periphery. The real deal is the people with the guts to get up in front of a bunch of stoners and practice their free speech beliefs. While I’ve seldom seen any squeaky-clean comedy, never have I seen such a range of fearless joke targets. I cringed hearing a dog-with-erection story from an otherwise funny meister. I also had some good advice for the stand-up who thought we should kill all people with AIDS (Sandro Veri) so they couldn’t spread it to him: if it’s really such an anxiety for you, why not just cut it off? That said, I believe in free speech, and button pushing, and this say-anything free for all allowed for a phenomenal range of politics, bawdiness, religion, puerile bathroom humour, stripper jokes, and more.

Particularly funny was the old hippie biker type who looked like Cher’s husband in Mask, but friendlier. (Mike McDonald.) “When was the last time Marky Mark had a good song?” Also funny as hell was the Anthony Michael Hall Returns dude, who for all his wine women and song joking seemed flaming to me. His name was Peter Fulton- told you, the Breakfast Club lives. Finally, Lebanese-Canadian Dave Merheje is a special treat: on top of his hilarious rants, his sharp intelligence, and his panoramic ethnic coverage, this one has a helping of Eminem’s vocal dexterity. His ability to swiftly fit the right words, and a lot of them, into his joke telling makes for some serious hip hop rhythms in storytelling. He is animated and brilliant and bang on the mark, even when encroaching on sensitive ground. Indeed, Merheje is everywhere in Toronto, so look for his upcoming acts. He’s the one to watch.

So- will I be spending any more time at the Hot Box Café, or will I just follow Dave Merheje around the country? Hmmm, well, I’ll be going back- the freedom and variety are a strong pull. It’s really very, very good. Plus, we have to keep the underground counterculture alive, or we’ll all die watching Wal Mart commercials on late night comedy TV.

But I won’t be going every week, at least not until they serve gin, and I won’t be going back until it’s warm and the windows and doors can be opened for ventilation.

A Night at the Hot Box
191 Baldwin Ave, In Kensington Market
Toronto ON
Cost: $2

visit writer Lorette C. Luzajic at www.thegirlcanwrite.net
buy her book online at indigo or amazon, or through her site.

Breasts Boobs Tits Titties Hot Blonde

Ha! Sorry, I had to say something to get you here so I could invite you to visit my art playground, www.creativityvault.net, and view my amazing collages and artworks! And it’s not that misleading: this collage is called Breast Soup.

You could also buy my book, The Astronaut’s Wife: Poems of Eros and Thanatos, by Lorette C. Luzajic, at my site thegirlcanwrite.net or through indigo or amazon online. Take a chance on it, you’ll love it.

Live to Tell

I was thinking today that I couldn’t possibly survive any more grief. It seems I’m burying my loved ones at a good swift clip averaging every six months, and each occasion freshly macabre in a whole new way. I am so very very sad that my beautiful, crazy, elegant Bobby Martin died recently. I’ve written so much about addiction, and I don’t want to write about it again. You would not believe how much this person went through to get better. Bobby was an enigmatic and big-hearted fellow, intense, rough around the edges yet compellingly soft. I don’t want to say goodbye. God, please, no, I really cannot say goodbye. I can tell you by now that there is nothing I hate more in this world than crystal methamphetamine.

I found this old collage in a scrapbook. Immediately I burst into tears: I remember fooling around on that one with some pieces Bobby Martin had collected for me. He always brought me assorted images for my collage files. Bobby was making collages that day, too. In the crooked little white house where I lived with various crazy people, we often just hung out making small artworks. Being creative together.

I don’t know when this hole in my heart will heal, or if I should just accept that I’m permanently an open-hearted mess. Wide, wide open.

Here at home, I pulled out a painting I made for Bobby just after Marko, his close friend, died of the same illness. Heal Yourself, it implored. I depicted a figure from the tarot, blindfolded and surrounded by knives, trapped. There were owls, for Bobby’s totem spirit, and a phrase cut out that said, “The unexpected beauty of worn and imperfect things.”

Now I sit here in the dark, contemplating the vast unknown, and I feel like I’m the one missing the party. Will Dimitri and Japey and Crazy Paul be fixing fruity martinis with little kiwi garnishes, having introduced themselves to each other without my help? Will Marko and Bobby finally get to meet Johnny Cash and Tupac? What about Zoe? Is she chilling in that soul pool she talked about? Is everyone really here with me, or are you all there without me?

Well, my time is gonna come. No doubt about it. But I live to tell, and you can all expect another batch of grim poetry. Life is precious. Do something on your list this week, and tell your friends you love them.

Visit Lorette C. Luzajic at www.thegirlcanwrite.net.
Buy her poetry collection, The Astronaut’s Wife, through her site, or through indigo or amazon.

I Hung My Head: requiem for bobby martin 1978-2008

I Hung My Head
requiem for bobby martin
1978-2008

The last memory I have of bobby is the most precious. During his brief visit passing through Toronto last summer, we shared a perfect, beautiful day. I sure wasn’t expecting his call at five am, but made breakfast when I learned he was on his way. We went to the beer store as soon as it opened, and spent the whole day on the floor looking at old photographs of loved ones we missed who were now on the other side. We listened to Elvis and to Johnny Cash’s American Recordings over and over.

Bobby Martin was my husband Marko’s ‘brother’. Bobby and I did our best to look after one another in that darkest hour after Marko passed away the summer of 2005. During the time that Bobby lived with me, he had to get used to my constant scatterbrained neuroses. I tend to flip out when I’m looking for something important that I’ve misplaced, flying through the house yelling and whimpering. Bobby Martin always told me calmly, “It’s in the place you didn’t look.” This was always true!

One of the most precious gifts I ever received was a tiny jade hand from Bobby. He noticed how often I use a hand symbol in my paintings, including the painting I made for him. I wore it whenever I missed him, which was often, after he left town to search for work in other provinces. One day, I went to put my necklace on and saw that the chain was empty. I looked everywhere to see where the pendant had fallen, to no avail. I looked for days on end, remembering that Bobby would tell me it was in the place I hadn’t looked! After several days of searching, I admitted defeat. Devastated, I began looking online to see if I could find something similar. That was how I found out that the hand symbol was called a ‘manu figa’ or fig hand. Given my love of mythological symbolism and how often I read into signs and symbols, I was thrilled. The manu figa, or fig hand, was an ancient sailor’s symbol to divert the storm god’s attention and bring blessings on the boat. Because Marko was a sailor, I found this tiny symbolic gift even more powerful. Finally, I found an exact replica of the charm I’d had, and ordered it from Brazil.

The very same day that the hand arrived, I found the original charm in my jewelry box! It had fallen behind the little drawer.

When Bobby Martin came to visit that summer, I told him the story and he was astonished at the length I had gone to replace the hand. I proudly pinned the duplicate to him, and he was beaming. He said he would always feel me close by, even when he was away.

I honestly don’t know how I can live without knowing Bobby Martin is out there on this vast, amazing planet. Now he can see his father again and Marko and other loved ones that we miss, but here on earth, many of us are hurting and sad. Goodbye, baby, goodbye for now, but not forever. Save a spot for me up there!

Poem for Bobby

Oh, I’ve been sad for years, my friend-
it’s a painter’s fate to feel,
anda writer’s lot to live a little lost.
Oh, I’ve been shedding tears my friend
’cause this world’s way too real
but the ticket price is truly worth its cost.

I don’t have any answers
but I know the answer’s light
truth and joy have meaning
and life’s a worthy fight.

I watch you struggle darling
I feel the bruise and fight
and I looked right into darkness
to see a starry night.

And I don’t know what to do
I don’t know where to go
but a warrior went before us
and he says, don’t let go.

I could not help falling
and I cannot be wise
It was likely angels calling
and the rain inside your eyes.

Lorette C. Luzajic
Poem for Bobby was from my collection, The Astronaut’s Wife: Poems of Eros and Thanatos, available online from Indigo or Amazon, or through my site, www.thegirlcanwrite.net.

How Your Noodle Order Can Help Save a Child

It’s hard to imagine that a torture survivor from the Killing Fields could be a jovial and joyous eccentric. It seems a man who spends his meager restaurant profits to support landmine victims in his homeland Cambodia shouldn’t have much to smile about. Yet upon entering Angkor Restaurant at 614 Gerrard Street East, I’m soon caught up in Chef Chandaramony Eang’s boundless enthusiasm.

“Canadians do not know how to eat fish,” he explains out of the blue, motioning with his hands how he would pare thin slices. “First season,” he says. “Then slice thin. Taste great with beer!” He pats his belly and pulls a chair right up to my table. I’m taken aback when he throws his arms around me, too, but I’m the touchy feely type and soon fit right in.

This master chef, a rare escapee from the Khmer Rouge death camps, fled to Thailand where he studied Asian cuisine. He came to Canada and expanded his knowledge at George Brown’s school of social work. For ten years, for twelve hours a day, he has been running his cheerfully odd little restaurant, the first Cambodian resto in Canada, and very likely the best.

It’s a crying shame that I walked by Angkor a million times in my two decades of Toronto life. I inadvertently let the finest noodles in town pass me by. The resto itself is like a shrine of sorts to history, spirituality, folklore, death, and food, which are all apparently interchangeable aspects of life itself. The cheery and eerie mingle on crowded walls- portraits of Cambodian ancestors, landmine victims, and gods and goddesses with long elegant finger decorations. While there are a half dozen laughing Buddha statues taking up a fair bit of the limited space, Chandaramony himself could be the Buddha, and I hope that’s not sacrilegious to say so. This self-sacrificing fellow feels it is his mission in life to share his food magic and his love with his fellow human beings, even when he was subject to witness massacre and abomination. When not helping Cambodian refugees settle in Toronto, he is operating his rescue organization, helping landmine victims back home with his own money. And the only time he thinks about himself? LOL- when he’s cooking.

“I can cook with my eyes closed,” he says, demonstrating some chopping and seasoning in the air. “You tell me, and I make it from scratch. I make my own pastes, nobody makes like me.”

The taste will knock you off your feet! the menu’s welcome claims. Apparently the ingredients have remained the same since the dawn of the Khmer empire. I’m not so sophisticated a fooknik that I can spot the subtle differences between Thai and Cambodian cooking, but Chef Chandra makes it easy for me: “If you like Thai food, you will LOVE Cambodian.”

My lunch mate and I begin with lychee and soursop milkshakes- this is something I have never had, and they are absolutely delightful.

The meal starts with a bowl of steaming chicken mushroom soup in coconut milk. The flavours are complex and robust. Vegetarian spring rolls are a beautiful accompaniment. The stir fried spicy chicken with peanuts and steamed rice is so delicious I can’t find the words. It’s also blazing hot, and though I am crazy about spicy food, I can barely tolerate the heat and make a note to ask for mild seasoning in the future.

The stir fried spicy rice noodles with chicken are like a pad Thai without being gummy. The star of the show, however, is the stir fried spicy beef with eggplant. Chef Chandra creates the spice paste from scratch, and my palate identifies turmeric, kaffir lime, galangal, and ginger- maybe tamarind? The eggplant melts in my mouth. I spoon the sauce into my gullet as if I were a starving man.

The meal closes with a pot of tea and a bowl of crushed, frozen mango. If this little spot is not the garden of Eden, I don’t know what is. There’s more charm, more history, more love, and more flavour than I’m used to in my very colourful life. The place is a treasure trove and the crown jewel is my new friend Chef Chandra. I must find a way to let Angelina Jolie, the only outsider citizen of Cambodia! know about this man and his mission- and his food.

When I mention this, he seizes me and kisses me. “You read mind, you read mind!” he exclaims, scurrying behind the bar to bring some news clippings of Angelina. “I pray every day for way to find her. She is not afraid of landmines. If she would help my cause, I would cook for her my very, very best!”

If you know Angelina’s people, please let her know about the Aid for Victims of Cambodian Landmines at www.rescuecambodia.org. Please visit the site to learn more about the plight of landmine victims and to donate.

You can also help by eating frequently at Angkor Restaurant at 614 Gerrard Street East, Toronto. Bring all your friends!
416.779.6383

Visit writer Lorette C. Luzajic at www.thegirlcanwrite.net.
You can purchase her poetry collection, The Astronaut’s Wife, through indigo or amazon online, or through her site.