Bangkok Glutton

Signature dish: deep-fried frog legs at Kohkiew Racha Gob Tod

People frequently ask me about what I do when I get sick from eating street food. I almost always say that I’ve gotten sick from hotel buffets, but not really from street food (although the sickest I’ve ever been was when I was hospitalized in Oyster Bay from a wonky hamburger in midtown Manhattan. RIP, my beloved red Birkenstocks).

I can’t say I haven’t ever been sick from Thai street food, but surprisingly enough, it doesn’t happen very often. When I do, I just sit it out like I do everything else (my anxiety, Trump’s presidency, this world). If I do get sick from Thai food, it’s usually because it’s too damn spicy and my worn-out old digestive system just can’t handle it anymore.

So when I head into the jungle along the Burmese border south of Bangkok, it’s a real battle for my stomach, because everything on the table has been jungle-fied: made hot and tasty, the way the people here like it, with plenty of garlic and local herbs and about a gallon of chilies so hot they make your ears ring. Do you know the dish they call “jungle curry” (gang pa)? The tangle of meat and Thai eggplants of assorted sizes and roots and leaves that you’ve never seen before, spicy with a metallic tang and completely unmitigated by any hint of coconut milk or palm sugar? Think that, but for everything, with only heaping spoonfuls of white rice to give you comfort.

Not surprisingly, I got sick. It sucked, but it was a welcome reprieve from the mosquitoes, the jumping spiders that scuttled into my bedroom once I opened the door, and the dodgy Wifi, which only really worked once you climbed on top of an abandoned water tower to get a good signal.

Leo=my stomach, bear=Thai jungle food

It wasn’t really the jungle. It was Suan Phung, a town in Ratchaburi province that just recently got its own traffic light. Mind you, Suan Phung has loads of attractions for intrepid nature lovers (not me): waterfalls galore, a hot springs, an animal park/petting zoo, arduous hikes through the forest. In the early mornings and after the rain, the hills are cloaked in scattered patches of thick fog, which is truly beautiful. The border with Myanmar is just a short drive away, so locals claim that the soldiers on the Myanmar side like to amble over into Thailand on most mornings for a better cup of coffee.

But of course none of these things has the ability to distract like a good few plates of food can. At German Sausages Suanpeung (#315 Moo 3, 087-995-1119) you get a superior view of the surrounding mountains while chomping on German-style pork bits cooked over an open griddle with freshly-halved white buns, buttered and charred on the edges. Try to go early to Krua Karieng Restaurant (196 Moo 1, 032-395-166), or you will have to wait two hours for a serving of their superior gang pa. Best of all, we arrived at the tail end of forest mushroom (hed kon) season, so we had them every which way: blanched in spicy salads, boiled in tom yum soups, stir-fried with garlic.

But you’ve got to hand it to Kohkiew (Saen To, Tha Maka, Kanchanaburi, 081-986-6578), situated on the edge of town on the way back to Bangkok. Few restaurants consistently pack their tables with the promise of a platterful of deep-fried frog, smothered under an avalanche of deep-fried garlic and hot enough to burn the roof off your mouth. People frequently compare frog meat to chicken, but the only way in which it’s similar is in its white-meat blandness. The texture — chewy, smooth, slightly impervious to the flavor of anything around it — puts it in its own special category. Thais like to call it “gai na”, or “chicken of the rice paddy”. I would like to call it “delicious under the most specific of circumstances aka only at Kohkiew.”

Frog meat stir-fried with ginger

Crispy fried shrimp in garlic and scallions — an Uncle favorite

(Photo by Tod Krisanapanna)

Uncle Sondhi has been my “uncle” for as long as I’ve been married. Like almost all journalists of a certain age in Bangkok, he was briefly my boss; even after I went on to other places, we would still eat at various places together. Almost all of these places were typically of his choosing: you see, not only is he a good eater, he is also a picky one. You will not find him saying, Oh, I guess this will do, and sitting down to some half-assed fried rice at S&P or something. Like my dad, he would rather that every meal counts; if it’s not good enough to count, it won’t be eaten.

He was the first person to show me the goat curry at Roti-Mataba, the first person who forced me to try braised sea cucumber in a Chinese restaurant in New York. But the biggest foodie beneficiary of Uncle’s good graces is quite possibly Oud, a stir-fry cook who makes food out of his home, appears to accept reservations only by referral, and fashions a menu just for you.

Oud in his kitchen deep-frying shrimp

I’ve been to Oud’s house once before, with Uncle, and remember in particular a dish of swiftly stir-fried bean sprouts so deftly cooked that they were still crisp yet full of flavor. He has since moved, but to an area even further from central Bangkok, in the suburb of Bang Kruai. Customers who haven’t been before will need to call K. Oud (086-905-6664) to get directions; every customer will need to find a day (he’ll do either lunch or dinner) when he is available (not surprisingly, since it’s his house, space is limited). When we called, we actually had to drop Uncle’s name, because we weren’t sure if we were going to even score a table.  Once we did, though, it was smooth sailing, because Uncle is quite possibly Oud’s #1 customer.

Naturally, once we dropped Uncle’s name, we got Uncle’s menu, which is big in seafood: a big deep-fried pomfret with a spicy-sour-sweet “3 flavor” sauce; deep-fried shrimp in garlic; fried chunks of fresh seabass with chilies; stir-fried clams and Chinese kale in oyster sauce. Uncle can’t have lime and usually goes for a plain clear soup (gang jued)  but we asked for a big vat of tom yum shrimp and stir-fried crab in curry sauce, because I love that dish. If you don’t want to go by Uncle’s menu, you can choose whatever you like, within reason. The decisions are made via a committee of you and him and whatever is in the market that day.

The sign marking the townhouse

Once you find your way to Oud’s neighborhood, you will still need to ask for directions from the security guard. He’s used to that though. Even once you find his soi, you will need to keep on the lookout for the sign above, the only thing marking his home as different from the others.

Once you enter, though (after having shed your shoes because it’s a home after all, hello) the feel is like that of an intimate kappo bar in Japan. I love Japanese kappo — chef’s bars with limited seats where the husbands cook and the wives try to make you as comfortable as possible, plying you with sake all the while. The set-up at Oud’s is similar, the single table with a window overlooking the back kitchen area when Oud is hard at work.

Tender sweet clams and Chinese kale in oyster sauce

I get the feeling, though, that unlike at a traditional kappo, he would prefer you not traipse all the way back into the kitchen and obsess over his every move. Oud is an introverted type of cook, quiet and tidy, looking a bit like he could be an older model in a Muji catalogue. His food is similar in temperament, not flashy or showy but of very good quality. It’s the kind of deceptive Thai-Chinese comfort food that anyone feels like they could cook if given the time; it’s the food equivalent of the Jackson Pollock or late-stage Matisse that would prompt the nearest douchebro dragged to the gallery by his girlfriend to exclaim that his 3-year-old nephew could do it for nothing. I will tell you now: Don’t do this yourself. Also, your nephew will not be able to stir-fry you any seabass with chilies. Don’t try to make him.

Tom yum goong, the broth made creamy by scraping out the inside of the prawn heads

There are a lot of exclusive places in Bangkok, and a lot of expensive places in Bangkok, and places that check both boxes (exclusive and expensive, in case you were wondering). But of all the places I have been, none feel as intimate — outside of a friend’s house — as Raan Oud, where the chef and hostess are there exclusively for you, for as long as the duration of the meal. For five people, the bill came out to a little over 5,000 baht; for a minimum of 10,000 baht (invite all your friends!), Oud will come to your house to cook. I am already thinking about doing it myself.

Seabass with chilies and garlic

The marinara at Da Michele

Naples is a city that makes you work. Getting to places even just a little off the beaten track requires a good sense of direction or a lot of fortitude; I once saw a tourist, luggage in tow, pounding frantically on a hotel door just to be let in. Shopping can be a chore, since they rarely take credit cards due to what would appear to be a widespread problem with their card machines.

At the same time, I had heard raves of this city, its beauty and its history, its culture and charm. It made me feel old, like when my daughter raves about a K-pop band or when someone writes about the attractiveness of the Duplass brothers. The general feeling is HUH? It made me understand what some people find exhausting and alienating about Bangkok, how both cities reward people who “know things” or have the energy to learn.

It comes as no surprise, then, that grabbing a table at one of the city’s famed pizzerias is a test of sheer will. It usually goes this way: there is a line, and you humbly submit your name to someone, anyone, who deigns to take it. Next is your wait, a lesson in humility, as, hopefully, sometime, your turn will come. What keeps you there, standing in an alleyway, or in a doorway blocking waitstaff bearing huge platters of steaming dough? Hope and its audacity, perhaps, but probably plain old stubbornness. You’ve waited this long already, right? I’ve seen the lines at post-Michelin star Jay Fai and if you have too, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

In fact, I had time to dream about eventually being turned away, like Mary and Joseph before finding the manger, like Julia Roberts before her shopping spree. Imagine this: a restaurateur who would not want my money. Because let me tell you something, and I rarely boast, but I will  here: I am a good eater at restaurants. I will spend money on wine; I will order multiple courses; I could go for the tasting menu and order extra stuff; I am a total and thorough pig. I will appreciate the waitstaff. I will compliment the chef. If you feed me, I will love you.

The opposite? Oh, the scorn, the spite. I will walk away, find the next willing place and stuff my face with it, thinking all the while, I AM NOT MISSING YOU. THIS IS BETTER. Once sated, belly bulging, I will come back, triumphant and slightly sweaty, tiramisu in my hair. “Don’t you get a percentage of the check as a service charge?” I will ask you. You might answer, “Yes?” “Hahaha!” I will shriek, breadcrumbs flying from my open maw before I depart in a swirl of parmesan dust.

This never happened. I did get to eat at all the places we had time for in Naples, even Da Michele (though it felt like a near thing). At L’antica Pizzeria da Michele (via Cesare Sersale), they give you numbers, which makes you feel secure, because they have to call you in consecutively. People can poke their heads in at any time to do takeaway. An extremely large Japanese tour group did that, as did an American (Naples is full of Americans) who told me takeaway was the superior way to buy a Da Michele pie. If you do decide to sit down, they serve each room (there are three) one by one, so it is obviously best to sit in the first room. It is not a place where you want to linger. I don’t care if there’s a signed photo of Julia Roberts from “Eat Pray Love” on the wall.

At Sorbillo (da Gino), the really popular one with the perpetual line, there was a banner featuring illustrated celebrities like Bono and Madonna at a table eating pizza. That really turned me off (and the gargantuan line did, too). So it was really super lucky that just a few doors down is Antonio E Gigi Sorbillo (Via dei Tribunali), whom may or may not be relations, but are indeed in the Michelin Guide.

The margherita

The dough was fluffier than Da Michele’s, but light, easy to chew. The seating and service were drama-free. No emotional rollercoaster. It felt a bit un-Neapolitan in that sense.

Pizzeria da Attilio (Via Pignasecca), recommended to us by Paolo of Peppino, ended up being my son’s absolute favorite. He would very much like you to know that.

Knup’s favorites, one with artichoke cream, mozzarella and olives and the other with pesto, tomato and mozzarella

There was the nail-biting wait — will we or won’t we? — but we, a Scandinavian tour group, a large Chinese family and an Italian couple all were seated at the appropriate times. The menu was extensive and the dough soft and pillowy. Service was friendly and efficient, and unlike many other places, they are fine with long lunches and even offer their own wine. The next time I go (?!) I might even try one of Attilio’s star-shaped pies, with the cheese buried in the star points. See? I might actually be getting Naples after all.

Pasta stuffed with spinach and cheese at Osteria dei Sole, which is near Parma and is not pizza in Naples. I just liked this photo.