A Feast in Luang Prabang: Finding the Heart of Lao Cuisine

After wandering around Luang Prabang for a few days, I realized that most restaurants on Sisavangvong Road (the main tourist street) are more about aesthetics than authentic flavor. If you want to find the true heart of Lao home cooking, you have to look for where the locals park their high-displacement motorbikes.

Right across from my hostel, at the corner of a road perpendicular to the main street, sits a place with the straightforward name: “Good People Good Food Good Price.” True to its name, it’s almost exclusively filled with locals.

Local Comfort: “Thai-Lao” Flavors

Looking at the menu, it felt remarkably familiar. Lao cuisine shares a lot with Northern Thailand (Chiang Mai)—as the saying goes, “Lao and Thai are one family.” The staple here is rice with toppings: a large plate of Mekong rice served with your choice of braised pork trotters, grilled pork, or marinated chicken drumsticks. My go-to order is always a plate of my “vegetable faith”—morning glory (stir-fried water spinach).

Compared to my time in Indonesia, where I often had no idea what I was eating until the shopkeeper explained it, the dietary habits in mainland Southeast Asia feel much closer to Chinese tastes. You can order rice dishes almost blindly without running into “traps.” I ended up having most of my meals in similar “hole-in-the-wall” spots, squeezed in with locals in shops as hot as steamers, devouring the food so quickly I barely had time for photos.

A French Twist: Romantic Evenings by the Mekong

Luang Prabang was once a French colony, and every travel guide suggests seeking out an affordable French meal. However, I found that many places in Laos offer more of a Franco-Southeast Asian fusion, whereas French cuisine in Vietnam tends to be more “pure.”

One evening, after watching the sunset over the Mekong, I decided that such a romantic night deserved an equally romantic dinner. Walking south from the Royal Palace along the river, past a cluster of temples, I found a Southeast Asian-French fusion bistro. Following the “thumbs up” icons on the menu, I ordered the “Crying Tiger” and a “Green Curry Pear Salad.” The former featured medium-rare local water buffalo—the meat was so fresh that I fully embraced this style of cooking. The latter tasted like an Indian and a Frenchman were having a fight in my mouth; eventually, the Frenchman won.

Incredibly, I passed by the same spot the next afternoon and decided to stay for a light lunch. I tried a dish called “Minced Meat Mapo Tofu with Mousse.” Everything on the menu sounds like “dark cuisine,” but each dish has an irresistible “this is good, I want more” quality—much like the soulful, deep eyes of the French owner.

Because I hadn’t slept well the night before due to some noise at the hostel, I ended up napping in a lounge chair there all afternoon. The owner even moved a pillow and a fan over to my seat. The place is called Lost In Baan, and I was more than happy to lose both my heart and my wallet there for a while.

The Wild Side: Luang Prabang Morning Market

In every country or city I visit in Southeast Asia, I make it a point to go to the place where communication is hardest but the local “human smoke” (life and energy) is strongest: the local market. The Luang Prabang Morning Market, located near the Royal Palace, sells a variety of “wild” items: grilled rats, bats, and geckos. Even though they were fried or marinated beyond recognition, I still couldn’t bring myself to try them. As a Cantonese person who is often labeled as someone who “eats everything,” my limit stops at silkworm pupae and snakes.

The market is mostly filled with locals, but among the tourists, you’ll see European groups screaming in disbelief at the charred remains of various animals. There’s also a mysterious group of independent travelers—curious Chinese people like me—who are always enthusiastically using translation apps to ask for names and prices. I even overheard someone asking how to ship these dried goods back home! When it comes to seeking out fresh ingredients, Chinese people are truly among the most dedicated on earth.

I bought some Pandan cake and grilled Mekong fish and took them to a stall outside the market, where I ordered a 7-yuan bowl of Khao Soy (minced meat noodles). The Lao lady handed me a few chilies, gesturing for me to add them. I rummaged through the vegetable basket for a while and finally picked a small lime to squeeze in—my ultimate sign of respect for Southeast Asian food.