The Great food hunt
On the road with one of Thailand's top 'food detectives'
Jim called and pleaded with me to be "her victim". Unexpectedly, she had a free day and since I was in Bangkok, she wanted to take me to one of her favourite restaurants on the outskirts of the city.
Along the way, she mentioned that if I did not mind, she would like to stop by a small town known for Chinese pastries. She wanted to buy some for her mother and elderly relatives as offerings for the approaching Ancestors' Day. And, "if we have time", she suggested that there was a floating market in another little town nearby. She had never been there but was told by her driver, John, "it might be worth checking out".
Jim is one of my numerous Thai friends whose passion for Thai food is insatiable. Her's is an inherent and addictive urge.
King Chulalongkhorn, who ruled Siam in the 19th and 20th centuries was also a foodie. His Majesty would disguise himself as a commoner, travelling along canals and rivers in a wooden sampan to visit the homes of great cooks to taste and talk about food.
Talking about food, as well as cooking and eating it, is a Thai obsession. One only has to look around any lane and street in Thailand at any time of day or night to see this "happening".
John is Jim's best researcher. He seeks out the most obscure old-fashioned markets or traditional Thai restaurants. Jim then solicits "victims" like me to go with her to these remote and hidden corners of Thailand to taste exceptional dishes. She epitomises foodies who are true experts of Thai culinary arts. They are a curious lot because they seldom cook. But they know a great deal of how a dish should be cooked, what ingredients are required, and, most of all, how it should taste.
They are the underground food detectives that quietly search and spread the word among one other about where to find the best Thai cooking.
Jim is unique among my Thai foodie friends. Highly educated, she lived aboard for decades and constantly travels, appreciating food from all over the world. She is an expert baker. For example, for the best croissants in Luang Prabang just ask Jim.
Up until a couple of years ago, Jim would go once or sometimes twice a week in search of charcoal for her and her mother's kitchens. To this day, her mother, who continues to cook, laments when she has to use a gas stove because charcoal has become so rare and difficult to find in Bangkok. They exemplify the quiet but not unusual Thai families that still cook and take pride in doing so.
Aside from her love of food, Jim starts her mornings with Thai classical dance. Although I think the hidden reason for her choice of exercise is her love and respect for her elderly Thai dance teacher who is trying to preserve this dying art form. She is a rare sight in the streets of Bangkok because she dresses in traditional Thai pha sin.
We started our adventure early in the morning heading out of the city. Since I no longer recognise Bangkok, I do not drive when visiting and I have the worst sense of direction; I had no clue which way we were heading.
I happily sat and chatted with Jim as John drove on. Occasionally, I jotted down the name of the streets as they appeared on the superhighway. John said that we were heading towards Suvarnabhumi International Airport.
As we breezed along the highway, light rain veiled a landscape of unattended land, clusters of ageing shop-houses and orchards. It seemed like an hour before we left the highway and pulled into a small town.
In 1950, period shop-houses lined narrow streets that wound through the quiet and rain-soaked neighbourhood. A few brave merchants had set up portable tables underneath umbrellas, displaying stacks of colourful boxes of Chinese pastries.
Chachoengsao in the district of Ban Pho is known for these delicacies because centuries ago, Chinese immigrants settled in this little town. It's one of those rare places where Chinese descendants take great pride and still carry on the tradition of pastry making. Jim pointed out several shops that her grandmother used to frequent and promised that we would stop there on the way home.
As John drove slowly through town, I spotted a fruit stand with exceptionally beautiful ripe bananas and pleaded for him to stop. We bought several bundles as "kong faag," or presents for family and friends.
Shortly after, John was driving through country roads, winding along expanses of palm and coconut groves. We passed wooden houses nestled among a lush verdant landscape, crossed small bridges over narrow canals and a river before pulling in to a gravelled car park.
Around, there were makeshift tents and umbrellas where vendors had set up stands, selling freshly picked homegrown vegetables and fruit, pots of young palm trees, homemade desserts, dried meat, fish, freshly pressed sugarcane juice, toys, palm frond baskets, and palm sugar.
This temporary arrangement led towards a covered cement walkway built over the middle of the canal. We had arrived at the Bangla neighbourhood weekend market.
Like all ambitious entrepreneurs, the vendors' ultimate goal is to attract Bangkokians to come to their market so they can make loads of money. Unfortunately, if history repeats itself as with other similar provincial markets, their desire will ruin its' charming ambience. However, for Jim and me on that rain-soaked day, it was as if we had stepped back to our childhood.
Gregarious vendors in wooden boats called out promoting their specialties, enticing us with samples. Noodles garnished with pungent pickling vegetables, crispy pork-rinds, and fried garlic, oozing with a dressing made with chilies _ laced with soy sauce _ that were sold in banana pouches had us cooing like children.
There were other foods typical of central Thailand _ savoury and sweet custards, desserts, curries, and noodles _ cooked over charcoal stoves by vendors in boats, sending mouth-watering aromas into the humid air. We greedily purchased everything that tempted us.
As I looked around me with my taste buds happily tingling with a thousand tastes, it occurred to me that this market represents what foodies, be it Thais or foreigners, consider to be the "authentic" flavours of Thai cuisine.
Those of us of the baby boomer generation were fortunate to grow up in households when everyone still cooked. Most families, if not all, went to a market everyday for the freshest seasonal ingredients. There were no machines that grinded or blended. No readymade ingredients in cans or boxes, everything was prepared by loving hands. Time was not the essence for cooks back then, but rather, to create with great care, delicious food. Street vendors only sold one or two specialties _ something that they did exceptionally well. Our fast foods might have been fast when it came to service, but the behind-the-scenes preparations often took days.
Jim's rare treat and surprise lay ahead as we loaded the car and headed back towards Bangkok. John drove through more winding roads, hugging the canal before stopping in front of a weatherworn wooden house. Several young men and women with rubber gloves were picking through mounds of freshly harvested river shrimp.
We walked across narrow wooden planks, drawn towards the smell of fried garlic, peppers and chilies to the window of a cramped and dark kitchen. A young man was stir-frying mashed garlic with hot oil, as an elderly lady sternly gave instructions. Behind and in front of the kitchen was the dining room with a series of opened windows. Soft light from the sun curtained with mist flooded the room. Beyond was the panorama of the river's expansive stretch.
Kaan Thong Podchana at Baan Pho is a family owned restaurant. It has been around for over 50 years. The original owners still do the cooking and managing. The owners, an ageing couple, consist of a wife who suffers from a severe case of osteoporosis that has left her upper body completely bent downwards toward her feet. The disability does not deter her from cooking. She makes the most tender and moist haw mok or fish custard I have ever tasted.
The husband, whose eyesight is bad even with a pair of glasses, takes orders, while cleaning, and setting tables as well as serving customers. The severe and stern woman in the kitchen is a sister while the young man, a nephew, is the newest cook in the crew.
There is also a middle-aged woman, another relative, who does all the deep-frying in the far corner of the restaurant, along with her young teenage daughter who must have been recruited to help wait tables. She was the only person whose appearance revealed distaste for her job.
Jim wanted me to taste their best dishes. After a wait, our table was brimming over with not only several haw mok with catfish, but crispy fried river fish, fiery spicy gaeng pha with lots of fresh krachai, thom klong, or a clear soup with mushrooms and crispy fried fish, and fresh crab cooked with red curry paste. You might have thought that two skinny women who just ate through rows of food less than an hour ago could not have devoured a table full of foods. But we did, with great gusto.
As promised, we stopped at Chachoengsao where Jim was greeted by shopkeepers like a long lost relative. She bought several dozen boxes of flaky Chinese pastries at her grandmother's favourite shop, Kanom Peh Baan Poh, palm sugar at another, and seasonings for making a Chinese stew at an old shop called Tai Cheng Osod.
I felt very lucky to have been Jim's victim for this trip. It was one of the most joyous days I've spent in Thailand. My remembrance of that day was triggered when I recently read about some "professed" experts in Thai cooking. They concluded that Thais, as a nation, no longer know what real Thai food is.
Their opinions might be very different if they were as fortunate as I to know Jim and countless others like her; underground detectives who quietly move around the country, expertly hunting and relishing the best Thai foods. Or, they might take lessons from John, Jim and other foodies like them, whose passion leads them to discover and savour the hidden Thai gastronomic feasts that still abound in elusive corners of Thailand.m
Credit: Bangkok Post
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