01/18/2012

Hustling, HK-style

A trio of cold appetizers at Da Ping Huo

Our mission, if we were to accept it, seemed simple enough: in 48 hours in Hong Kong, stuff our faces with as much interesting food as we could. Full of hope and empty of stomach, James and I boarded a plane at daybreak, me slightly the worse for wear after an anniversary dinner at a roadside Isaan stall. The places we were to try were all new, completely blank slates; the food, a staggeringly large amount. If there ever was a time for James to decide he couldn’t stand me and try to drown me in the nearest vat of leftover congee, that time would be now.

A hurried dash through the airport, a quick hop on the train and a confused cab ride later, we wandered along Ship Street with luggage in tow, stopping only once (or maybe twice) to ask for directions. Our destination: Bo Innovation, which, like pickled field crabs, or fermented anchovy, seems to inspire strong feelings in all but the un-foodiest of diners. Labelling itself as “X-treme Chinese cuisine”, BI is helmed by chef Alvin Leung Jr., who “does to Chinese food what Picasso did to art” — impressive indeed. It’s also the kind of outrageous claim that drives diners of a certain unpleasant temperament (me) to find nitpicky fault with everything to emerge from the kitchen.

Trompe de l'oeil "shrimp head" at Bo Innovation

There is no need to be nitpicky here: it is not hard to find fault with the food at Bo Innovation. It’s like Chef Alvin is a “Top Chef” contestant, it’s the Quickfire Challenge, and he whipped up a few dishes that “tell you something about who he is and where he comes from” in 2 hours’ time. A sliver of steak with soy-truffle sauce, predictably yummy save for the addition of “rolled” noodles which add nothing to the dish; “molecular” xiao long bao, or steamed soup dumpling, a spherified jelly that manages to mimic the real thing, but with much less flavor; the pretentiously-named “Dead Garden”, a green savory mousse topped with “soil” and dried enoki mushrooms (is it safe to say we should cool it with the neo-naturalist interpretations of Asian cuisine? They never work). Finally, a a chocolate dessert that James says resembles the Halloween chocolate you find at the back of your closet in April, stale and crumbly; the best thing I can say is that it was not served on a bed of dry ice.

This is the thing about “extreme cuisine”. Except in very rare cases, a lot of it begs the question: Why? Why’d you do it? Only a few chefs are able to answer that question. That’s not to say I hated it; actually, I had a very nice time complaining about stuff. I liked the handmade “lo mein”, part of a dish which mimicked (that again) the flavor and aroma of dried shrimp; the timings were excellent, with hardly any wait between courses; and, coming from a country where the vaunted service often means “smile and run away when someone asks you a question”, the service was smooth and efficient. Needless to say, it is an extremely well-run restaurant, and a fun way to pass the day, once, if you are willing to spend a whole lot of money while passing it.

A place I’d have no problem going to again is just as touristy, but more upfront about it. Da Ping Huo (L/G, Hilltop Plaza, 49 Hollywood Road) is a private kitchen that mixes some pretty tasty Sichuan cooking with an ambiance that veers between “homey” and “down-at-heel” and genuine hospitality from the husband-and-wife team. Despite being completely useless with my chopsticks and splashing my Golden Girls-in-Boca-Raton ensemble with glass noodles, I was charmed by a whole litany of things: the mouth-numbing ma bo tofu, the unctuous stewed “chili beef”, the, er, unusual wall paintings, which resemble what Han Solo and Princess Leia might have had made to commemorate their wedding, and of course, the chef’s opera singing at the end of the evening (what range!).

Da Ping Huo's chili beef

There are things we didn’t get. A soup of what appeared to be purely lettuce looked like “something out of the Moosewood cookbook,” said James. There was also a duo of steamed pork and taro that resembled something the Pennsylvania Amish might have served up on barn-raising days. But these are small quibbles, and so not that much fun to complain about. It was worth every minute it took to find the place, wandering the streets in high heels and praying to God I don’t fall on my face onto Lord-knows-what smeared onto the sidewalk.

Finally, there is The Chairman, for which we prepared by WORKING OUT IN THE FITNESS ROOM (don’t say we didn’t try our best). This was the only place we didn’t find Japanese executives, or tourists of any kind, really. Perhaps this is why they appeared extremely reluctant to let us through the door. After making a reservation for noon, a server came out to tell us that the restaurant was open at 12:15, blatantly disregarding the sign in front listing the opening time as “12:00″. After planting ourselves in the doorway and refusing to budge until they relented (hey, we were hungry), we were ushered in a few minutes later, and kindly shown a menu from which our server pointed out his recommendations. What he advised: a delicious passel of clams in chili jam, accented with Thai basil and red chili a la hoy pad cha; roasted lamb belly, thick and slightly smoky; deep-fried pork spareribs coated in a sauce James likened to “what you’d find in a pu pu platter”; a soup that “tastes like something you’d eat during a famine”, said James, who was not turning out to be a great fan of Chinese soups.  The waiter also relented and allowed us to order a cold Sichuan-style salad of julienned pig’s ear and tripe, paired with slivered Chinese pear, which ended up being underwhelming despite the textural diversity (moral of the story: listen to your waiter!)

Clams at the Chairman

I am ashamed to say this was the last big meal we could manage in HK. For dinner that night, after an uncomfortable few hours toddling through a mall and a dyspeptic spell in a movie theater, we settled down at the nearest place we could roll ourselves over to — an Irish pub — and consoled ourselves with salads.

Later that night, I was so hungry, I ate my complimentary fruit plate.

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Filed under Asia, beef, Chinese, food, Hong Kong, restaurant, seafood

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01/09/2012

That Girl

I like to think that I’m generally an open person, and generous too. Even if, sometimes, I’m not.

I don’t want to be That Girl. That Girl doesn’t share anything: her history, her experiences, her restaurant recommendations, or, worst of all, the stuff on her plate. But it happens sometimes. A flick, a wrong turn, and That Girl emerges – most often when I am in a taxi.

I am, how do you say, absolute crap at my native language (it’s Thai). My accent could be dipped in cornmeal, deep-fried and served with a tub of barbecue sauce, it is so American. Which is why taxi drivers invariably ask me, “Where do you come from?”, “Are you Japanese/Chinese/Filipino/Malaysian?” or, even worse, “Why is your Thai so bad?”  Sometimes I tell them the long and boring story of how my Thai came to be so bad. But there are times when I am so bored by my story, and myself, that I can’t bring myself to do it. I don’t want to share.

FADE IN. USUAL TAXI DRIVER CONVERSATION.

Me: Please take me to (someplace with food).

Taxi driver: What? Oh, you mean (someplace with food, with slightly different inflection). Your Thai is so bad! You must be from (name Asian country other than Thailand, like the Philippines).

Me: Uh, yeah. I am from the Philippines. That’s why my Thai is so bad.

Taxi driver: Oh! That’s cool! Manny Pacquiao! Manny Pacquiao!

Me: I’m sorry. I don’t speak Tagalog.

Taxi driver: No! (Mimes boxing moves). Manny Pacquiao? (Slowly realizes no Filipino would not know who Manny Pacquiao is, and that I am a liar).

Me: Oh, sorry.

(Drive continues in silence).

FADE OUT.

So there are times when I am lazy. But other times, I am just plain selfish. That is the case with Uncle John (Suan Plu Soi 8, 081-373-3865), which I have been going to steadily for months, obsessing over, and generally making a fool of myself at, with nary a peep about it ever. It’s not groundbreaking, food-wise: competent renditions of Western luxury hotel restaurant  staples, like grilled seabass, or hoary old standbys like tournedos Rossini, or pub faves like fish and chips, with the occasional foie gras dish thrown in for good measure. But I think it’s brilliant all the same — the Thai street food concept, inverted; a Western aharn tham sung (made-to-order) stall, featuring your typical hotel fare at about half the price!

Like all great ideas, I wish I had thought of it myself. The mise-en-place is pre-prepared; all cooking is done in front (except for desserts, which are plated in back); and there is liberal use of the squeeze bottle for sauces, recalling early ’90s-era Emeril Lagasse. Kudos to Chef Sanjorn (who works as a chef at a luxury hotel nearby by day, and at this stall by night, every night). So even if there is the occasional misfire (overcooked, tough venison), and even though the menu is far more unwieldy than he can get away with (do we really need the big Thai menu or the Indian selections? The wait is long enough as it is), these feel like mean old quibbles to me, things the Most Miserable Person in the World would complain about.

I am not the Most Miserable Person in the World. I am just That Girl.

Chef Sanjorn

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Filed under Asia, Bangkok, food, food stalls, Thailand

12/29/2011

What it means to be underrated

This is the last post of 2011 for me, and because of that, I want it to be special. Many people are predictably rolling out the “Best of…Worst of…” lists to punctuate the end of this strange, strange year, but I want to devote my last post to something more special, more near and dear to my food-loving heart. And that is Jet Li.

I love Jet Li. I love him even though other people gawk and aah and ooh over the usuals, all somehow resembling that boy in high school who was so so useless but still managed to breeze through life intact and popular — you know these boys, they are infuriating. Empty vessel of man-meat Brad Pitt, or repository of broken dreams George Clooney, or — snore — Ryan Gosling — how did he happen again? — you get the picture. They are basically iterations on the same boy. They will always have a “Hi, how are you?” as they whiz past you in the hall, not bothering to listen to your reply. That guy. That one.

Jet Li is not that guy. He is little and quick and quiet. He does silly martial arts movies with strange co-stars, a la Jackie Chan, but he has the acting chops to do serious stuff, too. He is not what anyone would call “conventionally handsome”, or “handsome”, or even “quite good-looking”. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t even care if he is the bad guy. Unlike, again, Jackie Chan, he isn’t that desperate to be liked. This is what separates him from the other actors of his genre, like, uh, Jackie Chan … and, er … … … … … … ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Jet Li is underrated. Like hua pla restaurants (see what I did there? What a seamless transition!), which are grungy and dingy and not “charming”, “glitzy” or “stylish” in the least. They have the ambiance of an underground storage space, and clientele who are well past retirement age. And the dishes they offer — well, what do you expect from a genre of restaurant named for a “fish head”?

The namesake dish, bubbling in a "maw fai" (fire pot)

Yet these hua pla restaurants resolutely cling to life on the Bangkok dining scene, scattered here and there in the unfashionable sections of town. A subset of the Chinese-Thai restaurant, hua pla places also feature stir-fried seafood dishes, fried rice and noodles besides the namesake dish, a fresh fish (usually giant pomfret, or thao theuy) in either pickled plum or taro broth (pickled plum is better), bubbling contentedly in a metal pot set over a small flame.

Fried e-mee noodles at Hua Pla Maw Fai Nai Kwan

Of all the hua pla restaurants in town, the one I find most accessible is just beyond the Sam Yan subway stop, across the street from Chamchuri Square. Called “Hua Pla Maw Fai Nai Kwan”, this unassuming eatery is hidden in a soi behind the parking lot to the left of Wat Hualumpong on Rama IV Road. It boasts maybe six tables, creaky old Lazy Susans, and a kitchen in back that may have seen  World War II. It is also the perfect place for a quiet, no-fuss lunch on a relaxing Sunday with the day stretching ahead of you like an empty highway. And what could be better than that?

Stir-fried crab with peppers at Nai Kwan

 

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Filed under Asia, Bangkok, fish, food, noodles, restaurant, seafood, Thai-Chinese, Thailand

12/20/2011

Grumpalicious

N

Lunch at Silom Pattakarn

I try to write something here once a week, because life without forcing yourself to do something is a life far too enjoyable, but sometimes, things happen. Last week, and the week before that, and the week before that one, and, oh, this week too, that thing has been the Cold Monster. The Cold Monster rarely visits, so I had little idea what to expect, but it’s a stubborn creature, and pretends to leave only to show up in fuller force when you are at your most jaunty and hatching plans to make an ass of yourself in public again. So that’s what I’ve been up to. Fighting the Cold Monster.

Obviously, I have also been eating. Alas, the cold medication that I have tried all I can to avoid is the only thing between me and utter destruction at this point, but it renders everything I eat either tinny or tasteless. There are only a few things that have broken through this cold-medication curse, and sans further verbal tap-dancing, I have listed them below. Not surprisingly, they are from my favorite kinds of places: shabby, taciturn, and ancient. They are grumpalicious.

Pong Lee (10/1 Ratchawithi Soi 9, 02-644-5037, open 11am-9:30pm)

Why I like it: My grandfather, bless him, is no longer the gourmet he once was. But there was a time when he liked nothing better than to tell other people what or where to eat, and this was invariably one of his favorite choices. It’s changed little since we took him here last — the decor is the same (shabby unchic), as is the clientele (“vintage”). Not surprisingly, the menu has also undergone little renovation. Although people like to order the deep-fried duck, our family has our own little favorites.

What I like: Old-school Thai-Chinese versions of “Western” dishes are also represented on the menu by way of Pong Lee’s deep-fried pork chop, swimming in a thick tomato sauce and peas. It sounds kind of gross, and maybe is if you are not familiar with this very specialized subset of old-style fusion food, but it is the dish my brother invariably goes for. Steamed seabass and hae gun (Chinese-style deep-fried shrimp rolls) are standbys, as is the odd vegetable dish of what appears to be canned white asparagus garnished with a murky seaweed. Sometimes (only if I am there), we order the stewed goat. Pong Lee’s specialty, however, is said to be the Hokkien-style fried egg noodles, garnished with shredded pork floss.

Egg noodles with pork floss

Sanguansri (59/1 Wireless Rd., 02-252-7637, open 10am-3pm)

Why I like it: Is it habit? Is it the food? I can’t tell anymore. Sometimes I am absolutely appalled by the service (but cannot say anything because, let’s face it, some of the servers are my grammy’s age). And sometimes I am perfectly happy to sit there, ignored, serving myself water from the counter and fighting to pay my bill. All I know is that I first came here when, well, I first came to Thailand, and eating here makes me think of that time. Also, the food seems to have only improved since then (as illustrated by the growing and increasingly-ravenous lunchtime crowd).

What I like: What can I say? It’s all about the kanom jeen nam prik. Sure, some other places also have kanom jeen (Mon-style fermented rice noodles) with vaunted reputations, but Sanguansri deserves it. Their nam prik – a mellow, chili-flecked, coconut milk-based curry — is genuinely delicious, layered and complex, sweet and mild but with an earthy undertow. Noodles come pre-mixed with greens for convenience’s sake (theirs, not yours), and sometimes they forget silverware and/or dishes, but whatever. As for everything else, it … skews sweet. Another favorite is the gluay chuem (bananas cooked in syrup), which comes drizzled in coconut milk, a further play on the salty-sweet thing.

Kanom jeen nam prik

Silom Pattakarn (Soi Silom Pattakarn, the soi after Silom Soi 15, 02-236-4442, open 10am-9pm)

Why I like it: Among the oldest remaining examples of Thai-Western fusion food, Silom Pattakarn specializes in something that is increasingly in danger of becoming extinct (see: Restaurant, Carlton) — Thai-Chinese versions of “Western” dishes such as “stew” (tomato-based sauce, peas, and pork, oxtail or ox tongue), corn soup, Chinese-style “chicken curry” (the national British dish), and “steak” (here seared perfectly and cooked medium to medium-well — no bleu among germ-phobic Thais!) accompanied with a simple salad in a sweet vinaigrette. There are also “fancy” Asian dishes such as fish maw soup, either cooked dry or nam daeng (“red broth”) and mee krob boran (old-style crispy thin noodles), which, unlike the lacquered khunying hair-like confections atop so many “traditional” restaurant tables today, arrives simply and humbly, mixed with minced shrimp, touched only a bit with sugar.

Old-fashioned mee krob with garnishes

What I like: Uh, I think I went over that already. But honestly, I also just love the place: it’s breezy in the wintertime, the ladies are lovely, and everything comes with a fluffy tower of white bread and ginormous pat of butter. With the loss of the Carlton Restaurant on Silom (another “fancy” place frequented by blue-hair types who remember its heyday in the ’50s and ’60s), Silom Pattakarn has possibly become the remaining purveyor of this slice of post-World War II Thailand, when the country was young and budding and the future seemed bright (I remember this time vividly, you see). The restaurant is up for sale (granted, for the past 6-7 years), so this may be the last chance you get to see, and taste, progressive mid-century Thailand.

Chicken curry and the dining room

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Filed under Asia, Bangkok, chicken, curries, food, noodles, restaurant, Thai-Chinese, Thailand

12/09/2011

Confusion about Fusion

Pork rind with spice powder and miso dip at Sra Bua

Sra Bua by Kiin Kiin sees itself as a traditional Thai restaurant with a modern twist, but it’s not. The sister restaurant to Copenhagen’s still-Michelin-starred Kiin Kiin, Sra Bua offers nothing that could ever qualify as “traditional”, from its curry ice creams to fizzy pop-rock-laced gelatos, its dizzyingly formal parade of odd tiny bits to its extremely strict reservation policy (don’t even think of bringing an extra body to dinner at the last minute, folks — the usual mai pen rai will undoubtedly come from you, not them). There is spherified lobster essence and foam masquerading as coconut sauce. There are globules and powders and custards galore to entertain any reasonable diner. But this vision of “molecular Thai” is not traditional, and not really Thai food.

In case you are wondering, yes, this is indeed going to be a great big grump-fest about krazy kids and their krazy food, and why the neighbors are so loud with their terrible music and why the numbers are too small on my cordless talking-thingy. And yes, I hated Sra Bua. So that is out of the way. To be fair, the menu has recently changed. It may be awesome now. But the meal I had was a procession of dishes with nods to Ferran Adria and Rene Redzepi tossed in but which all basically tasted the same — creamy and sweet — with some grumbling undertones of spice and salt and maybe some fishiness and smoke somewhere in there, possibly, like a stain that’s been furiously scrubbed and everything hastily ironed out again to look shiny and happy. It was shiny happy food, without the bits of drama like the lurking bitter pop of a baby eggplant, or stink of smelly fish paste. It was Thai food on Prozac.

This got me thinking. After helping Chef McDang with his first English-language cookbook, “The Principles of Thai Cookery”, I have been lucky enough to get to work with him on his second, to be called, tentatively, “Modern Thai Cookery”. The recipes — Thai-marinated pork wiener schnitzel, or green curry osso bucco — are straight-up fusion, Thai ingredients melded with Western cooking techniques. But the flavor profiles remain staunchly, resolutely Thai. What is Thai? According to Chef McDang, it’s fish sauce. Palm or coconut sugar. A natural acid, like lime or water olive or tamarind. A paste base. An unscented oil. It’s simple, and allows for flexibility, because neither of us is an authenticity troll (an entirely different, equally problematic can of Sriracha-drenched worms).

This then got me thinking about rebels. The English “aesthetic movement” of the late 1800s stripped away boundaries between the arts and angered establishment figures. Impressionism inspired derision amid people who didn’t get the strokes and colors; the term itself was meant to be an insult. And there was punk, which many many people hated, and then hated again after it was defanged and sanitized. In the book “Retromania” by Simon Reynolds (thanks @sjmontlake!), critic Julie Burchill wrote of punk’s inevitable demise: “I’m just a cranky old punk past its prime. But the alternative is hideous, and it is the only alternative. It is to believe in ROCK’S RICH TAPESTRY.” (ppg. 6-7. I haven’t gotten very far).

Maybe Sra Bua is part of “Thai food’s rich tapestry”, with its winks and grins and gastro-references. And I could just be a grumpy old person, like those guys who hated Monet, crawling out of my cave every once in a while to scarf down a bowl of noodles and bellow at the occasional squirrel. I do believe that, with the explosion of restaurants worldwide, diners are now demanding new tricks and gimmickry, ever-more gimcracks and bonobos. They want to be entertained. And if it tastes good, well, that’s great too. But this is the opposite of what I want. I guess this means I am old-fashioned. I just want the food.

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Filed under Bangkok, food, restaurant, Thailand

12/01/2011

Stories we tell ourselves

Kai gata in Udon Thani

We all have our own little stories that we choose to believe, and this one is mine: We have Vietnam War-era American GIs to thank for two of the more beloved dishes in our culinary lexicon. One is a hastily-stirfried hodge-podge of sliced processed hotdog, ham, raisins, peas, and rice, lubricated with a generous dollop of ketchup and topped with a fried egg, sunnyside-up. This dish, a big ol’ smile on a plate, is generally known as “American fried rice” and can be found just about anywhere you can find a wok and a cook, and sometimes not even the cook. Just bring your two hands and a bottle of oil.

The other, because of its Vietnamese roots, is more prevalent in the Isaan region and known as “kai gata” (or “kai kata” or “kai gataa” or “kai kataa” … sometimes, you just have to close your eyes and point a finger and hope that it’s darn near close enough). Eggs are broken into a small metal pan and baked or cooked gently atop a grill, accompanied by sliced gun chieng (sweet Chinese sausage), veggies and  moo yaw (which, according to Chef McDang, was born as a Chinese cook’s approximation of European pate at the court of King Rama IV). And don’t forget the “bread” — usually a disarmingly sweet white bun, cleaved into two, buttered thickly and stuffed with ham, moo yaw and/or sausage. The story is that this dish was the closest an American GI could get to an American breakfast. What I see it as is 1960s-70s Asian-American fusion (just like me!): hearty and welcoming, pragmatic and resourceful, just what is needed sometimes to start what once threatened to be a deadly dull day.

Happily, you can find this dish in Bangkok. You just need to know where to look or, barring that, know who to pester. In my case, it’s my friend Winner, who knows the culinary ins-and-outs of Banglamphu like no one else. Gopi Hia Gai Gi (37 Siripong Rd., 02-621-0828. There is another one at the Wisut Kasat intersection), alongside stuff like Chinese-style flat stuffed noodles, dim sum and, uh, steak, serves up a mean kai gata, drizzled with minced pork and peas and, of course, accompanied by the mini white bread bun stuffed with moo yaw.  Best of all, it’s open from 7 am to 8:30 at night — a chance at kai gata at any time you think you might need to restart your day.

Banglumphu's version

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Filed under Asia, Bangkok, food, food stalls, Isaan, Thai-Chinese, Thailand

11/25/2011

The Thanksgiving Post

Because I can't not use this photo

Somehow, the sacrifice of many turkeys puts people in the sort of mood to count their blessings. I am one of them (albeit a day later than everyone else). Of course, there is being thankful for my family, and friends, and people who are willing to put up with me for a few hours during the day in general. I can understand your pain, kind people. Thank you for that.

I am also thankful for the many great experiences I have had over the past year — especially the food-based kind. How lucky I’ve been! So here is, pretty much, a slide show of some snippets of my year, which has passed by far too quickly for my liking. Just imagine sitting in a rec room somewhere, wanting desperately to escape while I drone on and on about boring stuff. Ah, Thanksgiving!

1. While in France in the autumn, we escaped from our tour long enough to score a dinner at Alain Chapel for my birthday. It was a great birthday! My choice was simple: a roasted veal kidney, sliced at the table and served with a thick ‘n glossy red wine sauce.

 

 

2. Delicious China. Need I say more? Like many many other people, my favorite dish is the ultimate in Sichuan comfort food: mapo tofu, cubes of jiggly blank goodness coated in chilies and beans and good ol’ oil, one of the more bewitching combinations known to man.

 

3. Berlin is one of my favorite cities in the world. I look forward to going almost every year, when my husband attends a travel fair and I end up having the entire city to myself. I love that Berlin’s possibilities are endless. There is always something new to discover, and always something I end up missing out on. On my next visit, a trip to the pirate-themed restaurant will be an absolute must!

Here, the beef goulash with spaetzle at the Reinhard’s on Kurfurstendamm, otherwise known as Thai Tourist Central.

 

4. When my family go on holiday together, my dad always ends up being the cook. This might suck for my dad, but it’s a real treat for us, a throwback to when we were kids and dad had to cook dinner after he came home from work.

Quite sensibly, dad tries to shy away from cooking duties now, but sometimes, in a foreign country and surrounded by hungry family members demanding perfectly fried rice or a well-seasoned larb, he cannot say no. Here is his yum nuea, a spicy beef salad made with the local Limousin beef of the Perigord region.

 

5.  Obvious alert: street food. I can’t say I love it in all its permutations and varieties — you may not have guessed, but I’m not the biggest jok (Chinese-style rice porridge) fan in the world, and I actually dislike Thai-style som tum (pounded spicy salad) — but I am truly thankful for the vast range of street food out there right now.

And the variety keeps growing! We are getting Japanese-style okonomiyaki (savory crepes) and pasta sauced with different curries and even, I hear, stabs at Western food. Thai food is at an incredible moment in time when it is figuring out, again, what it really is, expanding and changing its parameters, to the delight or dismay of many. What’s next? I don’t know, but it’s definitely something to be thankful for.

Dry thin noodles (sen lek) with pork, "yum"-style, at Baan Jik in Udon Thani

 

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Filed under Asia, Bangkok, Chinese, food, food stalls, France, French food, noodles, restaurant, Thailand