Bangkok Glutton

Thai language lesson of the day: “Sanuk” is a Thai word that means “fun”. It is something that I am definitely not experiencing right now, in my seventh day of quarantine after entering the Land of Smiles. The silver lining to all of this isolation is that I have lots more time now to blab blab blab on my blog. You’re welcome.

So, in the interests of service journalism, I’ll give you a rundown on everything that has happened to me since checking into my hotel room.

Day 1: Arrive at the airport and am whisked away in a van for the drive back to town. Enter the hotel, get led into the room, and because it’s nighttime, take a well-deserved hot bath (yay bathtub) and fall like a dead tree into bed.

Day 2: Every day at 9am and 4pm we are to take a photo of our temperatures. Today is also the first in a series of three swab tests that we have to take throughout our 14-day stay. In New York, where we were last week so the memory is still fresh, there were vans parked throughout the city administering free COVID tests. The test they administer is done by swabbing very gently near the opening of the nostril, followed by a quick prick of the finger which is then rubbed onto paper to test for antibodies in the blood. All this to say that it’s not what they do in Thailand, where we are still doing the super-deep-right-up-into-your-brain-stab-type swab. Of all the things in New York, the free Lab Q van COVID test is what I miss the most, even more than bagels.

My test is negative.

Sleep.

Day 3: Yoga with Trude after I finally figure out how to zoom.

Sleep.

Day 4: Yoga, then downloading an unhealthy number of home decor and stylist games.

Sleep.

Day 5: Playing home decor and stylist games for hours. Cursing everyone who has the bad taste to not vote for my designs. WTF is it with picking the absolutely most boring stuff ever? So so sick of beige, taupe and gray. Do we all aspire to live in an Aman resort?

Sleep.

Day 6: A little swerve where I decide I am going to learn the dance to “Boy with Luv” by BTS. Discover that the best way to make yourself feel old is to try to learn the dance to “Boy with Luv” by BTS.

Second swab stab test of the stay. Negative.

Start watching “Real Housewives of Beverly Hills” on Netflix. These ladies are mean.

Sleep.

Day 7: Here, where I am with you, ruminating on my past trip to New York, where my nose was being gently swabbed by a stranger in a van. We have reached the nostalgia stage of our quarantine.

Now, I’ve had bad Thai meals in New York (one meal in Williamsburg comes to mind), but I’ve had really good ones, too. Any trip to Wondee Siam, first discovered when we lived on W. 48th Street two decades ago, ends up being a good meal. In fact, it was our first meal in New York this time around, and we had only been away from Thailand for 10 days.

We ordered like we had been away from Thailand for 10 years: gang som with fresh seabass, stir-fried morning glory with chilies, stir-fried Chinese kale with salted fish, an omelet to soak up all the spice. The piece de resistance of the meal was the fatty pork kua kling, stir-fried in slivered kaffir lime leaves, turmeric, and a decent amount of chilies (though not really “Thai spicy”, it was spicy enough). So good, I forgot that I was returning to Thailand soon. That’s all you can ask of a straightforward Thai restaurant abroad, right?

Thai Diner, on the other hand, is not a straightforward Thai restaurant. Indeed — if the point of a Thai restaurant is to serve food that you could find in Thailand — then Thai Diner is not much of a Thai restaurant at all. But that’s not the point. The point is to have fun with Thai food, playing around with Thai ingredients and flavors within the parameters of a “diner”, if that diner is actually a pretty nice bistro. The dishes that result are sure to make any old-fashioned Thai person like my mom really angry. The rest of us can enjoy it for what it is: food that you might expect out of a really good Masterchef competition when the mystery box is put together by a Thai chef (I’ve been watching some Masterchef Australia while in quarantine, too).

The funny thing about Thai Diner, to me at least, is that nothing on the menu actually sounds that good. But when it comes to your table, it looks delicious, and when you take a bite of it, it’s frequently irresistible. That was definitely the case with the “cabbage rolls”, stuffed with a delicious turkey and mushroom mince and brought to the table in a puddle of tom kha soup that was actually really lovely with the cabbage. It wasn’t only the fusion-y stuff that worked, either. Straightforward Thai dishes like khao pad puu (crab fried rice), holdovers from the owners’ previous restaurant, Uncle Boon’s, were good enough to make my very Thai husband happy.

The standout of the meal, though, was a sandwich that Karen raved about before we even got to the restaurant. It seemed simple enough: the “Thai Diner egg sandwich”, a roti wrapped around a filling of scrambled egg, fried Thai basil, cheese and sai oua (Northern Thai sausage). In other words, a Thai breakfast burrito. But when Karen said she’d shared her sandwich with a friend during a previous brunch at Thai Diner only to bitterly regret it later, I believed her. This sandwich had haunted her dreams.

(via GIPHY)

Alas, Karen was forced to share her sandwich once again.

It’s the kind of dish that makes me mad that I didn’t think of it first. Isn’t that what all the best things do? “We Will Rock You”, Sriracha sauce in a squeeze bottle, cocktails in a can. Of course this makes sense. Thanks Thai Diner. I will make this at home.

Once I get home, of course. COVID swab tests willing.

Now it’s time to sleep.

Philadelphia feels like an overlooked city. Located on the Eastern seaboard between New York City and Washington DC, it’s often a place you have to drive through in order to get to where you really want to go. While anyone with even a passing knowledge of American history will know it as the birthplace of the United States, Philadelphia also doesn’t come to mind as a foodie Mecca. But Philly is where Morimoto launched his first eponymous restaurant; is known as a haven for lovers of Italian-American cuisine; and has become a breeding ground for cutting-edge restaurants like Vedge and Zahav. If you come to Philadelphia, you best pack your favorite stretchy pants because you will certainly eat well.

Let’s face it though: the real “cuisine” of Philadelphia is what you’ve always expected it to be.

It’s sandwiches.

Their most famous sandwich is, of course, the Philadelphia cheesesteak. I remember having a spirited discussion with friend (and lifelong Philadelphian) Will in the middle of Terminal Reading Market on what the “authentic” version of the cheesesteak would be if you had to choose between Pat’s King of Steaks or Geno’s (the two most famous purveyors of this sandwich, ironically forgetting for the moment that authenticity is a trap and a sham). My hypothesis was that Geno’s cheesesteak was the “real” one because it featured Cheez Whiz as well as thinly-sliced beef (alas, you must place your order in English there, because you are in MURICA). Will pointed out that Cheez Whiz was not invented until the early 1950s, while cheesesteaks have been around since 1930 (again alas, he is correct).

The basic history of cheesesteak, after some very basic Googling, is that hot dog vendor Pat Oliveri (of Pat’s!) created the sandwich in 1930 after throwing some beef on the grill to make himself a snack. Unlike Geno’s, Pat’s uses melted provolone and beef chopped into bits (also, presumably, you can order in different languages). At both places, you order your sandwich “wit” or “witout” chopped onions. Cheesesteak aficionados would probably agree that both sandwiches are not the best specimens available in today’s Philadelphia.

Incidentally, Wawa produces a decent cheesesteak, and has done so since the Middle Ages, when I was in college at Bryn Mawr. What makes it are the hot peppers, which are apparently not a mainstay at either Pat’s or Geno’s.

I am not here to tell you where to get the best cheesesteak. There were way too many sandwiches for me to try and I was there for a limited amount of time. I am here to say that Philadelphians happily embrace their cultural heritage. Even the sushi bars do a twist on the sandwich.

The next famous sandwich of Philly: the roast pork sandwich from DiNic’s, the entire reason I was in the crowded Reading Terminal Market braving COVID. This sandwich — roast pork on a hoagie bun with melted provolone and broccoli rabe — is VERY popular, luring hundreds of customers a day to queue up in an orderly fashion with squalling toddlers in tow wondering why they have to wait so long for lunch. Here I admit I had a little dustup with Karen (who is, after all, also a Philadelphia native). You see, after doing yet again some basic Googling, I was informed that shredded pork was less dry than the usual roast pork slices. Our friend Pasha also said that “long hots” were what made the sandwich (sense a theme here?), an addition that I and all of my neighbors in line happily partook of.

Karen was unhappy that I would choose a sandwich that was not the one that every other person was in line for. In fact, she believed in the importance of tasting the original sandwich so strongly that she stood in the long line herself, getting me the roast pork sandwich with “greens” and provolone as God had always intended.

I am grateful to Karen’s sacrifice in the name of research. I have to say, though (in whisper): I hated the melted provolone on the roast pork. The bitterness of the broccoli rabe was a relief. Maybe I was kosher in a past life. Also, the long hot peppers were really the savior of this sandwich. The bread was great on both versions.

Better than either the Philadelphia cheesesteak or DiNic’s pork sandwich? A sandwich that wasn’t even in Philadelphia. It was in Atlantic City, at a place called White House, where Karen made us drive to try the famous “White House hoagie” (an Italian hoagie with extra salami and provolone). It is the flavor of Karen’s childhood, spent at the boardwalk (where she also sampled copious amounts of salt water taffy and fudge). Best of all, the sandwich hasn’t seemed to change over the past 30-some years.

Yes, it was delicious. And Karen made sure to order extra red peppers, which in this case came chopped up finely for you to scatter into the nether regions of the sandwich at will. Again, the peppers made the sandwich. The mountains of salami and provolone didn’t hurt either.

The best thing to have after such a sandwich, of course, is a “water ice”, a name which Karen pointed out doesn’t make any sense, since ice is made out of water. The important thing to do here is to pronounce “water” as “wood-er”. I have yet to perfect this skill. Warning: this shaved ice dessert will dye your tongue for hours, so beware when you order something that’s not red or pink.

Ultimately though? Sorry to disappoint you sandwich lovers (and Joey from “Friends”), but this was my favorite sandwich of my trip to Philadelphia. Yes, I know it’s not really a sandwich. It’s a quesadilla filled with huitlacoche (the fungus that grows on corn, which sounds horrible but tastes like mushrooms). It was delicious and part of the best meal I had in the city.

Having gotten all those sandwiches out of the way, I will be returning for more of this.

Inspired by this post on Couchfish, I began trawling through my photos for some memorable meals of my own. I chanced upon this photo taken at the beginning of a meal in Harbin and realized that this unassuming pile of meat, noodles and vegetables was one of the most memorable meals I’d ever had — but not for the reasons you might think.

What this photo fails to convey is the depth of rage and dismay I’d felt at the time I took it, when greeted with a restaurant meant to mimic the experience of sitting in sub-zero temperatures outside … after having just come in from outside. I remember the interminable hour or two spent walking around the Ice Festival in Harbin, which, yes, is beautiful and yes, very unusual for Bangkok-based me, but also, after 15 minutes, damn cold. You see, temperatures in Harbin at night hover around -30 to -40 degrees, the kind of cold that makes it hard to walk down the street at night in search for a nightcap (which explains why the only places offering nightcaps are Russian discos with exorbitant cover charges, but I digress). It’s the kind of cold that freezes the tears on your eyelashes. The kind of cold that makes you dream of the moment when you are able to peel away your layers, sit down over a beer and luxuriate in the new warmth of your dining room.

So why the $&*(% would anyone want to emerge from the outdoors to sit an in interior modeled after the outdoors? Apparently, many people want to do this. The Ice Palace Restaurant in the Shangri-La is very popular, boasting -18 degree Celsius interiors that make a fine film of ice appear on your meat and vegetables every few minutes — just like in the outdoors, I’m sure, when diners used to congregate on sidewalks to scrounge up some warmth for themselves via boiling vats of water. A meal at this restaurant is a recreation of this life-affirming bonding experience, but alas it was not an experience I could do justice to. I lasted 15 minutes, coming to the realization that, when it came to far northern China, I was a mere poseur with the local cuisine.

I took better advantage of some other meals, probably because heating was involved. In Sharon, Pennsylvania, I took a pilgrimage to the restaurant considered the mecca for hot wing lovers not able to make it to Buffalo, New York. I remember feeling proud having made it through this entire platter of hot wings, even after they made me sign a silly waiver:

In transit and in a hurry, I remember eagerly seizing the first opportunity I had to eat my first real-honest-to-God Chicago dog …

… at O’Hare Airport.

And then there was that beautiful meal all the way on the other side of the world, in Cuenca, Ecuador, at Tiesto’s, home of the sizzling hot plate platter. It was the perfect goodbye right before we were due to go home:

I also remember dozens and dozens of meals at this sushi bar, where chef Ryu always made sure to feed us the choicest fish he’d found that day. It was the first place I’d ever enjoyed shirako grilled on a slab of pink salt, or had a shot of hot sake spiked with the guts of a sea urchin, considered to be energizing in the cold weather. Chef Ryu had gone to high school with Terry, our family friend, and meals there made me feel like the luckiest person in the world.

But we can’t forget Bangkok, where I think the first meal I would seek out when I’m able is the kai kata (egg in a pan) at Kopi Hya Tai Kee:

As for my most memorable meal as of this moment, well, I guess it would have to be one of the last ones I’ve had in a restaurant since this latest COVID wave took hold. At Rub Lom (Breezy Point) in Prachuab Khiri Khan (7/2 Pin Anusorn Rd., +6632-601-677), we enjoyed a veritable feast, ordering a platter of crabs, bitter melon with egg, stir-fried curried crabmeat, catfish stir-fried in wild ginger, chilies and green peppercorns, and a nourishing gang liang studded with fresh shrimp and vegetables:

It was eerily quiet except for us and one other table, but the beach was right across the street from us, and the good food after a long car ride left us almost giddy. When I look back on this meal, it is the giddiness that I remember, and not the wild haring around trying to get everyone from point A to point B. I am hoping that, when I look back on this period a year from now, it will be only the great food that I remember and nothing else.