This forgotten Asian country's delicious cuisine deserves more attention

The world has been missing out on the stunning - sometimes startling - flavours of Cambodia.

At 8am, the banks of the Siem Reap River are already a hive of activity. The boat we're on chugs steadily through cobalt exhaust fumes towards South East Asia's largest freshwater lake. Fila, our Intrepid Travel guide for the next five days, originates from this area and excitedly begins to educate the group on the customs of the people who have lived on Tonle Sap for centuries. Floating homes, restaurants and shops of the Chong Kneas floating village come into view across a glossy, endless horizon, one of the world's most productive - and natural - inland fisheries. Believed to support nearly 3 million people, its importance to everyday life overshadows its magnitude.

This number parallels what many agree to be the death toll of the Cambodian Genocide of the 1970s, a dark and devastating time that I admit fascinates me. But on this food-focused group tour, I'm eager to dig into Cambodia's zeal for food and reverence for flavour - the beating heart of recipes - and how it all contributes to and shapes the modern identity of this country, sat between bustling Vietnam and sought-after Thailand

Early evening crowds descend on the congregation of food carts and stalls back in the north-western city of Siem Reap. Festoon lights, swarms of mopeds and hungry faces fill the streets. Our first stop is at a hawker cart where, through a small window, I see a two-person duo slice, smother and wrap num pang baguettes. They are reminiscent of banh mi, but different. There's a heartier crunch to the bread and pickled carrot riffs with hot spicy pork instead of cold cuts. "This is great," I beam impulsively at one of the busy vendors. Without pausing, he looks up, places down his knife, brings his palms together and nods back with a knowing smile - he's no doubt heard it countless times before.

Fila guides us through a network of side streets and past tucked-away temples, eventually stopping at a shopfront where two women turn skewers over an open grill. "This is my favourite snack. I've been coming for years, and I bring my sons here all the time," Fila says, passing us each a plate. We sit on plastic chairs and people watch, eating the tenderest of beef with zesty lemongrass seasoning between sips of icy Angkor beer. Barely 24 hours after landing, through simple shared food and warm smiles, I already feel a connection growing with this country.

For years during the Khmer Rouge dictatorship, cooking at home and local traditions around food were banned. The loss was not only human life but centuries of recipes and culinary knowledge - still being recovered to this day. When you think of Asian cuisine, Cambodia is likely not the first place to come to mind. It's probably not the second or third, either. I can't help but wonder: is the rest of the world missing out on something special here?

I catch my first glimpse of Angkor Wat from the back of a tuk-tuk amid a blanket of humid morning air. Sepia-speckled columns rise from an overbearing jungle. Designated as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1992 and noted as the world's largest religious complex, the splendour and mystique grow with each passing minute as we walk through galleries crowned by towering, dank ceilings strewn with inscriptions and carved-out scenes. Gaping windows frame sunken courtyards accessed only by crumbling stairwells - while dark corners and opaque passageways hold centuries-old whispers.

"It's believed there were up to 5000 elephants used in the overall construction, which lasted some 37 years," Fila tells us as we enter the Central Complex with intermingling arcades across three loftier storeys. "it's also thought around 300,000 people were involved, too." I spring up an absurdly steep set of steps to the top, where another ornate recessed courtyard acts as a midday sun trap. From here, the enormity and overwhelming symmetry send a shudder down my spine. At 900 years old, it's inconceivably perfect.

To Western sensibilities, Khmer culture is complex. Steeped in humility, respect and accord, at first it can come across as antiquated. But the more I learn, the further I appreciate its cordiality and unhurried nature. For lunch, we head to the nearby traditional village of Srah Srang and enjoy a curated set menu at Porch Workshop and Dining. Beneath an ornate stilt-built house, I experience my first refined flavours of Cambodian cuisine - a careful medley of tamarind, coconut, garlic, palm sugar, lemon juice, chilli, spices, and herbs - finished with fried banana rolls and watermelon squares. Before we leave, I wander the tropical garden and glimpse a hidden back lane where an elderly lady weaves precariously between puddles on a rusted bicycle. Chickens scatter, and she laughs aloud to herself. This encounter, although brief, feels profound. I could do with taking things not so seriously.

As the afternoon goes on, dappled light creates interesting vignettes through corridors at Ta Prohm, more commonly known to the outside world as "the jungle temple". Built shortly after Angkor Wat, this smaller compound served a dual purpose as a monastery and centre of learning. Today, after spans of neglect between the 15th and 20th centuries, immense trees have encroached on the site, growing between cracks and smothering dilapidated stonework. On the way back to Siem Reap, we pass through the iconic, colossal Angkor Thom Victory Gate; our motorbikes reverberating through the cathedral-like arch mixed with our collective gasps is a sound I will never forget.

Fila's face lights up: "Your supermarket back home might be clean and easy - but I don't think it's as fresh as this." Puok Market is on our way to Cambodia's third-largest city of Battambang the following morning. By the outskirts of Siem Reap, it distributes provincial produce to the masses. Insects included. When you bite down on a cricket, silkworm, or beatle, you half expect a repulsive bitter flavour, but on this occasion, they're fragrant, salty and moreish. Fried with speck and kaffir lime, I enjoy a couple more of each - they're like that bag of chips you can't help yourself with.

Inside, under cover, fruit and vegetables starburst in a cornucopia of shapes and colours. Some I recognise, others not so much. A pig's head on a butcher's table indicates the animal has been slaughtered today. Crushed ice lines trays of small fish beside a woman patiently descaling them with a blunt tool. I motion to my camera, requesting her permission for a photo. Her warmth is infectious.

The early afternoon becomes a kaleidoscope of verdant rice paddies from the bus window. Children spill out of schools on motorbikes in crisp white shirts. Water buffalo dot the verges, nonchalantly eating grass. We pull over on the highway to a smoking grill and have the chance to try something wholly unique - rat. I'm the first to bite into the plump flesh; instantly, it reminds me of juicy turkey. I go back for a second piece. Fila translates to us how the field vermin are incredibly clean and caught humanely; armed with this knowledge and how they taste, my initial inhibitions fade away. Being sustainable and delicious are reasons enough for me.

The central lily pond at Masons Wat Kor glimmers directly beneath my room in Battambang, a verdant retreat hidden in lush forest where Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt once stayed. We have the afternoon free. Grabbing my camera bag, I hail a tuk-tuk and decide to head somewhere with cold beer. The feel immediately differs from Siem Reap, more rustic and more people. My driver tells me his name is Dara, which translates to star - and aptly symbolises guidance. He takes me on an impromptu sightseeing tour along the riverfront, where French colonial-style buildings, boulevards and facades contrast their surroundings. As a protectorate of France from 1863 to 1953, Cambodia's Franco influences are subtle and not as obvious as you might imagine. Blink, and you might miss the porte-cocheres, balustrades and ornate designs. But behind grand gates, the Governor's Residence and its stately gardens scream of European influence.

Far from the city centre, my tuk-tuk drops me off at a busy intersection with street food stalls all around. Although I stick out a mile, everyone passes by and barely looks twice. Meatballs on skewers catch my eye, though, as does an ice box, and I decide to pull up another plastic chair and, again, people-watch. My food of choice is Xiumai Khmer, Chinese-influenced steamed pork: succulent and tangy. And the first sip of Hanuman Lager is malty and utterly refreshing. I lose two hours enjoying the general melee of people and vehicles going about their daily business.

The following morning, engines replace pedals on a food-centric cycling tour. We ride for over two hours with Soksabike, a social enterprise committed to responsible tourism, down laneways, stopping at producers of rice paper, dried banana and rice liqueur. Part of the excursion is an optional stop at a fish paste plant where we are taken into production rooms full of barrels and concrete vessels fermenting fish. The smell is overbearing and bordering on putrid. I promise to still use it at home, but I'll never look at a jar of fish paste the same way again.

Phalla, our guide, stops the group by a simple hut where a woman tends to a fire. Here, he explains how Battambang's famous sticky rice cooks with coconut encased in bamboo. He and I squat down together and begin peeling small fibrous tubes to reveal steaming columns of gluey rice. "Battambang is considered the rice bowl of Cambodia," he declares. But how so? "Tonle Sap rises with the rain season, flooding and sending essential water to our fields, and in the dry season, they recede again. With our clay-rich soil, it's a perfect cycle."

Even though there is a dark history here, harmony and balance are the biggest takeaways I have from my first time in Cambodia. And it won't be my last.

Nom Banh Chok

Centred around slightly fermented rice noodles, this dish showcases Cambodia's much-loved ingredients - rice, fish, coconut milk, palm sugar, seasonal vegetables and kroeung, a herb paste distinguished by aromatics such as lemongrass and kaffir lime. Often garnished with foraged wild leaves, it's a tasty breakfast dish.

Fish amok

Getting there: Singapore Airlines offers passengers from all major airports a one-stop flight to Siem Reap via Singapore. Thai Airways and Bangkok Airways provide a different route via Bangkok from Sydney.

Touring there: Intrepid Travel's Cambodia Real Food Adventure runs all year round, apart from the month of August. The classic eight-day itinerary, from $1444 a person, also takes in the capital Phnom Penh and the coastal city of Kampot

Explore more: intrepidtravel.com/au

The writer was a guest of Intrepid Travel.