Sesame oil

  Sesame is an important item in the traditional diet of the Shan people in Mae Hong Son. In addition to the various sweets that employ the seed, sesame is also used for its oil. Most places in Mae Hong Son use a mechanical press to make sesame oil, but one place in Ban Pang Muu, about 5km north of the provincial capital, still does it the old way: by buffalo.

They begin with dried sesame, shown above. When the pods are fully grown and dried, they open themselves, and getting the seeds out simply involves turning them over and shaking them out. The seeds are washed thoroughly, dried, and are ready to go

A bit of a water is added to the large wooden mortar-like vessel:

followed by the seeds themselves:

which have been washed thoroughly and dried slightly, but are not roasted beforehand, as in Chinese-style sesame oil:

A rather reluctant buffalo is connected to a large wooden 'pestle' and proceeds to walk around in circles, driving the pestle and crushing the seeds:

It takes about three hours to extract all the oil, and the guy above has to walk with the buffalo the entire time, otherwise it will stop:

After an hour or so the oil begins to separate from the seeds and rises to the top. After three hours it's simply scooped out by hand.  It takes 15kg of seeds to produce 4kg of oil, which is then put old whiskey bottles and sold in the province's markets:

To see this process firsthand, visit:

Pang Moo Organic Sesame Project 255/1 Moo 1, Pang Moo, Mae Hong Son 053 612 534

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Thai Yai sweets

  I'm usually not a huge fan of Thai desserts, but have really been enjoying the sweet stuff up here in Mae Hong Son, northern Thailand. The majority of people in this province are Shan, also known as Thai Yai (or Tai), and have a different set of sweet stuff than the Thais. Essentially, they've made due with the limited set of ingredients they have at hand: rice (regular or sticky, or sometimes wheat flour), sesame and sugar, often from sugarcane (rather than from palm sugar, as is typically the case with southern Southeast Asia).

My favourite so far is suay thamin:

I can't remember what suay means, but thamin is Burmese for rice, in this case sticky rice, which has been steamed with raw sugarcane sugar and/or juice and topped with a salty coconut custard. A similar and equally common sweet is alawaa:

made from rice flour, coconut milk and sugar. Both of these were bought in the tiny town of Pang Maphaa, also known as Soppong, and were among the only interesting things to eat there.

At the morning market in Mae Hong Son I came across these, which resembled donuts:

Apparently they're made from rice flour, sugarcane sugar and... sesame.

The last, and probably simplest of all, is khao pook:

This is purple sticky rice that has been mashed up with a bit of salt, then rolled in ground sesame. It's then served with sugarcane syrup or simply a block of sugarcane (as shown above) and wrapped in bai tong tueng, a leaf from a teak-like tree that often replaces dishes in this part of the country. Amazing really, what you can do with just a few basic ingredients.

A whole lotta khao soi

  As if I haven't been going on about it enough already, I have more exciting khao soi-related news. I was lucky enough to meet up with Andy Ricker of Pok Pok fame in Chiang Mai, where together we visited six of his favourite khao soi joints. The above pic was somewhere into our third bowl at the famous Samoe Jai Fah Ham. I'd love to reveal more, but the results will run in a magazine article next year. More to follow then. For now I'd just like to say that six bowls may not seem like a lot, but I reckon it will be a good while before I gain back the desire to eat khao soi...

A coupla pics from Mae Hong Son

Main street, Pai, during the tourist season, Mae Hong Son, northern Thailand

Am up north again and haven't had as much time as I'd like to take pics, but did get a couple chances here and there, mostly in the beautiful (but now empty) rice fields of Mae Hong Son.

Cows coming home outside Pai, Mae Hong Son, northern Thailand

 Rice fields outside Pai at sunset, Mae Hong Son, northern Thailand

Gathering rice outside Soppong, Mae Hong Son, northern Thailand

Rice fields outside Pai at sunset, Mae Hong Son, northern Thailand

Gathering rice outside Soppong, Mae Hong Son, northern Thailand

How To Make: Poj Spa Kar's lemongrass omelet

  Poj Spa Kar (pronounced phot saphaa khaan) is Bangkok's oldest restaurant. The current chef, Nathamon Jaidet, married into the family of the owner, whose relatives were former cooks in the Thai royal palace. She continues to use some of these royal recipes, my favourite of which is this simple, but delicious Thai-style lemongrass omelet.

Unlike a French-style omelet, which is cooked on one side in a small amount of butter, Thai-style omelets (khai jiaw) are essentially deep-fried on both sides. Minced pork is a common addition, but this unusual version uses finely sliced lemongrass, which provides the dish with a slight citrus flavour. The ideal Thai omelet is 'fluffy',  which Nathamon claims is due to the addition of a squeeze of lime juice. The cooking process is also unique, and Nathamon insists on using very hot oil, which results in an oil-free omelet. She also pours the egg mixture into the oil from about a foot above the wok, producing an omelet that is crispy and layered, not unlike a pastry.

Ingredients: Lemongrass, 1 stalk Eggs, 2 Lime Oil for deep-frying Chili Cilantro Bottled chili sauce

Slice white section of lemongrass as thinly as possible.

Beat Eggs thoroughly. Add a squeeze of lime juice, beat again. Add lemongrass and combine.

Heat at least four cups of oil until just beginning to smoke. Pour eggs into hot oil with a swilrling motion, from about a foot high. When omelet is slightly brown on the bottom, about 20 seconds, flip. Cook until slightly brown and crispy on opposite side, a few more seconds. Drain oil and serve with optional garnishes of sliced chili and cilantro, and a small bowl of bottled chili sauce. Serve with rice.

If you can't make it to Bangkok's Chinatown for dinner

then stop by my exhibition, The Last Chinatown, which begins tomorrow, December 6th, at Kathmandu Gallery in Bangkok.

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Tom yam samong muu

I don't think Phil was too keen on the idea, giving prions as a lame excuse. But they were out of brains that day anyway, so he got off easily. However on a recent visit to Banglamphu I wasn't so lucky; they hadn't yet run out of brains, and I finally got a try. What I'm referring to is tom yam samong muu, pig brain tom yam.

This unusual -- even for Bangkok -- dish is served in an ancient townhouse in Bangkok's Banglamphu neighbourhood owned an extremely friendly 80-year old man:

His father, an immigrant from China (and who eventually lived to be 94 -- the result of a diet of pig brains?), was the original owner. He reckons his father started the restaurant up during the early years of WWII, and little, including the positively medieval kitchen, appears to have changed since then. He now runs the place with his daughter.

Undoubtedly due to his father's influence, the man told us that the style of pig brain tom yam he makes is the Chinese style (Thai-style pig brain tom yam is available just across the street, he explained). In fact his signature dish doesn't only contain pig brains; there are bits of liver, tubular lengths of intestine and pork balls (no, not pork testicles, meatballs), among other meaty bits I wasn't able to identify. The dark brown bits you see are, if I remember correctly, battered deep-fried chunks of taro, which were particularly tasty.

He told us that most people eat the soup with a bowl of rice, dipping the meats in a tiny side dish of spicy dipping sauce first, then eating it with the rice. His dipping sauce was in fact delicious, and was made from tiny pickled chilies ground up with salt.

The verdict? Not bad, but not amazing. As pictured above, the broth appears thick and cloudy, but wasn't as rich as it looks. And I'm more put off by intestines than brain, which to be honest was actually very similar in flavour and texture to soft tofu. I'm thinking of using it as a tofu substitute for vegan recipes.

Tom Yam Samong Muu 11 Phraeng Phuthon 086 772 1600 9am-4pm Mon-Sat

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Lao is the new...

  well, I'm not exactly sure what, but it certainly is in the press lately. First of all, Saveur #115 has a feature piece on Lao food. I didn't think the dishes profiled seemed particularly 'Lao', but I liked much of the photography.  And secondly, there's a piece on the food of Luang Prabang in the December issue of Food and Travel, written and photographed by, uh, me. Sneak preview here.

Kuaytiaw 12 Panna

When I was up in Chiang Rai I had excellent northern-style noodles at a place called Paa Suk. It wasn't until I needed to come up with an interesting eating destination here in Bangkok that I recalled that they also have a branch here in Bangkok.

The occasion? Friend and Thai Food author David Thompson was in town:

David, being a Michelin-starred chef, demands only the finest cuisine and wine, and noodles at a greasy table while seated at tiny wooden stools seemed to fit this category. The restaurant is called Kuaytiaw 12 Panna, and serves the same repertoire of northern noodles as the Chiang Rai branch, with the addition of khao soi. The signature dish is khanom jeen nam ngiaw:

which I thought was pretty much identical to the version in Chiang Rai: rich and meaty. Unfortunately we were all disappointed by the restaurant's khao soi, which not only was rather bland, but seemingly also prepared incorrectly.  Hock and I liked the khao kan jin (rice and blood wrapped in banana leaves and steamed), pictured here.

While eating, I asked David about the book he's been working on. It is as of yet unnamed, but will focus on Thai street food, and should be in the shops in about a year from now. It will be considerably thinner than Thai Food, spanning 100 recipes that took, in his words, 'a f**** lot of testing.'

His next book, which he has yet to begin, will focus on the historical and cultural origins of Thai food.

Kuaytiaw 12 Panna Soi 3, Thanon Silom 08 6334 1489 7am-3pm Mon-Sat

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Gratuitous khao soi image #7

  The bowl above is, for now at least, the final entry in my gratuitous khao soi series. I had  eaten at this same khao soi shop nearly a decade ago when a friend and I were doing some exploring in Doi Phu Kha National Park in Nan. After a few days in the jungle, we eventually emerged at Ban Bo Klua, and at what appeared to be the town’s only restaurant found both food and accommodation. I don’t recall what we thought of the khao soi then, but I was sure I wanted to eat it again this time, the opportunity being a perfect nostalgic bookend to my seven-part epic khao soi feature.

Richard and I arrived at the shop at an early hour and I asked the vendor (the same woman from 10 years ago) if it was open. ‘Of course, open, yes, yes, we’re open. Sit down,’ she replied in an exceedingly enthusiastic, confident manner. Her attitude immediately made me suspicious; in Thailand if someone zealously confirms something, it most likely means it’s untrue.

After a minute or two she brought out our bowls, and Richard and I dug into what would be the worst bowls of khao soi either of us have ever encountered. For starters, the broth was just a step above lukewarm, and appeared to be little more than coconut milk with a pinch of curry powder. The chicken, which along with the broth appeared to be left over from the previous day, was nonetheless severely undercooked and alarmingly pink in parts. But the worst thing about the khao soi confirmed my initial suspicion; as I stirred the contents, I discovered that this bowl of noodles had no noodles.

‘There are no noodles in this khao soi,’ I told the woman.

‘Oh yes,’ she replied without hesitating, ‘the water hasn’t boiled yet so I can’t cook the noodles. I just used the deep-fried crispy noodles instead.’

As anybody who’s eaten khao soi knows, this is not an acceptable substitute.

‘When I asked you if you were open, you said that you were ready to go,’ I argued.

‘I am ready. Do you like the khao soi?’

I was not getting through. Clearly this woman just wanted to sell at any cost. When we told her, quite frankly, that the chicken was undercooked and that we did not like the khao soi, she asked, without a hint of irony, if we wanted to buy another two bowls.

Don't eat here. I'm providing the map below more as a warning than a recommendation.

Khao Soi Ban Bo Klua, Nan

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They start them off early in Thailand

Seen at a restaurant in Baan Huay Kon, Nan.

Salt wells

Ban Bo Luang lies in far western Nan province, only a dozen kilometres from the Lao border. The town is nestled in an incredibly picturesque valley with forested mountains on either side and is inhabited by three ethnic groups: Htin, Lua and northern Thai. The town is colloquially known as Ban Bo Klua (Salt Well Village) because the town's well produces extremely salty water. You'd think this would be horrible luck (in fact there are freshwater wells and a beautiful stream there as well), but from this well the locals have been extracting ‘mountain salt’ for an estimated 300 years.

Salt, as some of you probably know, was previously a seriously valuable commodity, particularly for those with no access to the sea. It’s said that caravans from remote corners of China would stop by Ban Bo Luang to load up on  the ‘white gold’ before returning home. Although just about everybody around the world has access to salt nowadays, little has changed at Ban Bo Luang, and they're still collecting salt as they've done for centuries now.

The salty water originates from a couple deep wells in the centre of the town:

The water is pumped from these wells into several rough huts that have rows of large earthen 'stoves':

The water is then boiled for about three hours until much of the liquid evaporates and crystals start to form. The salt is then scooped into bamboo baskets to drain:

The guy pictured here is a native of Ban Bo Klua and has been doing this job much of his life:

When it's his shift he actually sleeps in the smoky hut, waking every few hours to refuel the fires, scoop salt and refill water. The salt is sold in bags directly from the village, delivered elsewhere around Nan, and is now even being purified at the local hospital and used in different dermatological treatments. I reckon they should package it and slap on a label that says 'Artisan Hand-Collected Htin Mountain Salt' and sell it to people New York City for $8 a bag.

Gratuitous khao soi image #6

  Phayao, a small town that most Thais aren’t even aware exists, turned about to be one of the more pleasant destinations of my trip. The town’s setting at the edge of a vast swamp is a lot more interesting than it sounds, and the city also had some very tasty food

The khao soi at Phayao’s Khao Soi Saeng Phian was both rich in flavour and vast in size. I generally don’t like big bowls of khao soi – it’s so much more fun and satisfying to eat two small bowls (which is generally how the dish is served in Chiang Mai) than one large one – but I enjoyed it nonetheless. The broth was tasty and they employed good quality pickled mustard cabbage. And better yet, for those of us who like northern-style noodles, there were at least four other places within a block radius serving khao soi, khanom jeen nam ngiaw, or both.

Khao Soi Saeng Phian Th Tha Kwan, Phayao 9am-3pm

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Deep-fried som tam

  Som tam, green papaya salad, is probably the most popular dish in Thailand. The dish likely originates in northeastern Thailand, or perhaps Laos, but can now be found in virtually every corner of the country. It's equal parts cheap, spicy, quick and satisfying, leaving little wonder why it's become so popular.

However when a dish reaches this ubiquitous and iconic status, the most natural next step is to change it somehow. This has already begun to happen to Thailand's beloved som tam. The most recent twist I encountered at a small cafe/resturant in Nan was deep-fried som tam (pictured above).

The papaya actually appeared to be more dried than deep-fried; there was none of the oiliness or sogginess typically associated with deep-fried...papaya. There was some regular shredded green papaya thrown in, as well as some carrot and the usual tomatoes, peanuts, long beans and other seasonings. Like a good som tam should be, the dish was satisfying and refreshing, but had the added benefit of being super crispy. The only real downside I could find would be the addition some overly-sweet dried fish.

Kamlang Dee Th Sumonthewarat, Nan 11am-7.30pm

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Gratuitous khao soi image #5

This bowl of chicken khao soi was downed in the lovely city of Nan. The restaurant is located about a two-minute walk from Wat Phumin, my favourite Buddhist temple in Thailand. Wat Phumin's Buddhist murals, executed by a Thai Lue artist called Thit Buaphan in the late 19th century, are exquisite; this bowl of khao soi was merely acceptable. Sweet was the dominating flavour, if I remember correctly, although the dab of plain coconut cream was a welcome aesthetic flourish.

The sign out front simply reads 'Khao Soi' and is located next door to a bakery/cafe called Hot Bread.

Khao Soi/Hot Bread 38/1-2 Th Suriyaphong, Nan 089 635 9375 7am-4pm

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Eating in Nan

  Nan, a little-visited city in northern Thailand, has a great atmosphere, an attractive setting, friendly people and some of the most beautiful temples in the country. Unfortunately, it also has one of the worst eating scenes of any city in Thailand.

Actually, that's not entirely accurate. I'm sure there are some great home cooks in Nan, and the prepared food and ingredients at the markets looked pretty tasty. And eventually I did find one interesting local restaurant. But for a visitor without access to a kitchen or even dishes, the Nan's food choices were pretty uninspiring, and sometimes just plain bad; I left one meal (a simple vegetable stir-fry, I'm not entirely sure how they managed to mess it up) half-eaten on the table, something I don't think I've ever done before in Thailand.

So on my last day in the city, rather than eat yet another mediocre restaurant meal, I decided to buy lunch to go at the morning market. Everything was wrapped in banana leaf, so I didn't need any plates, and the the various dishes are meant eaten by hand with sticky rice in the northern style, so silverware wasn't even necessary. And my hotel had some tables on a balcony overlooking the street, so I didn't have to eat on my hotel bed or directly in front of a dressing table mirror.

The meal included, clockwise from 12 o'clock, sticky rice; par-boiled veggies, including some nice local beans; deep-fried pork rinds; sai ua, a type of herb-filled local sausage; nam phrik taa daeng, a chili dip made from dried chilies; and aep paa, a steamed banana leaf packet of fish and chili paste. I think it came to less than 50 baht (about $1.50) for everything, and it was by far the tastiest meal I had in Nan.

Gratuitous khao soi image #4

Located almost exactly halfway between Chiang Saen and Sop Ruak ('The Golden Triangle'), Jinda's Kitchen claims to have been making northern-style dishes for 50 years. They have a small menu of only about six or eight items, one of which was, of course, khao soi. Her version was decent, a little on the bland side, I must admit, but her khanom jeen nam ngiaw (unfortunately I ate it before I remember to take a pic) was fantastic, probably among the best I've consumed. Either way, it's worth a stop, as there's little in the way of good food, particularly that of the local variety, in this corner of Chiang Rai.

Jinda's Kitchen 086 654 3116 Rte 1290 (near Km 31) 7am-8pm

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Pok Pok on The Splendid Table

Andy Ricker, owner of Pok Pok, the lauded Portland, Oregon...Asian? restaurant (just don't call Thai--listen to find out why), was recently interviewed on NPR's The Splendid Table. Episode available here.

I really like his approach to making this kind of food, and the dishes sound fantastic. Just wish I could eat there... In the interview Andy mentions northern Thai-style laap and mustard leaves, both pictured above.

Blood and guts

  If you can read Thai, and spend enough time in northern Thailand, eventually you'll start to see the word luu on restaurant signs just about everywhere. I had a vague notion of this northern dish, knew it was something blood-related, and noticed that it always seemed to be found to be at restaurants that serve the famous northern-style laap. But other than this, I had never seen or sampled it. Recently in Phrae, I was able to get a crash course in luu.

It is indeed a blood dish, raw blood being the primary ingredient. The owner of the shop that was recommended to me explained that the blood must be purchased very fresh. It tends to coagulate somewhat nonetheless, he told me, so he still has to run it through a blender when he gets back home. He then adds eggs (raw) and lemongrass leaves (not the stalks, just the leaves; he made this very clear). He then kneads this mixture together by hand for about 20 minutes, before pouring it through a cloth strainer and storing the strained blood on ice. I forgot to ask why eggs were added, but I suspect the lemongrass leaves play some role in preventing the blood from coagulating.

To prepare the dish, a ladleful of the blood is poured into a bowl and mixed with a chili paste (that contains, among other things, makhwaen, the dried spice that's ubiquitous in northern Thailand), some chopped cilantro, and a pinch of salt and MSG:

As shown at the top of this post, the blood mixture is served with a mixture of crispy fried noodles, deep-fried kaffir lime leaves, deep-fried sections of large intestine ('Very difficult to prepare,' explained the owner. 'They have to be washed very well, then boiled, then deep-fried. It takes a long time.'), deep-fried pork rinds and a bit of the liquid from a jar of pickled garlic. To eat it, the blood is poured over the noodle mixture (he said that some people prefer bits of boiled or raw pork fat in place of the noodles), and mixed thoroughly:

I sampled a bit of it, and honestly, it was quite tasty. This guy has created an amazing homemade chili paste, and it was this flavour that came through most clearly. The texture was crunchy, mostly due to the deep-fried intestines and pork rinds. The colour, a brilliant, deep red, was for me the most disturbing part. I was alone in my tasting though; 'I've been making this dish for 22 years,' the owner told me, 'and I've never eaten it. I don't like to eat raw things.' I asked how he could make it without tasting. 'Experience,' he replied.

Other dishes served at his restaurant included, and I'm not making this up, grilled cow teats ('Very good, better than other kinds of beef') and aep orn muu, banana leaf packets of grilled pork brains.

Welcome to northern Thailand.

Gratuitous khao soi image #3

If you'll allow me to backtrack a bit, I forgot to mention that I did eventually find a decent version of khao soi in Chiang Rai. Sold at the side of the street under two gigantic trees, Somkhuan Khao Soi does a pretty good bowl, his broth having the smokey flavour of chako, a dried spice that some vendors use in their curry paste mixture. Khanom jeen nam ngiaw is also available.

Khao Soi Somkhuan Th Singha Khlai 8am-3pm, Mon-Fri

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