by | 04/03/2014 · 4:32 pm

What’s Cooking: Nam Prik Hed

The finished product

The finished product

There is a scene in the movie “Pretty Woman” (have you ever heard of it?) where Julia Roberts (do you know who she is?) is having dinner at a fancy restaurant with Richard Gere (my mom’s boyfriend). This woman met Richard Gere the night before while wearing a tie-dyed dinner napkin and Woody Harrelson’s toupee from “True Detective”, and now he is taking her to a French restaurant with waiters and everything. That’s really realistic. And then this douchecanoe goes and orders the escargots, even though his date has no freaking clue how to use her cutlery and one of the dinner companions (the “hothead” grandson who plays polo) has clearly cottoned on to Richard Gere’s game and ordered a dinner salad. Why didn’t Richard Gere order her the salad too? Is he really that attached to the prix fixe menu? Isn’t he rich enough to order a la carte? That is the moment when I figured out this movie was complete horseshit. Let your hooker order her own meal, Richard Gere!

I was thinking about this because, well, there are lots of mealtime etiquette thingies that even I, with all the many many meals that I have eaten, have no clue about. When faced with the mushroom chili dip you see above, I did what I usually do and piled all the crap I could find onto my plate, crowned with a healthy heaping of aforementioned nam prik. My dining companions snorted in my face. “Steady on!” they basically said, in Thai. “That chili dip will still be there in a few minutes’ time”.

“Thais are very fastidious about their manners while eating,” said one person, trying to be nice. “That’s is the only thing Thais do properly”. (Again, horseshit).

Oh, but wait. Let me start at the beginning.

I love nam prik. But I am extremely lazy. So it’s rare that I will make my own, preferring instead to pester harried-but-obliging wet market vendors or darken the doorstep of the occasional Thai restaurant in order to get my chili dip fix. It’s just that there are so few dishes that are as immediate — spicy, tart, funky in that fermented, garbage-y, wrong-side-of-garlic sense that Thai food is known for — as this one. Strange, then, that it’s not such a well-known dish once you find yourself out of Thailand.

It’s also so pretty and deceptively obliging: that little dollop, that big taste. Always surrounded by its various little accomplices, all chosen to offset whatever chili dip you’ve decided to guzzle on that particular day: sweet silky tamarind (macaam), sharp peppery roasted banana pepper (nam prik num), the ubiquitous, funkier-than-George-Clinton shrimp paste (gapi), a pillar of the standard Thai meal. In fact, nam prik was such a go-to dish in Thailand that husbands were once said to choose their wives on the sound their mortars and pestles made when pounding out a particular dip (if this were the case today, I can confidently say I would never get married).

So when my friend Chin took me to Nakhon Pathom with the promise of a good meal and a cooking class, you could color me curious. I rarely take cooking classes, because a.) they remind me of the time I was in culinary school, where I was bad and not good and to which I was generally unsuited, and b.) I don’t like to listen for long enough to follow directions (which may explain a. Really, though, why cook and then not eat? Who cares about these so-called “customers”? Let’s not discuss cooking school ever again.) But at Oo Khao Oo Pla (a take on the Thai saying “Nai nam mee pla, nai na mee khao” or “There is fish in the water, there is rice in the fields” aka Thailand is a lucky land of bounty), the friendly chef is happy enough to chat with me as she gives her hand-picked mushrooms a quick stir-fry with sugar and garlic in the wok, and garnishes her thom kloang pla salid (sour soup with smoked dried fish) with freshly plucked tamarind leaves from the tree out back. Better yet, she lets me pound the nam prik hed (mushroom chili dip) into a paste on the dinner table, peppering her commentary on my poor working style with the occasional “pok pok pok” (the sound a mortar and pestle should ideally make).

Sacrificing my shirt to the cooking gods

Sacrificing my shirt to the cooking gods

 

So with her blessing, I’m giving you this recipe. A tip or two: when you are pounding the shit out of that chili mixture, make sure you do so with intent and malice. Pretend you are Mike Tyson in the ring. Thais may seem all smiley and happy-g0-lucky, but that is because they are getting all their aggressions out on their food.

My chili paste

My chili paste

Nam Prik Hed (makes 4 servings)

– 2 hed fang (large straw mushrooms), cut up

– 4 red bird’s eye chilies and 4 green bird’s eye chilies

– 1 green, 1 orange, and 2 red prik chee fah (chili peppers)

– 5 garlic cloves

– 4-5 shallots

In 1 tsp oil, fry garlic, shallots and sliced chilies in hot wok with mushroom pieces until “dry”, about 5 minutes.

It should look like this.

It should look like this.

 

Next, mix the dressing:

– 3-5 tsp fish sauce

– 2-3 tsp sugar

– juice from 2-3 limes

Or, if you are going the vegetarian route, substitute the fish sauce for light soy sauce and salt.

Mix to taste.

Pound your wok mixture with your mortar and pestle. Add “dressing” to taste.

Done!

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Filed under Asia, Bangkok, chili dip, food, restaurant, Thailand

by | 03/21/2014 · 12:55 pm

Glutton (sort of) Abroad: Best Laid Plans

 

 

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I’ve been thinking about this for a while now. Last week, I finally bought the ticket. It’s non-refundable. So I’m doing it. I’m finally going  on my very first barbecue tour in the southern US this July.

Unlike most other things I do, where I just sort of throw things at the wall and see what sticks, I am actually trying to plan this time. It’s not easy for me, because I am a spaz. I will start researching something, only to find myself clicking on the crazy True Detective theory website, or looking up songs from the “Sixteen Candles” soundtrack. I have the attention span of a gnat. So it is really very slow going. But it’s (sort of) set. I’m focusing on what is called “real” barbecue, in the so-called “barbecue belt”. That means Tennessee, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, and the Carolinas. That’s it. Really, Texans.

Barbecue means pigs. Pigs are, somehow, intrinsically connected to the Southern identity: a cheap source of protein for centuries, pigs were allowed to run semi-wild in the woods up to the turn of the 20th century, making them easy game for hungry hunters with a halfway decent knowledge of how to start a fire. Although it is back-breaking and time-consuming work manning the pit, it also requires little more than experience: the more you barbecue, the better you get at it. And it is a relatively cheap pastime, breaking the tough or stringy pieces of meat into something that collapses into a velvety ooze. Each region boasts its own sauce, and even, in the case of Texas (beef) and Kentucky (mutton), different protein. But bona fide barbecue deals in pork, and smoke, and fire.

The act of barbecuing is said to have been the glue that kept Southern society together. Any big event — political rallies, church gatherings, etc. — featured one, and all and sundry would show up to socialize and have a little taste of the pig. The word “barbecue” supposedly comes from the West Indian term barbacoa, but Southerners have managed to take this cooking method and knit it securely into their own identities. To provide barbecue, real barbecue, one must be Southern, and understand the tradition of it. And any permutations, variations, iteration must be debated ad nauseum by anyone with even the slightest claim to Southern heritage, because to know about barbecue and its traditions is to be Southern. In this way, barbecue in the South is comparable to street food in Thailand, to me at least. Thais love to debate the merits or demerits of a particular version of any street food dish. They love to cast aspersions on another region’s treatment of the same ingredient. It’s like the social, conversational form of trading cards. This is how you show you are plugged in. Only, in the South, it’s the different ways someone slow-roasts a pig, instead of how someone cooks noodles.

I will start in Nashville, where I’ve never been. I must admit it’s not the barbecue that is drawing me here: it’s something called “hot chicken”, or fried chicken with hot sauce on it, which may be the best thing I have ever heard of. I LOVE FRIED CHICKEN. Next comes St. Louis/Kansas City, where a sweet, tomatoey sauce ladled over slow-cooked ribs is favored. In Memphis, the pig is “pulled” (shredded with a fork) and the sauce has molasses in it. In Alabama … I hear there is something called “white barbecue”, or a mayonnaise-based sauce (YIKES). In Georgia, the barbecue is served alongside “hash” — the Southern version of Scrapple. In South Carolina, the pork is sliced or chopped, and the sauce is piquant and mustardy. And in North Carolina, the “home of barbecue” to many, the sauce is either vinegary and the ‘cue served with hush puppies (on the east coast), or tomatoey and peppery, and served alongside a faintly terrifying dish called “Brunswick stew” in west North Carolina.

Do you know barbecue? Do you, like me, wonder how the different ways people roast pigs reflects the environments they live in? Do you have a favorite barbecue place? This is my tentative itinerary, and my very first attempt at crowdsourcing. If you have any opinions at all — even if you are not a Southerner — please let me know what you think.

TN

 —  Jim Neely’s Interstate (2265 S. 3rd St., Memphis)

—  A&R BBQ (1803 Elvis Presley Blvd., Memphis)

—  Jack’s (416 Broadway, Nashville)

—  Siler’s Old Time BBQ (6060 Hwy 100 E., Henderson)

—  Prince’s Hot Chicken (123 Ewing St., Nashville)

—  Hattie B’s (112 19th Ave. S., Nashville)

MO

—  Arthur Bryant’s (1727 Brooklyn Ave., Kansas City)

—  FIorella’s Jack Stack BBQ (101 W. 22nd St., Kansas City)

—  Pappys Smokehouse (3106 Olive St., St. Louis)

—  C&K BBQ (4390 Jennings Station Rd., St. Louis)

 

KS

— Oklahoma Joe’s (3002 W. 47th Ave., Kansas City)

— Woodyard (3001 Merriam Lane, Kansas City)

 

SC

— Scott’s BBQ (2734 Hemingway Hwy, Hwy 261 Brunson Cross Rd., Hemingway)

— Martha Lou’s Kitchen (1068 Morrison Dr., Charleston)

— Home Team BBQ (2209 Middle St., Charleston)

 

NC

— Allen and Son (6203 Millhouse Rd., Chapel Hill)

— Lexington BBQ (100 Smokehouse Lane, Lexington)

— Stamey’s (4524 N. Carolina 150, Lexington)

— Wilber’s BBQ (4172 Hwy. 70 East, Goldsboro)

— Skylight Inn (4618 S. Lee St., Ayden)

— The Pit (328 W. Davie St., Raleigh)

— Scott’s (1201 N. William St., Goldsboro)

— Bill’s (3007 Downing St., Wilson)

GA

— Gladys and Ron’s Chicken and Waffles (529 Peachtree St., Atlanta)

— Pittypat’s Porch (25 Andrew Young Intl Blvd., Atlanta)

— Fat Matt’s Rib Shack (1811 Piedmont Rd., Atlanta)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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by | 03/06/2014 · 5:47 pm

Touring the Old Town

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Chin’s pomelo salad

(Photo courtesy of Chili Paste Tours)

I don’t often give street food tours. Don’t get me wrong — I like getting out and about and meeting people — but if I do go with someone, it’s more of a walk-a-long to somewhere I’m trying out anyway, because I’m not sure I’m a very good guide. The thought of charging for an experience that may or may not be useful to someone is very fraught for me. I JUST WANT TO BE LOVED, OKAY?

So when I went on my own Bangkok food tour, it was an interesting change of pace for me. Recommended by the talented Anne Faber, Chili Paste Tour (www.chilipastetour.com) is a name that frequently springs to mind when people ask me for street food tour recommendations. Because I have mentioned them a couple of times, Chin — the tiny powerhouse behind Chili Paste — generously offered to take me to her favorite food stops. This was an incredible windfall for me, since these stops fall in my favorite part of town: the loop from Pra Arthit Road bypassing Rachadamnern Avenue, up through the Chinese Swing, and onto Tanao Road.

Now, I like to think I have fairly delineated tastes, meaning very few things are neutral to me. I like to think that I can be picky, but fair. I also like to think that I’m nice and that if I don’t like something, it doesn’t show, but my husband has just told me that I’m an abject failure at that. In other words, I can be a raging bitch. But Chin, while managing to veer nowhere near Bitchtown, is even more exacting, and really knows her food: she frequently spends entire afternoons sampling the offerings of vendors in nearby towns, trying to find a suitable place to take her charges. A famous som tum place is dismissed for being too “sweet”; a widely lauded Thai lunch spot is “bland”. Almost everyone is guilty of too much MSG. So when Chin likes a place, I feel like it must really be good.

First up: Chin’s favorite restaurant, Krua Sam Hom at Praeng Puthon Square. This road may sound familiar to you because of the perennial tourist favorite, Chote Chitr, which is close to the entrance from Tanao Road. Krua Sam Hom is a little further in, on the right hand side, directly across from the “park” that forms the square.  It is, like most of the places in that neighborhood, surprisingly empty. But that ends up being a blessing, since Chin commandeers the kitchen (she takes a lot of people here), gathering ingredients for a spicy pomelo salad, the recipe for which she has loaned below. She is a whirlwind of instructions and information: the best pomelos come from Samut Songkhram and Nakhon Pathom; good nam prik pao (roasted chili paste) can be bought at Aor Thor Kor; she adds fresh orange segments from a particularly tart type found only in Samut Songkhram. And other stuff: how many modern Thai stir-fry cooks rely on margarine to add color and sheen to their creations, at the expense of aroma; to always have pomegranate juice vendors squeeze their juice in front of you, because many bulk up their bottles with cheaper watermelon juice.

We also get a beautiful plah goong, a prawn salad blanketed in minced lemongrass, mint, shallots and kaffir lime leaves and a stir-fry of morning glory and chilies. There is also a gaeng som (sour soup) with more prawns and squares of acacia leaves battered in egg, its rich red color courtesy of polished red chilies hand-picked by the chef, who keeps the discards in a plastic bag by the stairs.

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Krua Sam Hom’s gaeng som

Now, being a Glutton is my thing and all, and I really thought I might end up going home hungry, but that was foolish. After lunch, a stop at what is probably still Bangkok’s most famous ice cream shop, Nuttaporn: mango and coconut were especially recommended. Then, an iced coffee at the corner with the possibility of 12 baht pork noodles on Dinsor Road looming on the horizon and … I was stuffed. Stuffed like an 18-course meal at Eleven Madison Park (where I was convinced they were trying to kill us) stuffed. What can I say? We all have our limits.

Chin’s pomelo salad (for two)

– 5 pomelo segments

– 1/2 som kaew (glass oranges from Samut Songkhram)

– 1 Tbs roasted chili paste

– 1 Tbs peanut powder

– 1 Tbs dried coconut

– 3 Tbs palm sugar mixed with tamarind juice

– 1 Tb fish sauce (more to taste)

– 1/2 lime (more to taste)

– 5-6 dried chilies

– 1 Tbs roasted peanuts

– 1 Tbs fried shallots

– 4 cooked shrimp

– 3 fresh bird’s eye chilies

– 3 Tbs lemongrass, minced

– 2 tsp granulated sugar (to taste)

1. Mix roasted chili paste, peanut powder, palm sugar/tamarind juice, fish sauce, lime, fresh chilies, lemongrass and granulated sugar to form dressing.

2. Add citrus segments, squeezing them a bit to add juice to the dressing.

3. Garnish with shrimp, coconut, shallots, dried chilies and whole peanuts.

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Mango and coconut ice creams at Nuttaporn

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