I’m not done with Loei yet

Loei seems like a wild place — even its very name means “beyond” — but it is in actuality very charming and slow. The forests are green and dense, yes, but the mountains are mostly rolling, never imposing, their sides sprouting trees from which all manner of good things grow, like wild tennis-ball-sized guavas (good if you can get beyond the bitter seeds), dragonfruit, and the region’s peculiarly long avocados.

If you know your stuff, the deep forest itself can yield a whole bunch of yummy things to eat as well. This is what we discovered when we initially made plans to go to Namthok Tarnthong, which, while nowhere near its strongest (that would be from August onwards), still presented something of a roar when we veered into the parking lot. But what was meant to be an attempt to dip our toes in some water came a cropper when we were diverted by the parking lot itself, lined with enterprising ladies selling the things they had gathered in the woods only that morning. There were nuts like hazelnuts, encased in a paper-thin skin that rubbed off when you handled them, and of course, the ever-present “exploding mushrooms”, or het pro, which I love when stewed.

There was also a large cache of lychee-like mountain “berries”, which Aarya characterized as sweet-and-sour.

But what ultimately made both Aarya’s and my heart thump padum padum were the mountain mushrooms on display by a couple of vendors towards the end of the line. Indeed, we got so excited that we bought them all without really knowing what they were.

It was only after we had sped out of the parking lot, booty in tow, that we realized … shit. What now?

Aarya’s friend to the rescue. She had gone to school with friends in Khon Kaen and, unlike me, had kept in touch with them all these years, including a few in Udon Thani where we were fortuitously headed. Could they actually knock something up with these forest mushrooms that we had impulsively purchased?

The answer is: of course. They were so lovely that they asked us to leave our mushrooms at the front desk once we checked in, so that they would have enough time to cook them. They made reservations at a restaurant serving local food that they liked, ChabaaBarn, and told us to expect our mushrooms there.

A few hours later, they did not disappoint.

Meaty and fragrant with Thai lemon basil, with just a hint of pla rah in the broth, the mushrooms were delicious, though I must admit I found the brown ones a little bitter. It was the kind of stew that would only improve with time (then again, what good stews don’t?)

Even more of a revelation were the recommended “Udon Thani” dishes they ordered to accompany the stew, like a frankly delicious chili dip pounded from local water olives and the signature heart cockle miang to be eaten like a grilled fish “miang” would be: stuffed into a leaf with fermented rice noodles like a taco and doused in one or both chili sauces.

We struggled between choosing a som tum of cut fermented rice noodles or a presumably “Udon Thani”-style one slathered in tiny freshwater shrimp from the river, and ultimately chose the latter.

And, although not really local,, we just had to have the duck larb.

The food and company were so good that I did something that I never do: order dessert.

I slept well that night.