Business, Thai-style

(Note: Written before the season 3 finale of “White Lotus”)

Like many of you, I have been watching “White Lotus” season 3, which is set in Thailand, every time it appears on Mondays. I have enjoyed the memes around Parker Posey’s character, relived some ghastly three-woman travel trips of my own, and waited with bated breath for something to finally happen to both Gun Dad and Gary. But whenever poor old Gaitok and Mook appeared on my screen, I admit to feeling exasperation and maybe a little boredom. Why were they so one-note? In what way was “Lisa so pretty” *moon eyes moon eyes* a compelling plot line? Was Mike White afraid of pissing off Thai people with a more nuanced portrayal of two real-life people (a real consideration)? They — like many of the “locals” in travel shows featuring dashing Western types like Anthony Bourdain — threatened to be cardboard cutouts in their own story, once again, like many Thais in similar situations before them.

It wasn’t until I ended up scrolling Twitter (AGAIN) and came upon a discussion of the “White Lotus” season so far that I finally came close to understanding what the characters were all about. It was a general discussion about what was working and not working for various viewers, at varying levels of dumbness (yes to incest and feuding three-way friendships, meh on the Darth Vader dad killer plot line, always no to the boring old locals), when journalist Heidi N. Moore (I always like to give credit) started a thread with her own analysis of Gaitok and Mook. Like all of the other characters — Belinda with the payoff, Tim with jail, Rick with killing someone — Gaitok was in a moral dilemma. Would he advance in his career (and life) by subjugating his Buddhist non-harm beliefs and gain a “killer instinct”, quite literally, in order to become a bodyguard? He would get more money that way, and in Mook’s eyes, be more of a marriage prospect.

Let’s ignore the ridiculousness of this in real life (no one aspires to marry someone’s hired muscle, and if you really wanted to move up in Gaitok’s world, you’d work in hospitality) because the plot line is literally about using violence (physical or mental) to move up the capitalist ladder. And the more Western the boss, presumably the more money and stability you get. It’s colonization in another name. Tourism runs along similar lines, even if the bosses change from day to day.

I, as a person who occasionally gives overpriced food tours to foreign tourists and writes cookbooks aimed primarily at people who eat rice with a fork, finally understand this story. Apparently I, like many of my other fellow viewers, can spot and understand class struggle (season 1) and sexual and gender politics (season 2) but not life-altering moral dilemmas. That’s funny, but also kind of sad.

Many of us are familiar with the elusive vendor who shuts up shop when his goods run out, or the chef-owner of a small restaurant who desperately wants to keep her clientele small and select. American-style capitalism would dictate that these people expand, making more goods to feed increased demand, and hiring more people to help you when more customers stress you out. Eventually, you could buy out all of your competitors, make enough money to influence elections, and become Elon Musk. But alas, this doesn’t seem to be the Thai way. Thais traditionally don’t have that “killer instinct”. Instead, you would know what your limit is, and stick with that limit, at the expense of your wallet but to the benefit of the rest of your life. It’s what keeps vendors in their market stalls and their shophouses, selling enough chestnuts on the street to send their kids to university. There is no chestnut empire awaiting them. There is only retiring somewhere with a nice plot of land and a garden, occasionally meeting up for coffee with friends to trade amulets.

The elderly woman proprietor at Panlom (“Passing Breeze”) is one such retiree. She has opened up a tiny restaurant in an old Thai-style house that is attached to her son’s pie shop in a picturesque corner of Bangkok Noi, close to Bang Khan Non MRT stop. Reservations are essential, since there’s only one or two tables. You order your food beforehand, and the choices are dishes that she makes herself, from her own family recipes. In spite of the “hidden” nature of the restaurant, it’s neither “cool” nor exclusive. It’s not trendy, but at the same time it doesn’t aspire to serve “Royal Thai cuisine”. It’s just a lady sharing the recipes she grew up with.

So of course you would expect the kind of old-fashioned Central Thai food served on the tables of “good” families — the kind of food you’d find at Aksorn. There is mor hor and mangkorn karb kaew (a sticky paste of shrimp and pork atop a slice of fruit, in this case pineapple and orange, respectively). There’s also ready-made miang of pomelo with wild betel leaves and more of that sweet sticky paste.

As the food is presented course-style (normally a pet peeve, but there’s little space on the table for much else), you also get a “salad” of yum kamoy, which translates to “robber’s spicy salad” and is made of a mix of shrimp, chicken, surimi, and ground dried fish.

Then there’s of course, mee krob, an under-the-radar tricky dish to make, with citrusy hints of orange, comforting kai pullo, and khao kluk kapi, or rice mixed with shrimp paste and all of the usual accompaniments: green mango, chilies, shallots, egg, tiny shrimp, and sweet pork.

Then there’s the green curry, served with homemade roti and kanom jeen, cooked in a style described as “Indian”, but which I would describe as “good” (Bangkok curries have been getting too creamy, and, paradoxically, too green. I do not trust pistachio green curry. The color is also bad luck for me, born on a Friday, in accordance with Thai superstition).

The evening ended with som chun, accompanied by the correct and old-fashioned accompaniment of deep-fried shallot powder. I did not take a photo, because I was in the middle of a frankly disturbing work Zoom in which I ended up ranting about authenticity being a Western concept to a group of bewildered Thai people (sort of like the reception Fabian’s singing gets in this week’s episode!)

There were dishes that I didn’t get to order because, come on, no one has that kind of appetite. But Panlom also offers massaman curry (of course), khao tung na tang chao suan (rice crackers with a mild pork dip) and pla hang tang mo (watermelon dusted with dried fish powder, which here serves as dessert). If you are interested in trying any of these, I’d suggest making a reservation, since you’re unlikely to find any of these dishes in a subway station or food court near you anytime soon. There is real life to attend to, after all.