Lim Lao Ngow

The tongue-twistingly difficult name of this street stall is Chinese in origin, appropriate for a stall on the outer edges of Bangkok’s Chinatown. I was escorted there by David Thompson, who knows the neighbourhood a lot better than I’d expected.

According to David, the highlight here is not the the fish dumplings nor the charming atmosphere (we sat on plastic stools near a drain) but rather the noodles:

And I’d have to agree. Despite the stall’s claims regarding their fishballs ('The fishballs that jump', whatever that means), they tasted stale and manufactured. The noodles on the other hand were flat, firm and flavourful. We both found that they had a lot in common with the noodles at Mangkorn Khao, where we had eaten previously that evening.

Lim Lao Ngow Th Songsawat 6pm-midnight

View Larger Map 6pm-midnight

On The Streets of Ayuthaya, Three Guys Keep It Real

  The title of this post is a take on the oft-cited 2005 New York Times article by R. W. Apple Jr. about dining in Bangkok. In the article, the late journalist explores the food of the capital with Bob Halliday, a 30-year resident of Bangkok. In my version, I'm accompanied by friend, chef and blogger Hock, and friend, chef and author David Thompson (both of whom, incidentally, work in restaurants mentioned in the Apple article), in our own effort to keep it 'real' on the streets of Ayuthaya. To this extent, Hock brought a bottle of prosecco and some prissy French nectar drinques, David took along his wit and historical knowledge, and I brought my camera to document part of the day.

Our first effort in Ayuthaya-style realism was Lung Lek, a 'boat noodle' restaurant just across from the ruins. The restaurant was as busy as I've ever seen it:

which unfortunately had a negative impact on the food. As David illustrates below, the noodles required substantial seasoning, something usually not necessary for the inherently rich dish:

The next step in our plan was to go to Pom Phet, a quiet shaded spot overlooking river and ruins, unfold our mats, and indulge in the pleasure of getting drunk somewhere other than Bangkok. Unfortunately there was construction underway at Pom Phet and virtually every other riverside ruin. So we headed directly to a riverside restaurant where we wished Hock had brought more prosecco, and where David and I fought over the fattiest bits of pork.

From there we headed next door to Baan Wacharachai where we spent the next few hours on a moored boat, eating, talking and drinking. The latter caused me to forget to document this part of the day, but the highlights were Baan Wacharachai's wonderful smoked snakehead fish, watching boats pass by on the river, and teasing Hock.

It was somehow decided that the only appropriate dish to end the day was of roti with condensed milk. This being Thailand, we naturally stopped off to buy another kind of roti on our way to eat the roti:

There are several shops selling roti say mai along the strip of road opposite Ayuthaya's main hospital and David chose the most popular one, at which he had to wait a good 20 minutes:

Free samples helped Hock to pass the time:

And then it was on to our final destination, Ayuthaya's night market. Where, as a pre-dessert snack, we ordered beef mataba:

Undeniably real and uncomfortably full, we headed back to Bangkok.

Khao khluk kapi Tha Phra Athit

Lying just steps from the famous backpacker district of Th Khao San, you'd think that there would be much in the way of authentic Thai food on Th Phra Athit. But there are actually some pretty interesting places to eat. My most recent find is a tiny streetside stall that serves only three dishes, the most famous of which is khao khluk kapi, rice cooked with shrimp paste and served with a variety of delicious toppings -- a dish mentioned many times previously on these pages.

Pictured above, the dish incorporates (starting at 12 o'clock and moving clockwise) kun chiang, deep-fried Chinese sausage; deep-fried dried chilies; lime; long beans and cha om, a pungent herb; sliced fresh chilies; sliced shallots; shredded green mango; muu waan, 'sweet pork', pork belly that has been simmered with fish sauce and palm sugar; and in the centre, shredded omelet and dried shrimp deep-fried until crispy. There's just about every flavour and texture you could ever want, and served with a bowl of hot broth, the dish is a tasty, healthy and balanced one-dish meal.

Another dish made here is khao phat nam phrik long ruea:

This is fried rice served with nam phrik long ruea, a pork and chili-based 'dip', par-boiled veggies, fresh herbs and other side dishes. The chili dip is wonderfully tart from the addition of a kind of citrus fruit, and I love the sides of salted egg (11 o'clock) and cha om,the herb mentioned above, which in this case is served in the form of a dense omelet (12 o'clock).

The third dish they were serving that day was khanom jeen saw naam, fresh rice noodles served with a coconut cream-based dressing. On previous visits I've also seen nam phrik kapi, a shrimp paste-based dish served much the same as the dish above.

The stall is open during lunch, dishes will set you back a whopping 30B (less than $1) and there are English-language signs, probably to facilitate the odd backpacker who dares to explore the gastronmic depths that lie beyond Khao San-style 'pad thai'.

Khao khluk kapi Tha Phra Athit Th Phra Athit Lunch

View Larger Map

Lephet thoke

Lephet thoke is a popular Burmese dish based around pickled tea leaves. The sour, slightly bitter leaves are mixed with shredded cabbage, sliced tomatoes, crunchy deep-fried beans, nuts and peas, a splash of oil and pungent slices of chili and garlic. The dish is versatile: it can be a snack, an appetiser or a palate cleanser. Allegedly it's also a stimulant; a Burmese waiter in Mae Sot, Thailand, told me that I'd be up all night if I ate too much lephet thoke.

I've had some interesting experiences eating this dish. Once, several years ago, I ordered the dish at a street stall in downtown Yangon. The woman mixed the dish, in the traditional manner, with her bare hand, squeezing and squelching the mixture thoroughly. After serving me the lephet thoke, she then stared at me while I ate it, licking her fingers the entire time.

I recall that the lephet thoke was tart from the tea leaves and crunchy from the fried peas.

Another time, on a boat on the Irrawaddy River, I was ordering a dish of lephet thoke while a drunk man started screaming at me in Burmese. Another man nearby was kind enough to translate for me. "He says he hates foreigners and wants to kill you," the man said, without a hint of emotion.

The lephet thoke was rich with oil and had thick slices of raw garlic, which I loved.

Compared to previous dishes, the lephet thoke above, consumed in Mae Sot, was uneventful. Unlike in Burma, the dish was served with little or no oil, and the garlic and chilies were served on the side. Nonetheless, the dish seemed to be just about everywhere in Mae Sot, not surprising given how many Burmese now live there. I was able to eat the dish at four different restaurants and even brought some pickled tea and crunchy nuts back home to Bangkok.

A couple more pics from Mae Hong Son and Tak

At Mae Sot's morning market, Tak

Doi Phra That Doi Kong Moo, Mae Hong Son

At Mae Sot's morning market, Tak

Burmese monks, Mae Sam Laep, Mae Hong Son

Doi Phra That Doi Kong Moo, Mae Hong Son

Mae Sam Laep, Mae Hong Son

Breakfast in Mae Sot

Mae Sot, a bustling city near the Burmese border in Tak province is mostly populated by Burmese refugees. Many of those who live in town are Muslim, and have had a huge influence on the city's food scene. In particular, along the street that runs south of the city's main mosque, you'll find several Burmese/Muslim-owned teashops:

They were heaps of fun, and served dishes you'd be hard-pressed to find anywhere else in Thailand.

Although roti, crispy fried pancakes, are available just about everywhere these days, it's still hard to find a good one. The guy pictured at the top of this post did a good job. His roti began their lives as small balls of greasy dough:

Stretched, smacked, pulled, smacked and slapped until the form thin disks, they're then fried in plenty of oil, shredded, and topped with sweetened condensed milk and sugar:

Sweet tea, also shown above, is available at every one of these places, although some customers choose to circumvent the restaurant altogether and order through the window:

Another fun dish is the tandoor-baked flatbreads known here as nanbya. Much like the roti, the dough is  portioned ahead of time. The balls of dough are then flattened onto a cloth-covered dome and slapped onto the side of the oven:

A couple minutes later they emerge as steaming hot flatbreads. The bread at the shop above was incredibly popular, and there was a line of people both inside and outside:

At most places this sort of bread was served with a dhal, a mild, watery lentil curry:

I wish we had something like this in Bangkok, although this blog's occasional investigative reporter Nong A tells me she recently came across something similar to nanbya at a place on Th Ramkhamhaeng. Details to follow soon...

The restaurants are open early, from 6-9am, and are found within about 500m south of the city's mosque, which I've labeled on the map below.

View Larger Map

Eating in Mae Hong Son

There are so many things I'd like to share from Mae Hong Son that it would take several posts. So instead, I've created a Flickr slideshow of some of the more interesting things. (Hint: click on full-screen mode, where you can opt to see descriptions of the images.)

Khao kan jin

  The name of this dish is, I believe, dialect for, 'rice with meat'. It's a Shan dish that one finds all over northern Thailand, but is best near its traditional homeland.

Ironically there's little meat involved in the dish; that is unless you consider blood meat. The dish is made from rice that has been mixed with blood (and perhaps a bit of salt) and steamed in a banana leaf. When served, the dish is topped with crispy deep-fried garlic, plenty of garlic oil and deep-fried chilies. Coriander (cilantro) and bean sprouts are served on the side. If you have the dish in Burma's Shan State it's served with the pungent root of a type of onion/leek.

One of the best versions of the dish I've encountered is at a tiny roadside stall in Mae Hong Son:

The stall serves just two things: khao kan jin and the local version of nam ngiaw, a northern-style noodle dish. Not surprisingly, the rice dish is rich and oily, but unless you were already aware, you'd never know it was made with blood (which has little flavour of its own anyway). The nam ngiaw is made in the local style: watery and employing more tomatoes than meat.

Khao Kan Jin Stall Th Khunlum Praphat, Mae Hong Son 1-7pm

View Larger Map

Mae Sri Bua

Mae Sri Bua is a Shan restaurant in Mae Hong Son. The owner/chef, Mae Sri Bua is a native of the city and has been at this a long time. She has trouble walking nowadays, but still manages to make some pretty good eats.

On my first visit to the restaurant I had had jin lung, the meatballs pictured at the top of this post. This a Shan dish you see everywhere in Mae Hong Son and it's made by pounding meat (the above were made with pork, but beef or fish can also used) with fresh herbs and veggies including lemongrass, garlic, galangal, fresh chilis, shallots, turmeric and tomato. The paste is shaped into meatballs that are then deep-fried. The meatballs are spicy and strong and would put any Swede to shame. Alongside this is some sort of curried vegetable that Mae Sri Bua claims has medicinal properties, and in the small bowl nam phrik khua, another popular Shan side dish that combines dried chili, deep-fried crispy garlic and a grilled soybean paste.

On another visit I had this:

kaeng hang ley, a Burmese-style pork curry, and kaeng ho, a northern Thai-style stir-fry. The former was probably the best version of the dish I've had in a long time, and was incredibly rich as well as fragrant from the thin slices of ginger. I think it could be even better if the pork belly was slowly braised until fall-apart tender. I've already bought the necessary ingredients and am definitely planning to make this one when I get home. If I get a chance, I'll share the recipe here.

Mae Sri Bua 51 Th Singhanatbamrung, Mae Hong Son 053 612 471 8.30am-6.30pm

View Larger Map

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

View Larger Map

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.

View Larger Map

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

View Larger Map

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

View Larger Map

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

View Larger Map

They start them off early in Thailand

Seen at a restaurant in Baan Huay Kon, Nan.