A cool breeze rustles through the bamboo slats of the quaint coffee-house, as the mid-afternoon sun begins its slow descent into dusk. Outside, the sky is blue, and the coffee trees in the fields below sway gently in the light wind.

Sometimes the answers to difficult challenges can lie in our own backyards – and, for some, quite literally. This thought crossed my mind as I concurrently pondered the sorry state of the world - and the gluai hom banana in my hand.

We’re standing in a semi-circle in a red-dirt yard, sipping hot coffee blossom tea, and before us is a towering Akha tribal version of Thor, wielding a gigantic 4-foot wooden pestle. The enemy is a huge mound of thick, sticky white gooey-ness, sitting nonchalantly in a hollowed-out tree-trunk-turned-mortar.

Depending on who you are, the word ‘bergamot’ is likely to elicit different associations. If you’re a tea-lover, maybe it’s the delicate aroma of Earl Grey tea. If you’re into perfume, perhaps it’s the warm citrus groves of Calabria. If you were around in mid-1980s Thailand - it’s probably the popular anti-hair-fall shampoo.

Depending on who you are, the word ‘bergamot’ is likely to elicit different associations. If you’re a tea-lover, maybe it’s the delicate aroma of Earl Grey tea. If you’re into perfume, perhaps it’s the warm citrus groves of Calabria. If you were around in mid-1980s Thailand - it’s probably the popular anti-hair-fall shampoo.

As a child growing up in New Zealand, I would always look forward to the days when we would host dinners for our Thai family friends. I would invariably be sent to the pantry to retrieve a coveted can of jackfruit, or khanun, and be in charge of releasing the soft, yellow, fleshy ear-shaped fruits from their syrupy metal prisons.