A cuisine that sticks in mind

At first it struck me as oddly comforting.

But perhaps that is to be expected. In a foreign land, one looks deeper into every encounter, trying to draw the linkages between our footprints even if they might only be threadbare. It is of little wonder then, that my hand shoots out first amongst others, eager for a taste of the rice that so reminded me of home.

You see, at home, it's only the early bird that catches the worm.

My guide coaxes me like he would his ten-year-old daughter.

"No need to rush. No need to rush."

Well, they say that in Asia, one type of rice feeds a hundred different kinds of people.

Stuffed in a small hand-woven bamboo basket, they call it sticky rice - and we can already tell it's a name created for queer foreigners like ourselves from the clumsy way it rolls off their tongue.

It's glutinous, he tells me. Chew too quickly and risk indigestion. I smile back indulgently. I don't tell him I know all about indigestion from months of half-eaten lunches and forsaken sandwiches while I'm off marching to the hectic pace of life.

Still, I regard his concern seriously. Massaging a clump of rice cautiously between my fingers, I am conscious of the anticipatory gleam in the eyes of my newly acquired Laotian friends. But the cold tingle and roughness - no - the very act of rolling rice against my fingers - strikes home the fact that I am anywhere but home. Sneaking glances at the neighboring table I mimic the way their rough fingers press the clump into shape this way and that. An innocent looking concoction of chili and eggplant functions as dressing and I take a tentative bite.

It's weirdly bland.

I try to form the appropriate facial expressions for the benefit of my attentive audience, and I chew again - slowly this time, because I'm getting it. There is no hurry. I get it.

I give time for the taste to set in and when it does I smile, and they smile too.

Because where the softly sweet taste lingers is where you get a glimpse of what Laos really is - a country that never imposes. Too many dismiss this bowl of sticky rice for its unassuming appearance and brush off this country as a mere pit stop in the midst of its seemingly more illustrious neighbors. But this here is a culture that has so much to show you - if you would only let it take your hand and follow the pace.

As night falls, my guide tells me a joke on the streets is that Lao P.D.R actually stood for Lao: Please Don't Rush.

I tell him I think it's wonderful.