Bangkok Glutton

A chef friend of mine once told me some of his customers pick off every bit of coriander and chili that they can find in their food before eating it. These people were not Westerners, or even Japanese; they were Thai. It turns out that, for a certain type of Thai, eating spicy won’t do — either their tastebuds are too delicate, softened by years of studying abroad, or they want to look like they’ve spent years abroad, stuffing their faces with Nobu and spaghetti aglio olio (Italian-style, without chilies). In a way, it’s like Thais and farangs have switched places, “Freaky Friday”-style: the Thais eschewing chilies, and every Mark Wiens-wannabe from the West diving into a plateful of them, head-first.

Spiciness has long had a political side to it. After all, it’s very well-associated with the food of the South and Northeast, Thailand’s poorest region. One theory about why those regions’ dishes are so spicy is that the spiciness of the side dishes necessitates eating more rice, which gets you fuller faster for less money. And if there’s one thing a true Bangkokian hates, it’s to look like you don’t have money. After all, these are the people who would rather drive to the end of the road, spending 1 hour in traffic, than to take a motorcycle or (horror of horrors!) walk.

To bring it all back to me (of course), I fit no one’s definition of a real Thai person. But after spending most of my life here, I can say that my spice tolerance has gotten quite high. This is not something that I’m trumpeting from every corner of my house, like a first-time v-logger to Bangkok; it’s just a fact of life. After decades in street-side eateries from Ubon Ratchathani to Phattalung, that’s just the way it goes. You would have this spice tolerance too, if you’ve eaten as much as I have.

Like dealing with annoying friends of friends, part of handling chilies is knowing how to tolerate them. I’ve watched “Hot Ones” and find that their efforts to mitigate spice are sophomoric at best. I’m lactose-intolerant, so the idea of chasing spicy hot sauce with milk is enough to make me want to barf. Water is almost as bad, spreading spice everywhere before softening it. I’ve found it’s best to simply use tannic, saliva-sapping herbs like cashew leaves, or fresh vegetables like cucumbers, white turmeric, Thai eggplants or even just fresh lettuce; in a pinch, a spoonful of sugar really does help it all go down (a waitress in Petchburi once saw me struggling with a plate of jungle curry and gave me kanom tako, or Thai coconut-and-pandan jelly, to “fight the heat”). Finally, there’s simply rice. Thai chilies tend to be sneaky, and their effects can sometimes be felt long after you thought it was over. This means that all of your efforts to mitigate them might come to naught in the end.

To put my newly acquired powers to “good”, I decided to try out the spiciest pad gapraos (holy basil stir-fries) in Bangkok. I enlisted the help of well-known noodle guru @adambeechinor, whom I stalk on Instagram for tips on where to eat ramen, Chinese noodles, and Thai guaythiew. However, it seems he has been expanding his expertise to all lunch food items, and that includes pad gaprao, Thailand’s unofficial national dish, available everywhere, eaten by everyone.

So besides the obvious, Phed Mark, there’s also the suddenly-trendy Gapao Tapae, and Adam’s suggestion, Little Chef in Udomsuk. Happily, all are available via various food delivery apps (Grab, Lineman, and Food Panda, respectively). Here’s how well I did with them:

1. Phed Mark

I spend a lot of time making fun of wagyu burgers and wagyu bolognese, but when it came to ordering a pad gaprao for myself from Phed Mark’s extensive protein menu, I was not immune to wagyu’s charms. At least I chose beef shin. And it was nice and tender.

The order comes with your choice of fish sauce with chilies and garlic, which seems ludicrous given that you’ve already got plenty of chilies and garlic in your gaprao. However, it’s helpful for seasoning the best part of this gaprao, which is the specially fried egg with lacy edges and jammy yolk intact.

As for the spice, well, yes, I did cry. My sinuses were completely cleared out by the time I finished my bowl. Did I stop eating? Of course not! And although I did spend the rest of the day with ron tong (the Thai word for “hot stomach”), it didn’t translate into the typical Thai ailment after overestimating one’s spice tolerance, otherwise known as “diarrhea” (the Thai term for this is tong duen, literally “walking stomach”, or “the trots”).

Would I try the level 10 as advertised on Tiktok? No way! I’m not Mark Wiens!

2. Gapao Tapae

This spot, which Adam says has developed into a kind of “hipster magnet”, has an item it calls “the spiciest gaprao in the world”, which is made with ghost pepper. It’s also listed as an “off-menu” item, even though it shows up on the menu on Lineman. In any case, this is how it looks in the packaging:

It comes with fish sauce with chilies and garlic, as well as your choice of soup with pickled plum and pork meatballs (for extra). The soup is absolutely delicious. And yes, it does help with the ghost pepper.

As for the gaprao itself, yes, its first “presentation”, shall we say, it unpleasant. It announces itself as something sharp and bitter, somewhat like a bully that enters the room with a loud voice and disagreeable demeanor. But once you plow through, the effect itself gets more and more muted, helped along by that wonderful soup. Once you finish, you’ll find that there’s very little that lingers; like a bully, the spice completely disappears once you’ve mastered the whole plate.

3. Little Chef (Sathu Pradit)

I had never heard of this place, but Adam assured me it was good, and that it offered a plethora of toppings. I assumed the toppings were the proteins for the stir-fry. Boy was I wrong. There are also actually “topping” toppings, like pickled bamboo shoots and other sliced proteins to go on top of your already existing proteins. Then there are the many choices for eggs, including preserved eggs and salted egg yolks, as well as an extra option for extra chili dips. That’s not even mentioning all the soup choices. I shit you not. The options are close to overwhelming, so I ended up ordering two different kapraos, much to the confusion of my housekeeper. I got the recommended crispy pork (moo grob) and pork liver, both at the “spitting fire” spice level, as well as the “recommended” gang jued.

If I thought I was going to end up being Drogon, spitting fire upon all my enemies, I was sorely mistaken. I finished both (of course) with little trouble and just a mild tingling sensation on my lips. I went about the rest of my day, went to bed, and woke up the next morning. I went to yoga class and sat down to get ready for practice. And that’s when my stomach said, “Ta da!” like a cheap birthday party magician. I was in pain. The waves came and went, so that I would be fooled into thinking it was over before it started up all over again. Would I get diarrhea, right there in yoga class? Would I have to use the bathroom downstairs and risk alienating everyone in the yoga studio? What to do? I had perhaps committed the gravest mistake of all: I did not realize that “spitting fire” referred to the other end.

What I can say is, Minh at Yogatique is an excellent teacher. We did box breathing and a bunch of moves aimed at cleansing out the liver and kidneys. I did not end up having to demolish their bathroom. And my stomach is fully back in commission. That said, would I repeat this exercise anytime in the near future? Maybe if I had plenty of time to myself, with no particular place to go. Thai chilies can be sneaky, after all.

After 25 years of living off of Sukhumvit 24, I am moving. To Samut Prakan. And, while I have nothing against Samut Prakan, I have been bummed about it. I suppose everyone in Bangkok believes that they live in the middle of everything, in the best neighborhood in the city; I am one of those people. I loved my neighborhood. Villa (the real one, on Soi 33/1) was close by if I needed American ingredients (Vlasic baby dills!), as was Emporium; Klong Toey was a short motorcycle ride away for Thai ingredients. I had my hair salon, my eyebrow lady, my pedicurist and my massage place, all within walking distance. My Skytrain stop was a 5-minute walk away, partly air-conditioned if I wanted to access it through Emporium. Movies, bars, good Japanese food: it was all there. And if it wasn’t close by, I had my favorite motorcycle taxi gang waiting for me, to the left of the entrance to the park.

I have to find all new places in my new neighborhood. After 25 years, the thought of it is daunting. But I wanted to say good-bye to all of my favorite places near my old house first. So that’s what I’ve spent the last few days doing. They are, in no particular order:

The chicken and bitter melon noodle guy next to Benjasiri Park

I’ve written about this place before. Everyone in Bangkok thinks the noodle person next to them is the best, and I am no exception. So say whatever you like, but I really believe the guaythiew gai mara here is superior to most other renditions I’ve tasted. The broth is flavorful and sweet, the chicken is well-seasoned, and you can put your own toppings on. What’s not to like? I might miss this place the most of all of my places.

Guaythiew Pik Gai Sainampung

This place between Sukhumvit Sois 20 and 18 is famous for its stewed chicken wing noodles. Because of the shop’s name, people think the vendor, Khun Saowarot, puts honey on the chicken, but the name is really because of the old name of Sukhumvit 20, Sai Nam Pung. In any case, the chicken noodles aren’t the reason I go here, though they are good. They make my favorite bowl of yen ta fo, a slight favorite over another close-by noodle shop, Tang Meng Noodle.

Thong Li

My friend Andrew, who lives on Sukhumvit 20, introduced me to this cookshop-style eatery, which is nearby. It’s become one of my favorite places since then. They specialize in pork liver, but there are tons of great dishes here, and if it’s possible, they keep getting better and better. My favorites here are the kai yad sai (omelet stuffed with minced pork); tom kloang ruammitr (clear soup with tamarind); and pla tuna hung boie (canned tuna steamed with pickled plums).

Kitchen Niigata

One of the great things about my old neighborhood is that there are tons of under-the-radar Japanese eateries nearby: an okonomiyaki place in the plaza next to the entrance to Sukhumvit 39, for instance, or Isshin, the soba place a few steps away from Emporium. But my favorite has long been this place, where I go for lunch about once a month. They used to serve “spaghetti naporitan“, but don’t anymore; the last time I was there, they offered a “yum shiokara”, which is as good of an example of Thai-Japanese fusion as I can think of.

Anyway, it’s a place I go to when I want a relaxed, quiet lunch alone, a sentiment likely shared by all the other solo diners around me there.

OnigirI Lab

This is a relatively new entrant compared to every other place on this list. It opened in a spot I once thought was cursed, across the street from my husband’s cousin’s house. A handful of eateries set up shop there and eventually closed down, and I thought this place would only continue that streak, but something happened and now, it’s quite comfortably full in the mornings and afternoons. Even though I walked by this place almost everyday on my way to the Skytrain, I rarely ate there; I did, however, order on Grab. My go-to orders were Basic Bitch Lite™: the mentaiko with cream cheese, and the natto with wasabi leaves. Sometimes I branched out into the miso egg yolk one or the soy sauce oyster. I never got to try everything on the menu, though, unfortunately. Maybe that can be my next project, after I move a half-hour Skytrain ride away.

(Photo by Andrew Hiransomboon)

A few years ago, I got a Facebook message out of the blue from an acquaintance that I didn’t know very well. I don’t get angry that often (or didn’t at the time, pre-menopause) but his message really annoyed me. I mean, not only have you reached out to me for no reason (no food involved, just aimless conversation), but you do it to say such stupid stuff.

Him: Let’s talk Thai food.

Me: OK.

Him: Those Thai soups that have all that gunk in them. Why do Thai chefs not take it out before they serve it? My personal theory is that they are lazy.

Me: I don’t agree with those Western rules for plating Asian dishes.

Him: OK, thanks for playing!

Me: Bye

I mean, seriously? Don’t bother me with your “poor-benighted-savages-who-need-a-finger-wagging-foreigner-to-tell-them-what-to-do” bullshit and then have the temerity to expect me to agree with you? Does this man not read anything I write? (of course not) Do I complain when I get a big-ass steak that the chef hasn’t cut for me into bite-sized pieces? No. Do I think the chef is maybe a little bit lazy? Possibly. I mean, why do I have to do all that labor, at the table, myself? An Asian food chef would know to pre-slice that steak. What am I paying this jackass for?

Maybe I’m still a bit annoyed at that exchange. In any case, I never talked to this man again. But I do continue to enjoy “soups with the gunk still in them” like tom yum, tom som, tom saap, basically all the toms. I enjoy them like many other Thai people do, because they know to just ignore the stuff that they don’t want to eat, while still enjoying the smells from the aromatics. We do this because we have eyes. I understand that this is a privilege.

But here’s a soup for people who get confused about what you should eat and what you should leave in the bowl. It’s called jaw pakkad, and it’s a Northern Thai staple, available at any restaurant that calls itself a “huen” anywhere in the region. It’s a soup (“jaw”) made with Chinese flowering cabbage (“pakkad”) and tua nao (fermented bean discs). Because this ingredient (I’m talking the bean discs) is so hard to find outside of Northern Thailand, I despaired of ever trying this dish out for myself. But I found some beautiful “pakkad” (also known as pak Guangdong in Thai) in Klong Toei market and couldn’t help but try.

So I subbed out the bean discs for thao jiew, or Chinese-style fermented brown bean sauce, and went to work. The result was something that I personally love: super-umami with shrimp paste and brown beans but also salty and sour from tamarind. If you like these types of flavors, I feel like you’ll love this soup. Added bonus: no gunk.

Now, if only we could find a good replacement for Chinese flowering cabbage …

Jaw Pakkad

Serves 4

Prep time: 10 minutes                            Cooking time: 2 hours

• 300 g pork ribs, cut into individual riblets
• Enough water to cover pork in a pot (around 3-4 cups)
• 1 small bunch of flowering Chinese cabbage (pakkad in Northern Thai or pak Guangdong in Thai), thick stems and yellow leaves removed but blossoms kept
• 2 Tablespoons thao jiew (Chinese-style fermented brown bean sauce)
• 1 Tablespoon fish sauce
• 6 Tablespoons tamarind juice (for cooking, not drinking)
• 3-4 dried chilies (for garnish)

For curry paste*:

• ½ teaspoon salt
• 4 cloves garlic, peeled
• 5 small Thai shallots (or 2 Western shallots), peeled and chopped
• 1 Tablespoon shrimp paste

First, set the pork ribs to cook in water over medium-high heat, about 1-1 ½ hours. Keep skimming impurities from the surface (foamy bits and impurities) all the while, not obsessively but fairly frequently. If the water starts to fall below the level of the ribs, add water to cover and bring back to the boil. Your ribs are done cooking (and your broth is done brothing) when the ribs can be easily pierced by a fork.

While ribs are cooking, pound your paste base, starting with the salt and garlic and adding each ingredient as you go. Once your ribs are soft, add the paste and stir to disperse. Allow to flavor the broth for a few minutes, then add your brown bean sauce (thao jiew). Stir to disperse again, and add fish sauce and tamarind juice. Taste and adjust seasoning if needed. Once you’re satisfied, add your vegetables and allow to cook, about 5-10 minutes. Remove from the heat and serve as part of a great Northern Thai meal.

* Pro tip: If you have nam prik tha dang (red eye chili dip, page x) already made, you can add that paste to the soup instead of making your own.