Bangkok Glutton

Most people who have traveled to Thailand (and many who haven’t!) know about the River Kwai, and the role that it played in World War II history. Some have even ventured to the Death Railway, riding on the rickety train up to a shanty town made up almost entirely of souvenir stands before eventually picking their way back on foot along the rotting wooden tracks perched precariously over the water. They may even have seen the handsome young monk in sunglasses, happy to pose for photos during his daily perambulations along the train tracks.

But have they braved the current of the River Kwai itself? I have. It’s fast — shockingly, surprisingly fast — flowing swiftly enough to make you dizzy as you attempt to read on your hotel bed with its riverside view of the rushing current. So fast, indeed, that crocodiles dare not haunt its banks. Or so I was told, right before I screwed up the courage to jump into the jade waters from the relative safety of my raft.

Our trip to Kanchanaburi was intended to be long enough to cram in everything that everyone wanted to see while short enough to allow people to go on it. This meant a series of unspoken negotiations and compromises that omitted anything extraneous, like my desire to try a mee krob sot, or fresh mee krob with the dressing slathered on top instead of mixed in. It was totally OK, it’s not like we were starving. Instead, we dined in spots gorgeous enough to inspire customers to hold their very own photo shoots, clad in their best all-white finery to contrast with the deep emerald hue of their surrounds (a go-to image for any Thai worth their Instagram account).

Keeree Mantra boasted a wide expanse of green lawn bordered by a man-made lake with a Bellagio-style fountain, well-tended lavender fields beckoning just beyond; Keeree Tara overlooked the rushing river itself with an enviable view of the nearby bridge done up in lights. Both served the kind of traditional Thai food to be expected in an upper-tier provincial hotel: well-made, to a middle-of-the-road palate, with no surprises (except for a chu chee of a local river fish that, when steamed, has the consistency of raw pork fat. It’s no wonder why we usually deep fry our freshwater fish). I was fine with easing myself into the views. Why would I complain about wasted mealtimes? It was fun just to go with the flow.

So there I was with my sister and my nephew, floating along the current, rushing pell-mell into every branch and cockroach-looking leaf that the river could see fit to send me. If you struggled too much, you could veer off course, and crash into the muddy banks on either side. But if you relaxed into the water and let the river carry you, arms and legs suspended as if you, too, were some sort of branch or cockroach-like leaf, it would take care of you, and reward your trust with as quick a trip downriver as possible.

In that jade water, I learned to relax into the current in a way I’m never capable of when I’m on land, when some part of my body is always twitching or braced or locked in anticipation of a future impact that will inevitably rock my world. In the water, I learned how to go with the flow, even as that meant accepting that there are grave mistakes that I can never rectify, that time will only heal some wounds, that I will never beat the current, and that it’s sometimes easier to steer your way around the detritus in your path rather than crashing into it head-on. That, once in the current, the best direction you can look in is forward, trusting that someone will be there to haul you out of the water when you reach your stop.

And if that voice at the back in your mind now says GET OUT OF THE WATER, YOU WON’T LIKE WHERE THIS GOES, you might be correct; the truth is, I could not bear to write about food today. That is because I believe in an American woman’s right to her own body, just as Americans have a right to decide whether to get vaccinated, and corpses have a right to keep their organs.

As I write this, people all over the United States are positioning themselves in a current that seems overwhelmingly fierce, hurtling towards a destination that a minority of the population wants. While it is tempting to struggle and flail in the water, looking back at the raft we’ve left behind, it seems far more constructive to look ahead, and to plan. Will we always be the dead leaves and muck held captive in the current? Or will we find enough footing to help haul others out of the water when they need it?

To help support abortion rights, check out https://abortionfunds.org.

I dislike Facebook. I would go so far as to say that I hate it. Yet I remain on Facebook, because it seems no one in Thailand can communicate with another person in Thailand without it. Also, I like being reminded of people’s birthdays. 

But every day that I remain on Facebook also reminds me of how much of a hellhole this social media landscape can be. (Twitter, everyone knows, is also bad, but can also be funny, as shown by this thread that I love). Unlike Twitter, every new development the infernal engineers over in Palo Alto come up with only adds to the soul-sucking lameness of Facebook. Like, no, leave me alone about Kid’s Facebook. I do not want my kids to be on social media all day long. We all know how well that has worked out for our parents. And JFC, stop nagging me about this weekend’s yoga class — everyone knows I’m going already! You are not the boss of me, Facebook!

So it should have been no surprise when I caught a conversation about a Thai restaurant in the US, started by a man I do not know personally (of course), bemoaning the exorbitant prices of said restaurant with the statement, the shit cherry on top of a turd sundae, that “this is peasant food”. The comment somehow so incensed me (ed: the whole point of Facebook), a person who reads a lot of shit opinions on everything, that I actually considered wading into the cesspool of this conversation to say something. But why make comments so publicly on Facebook when I can rant and rave on my blog, which no one reads? Take that, Mark Zuckerberg!

I then thought about writing my retort to this in a very straightforward way, pointing out the provenance of dishes like massaman curry, the sheer labor involved in cooking a real Thai meal, the price of importing Thai ingredients to the US at a time when everyone in the world is feeling the heat, and a host of other extremely boring things. But then I realized the folly of my thinking. The fact is, this guy who knows everything about Thailand is right. We should not pay so much money for peasant food. After all, they are peasants! They don’t need our money. They are busy farming and drinking and hanging out with their elephants. What would they do with all of this extra money we are giving them? They are above all this money-grubbing.

We should reexamine other peasant food as well. Like, WTF is up with the prices at Giglio? Are you seriously telling me I have to spend 250 baht (5 whole bowls of noodles in peasant terms!) for an order of panzanella? Don’t even get me started on the pappardelle. Or Appia! A whopping 400 baht (read: 8 bowls of noodles) for trippa alla Romana, part of a menu inspired by the countryside of Lazio, which has never seen the likes of peasants darkening its cobblestones, ever. 

There have also never been peasants in France, a very sophisticated country whose restaurants in Bangkok feel free to charge 690 baht (or 13.8 bowls of noodles) for a serving of cassoulet aka sausages and beans, or 340 baht (6.8 bowls of noodles) for onion soup. And let’s not leave out the center for the very apex of the culinary arts, Great Britain, whose ambassadors of cuisine in Bangkok charge 410 baht (8.2 bowls of noodles) for a shepherd’s pie, a veritable steal for the undisputed pinnacle of fine dining artistry anywhere in the world.

All the same, I have yet to see loudmouthed, know-it-all gourmands posting the receipts for their French, Italian, Spanish etc. meals in a huff on social media. I wonder why that is? No matter, we will surely rectify this situation here in Bangkok (the capital of a third-world country, but still). We shall scour every restaurant, posting the receipts of our meals only after we have eaten every bite and drunken every drop, accompanied by a strongly-worded complaint of how our food was inspired by peasants. We can even do it on Facebook!

TLDR: Keep an eye out for the third edition of my book, “Thailand’s Best Street Food”, out in bookstores next month! The cover will look different from this:

This has been my TED talk.

At the risk of being as disappointing as Will Smith and as unfunny as Chris Rock, I am going to bare all right now (metaphorically, don’t run away) and admit that the title to this blog post is just clickbait. I am not going to add to the literal mountains of hot takes and analyses that have erupted after the slap that shook the Twitterverse. But since I am all about service-y journalism, I will helpfully link to them instead (I must admit the funniest take, to me, might have been the one about Will Smith’s tailoring).

But, no. Alas, I am only here to talk about my diet. I am trying, as best as I can without estranging myself from my family and friends, to stick to a plant-based or at least pescatarian diet with I am not “working” (in parentheses, because I rarely get paid for said “work”). It is a challenge because, in Bangkok at least, it holds you to a particular type of food: heavy on the salads, stews and “bowls”, and light on the junky, deep-fried stuff that made me love Thai food in the first place. Not to mention the fact that plant-based diets are usually something you can pursue when you are privileged enough to do so. I got you. No need to go all Goop-y on me.

So when my friend Jon told me about a vegan street food spot, I was extremely psyched. Like, Kate-Middleton-playing-the-bongos level of psyched. I am as fond of “habibi bowls” and “zoodles” as the next person, don’t get me wrong, but I missed the soul-soothing satisfaction of a good slurped noodle, a light scattering of deep-fried garlic, the crunch of a fried wonton garnish, and the simple pleasures of adding your own chili powder and pickled pepper splashes to the mix.

Which is what I got at Kaek Kao Kua (12 Sukhumvit Soi 27, 096-220-6587), a short-ish walk that’s long if you’re really hot down the road between the Radisson Blu Plaza and Carlton Hotels. There is a sign in the front that marks the restaurant/home that tells you to ring the bell and warns you off petting the dog (there is no need to ring the bell). If you miss the sign, don’t despair: there are usually Grab or Food Panda drivers waiting outside to show you the way.

When you make your way to the outdoor terrace that serves as the restaurant, you might need to poke your head into the front door to announce your arrival. There will likely be no one else there, unless Jon is hungry (say hi to Jon). I know it’s annoying and deeply lazy and cliched to say that this place is a “hidden gem”, but I have no other way to say it: this place is the very definition of a hidden gem. It reminds of the days when Jay Fai was empty because no one wanted to pay 350 baht for a bowl of guaythiew kua gai.

Which reminds me, this place also has vegan guaythiew kua gai:

Unlike a lot of “street” vegan places in Thailand (read: not Broccoli Revolution-priced), the food here is truly thoughtful, made with a lot of care. Which surprises me, since the menu is quite large. Besides the “OG soup noodles” (mushroom, morning glory, bean sprouts, and tofu at 79 baht), bamee moo dang (marinated soy protein with egg-free name at 89 baht), and guaythiew kua gai (I unfortunately have no idea of the price, I went with Jon who is a VVIP there), there’s a “kaki kee kui” (noodles with peanut butter, 79 baht) and “shabobo” (spicy-sour noodles at 79 baht). They also serve vegan takes on Sukhothai noodles, tom yum noodles, moo ping, and khao soy. I suspect they have more stuff, but I haven’t gone enough times to check. It’s a substantial menu.

It doesn’t end there. You can also customize your own noodles with extras like morning glory, bean sprouts, long beans, snow fungus, Chinese kale, various types of tofu, and various iterations of meat replacements. I cannot emphasize how big the menu really is. Which is why I felt a bit conflicted about writing about it; I really do enjoy having the pick of the table with the fan in my face. But at the risk of ceding my seat to someone else, take my advice: go here if you like plant-based street food. And don’t slap anyone in the face.