Walk around the streets of Vientiane, the Laotian capital, and it’s likely you’d find Laab – alternatively spelled larb or larp – on every menu. As the country’s national dish you’d expect nothing less, and tucking into laab (£12) at The Harley Café, Welbeck, I could easily see why this meal has such a high status.
The menu’s description of laab – “a light dish which packs a punch of flavour” – summarises this meat salad perfectly, where fiery chilli and fragrant lemongrass (both of which are staples of Laotian cuisine) accompany a fried pork mince, laced with fish sauce. This combination is neatly piled onto lettuce cups, which act as mini vessels by which the laab is hand-delivered (literally) to the mouth. I like to think of it as the Lao equivalent of a taco.
As with most national dishes, laab has an interesting backstory. Over time it has transcended the geographical constraints of its country of origin, and has become as much a staple in northeastern Thailand as it is in Laos. According to Dee Boonpiti’s study of laab, the mass-migration of Laotian refugees following the end of the Vietnam war (known as the Indochina Refugee Crisis) brought laab across the border into Thailand, where it has remained ever since.
Long before this however, it’s believed that it was a dish confined to the wealthier upper-class of Laotian society. Those who could afford the meat used in laab would typically serve it at celebrations, and the meal was often associated with luck. Indeed, one of the first widely publicised recipes for laab came from Phia Sing, who worked as a chef for Luang Prabang’s Royal Palace.
And who could blame the royalty for indulging in such a delicious dish? Heck, I certainly felt like royalty eating it.
Fried until satisfyingly crispy, the minced pork is blended with an array of aromatics, each one adding bucketfuls of flavour to every bite. Birds eye chilli, lemongrass and garlic heavily featured in my laab, and the addition of fish sauce lent a powerful umami undertone throughout.
Not only is this pungent ingredient crucial to achieving laab’s strong savoury taste, but its flavour-enhancing properties are something to truly marvel at. Similar to salt, fish sauce has the remarkable power to make something taste more like it should, a tool that professional chef J. Kenji López-Alt utilises a lot in his cooking. In his book The Wok, he details how its use in meat-based dishes – like ragù bolognese for example – can make the meat taste… well, meatier.
It’s clear the Laotian people discovered this trick long ago – and laab benefits greatly from it.
Various other ingredients adorned my salad: from sweet peppers and sour pickled cucumber, to fresh rocket and crisp mange tout. Whilst not the most authentic additions (perhaps with the exception of the cucumber), they remained complementary nonetheless. And as if this wasn’t enough, peanuts also featured, further enhancing the laab’s crunchy texture.
Chatting to Head Chef Ricky, we discussed how the ratio of pork to leaves in laab is often different to what is served at the café. It’s more common to find a huge pile of the meat next to the fresh ingredients, meaning the laab’s assembly is up to the person eating, rather than the chef. I was appreciative of the balance here though; you could tell the proportion of protein to greenery had been carefully considered, ensuring the menu’s description of “light” was accurate.
A squeeze of lime topped it all off, completing the flavour profile in a way only lime’s sharp acidity can. It was with a tingling tongue and a satisfied appetite that I happily folded my knife and fork across the plate – a little pointless considering I’d barely used them. This truly was a salad to rival all other salads, and dare I say it, tacos too.
I must thank Chef Ricky, Darren, and the rest of The Harley Café team for such a lovely meal, and for sharing the details of their dishes. You can read all about their other Tribudishional menu item, the Mexican Tres Leches Cake, here.
As for the laab, I think a Tribudishional score of 9.0/10 speaks for itself.
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