Maybe you think this is self-explanatory, but some people truly don’t know how to do this. Or some have tried, and failed miserably (and this is one endeavor where you don’t want to fail miserably, believe you me). Some people take one look and decide, I’ll just try to hold it in for as long as possible. Or they say, I’ll try to avoid that situation as much as possible and eat every night at Bacco, where they have magazine holders built into their toilets.

But sometimes, you just can’t do that (the bolognese at Bacco is no longer that good, for one thing). All Gluttons know a thorough foray into the world of street food will eventually pit you against one of these things, sooner or later. This guide is for those troubled times.

So, following, some tips from the region’s best experts in, er, Emergency Situations in Rustic Settings. Read, learn. Then wisely and well will you pee, my padwan (did you not get that “Star Wars” reference? I am a nerd).

- BUY YOUR OWN TISSUES. Ever wonder why every Thai woman a.) wears a shower cap while bathing and b.) carries a mini-pack of tissues in her purse? Well, I can’t answer the first one, because I am basically an American and we just don’t do that sort of thing. But the mini-pack of tissues is an urban necessity for EVERYONE with a urethra and/or bowels. Because you just don’t want to be caught without a pack in an emergency situation and have to resort to using the old receipts lurking at the bottom of your handbag. Not that I would know about any of that.

- ROLL UP YOUR PANTS. To above the knee. Yes, this is important. How important? Well, how much do you prize your pants? Do you want a new pair and need a reason? Are pants not a big deal for you to replace? That’s how important it is. If you are unlucky enough to be wearing a long skirt, knot it up and throw the extra fabric over your shoulder.

- FACE BACKWARDS. This one isn’t absolutely essential to your well-being, but it might prove useful. Let’s just say that, uh, gravity isn’t the only force at work when nature calls. It’s not always a straight drop down, so to speak. Facing backwards, where there’s plenty of allowance for when you are in a really, really dire situation, could save you from ruining the next person’s bathroom experience.

- STEP OUTSIDE OF THE LINES. Thai people are tiny. As a result, sometimes their toilets are tiny too. So sometimes you need to allow yourself a little more elbow room, if you know what I mean (wink wink, nudge nudge. How many more of these tiresome phrases can I add to this post? Let’s see). Of course, this only works for those step-up ones, not the ones that pop-up out of the ground.

- HOLD YOUR BREATH. This might be the most important one. @SpecialKRB recommends burrowing your nose into the neckline of your T-shirt, “like a bathroom bandit”. These places aren’t known for being where the Gods of Hygiene reside. In fact, one guy friend of mine once told me about a gas station bathroom where someone managed to take a dump in one of the urinals. That was a person who really was in some sort of emergency, I imagine. We have all been there. Sort of (I’ve never taken a dump in a urinal. I’m not lying, for once).

Something sweet and Thai

I used to not be a “desserts” type of person. My favorite part of the meal used to be the salad. Now that I am the ripe old age of 65, my body chemistry has changed, and sweets have become an integral part of my diet. Cupcakes, pie, cake, Thai sugary egg drops, coconut custard, even those creepy little marzipan fake fruits — all are ready fodder for my gaping face.

Luckily, some people are organizing a get-together after my own shriveled, blackened old heart. Calling it a “sweetup”, the bkkfatty crowd are meeting up (get it? Meetup? Oh, never mind) at Tenface Bangkok’s Sita bar (check this out at www.tenfacebangkok.com) on Friday, September 10. A 300 baht entry fee will get you a “dessert bar” stuffed with sweets from both sides of the East-West divide and an insane buy 1, get 1 drinks deal ALL NIGHT (I foresee many “I wish the earth would swallow me up right now” moments). Even better, all proceeds go to charity, so you can eat like a pig and feel like a saint (check out www.insearchofsanuk.com) for more details.

Also, a little birdy (called “Twitter”) says Movenpick is sponsoring the event. Score! Maple-walnut ice cream, anyone?

For upcoming details, go to www.dwightmturner.com. 

And now, a parting picture of gratawn loy gaew to get you in the mood.

All about the food porn

(Photos by @SpecialKRB)

What’s that? I’m supposed to be talking about something you might be interested in? Oh yes, that’s right. This:

Thai "pla tu" on sale at Nang Lerng market

It’s Nang Lerng market, located in the Banglamphu area on Nakhon Sawan road. This is supposed to be the very first wet market to ever sprout up in central Bangkok. What I do know for sure is that, like all of Thailand’s wet markets, it’ a load of fun to visit and the go-to place for some pretty hard-to-find old-style delicacies, such as the glutinous pork-filled rice balls, eaten with lettuce leaves, fresh coriander and chilies – a sweetly piquant mass of satisfying goo in the mouth.

Or old-style haw mok (steamed seafood mousse in banana cups), a Portuguese-influenced concoction combining local ingredients with European technique:

Steamed seafood mousse topped with coconut cream and shredded kaffir lime leaves

Then there are the delicacies that you actually do want to eat, like coconut ice cream trad-style, in a little plastic cup and festooned with roasted peanuts.

Fresh coconut ice cream

But if you do make it over there, do not miss Roongroj, the duck noodle shop at 141,143 Nang Lerng market. A popular with politicians who send their drivers over at noon for some lunchtime takeaway, Roongroj deserves its reputation as a shop with an extensive menu, efficient service and generous portions of sweet, toothsome duck.

Egg noodles with duck

The choice is extensive: stewed duck, braised duck, duck in pullo (Chinese five-spice and cinnamon broth) are all there, plus stewed chicken, barbecued pork and some very  nice giew (Chinese dumplings). Yes, if the duck or noodles haven’t tipped you off already — this food is Chinese. But then again, what noodle stand in Thailand ultimately isn’t?

Three different orders at Roongroj duck noodles

It’s open every day, and from late morning to well into the evening, so it’s hard to miss out on getting yourself a bowl. Do yourself a favor and trek over into the old part of town; basking in the atmosphere of the “original” wet market is worth it.

(Photos by @SpecialKRB)

Beef noodles 'nam thok'-style at Nai Soi

There comes a time … when I actually have to talk about street food. Yes, I know. I know you actually want to hear about my day, and how my minders are making me eat cardboard for lunch, and how my life is a Jennifer Aniston movie if Jen put boot polish on her hair and gained 30 lbs. But I’m going to save all that good stuff for my widely anticipated TV movie screenplay for the Hallmark channel. All you get to read about are these two relatively undiscovered gems.

Emphasis on “relatively”. Because Nai Soi (100/2-3 T. Phra Arthit, 081-487-9359 or 086-982-9042) is well-known to any journalist who works for the Manager group or general traveler-in-the-know who makes Phra Arthit Road his or her base of operations. This Banglamphu standby is popular for its gorgeously amber-colored beef noodles — slightly chewy rice noodles bathed in a garnet-colored broth and tender, flimsy slices of freshly blanched beef. Unlike my other beef noodle favorite, Raan Anamai, the broth here is thickened with blood (known as nam thok, or “water falling”) and not crystal-clear; nonetheless, it doesn’t make it any less yummy.  OM NOM NOM NOM.

Making our beef noodles

Too bad I can’t eat there right now. Another place where I can’t eat is the incomparable Aisa Rot Dee (the beginning of Thanee Rd., 02-282-6378, 081-401-1326), purveyor of most things delicious and Thai-Muslim. Mounds of soft and fragrant yellow rice, perfumed with cumin, atop hunks of slightly charred barbecued chicken; bowls of aromatic beef noodles smelling slightly of star anise; comfortingly substantial oxtail chunks in a fiery broth; sweet-salty beef satay coated in coconut milk — the offerings here turn other Thai-Muslim eateries like the nearby Roti-Mataba into mere whispers of an afterthought. There is no way you would be able to leave this hole in the wall hungry.

Thai-Muslim yellow chicken

And I mean “hole in the wall”. The only suggestion that there is a bustling “restaurant” somewhere behind all the touristy knick-knack shops hawking fishermen’s pants and flip-flops is a sign on the sidewalk — in Thai — reading “Aisa rot dee” (Aisa good taste). In the narrow alleyway behind the sign, two forbidding faces manning a beef noodle stand, and as you approach the darkness, the hint of more. After passing the khao mok gai and tripping over two or three people on the way, the darkness becomes the light, and the alleyway opens into a substantial open-air courtyard, tables, chairs — even waiters.

Aisa is a leap of faith for a hungry Indiana Jones-type searching out answers in a culinary maze. Don’t let the darkness fool you.

(Photos by @SpecialKRB)

The blahiest blah that ever blahed

God, I hate the rainy season. You would think it would be a great relief after the endless stream of radioactivity passing for “sunshine” in Bangkok lately. Even worse, I’ve become THAT lady on the Skytrain, the one sweating into her just-showered hair who everyone wants to avoid. 

But no, the rains are no savior. They flood my driveway and ruin my mood. They are the “blahs”, in physical form. I don’t want to do anything. Of course, I am now busier than ever. 

All I want to do is hole up in my house, drink a barrel of wine, and cook. But sometimes I am compelled to venture outdoors to eat, even in this weather. And when the “blahs” hit the dinner table, then the day is ruined. Oh, the dramz.

You would think Charoenporn in Suan Luang market is safe as houses – in matters of the stomach, at least. Because it certainly doesn’t inspire that much confidence upon entering the shophouse. There is a mound  (actually it could be called in all fairness a “hill”) made entirely of garbage in the back of the room. This is supposed to be rubbish from the first Charoenporn in Chinatown, credited with being the first to serve pork satay in the entire kingdom and currently undergoing renovation. As temporary as it may be, the trash is stomach-churning, bringing to mind the crazed hoarders who go on “Oprah” and cry when someone tries to throw away their 20-year-old juicers.

There is the famous satay, grilled the traditional way over an open flame and moistened with coconut milk as the edges of the flesh char on the skewer. It is as you would expect, delicious, especially with the green crunch of a sweet-tart cucumber-shallot salsa, creamy peanut sauce, and comforting hunk of freshly grilled white bread. Cheap and potentially filling (if you eat enough of it), it is the Thai equivalent of a Gray’s Papaya hot dog.

The good stuff

Oh, but then there’s the rest, and here is where I come to my confession. It’s something you already know: we all have our blind spots, our personal “Waterloos”, if you will. For Jeffrey Steingarten, I hear it’s Indian desserts; for Sarah Palin, it appears to be logic (yes, I know what some of you who know me might say — pot, meet kettle). For my daughter, it’s brushing her teeth. And for me — aside from my obvious logic, and hygiene, issues — it’s thrown-together slop scraped together from satay leftovers and boiled greens and slapped haphazardly over a bowl of rice or rice vermicelli noodles.

Yes, these appalling creations have names. Meet khao phraram (pork, peanut sauce and blanched morning glory poured over rice and topped with roasted chili paste) and sen mee phra rak (rice noodles saddled with the same thing). It is, we are told, an exceedingly rare dish. This suggests something special, when the actual meaning is that few other people would be suckered into eating this dish. It is rare for a reason.

I am being mean.  My “fellow diners” believe that the dish has its merits — a surprisingly oomphy mix of the starchy and sweet. They say go to Charoenporn for this dish, which is in danger of becoming extinct, and enjoy a taste of Old Siam. But as nostalgic as I get for old recipes, next time I’ll give this one a miss. Blame it on the rain.

(Photos by @SpecialKRB)

“Just so you know — the fish porridge here is at least 250 baht,” he warned my mom.

I know I’ve written about Sieng Gi, the khao thom pla shop in Yaowaraj, before, but I can’t help but love this place. Every visit there is like entering a land where ancient beings stalk the tiny storefront dining area, flinging delicious bowls of porridge onto the marble-topped tables and bellowing at each other. @SpecialKRB, who loathes this place with a passion, said it was like spending a night at the Chinatown chapter of the AARP. But I take a more benign view; it’s a place conducive to happy accidents. That night alone was worth seeing the look on my mom’s face. 

Sieng Gi has seen a lot of competitors rise up and subsequently fall by the wayside. Yet no one can touch this place. The broth is ever so much more more, rich with a fish flavored muchness. And the brown bean dipping sauce, its deeply concentrated flavor worth three bowlfuls of its lesser rivals’. That’s not even getting to the fresh dollops of pomfret, seabass or oyster, garnished with cubes of batheng  or sweet pork, tiny dried shrimp and deep-fried garlic. If you are inclined toward soupy seafood rice (and not everyone is), there is nothing better. 

Oyster porridge with strips of deep-fried tofu

So find a way to go here. That is, as long as you have 250 baht.

(Sieng Gi, Trok Ma Geng, behind Grand China Princess Hotel)

Nakorn Pochana's abalone and mushrooms (het hom) with Chinese kale

==Was strolling along Chinatown today when it hit me — I needed to make two corrections! The mushrooms in the abalone dish are called hed hom, or shiitake. They are NOT oyster mushrooms. Also, the Thai seafood restaurant I refer to near the end of the piece is called Sorntong Pochana, NOT Sorndaeng. Don’t know what I was thinking.== 

Picture this: we are close to Sam Yan market, at Nakorn Pochana (“Pochana” is a common Thai word to designate “restaurant”, particularly Thai-Chinese restaurants). Called “Nai Hai” by its unusually loyal regulars, Nakorn is generally regarded as one of Bangkok’s premier Thai-Chinese restaurants, alongside stalwarts like Pen on Chan Road and, once upon a time, Jay Ngor (where the quality has slipped as it expands). Like its Thai-Chinese peers, Nakorn specializes in stir-fried greens, deep-fried and steamed fish, and a smattering of well-loved fried noodle dishes — all showcasing the enormous contributions Thailand’s Chinese community has made to the country’s cuisine (noodles, the frying pan, and the steamer among them).

Where was I? Oh yes. A mass of flesh and hormones, inching ever closer to 80 kg and my tenth month as a pregnant person, I was stuffing my face with one of Nai Hai’s most well-known dishes: chunks of tender abalone, bulked up with juicy shiitake mushroom caps, a savory shellfish bounce with the slightly bitter backbone lent by shards of bright, brittle kale. My enjoyment of this dish was so intense my blood pressure shot up to stratospheric levels, a development that was initially blamed on the restaurant’s tea, then to a panic attack, and finally to the rapid onset of pre-eclampsia. I was unable (to my regret) to attend to a highly anticipated dessert of sugar-encrused taro, and was rushed to the hospital in time for 16 hours of labor-induced fun. My son was called “pow hu” (Thai for “abalone”) for weeks afterwards.

Needless to say, it took me a few months to get back to Nai Hai. But like all good things, it was worth the wait.

Hoy jaw, deep-fried crab dumplings

 Like an old friend, Nakorn’s hoy jaw (deep-fried crab dumplings, which differ from the shrimp variety, called hae gun) presents familiar flavors, but in a superlative fashion. A crinkly, crackly package of the sea, here it is never too greasy, not too heavy.

Like a classy party-goer who can hold her liquor, the rest of the menu shows similar restraint. Its gaengs (an all-encompassing word running the gamut from thick curries to clear soups) are never too obnoxious or obtrusive. Its extensive range of stir-fried greens — including, but nowhere near limited to garlic chives, pumpkin shoots, young spinach, broccoli sprouts and the ever-present morning glory — are always seasoned to perfection, and never oily (a recurring theme in lesser Thai-Chinese restaurants) or over-cooked to oblivion.

Garlic chives with pork liver

But the best part of Nakorn’s menu may be its seafood. This is not the fiery, in-your-face stuff of Bangkok’s well-known seafood purveyors (of which Sorntong Pochana on Rama IV is a good example; Somboon Seafood is better-known but a mere echo of a good restaurant). This is also more restrained, including the popular specials (steamed seabass with pickled plum) with the more esoteric (deep-fried split langoustines). The best, though, may be a dish beloved in Thai-Chinese restaurants across town: stir-fried cracked crab in curry, comparable (and almost as good) as the version at Pen.

Stir-fried curry crab

Best of all, it’s the little details that set Nakorn apart from the rest of the pack: the casual, convivial atmosphere, conducive to lots of shouting and (of course) grabbing; a loyal coterie of customers ranging from college students to middle-aged “khunying” types on their hair’s day off; the ability to take out excellent jok (Chinese-style rice porridge) for the next day’s breakfast just next door at Jok Sam Yan; and service that remembers the last time you came and expects to see you again.

 Nakorn Pochana (Sam Yan market, 02-214-2327, 02-215-1388, 02-215-4418)

"Tom som", or tart-spicy soup of pomfret

All photos by @SpecialKRB

Nam prik at Aor Thor Kor

There is no “wet market” in Bangkok that comes close to “Aor Thor Kor” in terms of variety, quality, and cleanliness. This is probably why we brave the 40+-degree heat and washrag humidity to vie for the very best gaengs (curries) and pads (stir-fries) with scores of other helmet-haired matriarchs and their bag-laden drivers.

And it’s not just a place for stuffing your face and emptying your pockets. Markets are always the places I head for first when I travel. There is no better place to find out about a country than through its markets; no truer mirror to the aspirations of a people than their stomachs. Here at Aor Thor Kor (the Thai abbreviation for the market’s full name, the “Marketing Organization for Farmers Market”, or MOF), those hopes and aspirations come neatly wrapped in banana leaves, enclosed in pudgy plastic bags, garnished with a handful of deep-fried basil. 

But even in this nirvana of ready-made curries and coconutty sweets, there is a hierarchy — the creme de la creme. In this bewildering matrix of fried food and sifted spices, where to go? Below, the best of the best:

Just a fraction of Mae Malee's offerings

1. There is no gaeng (curry/soup) vendor better than Mae Malee Gaeng. In Bangkok, period. From the tried-and-true old favorites (green chicken and beef massaman curries) to regional specialties (gaeng thrai pla, or spicy Southern fish entrail stew, and the bitter, piquant stir-fried sator) to hard-to-find gems (like the veggie-heavy gaeng liang, meant for breast-feeding mothers) — Mae Malee has it all, a one-stop shop to covering every inch of your dinner table.

Mae Malee's steamed seafood curry

2. But it would be boring to live by Mae Malee alone. Sudjai Gai Yang is known across the country for is succulent grilled chicken — be it factory-raised or gai baan, referred to in English with the euphemism “traditional”, but better described as “free range” (of course, some Thais also refer to them as “scrawny”). There is no country that loves its poultry more.

Butterflied grilled chicken at Sudjai Gai Yang

 3. In a sea of nam prik (pounded pepper dip) vendors, Nawanporn nam prik gapi stands out (and a proper Thai doesn’t throw a dinner without some sort of nam prik). The namesake offering (shrimp paste pepper dip) is earthy, fresh, full of the deep bass note of flavor that leaves some in rhapsodies and others with a grimace. Funny how shrimp paste has become synonymous with Thai food; it was brought to Thailand centuries ago by the Chinese.

Grilled river fish, a perfect accompaniment to shrimp paste dip

4. Mae Prapaisri sells the best mango sticky rice in the market. Sure, it’s a well-loved treat known to anyone who has ever had a mouthful of pad thai, but there are circles within circles, differing degrees of excellence in an already excellent dish.  Here, the mango is always ripe and succulent, the rice glossy and firm, the coconut milk rich and robust.

A different dessert known as khao lam -- sticky rice stuffed in bamboo

5. For the very best of “old-style” Thai eating, look no further than the end of a Thai meal, where the food becomes its richest and sweetest. And the richest, sweetest dessert vendor of all is Gao Pi Nong, purveyor of all that is drenched in coconut milk, fashioned into eggy golden threads, stuffed with coconut custard, or boiled in rice flour.

Gao Pi Nong's black sticky rice with taro in coconut milk

And that’s it. Check out Aor Thor Kor and sample these wares for yourselves. Or find your own favorites. You won’t be disappointed. (Open 6-20.00 daily. MRT: Kampaeng Phet, BTS: Mo Chit).

More Aor Thor Kor fare

(Photos by @SpecialKRB)

Pork egg noodles, yum-style, without broth

It’s a tale of two noodle stands.

Actually, long ago, Rungrueang (Sukhumvit 26) used to be one stand. The Chinese-Thai proprietor served up bowls of steaming egg or rice “tom yum” noodles accompanied by a spicy, tom yum-style broth, slivers of fish ”meatball” and plenty of seasoned, minced pork (when the noodles were ordered hang, or dry, with tom yum seasonings, they were simply called “yum”). Customers flocked by the hundreds every day. The noodle stand became known as a popular lunch spot for work-rumpled desk jockeys and high-haired housewives in the Sukhumvit area. 

Then, as is known to happen, the original proprietor died. His two sons took over the noodle stand, which expanded. And, as is known to happen, they quarreled. The noodle stand split in two, co-existing side-by-side, observing an unspoken cold war. A wall eventually sprouted up between the two shops.

This detente is basically how things stand today. There are two Rungrueangs: one, the original, on the left side, a little smaller than its sibling and marked by the original red sign. Interestingly enough, the son in charge is said to have red shirt sympathies, so it is strangely fitting. Since it is known as the original, diners “in the know” appear to favor it, and it is consistently full.

On the right side, a little bigger than its brother, the “new” Rungrueang is announced by a yellow, handwritten sign (a recent addition). And guess what? Yes, this brother leans to the yellow side. The noodles are EXACTLY THE SAME (it is the father’s recipe, after all). And, maybe because of this, it is also consistently full.

So that is the story of Rungrueang. Which, it turns out, ends up being a political story. And a sort of metaphor for Thailand. Yes, all that, dumped into a pink plastic bowl, engulfed in a spicy lemongrass broth, and drizzled with chopped peanuts, the way a proper bowl of minced pork tom yum noodles should be served.

 (Picture by @SpecialKRB)

Pretty fly for a bitter guy

What is that saying again? When a door closes, a window cracks ever-so-slightly open? Oh, that’s not it? Maybe not in your case …

It’s the end of the summer holidays for me, and how better to mark this than a week full of (tearful) good-byes, (headache-inducing) family dramas, a panic-stricken rush to meet a (self-imposed but unbreakable) deadline, and a handful of (missed) career opportunities? Yay, this week! Frankly, it’s enough to send me rushing off to my kinesiologist. But not before I write this post. Because at least I. Have. This. Blog. Yes.

Maybe this is what the Noodle Nazi is thinking. What, you don’t know the Noodle Nazi? That’s what locals call him, naming him after the “Soup Nazi” from that Seinfeld episode (and whose restaurant was a few blocks away from my apartment in New York, when I lived there, eons ago). Here in Bangkok, there is a man hatched from the Soup Nazi’s own formidable mold, who runs a yen ta fo cart on most days on Saladaeng Soi 2. The shop/cart: JC Yen Ta Fo. The man: I don’t know. Hence the name “Noodle Nazi”.

Maybe his mother keeps pestering him about his daily schedule, and his editors aren’t interested in his story ideas. Maybe all his friends live abroad and he only gets to see them once a year. Maybe his snotty emails about Thai restaurants in five-star hotels are always being misinterpreted. And maybe he can’t find his kinesiologist’s number. In any case, when you meet up with him, you better know your order: sen mee or sen lek? With broth or without? And tell him fast, because there is a whole big backlog of customers waiting and the lunch hour rush is just around the corner, damnit!

Last time we were there, we were chastised for eating an order that did not rightfully belong to us (okay, maybe we deserved that one). But Noodle Nazi’s words earned the eternal enmity of my mother, who has become his sworn enemy and will never set foot on Saladaeng Soi 2 forevermore. As for me, well, I keep going back for the same old abuse. It’s eerily similar to being a freelance journalist. I am glad to fulfill this role for him. Because at least. He. Has. This. Noodle. Cart.

JC Yen Ta Fo, purveyor of excellent pink seafood noodles

The noodles themselves? Well, they may play a role in my going back as well. A bewitching mix of light soy sauce, lime juice, palm sugar and salted soybean paste, chunks of fried tofu, blanched morning glory, fish meatball and the occasional squid tentacle: what’s not to love when it comes to pink seafood noodles? And these come in perfect proportions, in every bowl! Always something to aspire to!

The excellence of these noodles inspires hope. Hope to keep on, keeping on. Hope to continue being me. While I lack the expertise to open my own noodle cart (unless there is demand for a spaghetti bolognese cart anytime soon), I can continue to set my fingers to this keyboard and type utter nonsense, railing against the insipid food served at Thai restaurants in five-star hotels, waiting for that window to crack open a little bit more.

(Pictures by @SpecialKRB)