Bangkok Glutton

Calling the universe

When did it become commonplace to request things of “the universe”? To treat the Great Beyond of one’s own body like a great big glossy catalog, peopled with goodies that can be purchased with the power of some good old-fashioned positive thinking. Ask of the universe, and you will receive. Isn’t this what “The Secret” is all about?

Well, I’m a Presbyterian, but I’m not averse to getting a little extra help when I really really need it. This is when I look to my fellow Thais for guidance. They, too, have their own way of asking something of the universe, and it doesn’t involve sitting through a two-hour sermon in a hard wooden pew. It’s called “making merit”, and it involves a trip to a shrine or temple, a few joss sticks, and a whole lot of smoke. One of the more famous of these places to merit-make is the Erawan Shrine, home of the four-faced representation of the Hindu god Brahma, god of creation. 

I’ve been twice. The first time, I purchased some incense sticks and candles, prayed a bit, copied the woman next to me, and left. When a Thai friend asked me what I asked for, I told him.

“I prayed for peace of mind,” I said.

That was met with a sigh. “That’s not how it works,” he said. 

I was going to do it right this time. This time, I want more than “peace of mind”. I mean, what is that anyway? What was wrong with me? I might as well have been asking for blond hair and a Kennedy boyfriend. No.

So after a lunch at Erawan Tea Room, which I had assiduously avoided for 100 years because I have a phobia of chichi-looking Thai restaurants, James and I amble next door to the shrine and attempt to … get some advice. The first vendor shilling marigold garlands, incense sticks, candles and miniature figurines is only too happy to show us the ropes — personally. Her neighbor, who happens to be her daughter, helps load us up with everything we need. I get the bare minimum (incense, candles, vaguely female-ish figurines) and James gets a deluxe (incense, candles, elephant figurines, and four coconuts for each of Brahma’s sides). 

Now, this could be enough, for some people. Some think that all you need to do is make these offerings, say your little prayer, and promise more (a performance by Thai dancers, an army of hard-boiled eggs) once your wish is granted. This must work sometimes. After all, those Thai dancers seem to perform fairly frequently. 

But my friend says you must make a sacrifice for it to stick. This resonates with Gluttons for punishment like James and me. So I tell myself I will give up sweets. Forever. If my wish is granted.

We approach the shrine, silently say our pieces, and go our merry ways, our guide and her daughter in tow (women go clockwise, men counter-clockwise). At every face, we light our incense and candles (this proves to be a challenge) and try to find places to stick them (an even bigger challenge). I burn myself twice, topping my avatar figurines in the process. I don’t know if this is a bad thing. 

We come out, smelling like a college dorm room. I am tempted to gorge my entire eating hole full of every sweet I can find. Melt-in-the-mouth pastel-colored cupcakes flavored with pandanus leaf; egg yolk-and-sugar tear droplets and thread bundles; palm sugar cupcakes topped with shredded coconut. I’d take them all. But I don’t. I’m waiting for the universe to answer me.

It seems a drastic move to give up sweets, but I don’t feel the pinch yet. What to eat instead? It’s hard to beat kanom jeeb, the Chinese steamed shrimp dumplings that probably number among Bangkok’s very first street foods, wrapped in tiny banana leaf bowls like little candles. My favorite right now is at a stall in Yaowaraj, in front of an outdoor plaza off of Songsawad Road next to the famous fish meatball noodlery Lim Lao Ngo, open after dusk. You know you are at the right place when you see this man:

Kanom jeeb man

The size of large lychees, smelling of deep-fried garlic, kanom jeeb are not a sweets substitute, but who needs them anyway? They are enough, for now. 

And if my wish is somehow not granted? A whole universe of sweets awaits.

Pork leg on rice at Khao Kha Tungnung

If you are or have ever been in the vicinity of a middle-aged woman, it is likely you have heard the old adage that once a woman reaches a certain age, she must choose between her body and her face. If a woman chooses her body (and many do), she has a slim and toned physique at the expense of her face, which might end up looking a bit gaunt or hollow. A woman who chooses her face, well, you can imagine that must also come at some sort of price. The basic point is, every woman must pay. Unless you are Halle Berry, you can’t have both.

It has been pointed out to me a couple of times that I, too, am a woman. And, though I am no Helen of Troy, and my face only capable of launching a dinghy at best (and maybe a couple of rubber duckies), I, too, have had to make this onerous decision: my face or my body?

You know what I choose. And you would too, if you had any sort of brain. On the one hand, you starve and work and sweat in order to walk into a store and not have the salesgirl titter behind her hand when you ask her if they have your size. On the other, well, you are starving and working and sweating.  STARVING, mind you. Did I mention you are starving?

“Face” people have it easy. “Face” people can stuff their pieholes with anything they please, and then claim they are simply smoothing out their lines and incipient wrinkles via internal injections of delicious, unctuous fat. “Face” people have it all figured out. “Face” people are geniuses. I choose my face.

The best way to cultivate your youthfully plump visage? Why, fatty pig trotter (khao kha moo) on rice, obviously. Braised for two hours in pork broth, plopped atop a juice-soaked bed of white rice and paired with a handful of braised Chinese kale with a pinch of pickled mustard greens — this is the food that brings all the fat you could ever hope for. And if that fat ends up somewhere other than your face, well, try try again. It will get there eventually.

Across from Somerset on Sukhumvit 16, Khun Sasinee gets up at 5 in the morning and commutes from her home in Minburi in order to give her pig’s trotters enough time to soften before opening up shop at 8am. Until 2:30 in the afternoon, she serves portions of khao kha moo (broth in a bowl optional) to a steady stream of office workers and regulars drawn to her reliably fatty, filling food. With a pinch of fresh garlic and a fresh chili or two, her pork leg is reason enough to choose your face.