One of the most difficult questions I am asked is ‘what is my favourite Burmese food’. The list is endless but if I have to choose a handful then one will be Laphet thote, pickled tea leaf salad.

I am not entirely certain how the tea leaves are prepared; something I will find out the next time I visit Burma. A search on the internet reveals a few variations but here is one I think most likely; Laphet is essentially a green tea; young leaves plucked and steamed before being buried underground from four to seven months for the fermentation process.

The pickled tea leaves have a slightly sour and bitter taste but this varies depending on the brand and where it comes from. A small amount of the tea leaves are eaten with crispy garlic, sesame seeds, roasted peanuts, dried shrimp and fried broad beans and chana dal.

Traditionally it is eaten as a snack when we receive visitors and served in an elaborately decorated lacquer ware with different compartments for the ingredients, allowing each person to choose their own ingredients and serve themselves either with their fingers or a small spoon. All this is washed down with piping hot green tea.

I found laphet tote works really well as a snack served with beer or as a digestive at the end of a meal. I usually pre-mix the salad for those new to it, adding a small amount of onion oil, fish sauce or salt for vegetarians, diced tomato and a squeeze of lime juice. It is a unique way to eat tea and if you are a tea lover this is a must try.

Where to buy it:
I prefer the Ayee Taung brand from Mandalay which is available from Mum’s House. They also produce packets of laphet with added spices or sourness. I prefer just plain pickled tea leaves. They also sell Ayee Taung Brand Double Fried Crispy Spices which are the crispy assortment for the salad.

Ayee Taung Brand Pickled Tea Leaf
Ayee Taung Brand Double Fried Crispy Spices

The dazzaling golden glow of the Shewdagon stupa rising up to illuminate the night sky of Yangon is an unforgettable sight. To me it is a symbol of home.

Shewdagon was part of our daily life, a favourite family day out to make offerings of flowers, candles and prayer flags in honour of the Buddha. Encased deep within Shewdagon, there is said to be eight sacred hairs of the Bhuddha and is the most important shrine in Myanmar. Pilgrims from all over the country come to pay homage, especially on auspicious religious days and at least once in their life time.

The main stupa towers over 100 meters from its platform, plated with gold and the very top of it is said to adorn thousands of diamonds, rubies, sapphires and other gems, including a single 76-carat diamond. Countless other smaller shrines and pavilions crowd around the platform with a wide marbled walkway that encircles the main stupa. Despite the number of pilgrims and visitors it attracts, Shewdagon remains a place of serenity and sublime beauty even to this day.

One of my earliest memories is of a visit to Shewdagon. The day began at dawn; on the way to the padoga we stop by our favourite Mohinga stall where regular diners hunch over low stools slurping fish noodle broth and catching up on daily gossip. The stall owner knows our family well, considered loyal customers; we are offered a second helping of soup. When we are satisfied with breakfast; we climb back into my father's VW Beetle and turn toward Singuttara hill and park at the East gate.

Before beginning the long climb up the covered stairway lined with numerous stores, we remove our thong shoes. We walk up to the first few stalls overtaking a couple who are waiting for the remainder of their family to join them. 'Ah Ko Gyi, Ah Ma Gyi. Come and rest a bit. Leave your shoes here. We have fresh flowers,' voices from other stall owners try to compete for customers as more people ascend behind us. My mother however favours this particular stall; we greet the old man with betel stained teeth and a head of white hair, and leave our shoes with him.

As for the flowers and other offerings, my mother marches on until nearly all the way up the staircase to seek out her favourite stall. A woman with friendly eyes and two enthusiastic young helpers spots my mother and greet her eagerly. My mother pauses to chat to the woman offering advice for her chesty cough and inviting her to visit the health clinic. The woman offers my mother two large bunches of flowers, handful of candles and a packet of gold leaf in gratitude but my mother insists on paying her. My sister and I carry a bunch of flowers each and run up the remaining steps trying to beat our two older brothers who challenge us to the top.

The heady smell of sandalwood incense mixed with the sweet scent of various flowers offered to the shrines hits me when I reach the platform. As per custom we keep the main stupa on our right and walk clockwise around it stopping at the pavilions to make offerings and donations. Occasionally we hear announcements on the tannoy or catch the soft chant of prayers from monks.

My mother and father leave my sister and I, in the care of my two older brothers, to look for a water seller and visit our planetary posts while they sit in meditation. In Myanmar the day of the week a person is born is of significance as this will not only determine the first letter of their name but also their planetary post which influences many aspects of daily life: from the selection of partners to days when it is unlucky to cut your hair! There is a rhythm which we sing in the playground along the line of a girl born on Friday should not marry a boy born on Monday. Why, I never found out.

There are eight planetary posts as Wednesday is split into morning and afternoon, each post is at cardinal points around the pagoda. We are at the south west corner when we find a water seller, a slender man tanned by the harsh sun. He slowly lowers the two containers which hang at either end of a long pole that he carries across his shoulders and scoops up water with a half shell of a coconut. I squeeze past other devotees offering flowers, candles and pouring water on the naga, the mythical serpent that represents Saturday, my post. I wait for my turn then pour the water over the naga and the Buddha image three times. I hear other people saying, 'Let your head be as cool as this holly water. Let your worries be washed away with this clean water.' I copy them and repeat the phrase in my head.

We walk around the pagoda until we reach Friday's post for my father, Sunday for both my brother and sister, Wednesday morning for my other brother and finally we all pour water at Tuesday's post for my mother. By the time we complete the full circuit the sun has climbed high and the marble floor is warm to walk on. My mother and father appear from one of the pavilion at this point to take us home and we are all happy to take shelter in the stairway as we descend to the gate.

During our stay in Yangon, early one morning my cousin, Myint Han, came back from the market with two heavy plastic bags. ‘You are in luck,’ he told me. ‘It was full moon last night so it’s time to eat crab!’

Having already eaten a second breakfast that morning with his sister, Khin Khin Lat, trying to determine who made the best Mohinga in town, the thought of more food made me sink into the cane chair directly underneath the whirring ceiling fan, nursing my full stomach. Christopher on the other hand was curious and followed Myint Han into the kitchen to see what he was up to. Though neither Christopher nor Myint Han spoke a common language they seemed to somehow communicate.

After some time, Christopher came back to the sitting area and asked, ‘What has full moon got to do with eating crabs?’ I was about to reply when I thought, I really have no idea. So we both ventured into the kitchen to see a wok on the coal stove now steaming with crabs, I asked Myint Han about his full moon remark.

He said the Burmese believed crabs were at their fattest and juiciest at this time of the month when they came out to feed during a low tide which coincided with a full moon.

Myint Han served the crabs, which were simply boiled, with a delicious dip of soy sauce, lime juice, crushed garlic and chopped green chillies. The salty sour sauce complimented the sweet succulent meat. It was the best crab I have ever tasted so there must be some truth to the full moon belief. After two breakfasts and still only ten o’clock in the morning, I could not eat more than half a crab while Christopher some how put away nearly two. ‘Hsa ba,’ Myint Han encouraged. ‘Tut hsa ba.’ Eat more!

As part of Burmese hospitality, guests are served first; they eat first while the host watch with equal pleasure to see their guest enjoying the food. Eating in front of an audience takes some getting used to especially for Christopher.

This image reminds me of the time Christopher and I were sitting on the cool tiled floor of Ananda Pagoda in Began trying to blend in with the locals so we could take photographs of novice monks meditating without disturbing them. Their faces were very serene and we wanted to capture this when I caught a whiff of a familiar fragrance.

The smell of this particular yellow flower stirred long forgotten memories of my childhood, happy memories that made me feel warm and tingly inside. I was communicating this to Christopher, possibly a little too loudly and the next thing I knew, the lady who was holding a bunch of these yellow flowers came back and gave me some with a knowing smile. I was deeply touched by her kindness and thanked her, forgetting to speak in Burmese!

After a day in the back of a car, travelling along bumpy roads with hardly any loo stops, Christopher and I arrived at Nyaung Shwe, a town at the edge of Inle Lake. This fresh water lake is in the hills of the Shan State, a place my mother refers to fondly. She lived in the hills for a couple of years when my father was working with the UN before I was born.

Inle Lake is on most tourist circuit known for the water villages where Intha people live in houses built on stilts and fisherman who have a unique way of rowing with one leg. My mission here was to find out how to make my favourite Shan tofu and eat Shan noodles.

As usual we visited several shops buying souvenirs with the purpose of gently enquiring where the best Shan noodles shop is in town. Every person we spoke to pointed to the same small side street off the main road.

The shop was rather nondescript and we would have mistaken it for just an ordinary house if it were not for the steaming pot of soup on a coal fire. A young woman appeared from the back room to take our order.

We ordered Shan noodles, a steaming bowl of flat rice noodles seeped in clear chicken broth, topped with tomatoes, crushed peanut, spinach leaves and spring onions, served with a side dish of spicy pickled mustard green and bamboo shoots. It was definitely the best Shan noodles I had eaten in Myanmar and the next challenge is to find out how to make it myself!