Met ya hui

  or met ya ruang, or kayii or kayuu. Or met thai khrok or met hua khrok. Or perhaps even met mamuang himaphaan. These are all the different Thai dialect words for cashew nuts. The English word, cashew, is almost certainly a cognate of the Portuguese cajou, which apparently originates from the Tupi word acajú, and which is most likely also the source of kayuu, the term used on Phuket, the thought being that the Portuguese first introduced the fruit to Asia from its native Brazil.

Met ya hui and met ya ruang, however, are the terms used only on the island of Ko Yao Noi, in the Phang Nga Bay, not far from Phuket. As in much of the south, cashew trees are just about everywhere on this beautiful island, their yellow and red fruit emitting a sweet smell and making colourful stains on the roads:

Most of us have only ever eaten cashew nuts plain, but in the south, cashews are used in various local-style curries, and the fruits are sometimes consumed as a sweet snack. I've also recently seen a cashew-based bottled drink here in Bangkok.

To prepare cashews for consumption, the nuts are first collected, separated from their fruits and dried, as illustrated at the top of this post. The next step involves roasting the nuts:

This is done in large black woks with holes in the bottom to encourage the nuts to catch on fire, causing a toxic substance in the shell to dissipate. When the nuts are flaming, hissing and emitting a shocking amount of black smoke, they're dumped onto the ground to cool:

After being peeled, the nuts can be eaten at this point. But if the cashews are to be packaged and sold, they're typically roasted in ovens first:

They're then graded for quality (whole nuts without any shells demand higher prices), packaged and sold:

Phuchka

Undoubtedly my favourite dish I encountered in Bangladesh was phuchka (known elsewhere as panipuri), tiny crispy poori-like breads filled with a delicious mixture of spiced beans, chunks of potato, diced shallots, chopped fresh chili and cilantro (illustrated above, at the top). The phuchka are spicy, fresh, sour, and are small enough to be consumed in one go. The beans used were most likely a type of chickpea, but actually reminded me of the tender gula ärtor Swedes traditionally eat in their ärtsoppa every Thursday.

A variation on the dish, consumed in Khulna, southern Bangladesh, did away with the act of stuffing altogether and simply served the crumbled bread over the bean mixture, which also had slices of hard-boiled egg:

I believe this version is called chatpati, which was also the name of the shop. Regardless, an essential part of this dish appears to be a sour tamarind-based, watery sauce/dip, which was served with both types.

A reunion

  The first time I was on Ko Yao Noi was in 2007 when I was assisting French photographer Eric Valli for the book project, Thailand: 9 Days in the Kingdom. For his assignment, Eric had chosen to photograph the Muslim islanders who gather swallows' nests (a Chinese delicacy) in local caves, revisiting a topic he had documented in a film, book and National Geographic article in the late 1980s and early 1990s. During the nine days we worked mostly with the new generation of bird nest gatherers, but Eric did make a point of stopping by to say hello to Sahat, a now elderly gatherer who was the superstar of his previous work. Despite his age, Sahat was still as spry as ever, at one point proving to us that he could still climb by quickly scaling a vine hanging over our boat!

Two years later find myself on Ko Yao Noi again and decided to stop by to see how Sahat was doing. I could only vaguely remember the street he lived on, but somehow found him, amazingly wearing the same Thai schoolboy's shirt as last time! The image above shows him holding a copy of the National Geographic article that features him, an item he keeps along with Eric's book in a plastic bag. The pages of both are worn and falling out, the victims of many viewings, and he appears exceedingly proud of having been recognized for his amazing work.

As for me, despite being on a tropical island, I am, if you'll excuse my Swedish, jävligt upptagen at the moment, but will post some pics from Bangladesh when I get some time.

Bangladeshi sweets

In general, food in Bangladesh wasn't much to write home about. There were a few interesting dishes, some of which I'll blog about soon, but most of our meals seemed to be endless but eerily similar variations on mutton and rice. The one area we were most impressed with was sweets. These ranged from syrupy-sweet golab jam, below:

to milky shondesh (background, image below) and the slightly more savoury mishti (foreground):

After a great deal of 'research', I realized that my preferences lie somewhere between the above, and this dish, taken at the sweets shop pictured at the beginning of this post, combined my favourite Bangladeshi sweets:

tender (and not overpoweringly sweet) carrot borfi, slightly firm and cardamom-rich laddu, and an unidentified one, which was remarkably similar in taste and texture to what we call 'old fashioned' donuts in the US.

There were even some great sweet-ish snacks, including poori (deep-fried bread) and semolina halwa:

And although jilapi, strands of dough that are deep-fried before being soaked in syrup, certainly looked interesting:

the combination of oily and sweet was just a bit too much for me.

Bangladesh

  I've spent the last several days traveling and taking photos in Bangladesh. It's dirty, noisy, crowded and the food isn't much to speak of. But the people here are by leaps and bounds the friendliest, kindest folks I've ever come across anywhere, and in a bizarre way, despite the garbage, pollution and poverty, Bangladesh is probably the most photogenic place I've ever been. Will be posting some more images here, including a bit of food-related stuff on the other blog, as soon as possible.

If you can't stand the heat,

get out of the hot spring. Or to put it in my context, leave Mae Hong Son. This was done with a great deal of reluctance, but it was beginning to get intolerably hot and smoky, a profound change from the first two weeks of my stay when I had to wear a fleece jumper and thick socks until lunch. One sign of the impending hot season is the floating restaurants that go up on the Mae Nam Pai:And now I'm back home in hot, sweltering Bangkok, although yet again in transition: tomorrow I'm off to Bangladesh (!) for a week and after that, will be in Phuket for a few days. An almost perverse contrast in destinations, for sure. Depending on the Internet situation in Bangladesh, I'll try to do some blogging, but can't make any promises.And lastly, I've entered a contest/marketing ploy for a prize to embark on my photographic 'Dream Assignment'. My dream assignment?  Collaborating with a talented writer to document Thailand's regional cuisines in the form of a website and/or book. Details can be seen here. And if you really care, PIC me while there, ensuring that I'll make it to the final round of 20.

Laap Khom

I was hoping to blog about a community group in Pha Bong, 10km outside Mae Hong Son, that gets together every weekend to make a spice mixture for laap, but when I drove out there on Saturday they weren't able to get enough lemongrass (they need a lot of lemongrass) and had rescheduled for the next day. Unfortunately I was leaving Mae Hong Son then and did not get a chance to witness this...

Dejected but hungry, the next best choice was to head to Laap Khom, a restaurant in Mae Hong Son that uses the very spice mixture.

The owner of Laap Khom is the type of older Thai man who screams at you (in a friendly way, of course), then pats you on the back and makes you feel welcome. Despite owning a restaurant specialising in northern Thai dishes, he and his wife are originally from Isaan, and their daughter is the only local.

To make laap khua they simply take an order of raw laap, which apparently has been seasoned ahead of time, and fry it up in a small wok:

'Usually my mom does this,' explained the girl apologetically as she cooked. She needn't apologise as it's a decent dish -- not the most refined laap khua you're going to find in the north, but rich and tasty. The dish is served with a variety of fresh herbs, a couple of which are bitter, a slightly bitter dipping sauce made coarse with the addition of roasted rice powder, and of course, sticky rice.

Laap Khom 13/1 Th Siri Mongkol 053 613 719 Lunch & dinner

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Laap mueang

Fans of Thai food in the west are likely familiar with laap (or larb or laab), a minced meat ‘salad’ tart with lime juice and fragrant from the addition of khao khua, roasted and ground sticky rice. Fewer are likely familiar with the northern version of the dish of the same name, which contains neither khao khua nor lime juice, and instead gains its unique flavour from a mixture of dried spices specific to northern Thailand.

Laap mueang (mueang is a word used to describe anything northern) is one of my favourite Thai dishes. I've mentioned it a few times previously, but haven't really blogged about it in a general sense. So in this, the first of three blogs about the northern-style laap, I'm going to share general description of how it's made and the different varieties of it that exist. Because the spice mixture is such a crucial part of the dish, I'm hoping to follow this with a post about the delicious nam phrik laap (the spice mixture) made by a community group in Pha Bong, about 10km south of Mae Hong Son. And finally I'll follow that up with a recommendation for a decent laap restaurant here in Mae Hong Son.

If, after all this, you’re tempted to make laap khua, the northern-style ‘fried’ laap, I'd suggest combining the information provided in these blogs with this recipe provided the bloggers at EatingAsia, which appears to be a good approximation of the dish for those outside of northern Thailand without access to the more obscure ingredients.

I was able to watch Paa Add makes three types of laap while she was preparing food for her stall a couple days ago.

For all varieties of laap Paa Add begins with a variety of fresh pork and beef offal: liver, heart, tripe, intestine (both large and small), skin, fat and other unidentifiable (at least for me) bits. She boils them until tender and slices them thinly:

For the raw pork laap she takes a generous amount of fresh blood and liquefies it in a food processor. The impossibly red liquid is poured into a basin that already has some dried chili powder, salt, MSG, sugar and the laap spice mixture:

The ingredients are mixed with a spoon and raw minced pork is added. This is stirred again, checked for seasoning (after tasting the back of the spoon Paa Add added additional MSG, dried chili powder and some water), and the boiled pork offal is added. The laap is done at this point, and only requires a garnish of a mixture of minced coriander, sawtooth coriander (phak chee farang), green onions and mint, and of course, a fat basket of sticky rice to accompany it.

The process for making raw beef laap is nearly identical, except the ingredients, from the offal to the blood, are all beef-based, and a slightly bitter bile, known as phia, is added to the mixture:

This type of laap is known in northern Thailand as laap khom, 'bitter' laap, because of the dominating flavour imparted by this ingredient.

The process to make make the more user-friendly laap khua, ‘fried’ pork laap, is initially at least, quite similar to the above. Paa Add combined some boiled pork offal, raw minced pork and a tiny amount of blood.

Into a large wok over hot coals she poured a very generous amount of cooking oil and added minced garlic, peels and all. She deep-fried the garlic until fragrant and ‘yellow’ in her words, before adding the pork mixture. This was followed by a generous amount of dried chili powder, MSG, salt, and the prepared laap spice mixture:

It took a good few minutes of cooking and stirring before the meat was thoroughly cooked and fragrant. She let me taste it at this point and the laap was intensely rich and spicy, and had the oily consistency associated with this version of the dish. Garnished and served with sticky rice and bitter herbs, it's among the most satisfying dishes in this part of the world.

How To Make: Khai oop

Paa Add cooks and sells a variety northern Thai and Shan dishes at Kaat Yaaw, Mae Hong Son’s evening market. She can be a bit of a hard sell, but is an extremely talented cook, her dishes both well executed and perfectly seasoned (her local-style fern shoot salad is a culinary masterpiece), even if you’re not familiar with the cuisine. I’d been buying her delicious curries, stir-fries and salads since coming here, when one day I asked her if she’d mind if I stopped by to see how they were made. She immediately dropped what she was doing and stared at me for at least five seconds. ‘Are you going to open a restaurant abroad?’ she asked.

Despite her initial skepticism, and with my promises that I wasn’t going to open a restaurant, she allowed me to come to her house and was a kind host and a patient teacher. She made several things that day, ranging from a delicious soup of grilled pork and phak waan, a local vegetable:

to three different types of laap, a northern Thai meat dish, that I plan to detail in a subsequent post. She usually makes a total of seven dishes to sell, including a few she does every day, including laap, moo phalo, and a sublime kaeng hang lay:

She prepares all these dishes by 1pm, then loads them on a cart to take to the market:

The dish I want to share first is khai oop, a dish emblematic of Mae Hong Son-style cooking, as well as a very simple dish to make, the ingredients for which are obtainable just about anywhere. Although Paa Add made enough to feed a dozen people, I’ve adapted the recipe to make a decent serving for two.

Khai Oop (Shan-Style Egg Curry)

Hard-boiled eggs, peeled 3 or 4 Shallots, sliced, 2 Garlic, small cloves, 20 Tomatoes, seeded and sliced, 2 Oil, 2 Tbsp Shrimp paste, 1 Tbsp Turmeric powder, 1 tsp Dried chili powder, 1 tsp, or to taste Salt, sugar, MSG, to taste

In a mortar and pestle or food processor, combine shallots, garlic and tomatoes. Blend thoroughly, set aside.

Heat oil in a wok over med-low heat. Add shrimp paste and turmeric, stirring to combine with oil. When fully incorporated and fragrant, add shallot mixture and chili powder (shown at the top of this post).

Allow to simmer and reduce, stirring constantly to avoid sticking.  It is at this point where my recipe differs slightly from Paa Add’s. She used enough oil (more than enough, actually) so that the shallot mixture never really dried up or stuck to the wok. When I made the dish it quickly became dry, so I added water, a couple tablespoons at a time. I allowed the water to reduce and added more, repeating this process until the mixture gained a smooth, slightly oily consistency.

Season with salt, sugar and MSG as desired. Add eggs to mixture, and allow to heat up:

Serve khai oop with rice.

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.