The road to Huay Phueng

  This morning I took a drive along Hwy 1285, an isolated road that twists 15km between mountain valleys to the village of Huay Phueng, not far from the Burmese border. It's getting warmer in Mae Hong Son, but driving a motorcycle at 7am, in the shadows of the hills, it was so cold I quickly lost the feeling in my hands.

One sign of the approaching hot season, as the image above illustrates, is the changing colours of the leaves. Known locally as bai tong tueng, the huge leaves fall to the side of the road and are gathered and spliced together to be used as roofing. They're also a serious fire hazard during this time of year, so you'll also see people sweeping them into large piles to be burnt. Running over them on a motorcycle results in an extremely satisfying crunch.

The most scenic spot along Hwy 1285 is the tiny Shan village of Thung Masaan. The village is located on a slight cliff overlooking a stream and a perfectly flat mountain valley where people grow rice, garlic and soybeans:

At the far end of this field is the village temple:

and if you ask me, this simple house at the edge of the valley has one of the nicest views in Thailand:

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How To Make: Jin lung

  Jin lung are a local type of meatball, rich in fresh herbs and often yellow in colour from the addition of dried turmeric powder. They're most commonly made from pork, but beef and fish versions can be found on occasion. In Mae Hong Son's morning market they're sold in Indian-style pots in a generous amount of the yellow cooking oil, and when ordered,  two or four (the serving sizes here are really small) are bagged up with a drizzle of the oil and some deep-fried crispy garlic.

The source of today's recipe, Khun Yai, although a resident of Mae Hong Son for longer than most of us have been alive, is originally from Aythaya, and adds a couple central Thai touches to this dish. 'The people here don't put Kaffir lime leaf in jin lung,' she explained, 'but I like it!' She's also partial to shrimp paste (the locals tend to use dried soybeans), and explained that in the old days the dish was traditionally served with sticky rice boasting a bright yellow hue from the addition of turmeric, and rich and oily from the addition of coconut milk. Unfortunately few people eat it this way any more, and according to my landlord, the remaining person in the town's morning market to make jin lung and the rice, stopped making both last week.

Jin Lung (Shan-style meatballs) Chili paste

Small dried chilies, 10 Salt, 1 tsp Shallots, sliced, 6 Lemongrass, white section sliced thinly, 2 stalks Garlic, peeled, 12 small cloves Coriander seed, 1 Tbsp Shrimp paste, 1 Tbsp

Ground pork, 500g Dried turmeric, 1 Tbsp Tomato, seeded and sliced thinly, 3 Kaffir lime leaf, sliced thinly, 2 Egg, 2 Oil for deep-frying Deep-fried crispy garlic

Make chili paste by grinding chilies and salt in a mortar and pestle. Add coriander seed, lemongrass, shallots and garlic. Grind until you have a fine paste:

Add pork, turmeric and tomatoes to chili paste mixture. Work finely using mortar and pestle, pounding to blend mixture thoroughly and tenderize pork:

The mixture should have fine, silky texture and ingredients should be thoroughly amalgamated. When you have reached this texture, add the eggs, stirring with a spoon to combine thoroughly.

Heat a generous amount of oil in a wok over medium heat. Form one small ball and test:

If the oil is too hot the jin lung will cook on the outside but will still be raw inside. Deep-fry at a low heat until jin lung are cooked inside, and golden outside -- this should take a few minutes. Serve drizzled with a bit of the oil and some deep-fried crispy garlic, with hot rice.

Deep-fried

The bloggers at EatingAsia recently pointed out that northern Thais love their meat. This is certainly true, but I'd also add that they love their oil just as much. Deep-frying is something of a cult in northern Thailand, and Mae Hong Son is no exception. I've never eaten so many deep-fried foods as I have in the last month, in particular for breakfast, a meal for which I'd almost totally avoided deep-fried foods -- up to this point at least.

But let me start at dessert. The donuts above are called khanom wong ('round sweets'), and are deep-fried rings of sticky rice dough that are dipped in sugarcane syrup, the making of which can also be seen at this EatingAsia post. Unfortunately I've yet to find them served hot from the deep-fryer, and haven't really enjoyed them.

Deep-fried foods can be taken at lunch or dinner too. Sticky rice and nam phrik (chili-based 'dips') are the staple foods of northern Thailand, and are typically eaten with deep-fried meats:

These can range from deep-fried chicken heads, salted fish, fermented sausage, or my personal favourite, pork rinds:

Not surprisingly, deep-frying is also a popular way to prepare snacks in northern Thailand. Here in Mae Hong Son one of my favourite snacks is khang pong,  a local dish of battered and deep-fried strips of green papaya and shallots:

The vendor above sells khang pong at Mae Hong Son's evening market and she seasons them with the perfect balance of salt, turmeric, lemongrass and chili. The result is equal parts spicy, salty, crispy and hot.

Which brings me to breakfast, as khang pong is also a popular way to start the day here:

In the mornings it's served with the local version of khanom jeen naam ngiaw, a pork and tomato-based noodle soup. Many of the vendors who sell this dish also sell thua oon, a type of noodle soup served with a thick gooey gram bean 'porridge'. The same gram bean stuff is also steamed into shallow cakes and yes, deep-fried:

The bane of my breakfast. They look and taste astonishingly like fast-food French fries and are served with a deliciously sour tamarind-based dipping sauce. The other deep-fried dishes are, at 2 o'clock, deep-fried tofu, and at 5 o'clock, fritters of 'black' soybeans. I enjoy all of these very much, and have adapted to eating them for breakfast, but only allow it every other day. Guess I could never be a real northern Thai.

I'll eat just about anything

  but I think I might have to draw the line at Mr Cooker brand tinned beef curry from Myanmar.

Although I reckon it can't be much worse than the canned chili I grew up eating?

Mae Hong Son, February 18, 2009

A vendor of Burmese goods at the town's morning market

How To Make: Kaeng hang lay

Khun Yay (‘Grandma’), my landlord’s mother, is originally from Ayuthaya, but moved to Mae Hong Son when she was 14 – more than 70 years ago. 'It took us three months to walk here from Ayuthaya,' she explained to me, adding that part of the journey was done on elephant back. After seven decades here she’s essentially a native of the city, and even used to earn extra money by selling Thai Yai/Shan sweets. She can also make the local savoury dishes, and everybody in the family agrees that she makes a mean hang lay.

Kaeng hang lay is a rich curry based around pork belly (hang lay is a corruption of the Burmese word for pork curry). The dish is found all over northern Thailand, and because it’s easy to make in large volumes, is often associated with communal eating. 'If you come during a festival they’ll make the dish using tens of kilos of pork,' explained Khun Yai, while pounding the curry paste in a mortar and pestle. Her version is a variant on the local version of the dish that usually forgoes the chili paste altogether (she decided to include a basic one here), and which also highlights the local obsession with tomatoes (here in the form of ketchup). She explained that if you substitute chicken for pork, and leave out the ginger, tamarind and garlic, you’ll have the recipe for kai oop, another popular local curry.

Kaeng Hang Lay

Chili paste Small chilies, 10 Salt, 1 tsp Shallots, sliced, 2 Shrimp paste, 1 Tbsp Garlic, sliced, 1 Tbsp

Bork belly, including fat and skin layer, 1kg Bottled chili sauce, 1 Tbsp Ketchup, 2 Tbsp Sweet soy sauce, 1 Tbsp Turmeric powder, 1 tsp ‘Marsala’ powder*, 2 Tbsp Vegetable oil, 2 Tbsp Shallots, peeled and quartered, 12 Small cloves of garlic, peeled and left whole, 20 Ginger, peeled shredded, ¼ cup Tamarind pulp, to taste Sugar, to taste Salt, to taste

*Known locally as phong maksalaa, this is a spice mixture used in Mae Hong Son.

Combine chili paste ingredients and grind to a paste using a mortar and pestle:

Set aside.

Wash pork and cut into chunks about 4cm long. Combine with chili paste, chili sauce, ketchup, soy sauce, turmeric powder and ‘Marsala’ powder:

Heat oil over medium heat in a deep saucepan. Add pork mixture and allow to seal, stirring only once or twice, until fragrant, about 5 minutes. Add enough water to cover the pork:

reduce heat and allow to simmer until almost all the water evaporates, the fat rises and pork is tender, up to two hours. If water evaporates too quickly, add more.

Add shallots, garlic and ginger:

and allow to simmer until tender, about 10 more minutes. Season to taste with tamarind pulp, sugar and salt, and serve with hot rice and an acidic salad; Khun Yai suggested a local salad of green mango.

How To Make: Saa

Yesterday, Phii Laa, my neighbour, came over with the tray of ingredients pictured above and a desire to share her recipe for saa, a local type of yam or Thai-style ‘salad’. I was excited about this because in Mae Hong Son there are several variations on the standard Thai yam that I've yet to get my head around: there’s the type I mentioned in the previous blog, that uses par-boiled veggies; there’s sanaap, which apparently combines par-boiled veggies and a rather different dressing; and finally there’s saa, which appears to revolve around fresh greens.

The most common greens used to make saa range from tender mango or tamarind leaves to shredded lettuce. In this recipe Phii Laa used yot thua lantao, the tender young leaves from a type of pea, which she has growing in front of her house. If you're making this at home, I reckon you could use just about any salad-type green.

Regarding the other ingredients, keep in mind that the type of sesame oil people in Mae Hong Son use is made from raw, not roasted sesame seeds. The flavour is significantly subtler, and if you can only get the more ubiquitous Chinese-style roasted sesame oil, I’d suggest diluting it with equal parts plain vegetable oil.

And many cooks here protein up their saa with bits of plaa thoo, steamed mackerel, but a few still do it the old-school way: with bits of deep-fried pork rind.

Saa (Shan/Thai Yai-style yam using fresh greens)

Fresh greens, sliced thinly, 1 large bunch Shallots, sliced thinly, 3 Tomatoes, seeded and sliced thinly, 3 Steamed mackerel or pork rinds Roasted peanuts, ground coarsely, 3 Tbsp Nam phrik phong, 1 Tbsp (see previous blog for a description of this ingredient) Sesame oil/garlic oil, 1 Tbsp Salt, to taste

Combine greens, shallots, tomatoes and fish or pork rinds, in a large bowl.  Top with peanuts, a pinch of salt, oil and nam phrik phong:

Mix thoroughly by hand:

and season to taste. Serve on its own as a snack or with rice.

How To Make: Khao som & yam thua

I’m in very good culinary company here in Mae Hong Son. As soon the owner of the house I’m renting learned that I have an interest in the local food, she started bringing me local sweets and snacks on a daily basis. This morning she went out of her way to bring me a local dish of sticky rice steamed with coconut milk and turmeric and served with local-style meatballs (more on this later), something that I had mentioned the previous day. My next-door neighbour, Phii Laa, is equally generous, and possibly even more enthusiastic. Once she learned that I was interested in the local eats she’s been in my kitchen every morning since, sharing a new recipe.

The first recipe Phii Laa shared is one I only came across recently. Khao som literally means  ‘sour rice’, and is local a dish of balls of rice made sour by the addition of tomato and tamarind. The dish is traditionally served with yam thua, ‘bean salad’, the recipe for which can also be adapted to make any sort of local salad where the main ingredient, which here can range from tender fern shoots (a popular local ingredient) to sour leaves, is first par-boiled. In my next blog I’ll demonstrate how to make a saa, another type of local salad centred around fresh (as opposed to par-boiled) greens or veggies.

The ingredients required for khao som and yam thua are pretty basic and I imagine all are generally available even in the west, except for nam phrik phong:

a mixture of thua nao (disks of dried soybean), dried chili, salt and MSG, all ground to a fine powder. If you’re determined, I’d suggest just substituting a pinch of finely ground dried chili flakes and some salt, although the dish will be missing a truly local flavour in thua nao.

And if you haven’t done it before, making crispy deep-fried garlic and garlic oil is a snap:

Simply get your hands the smallest cloves of garlic you can find, chop them up coarsely (skin and all), and simmer in a generous amount of oil over medium heat until the garlic is just beginning to become crispy. When this happens remove mixture to a heatproof container and allow to cool.

And as always, ingredient measurements below are estimated; Phii Laa, like most Thai cooks, doesn’t use measuring utensils, instead cooking by taste and feel.

Khao som & yam thua (Sour Shan-style rice and bean salad)

Uncooked rice, 2 cups Strained tamarind pulp, 1 cup Chopped tomatoes, 2 cups Salt, 1 tsp Turmeric powder, ½ tsp Sugar, 1 Tbsp

French beans Shrimp paste, 1 Tbsp Nam phrik phong, 2 Tbsps Ground roasted white sesame seeds, 4 Tbsp Shallots, sliced, 4 Garlic oil & crispy deep-fried garlic Deep-fried dried chilies

Cook rice with at least three cups of water (the rice is supposed to have a soft consistency). When cooked, allow to cool slightly.

Combine tamarind pulp, tomatoes, salt, turmeric and sugar in a wok over low heat. Simmer, stirring occasionally, until reduced to a thick paste:

about 10 minutes. Set aside.

Prepare beans by removing the strings and chopping:

Par-boil beans until just cooked, about a minute, and shock in cold water. Set aside.

In a wok over medium heat, dissolve shrimp paste in ¼ cup of water. When shrimp paste is fully incorporated, add nam phrik phong and sesame. Combine thoroughly and turn off heat. Allow to cool slightly, add sliced shallots and beans and mix thoroughly. Remove to a serving dish and top with crispy fried garlic and garlic oil.

When rice is cool enough to handle, combine ¾ of the tamarind mixture with cooked rice.

Taste and season with remaining tamarind mixture and/or salt if necessary.

Coating hands in a bit of the garlic oil, shape rice mixture into golf ball-sized balls:

Arrange on a plate and drizzle with plenty of crispy garlic, oil and deep-fried chilies.

Serve dish, as illustrated at the top of this post, on individual plates with a generous serving of the bean salad.

Khao ya koo

Khao ya koo is the Shan/Thai Yai name for a type of sweetened sticky rice. Other than simply being a sweet snack, the dish has strong associations with celebration, as it's only made on certain holidays. It also has ties with community, and as you'll see, is one distinctly local method of making merit (kwaa loo in the local dialect).

The process begins by steaming lots of recently-harvested sticky rice:

At the same time, blocks of raw sugarcane sugar are melted with coconut cream:

When throughly blended, the sugarcane mixture is added to the still-warm sticky rice:

The rice/sugar mixture is then stirred with large wooden paddles (also shown at the top of this post):

I only saw men doing this, and the process took as long as a half hour, giving the rice a creamy, almost oily texture. Towards the end of the stirring process (called kuan in Thai) crushed peanuts are added:

The rice is then allowed to cool slightly, and is divided into plastic bags or banana leaf packages:

And it is at this point that the merit part takes place. The bags of khao ya koo are then loaded onto trucks:

and the villagers drive through the various districts of Mae Hong Son, handing packets of the rice out to everybody they see:

In recent years this has been accompanied by a parade:

But the most important thing is still giving (and getting) that rice:

How To Make: Thua phoo khua

This is a Thai Yai/Shan dish that one sees for sale all over Mae Hong Son, and it combines ingredients essential to virtually every local dish: soybeans (both in the form of tofu and thua nao, disks of dried soybeans), garlic, tomatoes and turmeric. However, just like any other dish, there appears to be several different ways to make thua phoo khua. My neighbour claims that thua nao has no place in the chili paste of this dish, and that she normally uses fresh chilies. The ladies selling meat in the morning market told me that I have to use thua nao and dried chilies... I've followed the latter method, combined with a recipe from a Thai-language cookbook printed in Mae Hong Son.

Regarding the other ingredients, the people here prefer the small, slightly sour tomatoes – use these if you can get them. Also, try to get the firmest tofu you can get. And in place of thua nao you could use a tablespoon of tao jiaw, the salted soybean condiment popular all over Southeast Asia and China.

Thua Phoo Khua

Chili paste ingredients:

Garlic, 2 Tbsp Shallots, 4 Tbsp Dried chili, 25 small chilies Thua nao, ½ disk

Other ingredients:

Quartered cherry tomatoes, 2 cups Oil, 2 Tbsp Turmeric, 1 tsp Ground pork, ½ cup Firm tofu, squared, 2 cups Salt

Combine the chili paste ingredients in a mortar and pestle and grind until you get a fine paste. Add sliced tomatoes to chili paste mixture and blend thoroughly.

Heat oil in a wok over medium heat. Add turmeric and blend thoroughly with oil. Add curry paste mixture and simmer over medium heat until tomatoes have broken up completely and oil starts to emerge, about five minutes.

Add pork and cook, stirring, until no longer raw:

Add tofu and blend with curry paste mixture. Don’t be afraid to allow the tofu to crumble, although you don’t want a mush:

If the mixture becomes too dry, add water. Continue to cook until tofu is slightly broken up and heated through, about five minutes. Season to taste with salt. People here in Mae Hong Son will also sometimes add a bit of cha om, a pungent leafy vegetable, at the end.

Serve with hot rice.

Screw Provence

Particularly among middle-aged people from the English-speaking world, there seems to be a longstanding fascination with Provence, the southern French région. I’m sure Provence is very lovely, and fits many folks' preconceived notion of a beautiful, rural paradise (although I think eventually I would grow weary of the scent of lavender), but when I recently found myself with a great deal of writing work and a desire to complete it in an idyllic setting, southern France didn't even come to mind. Naturally, I chose Mae Hong Son. It was an easy choice, really. Mae Hong Son is beautiful:

The hills surrounding Mae Hong Son -- a three-minute bike ride from my house

has its own interesting cuisine:

At Mae Hong Son's evening market

and brilliant weather:

A typical misty Mae Hong Son Morning -- the view over my backyard

And so far it’s actually lived up to its status as my own personal Provence. I start each day with a chilly early-morning drive through a mountain valley to the morning market where I down a bowl of thua oon or khanom jeen nam ngiaw. If I’m thinking of cooking later that day, I may do a bit of shopping at the market (the only 'supermarkets' in Mae Hong Son sell dry goods), but regardless will almost always buy several banana-leaf packets of Thai Yai sweets from my favourite vendor. I don’t have Internet at the house I’m renting, so I’ll spend some mornings online at Coffee Morning, followed by lunch at Mae Sri Bua or Baan Phleng. By the time I drive back home, the heat of the sun has cleared the mist and I can see the blue sky and mountains that surround the town. The rest of my days are spent working in a covered patio adjacent to the rice fields shown above.

Honestly, I can’t imagine anywhere else in the world I’d rather be right now. I’ll be here until the end of February (maybe longer?), and will be blogging about all of the above, and more. So bear with me if I tend to gush about Mae Hong Son, but I’m really loving it and feel that there’s some interesting stuff here worth sharing.

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

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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.

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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

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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

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