Bangkok Glutton

Crab egg nam prik at Jay Dum

One of my earliest memories was of the restaurant Aloha, located in the balmy paradise otherwise known as Youngstown, Ohio. It was the sort of place that served flaming pu-pu platters and just the thing to stand in as “Asian” food in an area starved for ethnic cuisine.  They would also give you a cocktail umbrella in your drink, even if it was something like a Shirley Temple. To my mind, that was the best thing about it. I saved my cocktail umbrella, a pink one, for weeks, keeping it in a drawer in a my desk to bring out at the most opportune moment.

Maybe a couple of months later, the opportune moment finally came. It had started raining heavily, and I was at home. I took out my umbrella and rushed out onto my apartment balcony, brandishing my pink umbrella over my head. Of course, the rain destroyed my umbrella in about 10 seconds flat. It was, up to that point, one of the most disappointing things to ever happen to me (SPOILER ALERT: I had yet to discover that Santa Claus didn’t exist). But what can you expect? I was, after all, only 23 years old.

I have since been hardened by the resentments and misunderstandings of my life into a miserable, cynical person. So when people suggest an old-style, locally foodie-famous restaurant for lunch, my first instinct is to shore myself up for the inevitable disappointment. Because that is what usually happens. There is the longstanding Thai-Chinese favorite on Rama IV Road that serves soggy fried chicken and salads slathered in mayonnaise in the name of nostalgia. The internationally-lauded open-air standby that purports to cook old-fashioned recipes even as they serve tom yum thickened with condensed milk. And all the places, born from the first flush of post-WWII prosperity, that have fallen by the wayside. Often, the eateries with grand reputations appear to be trafficking on their names, happy to slide into brand-stamped mediocrity. It’s not a great time for real retro either, at a moment when newer, shinier, splashier spots are opening every week.

Jay Dum, which is all the way in Patum Thani (Rangsit-Nakhon Nayok Rd Klong 10, 33/19 Moo 4, 02-546-1477, no reservations), is one such place with a grand reputation, but what sets it apart is that it is all the way in the middle of nowhere. So if you come here, you are really coming here, just to this restaurant, unless you are lost. My parents have been here enough times that they can say with authority that this day was better than that other day which was better than that other month, let’s not talk about that. I have only been here once. The specialty of the house is what the specialty of the house always seems to be, the grilled river prawn. It is central Thailand, after all.

Grilled prawns, of course

But it’s all that other stuff that really gets me, because it’s special in the way a really good destination restaurant is special. There are the thin slices of bitter melon half-buried in egg omelet and the stir-fried morning glory peppered liberally with green bird’s eye chilies. The springy fried fishcakes (tod mun pla) with a cucumber relish. Those same fish turned into green curry with meatballs — made by loads of meticulous beating, because using a blender would turn these balls crumbly when they’re supposed to fight you a bit in your mouth.

Fish meatballs in green curry

And then, there are the sautéed lotus stems, crispy and juicy and garnished with prawn legs (!) which is a first for me because, really, who wants to waste their time shelling those suckers? But my favorite of all, I have to say, is the crab egg chili dip, so thick with orange crab roe it would make you weep, and all tarted up with pickled baby onions.

If you ever find yourself in the neighborhood (why?) then by all means stop by without calling them first, because they don’t take reservations. But if you’re not in the neighborhood but have a hankering for fish in patty or ball form, and grilled river prawns in a place outside of Bangkok but not at the beach, you could do far, far worse than Jay Dum. You won’t be disappointed.

Artist Maitree Siriboon with his work “Mondrian Buffalo”

I first met Thai artist Maitree Siriboon while hitching a ride with my friend Top Changtrakul to the far outskirts of the province, where you can still see agricultural activity. Top was working on an art project, and part of it involved filming Maitree, clad only in silver hot pants and a pair of wings, running across a field towards the camera. There was no background music, only the sound of Maitree’s breathing. He had to do several takes because someone (me) kept making noise. The only people watching were me, Top, the sound guy, and a couple of very confused duck farmers. I never saw the final product, but I imagine it was a striking image: a solitary, otherworldly figure, attempting to transcend his mundane surroundings by running to … us.

I liked Maitree immediately. He is open and positive, smart without being patronizing, and, obviously, extremely creative. He would probably attribute his lack of pretension to his Isaan roots, and he is always incorporating his background into his artwork, seemingly working out his identity in the gaze of the audience. It’s something that I think is very brave, because it’s so exposed. What is especially interesting to me is his incorporation of his upbringing in Isaan — a populous but poor region that is often looked down upon by Thai urbanites — in all of his work. Of course, what we see in art is totally subjective, and we could go on and on about how intent doesn’t have to mean anything to the observer/listener/reader.  But when I see Maitree’s work, I see “This is me, take it or leave it” and always feel empowered by that.

American chef Dan Barber once said that the greatest cuisines of the world are born out of poverty and necessity. Isaan food is Thailand’s version of this type of cuisine. Unlike the rest of the country, which is verdant and fertile, parts of Isaan are dusty and dry, and the food — strong, spicy, quick to make, sugar-less — reflects that. Like Maitree’s art, it is direct and makes a big impact. Although in Bangkok that food is often bastardized by the local sweet tooth, there are still major sections given over entirely to serving Isaan dishes, the most popular street food in the country.

After 5pm, the strip along Henri Dunant Road on the Royal Bangkok Sports Club side is one of those areas. The sidewalk becomes a mass of locals looking for a bite of som tum infused with fermented Thai anchovy (pla rah), deftly grilled pork collar,  or even a pot of jim jum (Isaan-style sukiyaki). The food is unapologetically simple, and in its simplicity it is very Isaan. Take it or leave it.

Green papaya salad with fermented anchovy juice

The most popular vendor on that sidewalk is Raan Boon-Henri Thai-Isaan, the second stall on the sidewalk when you are approaching from the Siam Skytrain stop. The specialties of the house here are the som tum kai kem (green papaya salad with salted egg) and the salt-encrusted grilled fish, but everything you could expect from an Isaan restaurant is on offer including decent moo namtok (spicy pork salad with roasted rice kernels) and mucho, mucho iced beer.

Spicy sliced pork with sundried pork in the background

If you are able to brave this unending heatwave and willing to dine next to a line of parked cars, you too can feast on the fruits of Isaan ingenuity in the way it’s probably best: outside, with many friends and a couple of gallons of beer. And if you are art-minded, check out Maitree’s “Save Thai Buffalo” series at the YenakART Villa from June 9th.

Duck noodles at Chia 

There was a time when I was really busy, and I was complaining about that. Now that I am no longer busy, I would like to complain about this. I don’t know what happened, but somehow awesome work opportunities haven’t found their way to my couch. I guess it’s a cyclical thing.

So I’ve taken this downtime as the chance to focus on the things that really matter, like who has yet to be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. There are some shocking (to me) omissions.  I mean, everybody has their own (wrong) opinion, but there are some surprising people who haven’t been inducted yet, like Journey and Peter Frampton. Aren’t old white guys in this organization’s wheelhouse? The omissions that really rile me are the Pixies and Rage Against the Machine (yeah, I said it). I have a feeling people overlook the Pixies because they think Black Francis is an asshole, and because Rage Against the Machine are too rap-rock. But come on. The freaking Red Hot Chili Peppers were inducted in 2012!

No, instead they induct guys like Steve Miller, who doesn’t even really want to be there — who is, in fact, as annoyed as John Boehner yelling at a pack of trick-or-treaters to get off his lawn. Everyone is, again, entitled to expressing themselves, but if the ceremony was such a pain, why go man? Why not stay home in Margaritaville? Why this guy?  Steve Miller is Easy Listening dressed up as rock music. It’s for the type of person who is too embarrassed to admit to themselves and others that they like Adult Contemporary. It’s the Coldplay of the ’70s, the music I turn on when I want people to leave my house.

Places like Victory Monument are the Steve Millers of food: incomprehensibly popular. They seem to have everything you want, but nothing is even remotely memorable. For the street food lover, the stretch along Rama IV between the boat pier and Klong Toey Market is far more overlooked — even by me. “Where to go tonight?” I ask my friend Dwight of bkkfatty.com, who is willing to come along with me for an evening trawl with Portuguese food lovers Goncalo and Joao. “Rama IV?” he suggests, and I say, “Oh yeah. I forgot about Rama IV.”

“Everybody does,” Dwight says, and it’s true. It’s just that Rama IV is just such a miserable stretch of road if you don’t know what you’re looking for. But if duck noodles and Thai-style shaved ice are on your radar, you’re on the right track. At Chia Duck Noodles (2856 Rama IV Rd. across the road from Esso gas station, 02-671-3279, also referred to as Xia, or Sia, because the romanization of Thai letters is so hard to pinpoint), noodles come awash in a rich, almost velvety broth of unsurpassing duckiness, festooned with a shower of deep-fried garlic, tender duck meat, cubes of duck blood and a flourish of fresh coriander. And that’s just the noodles. There’s also roasted duck on rice, and duck stewed in Chinese herbs, and platters of well-seasoned thigh meat and duck innards to contend with.

Noodles aren’t complete without dessert. Although I’ve been put out by the closure of Suan Luang Market and the shaved ice place that was my original go-to, I haven’t really gone out of my way to find its replacement. Thanks to Dwight, who appears to come to this place on a weekly basis, I now have a place I can (almost) walk to called Thao Tung Peng Ang, down the road from Chia. My favorite thing about Thai shaved ice is its flexibility: you have a choice of toppings that range from the Chinese-inspired (lotus root, gingko nuts, grass jelly) to the distinctly Siamese (selim noodles, tubtim grob, coconut jelly) in either longan juice, ginger syrup or coconut milk and topped with a generous mound of shaved ice. Even better is what Dwight came up with: a scoop of vanilla mixed with a swiftly frozen egg yolk, leaving a stripe of extra-fatty yellow through the cream and garnished with slivered candied mango. It was the best ending to an evening of street food and a nice reprieve from our unrelenting heatwave.