Yes, it was true that Aristotle recommended parsnips, artichokes, turnips, asparagus, candied ginger, acorns bruised to powder and drunk in muscatel, that Ovid counseled a mixture of “pepper with the seed of the boiling nettle, and yellow chamomile ground up in old urine,” that the fifteenth century work, The Perfumed Garden suggested dabbing a paste of honey and ginger directly on the male organ to increase size, and that The Kama Sutra, the notorious Hindu guide to love, advised the firmness- or endurance-challenged to boil the testicles of a goat or ram in milk and sugar.
Interesting, yes, but like the birds’ nest and shark’s fin soup, what a hell of a lot of work, and some of it rather more yucky than I wished.
There was another possibility. What is termed “organotherapy” dated back at least to Roman times, when it was believed that eating a healthy animal’s organ might correct some nagging ailment in the corresponding human organ, a belief that continued to the present day. Thus, if eating foods that looked phallic made any sense—to the aforementioned rhino horn add deer antler, sea cucumber, and the geoduck, a clam that can weigh as much as seven kilograms and has a neck like a fire hose, all quite in demand in Asia—it seemed to me that it was time to kick the crusade one level higher—or lower, depending on your point of view—and try a dish or drink whose main ingredient was genitalia.
I confess I wasn’t inexperienced. Many years ago I ate the cojones of a loser in that day’s bullfight in Mexico City (deep-fried), in Singapore I slurped up a bowl of what was said to be turtle penis soup, and in Guangzhou, China, I once drank too much of what the menu described as Five Penis Wine, a liquid of dubious murkiness caused by what I was told were the empowering, powdered genitals of goat, dog, cow, deer and snake. Could I find such an uplifting food or drink in Amazing Thailand? Did I really want to?
It was on a random trip to the Samphran Elephant Ground & Zoo, some thirty kilometers west of Bangkok, that I found what I was looking for. Besides pachyderms, this sprawling, leafy compound also has numerous crocodiles on show. Now, I’ve never been overly impressed by these large, toothy reptiles in such a setting; they seem little interested in doing anything but soaking their scaly bodies in the cement sided pools or remaining equally motionless on the cement pads, their mouths agape. All that great stuff you see on the National Geographic Channel doesn’t happen in captivity.
However, on the way out of the wildlife park, as I passed a display of crocodile skin purses, wallets, shoes and belts, a trade that is permitted by the government for a few breeding farms, I asked if there were any edible products for sale, the clerk brought out some dried croc meat in a cellophane-fronted box, some dark beads that were identified as dried blood (good to relieve pain in the advanced stages of terminal disease, I was assured), and— voila!—what I was told was an adult crocodile’s penis.
“Make you strong!” said the clerk, unsurprisingly, telling me I was to grind it up in a mortar and stir the powder into a drink or soup.
My first reaction was disappointment. I found it hard to believe. The crocs I’d just seen lazing in the sun weighed nearly as much as pickup truck and what I was being offered for several thousand baht was about the size of my finger.
When my wife saw what I’d bought, she laughed. Champagne, black tea, sweetbreads, brains, kidneys, oysters, lobster and crayfish, caviar and roe, starfish, cuttlefish, smoked or salted mullet, anchovies, turtle, prawns, sea urchins, whelks, mussels, moral mushrooms, celery (what’s the full stalk look like?), red peppers, wild mint, pimiento, marjoram, parsley, roots of chervil and of fern, radish, lotus, pistachio nuts, cumin, thyme, sage, borage, walnuts, almonds, dates, quinces, musk, caraway, age, vanilla, clove, saffron, the blood of many creatures, dove and pigeon (because of their sensual courtship behavior)…the list goes on and on, and most of these foods are available in Thailand, where some people (people I’m certain are not friends of yours or mine) actually believe that there is priapic power in the consumption of mouse droppings. If even the more mundane in this list delivered what the myth extended, would it be any wonder that so many of us walk around in a constant state of lust?
What was needed in my search, I decided, was something more exotic, a food that would at the very least offer some true gastronomic adventure, without further endangering any of Thailand’s many threatened species. Here’s some advice from Dr. Schwann Tunhikorn, head of wildlife research for the Royal Forestry Department on the subject of tiger parts: “What people don’t realize is that most of the merchandise is fake. I have never seen a real tiger’s sexual organ in the market.” What is it, then? Dr. Schwann said many were carved from cattle tendon.
My wife and I knew we could do better, so we went to the Klong Toey Market, Bangkok’s largest outdoor food market, situated on the edge of the city’s largest slum but also within sight of the Stock Exchange of Thailand, so perhaps my purchase here would at least be as promising as buying shares in one of the Kingdom’s companies.
Just a few meters from the noisy traffic I met Kui Sai Lim, close to seventy years of age, the last dozen of which he has produced cobra-based tonic drinks and stir-fries. The customer selects a snake from one of several cages nearby, most a meter or more in length, some as thick as a man’s wrist and priced according to size, the largest for less than US$20. Enough, we were assured, to provide a healthy, stimulating stir-fry for two.
As my wife and I watched, the serpent was tied to a metal pipe, head up, its tail lashed to the supporting pole below. Mr. Kui then opened the serpent’s abdominal cavity with a sharp blade and drained the blood into a glass. A tumbler of strong rice wine was offered as a sort of chaser. The snake—still writhing— was skinned, cut into chunks and filleted, then chopped and cooked with fresh herbs, garlic and chilis.
The last of the cobra cocktail was consumed and that was followed by the usual dash back to my flat and the usual ho-hum and so-what, accompanied by the usual matrimonial smirk.
However unrewarded I may have been in my quest, I assured my wife I would not give up. This was, after all, a reasonable region of research and how could she say otherwise, when tens of thousands, maybe even millions of Asians obviously were better informed and more experienced?
The American writer P.J. O’Roarke insisted that the only sure-fire aphrodisiac was a Mercedes-Benz. Others say there are two, money and power.
I don’t even have a motorbike and of the other two, I have none, as well, so please pass the gecko wine.
Gourmet Dining on the Cheap
In the West, street food is severely limited in both variety and imagination. One encounters a soft pretzel served with mustard outside the home of the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia. Roasted chestnuts near London’s Big Ben. Tortillas with a filling in Mexico City. A hot dog here, a submarine sandwich there. And most people think “fast food” means you know whose hamburgers, fried chicken and pizza. Or something nuked in a microwave.
Ah, but take your hunger to the streets of the “developing” nations of the world, and especially to Asia, and there you find a level of culinary sophistication unmatched elsewhere. There are no cloth napkins. There are no waiters to take you to the table. There may not even be a table or chairs and if there are, they may be so close to the ground they seem made for small children. But, the food, oh, the food...isn’t that what’s important, after all, and so often is lost in overpriced, climate-controlled “ambiance”?
On the street, at temporary stalls and rolling carts and from baskets hung from bamboo shoulder poles—here today, gone soon, back again same time tomorrow—is the world’s most succulent and tantalizing moveable feast, where diners encounter unparalleled richness and variety, along with a speed in delivery unrivaled by all the efficiency experts behind the international fast food chains. Street food is the original fast food. And not only is the choice greater, it is cheaper and tastier, and also, in most cases, likely healthier.
No one can say which “developing” nation’s street cuisine is best, but in any argument, Thailand g
ets unchallenged respect from everyone. It is for good reason that Thai food has been the most popular cuisine to sweep the world since, well, chop suey and the sushi bar. Visitors to Thailand seeking The Real Thing make a big mistake if they don’t eat some of their meals on the street.
Sitting on those tiny stools, knees cracking, struggling with chopsticks, puzzling over why Thais push their food onto a big metal spoon with the back of a fork, while trying to identify the sauces and condiments in the little carry-away rack where there ought to be—and aren’t—salt and pepper, ketchup and mustard, can be a daunting, or enlightening, experience. (For the record, the condiments usually are fermented fish sauce, crushed peanuts, dried chili peppers, and sugar, all of which may be added to soup.)
Why, the foreigner may ask, are cold drinks taken away in plastic bags tied off at the top with a rubber band, rather than in a cup? What are all those little pancakes filled with and why is that woman pounding shredded green papaya so mercilessly in a mortar? Are those bananas being boiled in oil? What are those hairy red things piled next to the mangos? Why is so much wrapped in banana leaves or packed into bamboo before it is cooked? Is that toilet tissue being used for paper napkins? Are those insects, heaped high on the tray?
Eating on the street in Thailand is an adventure—noisy, vigorous, and for anyone unfamiliar with the widely ranging Asian diet, sometimes startling. There is no air-conditioned hush that you’d find in most restaurants; a bus and a small pack of motorcycles go past instead. And the food doesn’t appear magically from some mysterious location; you watch it being prepared as the smoke and odors wash over you, and if you stand too close to the huge wok full of boiling oil or fat of dubious origin, it will probably stain your clothing. Eating on the street in Thailand is being a part of a show. Gastronomy as street theater.
This is the way food is consumed in Thailand by the local population. It is to the streets and the waterways (where floating kitchens dispense soup and other foods), carts, temporarily erected stalls, bicycles and vendors carrying baskets on their backs, that the rural villagers and urban poor go for a thrifty, nourishing nosh or snack.
Slices of green mango are dipped into a mixture of sugar, salt and crushed or powdered chilis. Iced whole coconuts are “topped” and served with a straw. Beef (okay, maybe water buffalo) and pork and chicken chunks laced onto skewers are grilled over charcoal. Massive ears of corn are grilled in the same fashion, as are eggs and chicken thighs and whole fish (also skewered) and a puzzling array of twisted innards.
Dried, roasted squid on a bicycle rack is run through a set of hand-cranked rollers and reheated over a brazier balanced behind the seat. Lengths of sugar cane are treated to a similar pair of rollers to extract the clear, sweet juice, which is then mixed with water and ice. Sticky rice is cooked with sweet beans in bamboo or banana leaf. A mixture of coconut milk and rice flour, slightly sweetened and slightly salted, is heated in concave indentations in a heavy iron pan over a portable gas burner. The juice of small oranges (never mind the greenish color; they’re incredibly sugary) are squeezed as you watch, then poured into plastic bags with crushed ice and tied at the top with a rubber band, the corner of the bag open for inserting a straw.
Crispy-fried grasshoppers, silkworms, crickets, beetles, caterpillars, miniature shrimp, tiny whole frogs and even scorpions are salted and spritzed with vinegar and carried away in small paper bags made from the morning newspaper. Better than popcorn, say Thai gourmands. And lower in cholesterol than many other protein sources, say nutritionists.
As for this being the original “fast food,” someday I’d like to see a race staged between a McDonald’s serf and a Thai street cook, see who can deliver my lunch first. I’ll put my money on the middle-aged woman on Sukhumvit, Soi 4, who produces a healthy bowl of noodles with chicken, bean sprouts, chopped morning glory leaves and stems, garlic and spring onions, a selection of condiments waiting on the table with chopsticks and metal spoons, in about ten seconds flat…and—get this!—nothing had been pre-cooked.
Street hawkers—most but not all are women—are numerous where foot traffic is heaviest—for example, outside rail and bus stations, and along sidewalks where there are clusters of office highrises or, after dark, near the numerous entertainment venues. The food varies from one region of the country to another, but if there is a dominant influence, it is that of Northeastern Thailand, called Isan. Not so many years ago, dishes from this part of the country—the largest, the most densely populated, the poorest—were scorned by outsiders as fit only for peasants. Since then, thousands of food vendors from Isan have set up shop not only in Bangkok but throughout the kingdom and many Isan dishes are now considered a part of the “national” cuisine.
In recent years, there have been arguments about how “clean” Thai street food is, or is not. Pesticides and bacteria have been found in many ingredients. (As they are, too, in five-star hotels; five out of the six times I’ve been made sick by what I’ve eaten in Thailand has been after dining at a “nice” restaurant or hotel, not on the street.) The water used by street cooks for washing bowls, plates, and tableware may be of questionable origin. Unlike in the West, few food preparers wear hairnets or hats, or change the oil used for frying as often as they might. The complaints go on and on.
It’s all a tempest in a bowl of noodle soup, if you ask me. In a time of mad cow disease and foot-and-mouth and SARS and high cholesterol Big Macs, I find it difficult to get frantic about what I eat on the street in Thailand. The risk is, for me, worth the gastronomical choice and reward.
When I moved to Thailand in 1993, I remembered Edmund G. Love, a long-ago friend in the United States. He was a New York advertising guy back in the 1950s who almost threw his life away with booze, becoming a street person for a while, spending his nights on subway cars. Happily, he sobered up and wrote a book about his experience called Subways Are for Sleeping . It became a successful Broadway musical. I met him a few years later when he was researching a follow-up book based on the idea of eating his way from A to Z in the restaurant listings in the Yellow Pages of the Manhattan telephone directory.
Perhaps it was in Ed’s memory that when I decided to live in Bangkok, I vowed to try at least one “new” food each week on the street, because I saw so many I wasn’t being offered in restaurants, and often couldn’t identify. What better way to get to know the country than to consume its vastly varied cuisine.
Ed Love died about the time he got to “M.”
I figure it’ll be another five years, maybe longer, before I exhaust the possibilities on the street in Bangkok. And then I have all the choices offered in the north and south of the country, where I’m assured there is even more variety.
Country Cookin’
I was traveling in northern Thailand with a group of visitors from Europe, when our van suddenly pulled over to the side of the road. The only Thai in the group, besides the driver, said he’d seen something he wanted to share with us, and as we climbed out of the vehicle, he pointed to some people standing around a small fire in a rice field, about twenty meters from the road.
The fire was of a size you’d expect to see built for warmth in a cold climate. But this was Thailand, so that didn’t explain it. Nor did it appear they were cooking, because I couldn’t see any firewood, food, utensils, grill or wok—only flames and smoke. Why, I wondered, would a group of what appeared to be rice farmers end a day standing around a small bonfire?
As we watched, one of the men in the group added more dry grass to the flames, and our Thai friend, Yutakit Wanischanond, explained. The farmers were preparing a snack to eat before returning to their homes. The questions remained: what were they cooking, and how?
As the flames died and the ashes fell away, we saw what appeared to be an upturned metal can, large enough to have held about four gallons of cooking oil before it found its present use. One of the men removed the hot can with two sticks, revealing a small chicken and what appeared to be a rack of ribs.
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bsp; We were being beckoned to join the farmers. As we approached, it all became clear: the chicken and meat had been impaled on lengths of bamboo that were stuck into the ground, then covered with the up-ended metal can, which formed a sort of oven around the meat. After that, dry grass had been piled into a mound, burying the can, and set ablaze. More fuel was added until the meat was cooked.
Gingerly, one of the women with a knife cut away some of the chicken and pork into bite-sized pieces, serving them to us on a piece of banana leaf. One of the men then produced a bottle of hooch, the home-brewed rice whisky called lao khao . Some of my fellow travelers objected, saying they couldn’t take food from a poor farmer’s mouth, but Yutakit explained that refusal would offend. We ate. The pork fell off the bone and disappeared in my mouth as if made of meat-scented air, and from a single glass that was passed around the drink’s husky heat prepared my palate for more meat.
Once upon a time, everybody cooked outdoors and every mealtime was a variation of what we now call a barbecue. In the distant times to which I refer, there were no Webers and fancy gas grills. Nor even simple grills. Charcoal hadn’t been “invented” yet. There were no pots and pans. Probably it was a while before the notion of a spit was conceived. There was only blazing wood and meat that was tossed casually onto the coals of the fire at the mouth of the cave, turned with a stick once or twice before serving, charred on the outside, still bloody in the middle.
I was a Boy Scout when I was young, so cooking over a wood fire wasn’t entirely new to me, though I think my buddies and I got more pleasure from setting fire to things than from eating over- or under-cooked chicken and beef that our moms purchased for the camping trip.
Many years later, I lived in the northern California woods, cooking all meals over a wood-burning stove with a massive metal pipe to take the heat and smoke up and outside the house without, we all prayed, setting it aflame en route. This stove also provided the heat for the house. I recall that after years of cooking over gas in my previous homes, learning to regulate the heat in a wood fire was somewhat dodgy, and precarious.
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