Travelers' Tales Thailand: True Stories (Travelers' Tales Guides)

by James O'Reilly

  I marveled at how much more aromatic the fresh green peppercorns were than the brine-cured ones so loved by European and American chefs. What we consider an expensive specialty item in the United States, Chalie used with abandon, tossing clumps of peppercorns, twigs and all, into curries and soups. My favorite recipe utilizing green peppercorns, however, was for a concoction the Thais call a dip but that more closely resembles a relish or condiment. In this case the green peppercorns were mixed with garlic, sugar, dried shrimp, lime juice, and grated sour fruits. Chalie recommended it as an accompaniment for vegetables or grilled fish, but we found it addictive eaten straight with a spoon.

  The Thais clearly took to the chilies that the Portuguese brought with them, and a myriad variety in different shapes, sizes, and colors overflow baskets in a riotous display in the markets. Although thin slices of fresh chilies appear frequently as a garnish, chilies are most often pounded into a paste with other aromatic seasonings. Depending on the type of dish it is headed for, the paste may include different combinations of such ingredients as the roots of fresh coriander plants, dried shrimp, shrimp paste, garlic lemongrass, and greater galanga. Chili pastes are the foundation of so many Thai dishes that it is no surprise to find huge conical mounds of them in the markets, in various shades of red, orange, and green. At least half the dishes we saw prepared in class, from curries to stir-fried noodles to soups, began with some form of chili paste.

  “The secret to Thai chili or curry pastes is the pounding of the ingredients. You must break open the pores to bring out the flavors,” explained Chalie to support his belief in the importance of the mortar and pestle. “A food processor does not do the same thing.” Chalie was flexible on many other substitutions, but on this point he was adamant. He demonstrated the making of pastes with two different mortars and pestles. One was a deep, clay bisque bowl with a palm root for a pestle, and the other was carved from a solid piece of granite with a matching granite pestle. For those of us accustomed to modern, supposedly time-saving equipment, it was an eye-opener to watch the old fashioned mortar and pestle mash a mixture of garlic cloves, chilies, and lemongrass into an aromatic purée in no time.

  What has long intrigued me about Thai food is its reflection of the unique way in which influences from neighboring countries have been adapted. As we tasted our way through five days of classes these culinary borrowings became clearer. From India came the curries, but, whereas Indian curries are based on spices, Thai curries are predominantly herbal, with the prevailing flavors of coriander root, lemongrass, chilies, and basil and only the occasional use of cumin, coriander seed, and cardamom. Reminiscent of Chinese cuisine are the stir-fried meats and poultry and the noodle dishes, but the addition of such seasonings as shrimp paste, lime juice, tamarind, and basil makes them distant relations. The Thais adopted sates, the skewers of grilled meats served with a peanut sauce, from the Malaysians, but instead of a dry marinade the Thais often combine the spices with coconut milk and let the meat marinate in the mixture before grilling it. The accompanying peanut sauce tends to be a touch sweeter and creamier with the addition of coconut milk than the typical Malaysian versions.

  The author’s introduction to Thailand came, in fact, from her backyard childhood pal, whose father was in the Foreign Service in Thailand in the Kennedy administration. The two remain in contact, and Ms. Minifie’s friend has returned to Bangkok to live.

  —JO’R and LH

  Thai cuisine was not new to me when I arrived in Bangkok, although the food I ate at the school and in the restaurants was far superior to anything I’d had before in the United States. Interestingly, I sampled my first Thai food at the New York World’s Fair in 1964. I accompanied friends who had lived in Bangkok for several years, and we had lunch at the Thai Pavilion. I was eleven years old at the time, not a typically adventurous age when it comes to trying new foods, but I remember particularly liking the fried-noodle specialty, which I now realize was mee grob, sometimes referred to as the Thai national dish.Versions of mee grob I’ve had since then in New York City Thai restaurants have tasted overly sweet, a common problem due to the unfortunate belief that the American sweet tooth applies to savory foods as well as desserts, and so I was eager to learn the proper method of preparing it. Chalie confirmed that even in Thailand too much sugar gets added to mee grob, especially in the quick versions hawked in the markets. These simplified street concoctions bore no resemblance to the elaborate preparation we witnessed in the classroom.

  Mee grob is a dish in which texture is crucial. Chalie explained that the noodles should be crisp and crumbly , not crunchy. To achieve this consistency he very briefly soaked the dried rice noodles in water to seal their pores so that they would not puff as they normally do when submerged in hot oil, then dipped them in beaten egg as a further sealant. When the egg coating had set, the noodles were deep-fried. The resulting tender-crisp noodles kept their consistency even after a later stir-frying with naam pla, rice vinegar, palm sugar, and a mixture of shrimp, pork, and chicken.

  In a country blessed with a profusion of orchids, where people painstakingly string individual petals into elaborately patterned strands and necklaces and carve fruits and vegetables into a cornucopia of shapes, it is no surprise that aesthetics play an important role in the cuisine. “The Thais have always liked things to be pretty,” explained Chalie. For novices and professional cooks alike, the inventive presentation of each dish made the classes especially worthwhile. For instance, to gaeng rawn, a simple bean thread noodle and vegetable soup, we added little bundles filled with the surprise of ground pork or vegetables and tied with a lily blossom. Guay tiaw paad Thai, a stir-fried noodle dish, was served enclosed in a thin egg sheet and decorated with red chilies. The monotone mee grob was mounded in an elegant and edible fried noodle basket, which looked impossibly complicated but was actually made easily with two metal bowls and a large deep-fryer in much the same way that French potato nests are formed. Delicate egg lace, created by drizzling beaten egg through a bamboo strainer into hot oil, was laid carefully over the mee grob and topped with red chilies and slices of pickled garlic and lime to create a spectacular-looking dish from humble ingredients.

  In order to enhance our artistic appreciation of the cuisine, a skilled Thai fruit and vegetable carver led one afternoon session. We watched in awe as a lovely young woman with lightning-speed dexterity transformed a platter of fruits and vegetables into fanciful shapes and blossoms. A piece of rosy-red papaya took on the lines of a curvaceous leaf, a carrot metamorphosed into a partially shucked ear of corn, and a whole watermelon became a large blossom. The methods she used were simple, and yet the results were visually effective. I must admit that our first attempts to copy what we’d seen demonstrated were pathetic, proving that it wasn’t as easy as it looked, but by the end of the morning we had made some passable creations. It was the most exciting class of the week for me. I saw so many new possibilities for garnishes that I couldn’t wait to try the same tricks on other fruits and vegetables at home.

  Given the exciting blend of flavors in Thai cooking and the artistry of its presentation, it is no wonder that European and American chefs are making a beeline to Thailand. There is much to be learned in this magical spot in Southeast Asia, whether one is interested in duplicating an exact dish or in using the delicate balance of spicy, sweet, sour, and salty flavors as a springboard for new creations. Considering how richly satisfying this cuisine is, the Thais, whose thin physiques belie their appreciation of good food, provide food for thought for all the Western world.

  Kemp M. Minifie, senior food editor of Gourmet Magazine, has been a fan of Southeast Asian food since her first bite in 1964.

  Food is my passion, my pleasure, and, as was the case in my visit to Thailand, my pain.True Thai cuisine makes liberal use of potent little chilis (prig), various colored peppercorns (prig Thai), and spicy curry pastes. To enhance my enjoyment in Siam, I made it a point to eat Thai and cook Thai, hoping to add a new dimension to
my international palate and my kitchen back home. I combined my culinary quest with sun and surf on the island of Phuket. Mom Tri’s Boathouse on Kata Beach was a quiet respite that allowed me to follow my heart’s (and stomach’s) desire. I spent two days at a hands-on cooking course run by internationally renowned chef, Tamanoon Punchun, and four nights trying to take in all the different types of foods and cuisines offered. I learned to make my own fiery curry pastes, stuffed prawns, tumeric fish soup, Thai fried rice, beef curry, stewed pumpkin with coconut milk, and a myriad of other dishes, all of which were heartily consumed at a luncheon each day by the participants-cum-Thai chefs. I would spend the afternoons lounging at the beach, trying to digest the too-numerous dishes I had consumed earlier. But by 8 P.M., I was headed right back downstairs to sample from each of the hotel’s menus: Menu Degustation, Set Thai Menu, their large International Menu featuring both Thai and European dishes, and casual cuisine at its sister restaurant next door, the Gung Café. My favorite, by far, was the Degustation Menu, a delicious no-brainer: four courses, each paired with a different wine chosen specifically for the dish. (The Boathouse Wine & Grill has the largest wine cellar in all of Thailand.) I can still taste the rack of lamb, marinated with five spices and served with a Thai paella and deep-fried holy basil leaves, and the memorable dessert sampler served with a twenty-one-year-old Port. And the best part of the whole visit, is that even though I am a nineteen-hour flight and months away from Thailand, I can still enjoy the spicy flavors in my very own kitchen, thanks to a handful of stained recipes.

  —Susan Brady, “Dream Come True”

  ANTHONY WELLER

  Wat Massage

  He kept all his clothes on. So did she. It was the best massage in Bangkok. Really.

  THE BEST MASSAGE IN BANGKOK HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH A lissome naked Thai beauty lathering you to distraction using every inch of her skin and the only soap pad nature has endowed her with.

  Rather, it takes place with no privacy, in daylight, and both of you keep all your clothes on. Though not as profound a religious experience as is the famous “body-body,” this dry alternative occurs under the incurious gaze of hundreds of Buddhist monks.

  It is available daily, 7:30 to 5:00, in one of the largest temples in Bangkok: the Wat Po (Temple of Enlightenment). A Thai temple is characteristically a series of courtyards littered with gingerbread pagodas and chanting shaved-headed novitiates. The Wat Po also has tables of fake Rolex watches, at ten bucks each, plus the Reclining Buddha, the biggest in Thailand: nearly half a golden football field of him, counting the mother-of-pearl feet, smiling as if he has just received the finest Thai massage. On a recent morning I paid my respects, then went to the next courtyard to do likewise.

  Having heard about Thai massage traditions going back twenty centuries, etc., conferring the same beneficence on the giver as the receiver, etc., I was with barbarian ignorance prepared to find that the saffron-robed monks themselves do the kneading. This, of course, is not the case. But the Wat Po School of Thai Massage—found in two screened-in, slant-roofed enclosures—has been the finest in the country for at least three decades. Eighteen hard beds are laid side by side in each room; fans keep the humidity and heat at bay.

  Nearly all the beds were occupied by barefoot, clothed bodies being gently bent, pressed, and squeezed by barefoot, clothed masseurs. Both sides of this corporeal tug-of-war consisted of both sexes. My hopes for a pure massage, with no impure overtones, were dashed when (after paying my 140 baht) I was introduced to my masseuse. Instead of some wiry Thai, I was assigned a slender, gorgeous young woman named Mon, with big dark eyes and long black hair.

  Thai massage is based on the theory that invisible lines of force run through the body. Pressure is never exerted on the bones; rather, the muscles are worked and released, after a slow loosening. Another technique involves cutting off the circulation entirely in one area for a minute. Movements and stretches are always gradual, so you wind up in positions such as “the reclining cobra” without any strain.

  One common and dangerous maneuver is to push firmly on both femoral arteries of the client for several minutes and then releasing the pressure suddenly. This results in a flushed feeling in one’s legs. Embolic phenomena (blood clots) and sudden obstruction in the leg arteries, particularly in older persons, have been reported as a result of this practice.

  —Henry Wilde, M.D., Supawat Chutivongse, M.D., and Burnett Q. Pixley, M.D., Guide to Healthy Living in Thailand

  It was astonishing how much pressure Mon could apply. At times she simply leaned on me and seemed to weigh as much as a truck. She would tug one bent leg up easily and give a disarming smile; then suddenly, 10,000 pounds would be painlessly brought to bear on a tight muscle I’d never known existed. She would rock back and forth on my limb for a moment with the pressure on, then move elsewhere. It was less like a massage than like a very thorough engine tune-up administered by a highly skilled mechanic.

  After my legs, she went to work on my back, treating it like a crossword puzzle, clambering up and down and across, leaning, walking, kneeling, and squeezing with her toes, fingers and heels, all at the same time. Eventually she took my arms, which by now had little fight left, and stretched them until they were fifteen feet long. Then she went to work relaxing my skull and kept up a sing-song, twittering conversation in Thai with the masseur two feet away, who was giving a comatose Dutchman the 100,000 pound treatment. Did I look soft? Was that why I’d been given this slip of a girl rather than someone who’d treat me like a twist-off cap? Anyway, the massage school was the most relaxing place in Bangkok; I left invigorated, not exhausted.

  Anthony Weller is a writer and poet who lives in Gloucester, Massachusetts.

  Life is impermanent. This key Buddhist tenet applies to success, wealth, love, and happiness and Thais order their lives by thinking, not in straight lines, but in cycles. The turning wheel that places one at the top can just as easily roll over and crush one later in life. In a society in which one’s success depends as much on communal support as on personal merit, one does not gloat over fallen enemies; he may himself someday need help rising from the ashes. It also reflects pragmatic recognition that fate is capricious; cretins could regain their prominence and recall the snub.

  —Steve Van Beek, “Thailand Notes”

  PICO IYER

  Paradise Found, Paradise Lost

  Another heaven on earth can be found in the Gulf of Thailand, desperately trying to stay one step ahead of developers—and the rest of us.

  FOR SOME TIME NOW THE WORD’S BEEN GOING ROUND AMONG the tie-dye brigade, those ragamuffin gypsies who drift from one discount Eastern paradise to the next, from Goa to Bali to Lake Toba: another place to be is Ko Samui. And as soon as one descends from the heavens onto this coconut-palm island set in the Gulf of Thailand, white strips of deserted beach lining its shores like racing stripes, one can see why.

  The airport itself is just a group of thatched huts, without windows or walls, lit up by the song of birds who chirp in cages hanging from its roof. The security area consists of a single, gently smiling man. A Buddhist spirit house guards the entrance. And while a couple of Danish freaks are unpacking the cat they’ve checked in as luggage, a Thai girl offers you a bus into town. Outside, the spare tires of the Suzuki jeeps resting in the sun are wrapped in yin yang covers.

  The first thing to greet you, on departing the airport, is a fifteen-foot Buddha, looming high and serene above the sea, blue waves lapping against the bottom of his temple. Nearby the signs point to a Meditation Institute. All around, the beaches are clear and white and empty. Monks in saffron robes and women in lampshade hats flash past across the green. The jeep bumps along unpaved roads littered with the husks of coconuts. Here and there, on trees someone has inscribed “Have Mercy.” Elsewhere hand-painted signs offer “Ancient Massage” and “Snooker” and even (in front of one unprepossessing hut) “Family Zoo.” A red banner declares, in Chinese, “A new spring is coming! Rejoice!” T
ruly, one feels as if one has landed in some enchanted forest, a Buddhist arcadia 300 miles south of Bangkok and a million miles from care.

  Of the roughly 80 islands scattered across the clear blue-green waters of the Gulf of Thailand, Ko Samui is the most well known. Its first great blessing is its relative seclusion. Until 1989 it could not even be reached by plane. Its second is that it offers all the native—and increasingly famous—blessings of Thailand: an exceedingly attractive and gracious people; delectable food; First World facilities at Third World prices.

  With its golden temples and go-go bars, its water markets and opium tribes, its jungles, beaches, and shopping malls rich with rubies, silks, and statues, Thailand has become as polished and satisfaction-guaranteed a tourist market as exists today, an irresistible sensual wonderland with a gift for giving pleasure. Inevitably, too, it has become a victim of its own considerable charms. As 13,000 tourists come pouring in each day, Thailand has been losing idylls almost as fast as it develops them. The island of Phuket is now afflicted with a Club Med and rows of high-rise hotels; Pattaya has become a bloated red-light district by the sea. Increasingly, therefore, more and more people are beginning to settle—and settle, and settle—on Ko Samui. That is a heavy burden, of course, to lay on a 154-square-mile island that is, essentially, just one thick forest of coconut palms ringed with pristine beaches. Until recently, at least, nearly all the island’s 32,000 residents were coconut farmers and fishermen, and its main product was the 2 million coconuts it ships each month to Bangkok (many of them picked, no doubt, by graduates of the “Monkey Training College” you can see advertised along the country roads). Even now, much of the island still sways to a lazy hammock rhythm; there is nothing much to do but read, relax, and listen to the sighing of the surf.