Bangkok Glutton

(Photos by Lauren Lulu Taylor)

If you haven’t heard of Sweet Life Lanta and are a fan of 1. Thai food 2. Thai islands 3. humorous YouTube videos and 4. achingly cute families, then you should get yourself acquainted. Not only do Mon and Maayan have a YouTube series in which they explore the intricacies of being a multi-cultural couple, but they also run a thriving cooking school in which Mon manages to teach different recipes that each student requests ALL AT THE SAME TIME. Through staying at their properties, they also give visitors the opportunity to truly enjoy the best of what the island has to offer, whether it’s via cooking and eating the food (duh), gawping at the stunning views, meeting the friendly people, or by frequenting the artisans that make Koh Lanta the special place that it is.

Obviously, Lauren, Gen and I took advantage of this grand hospitality, staying in a fishing village on the edge of the ocean at the beautifully renovated Wooda House. What it doesn’t have in air-conditioning, Wooda House makes up with in ocean views, generous neighbors, and the general feeling of being immersed in a small island community in Thailand, replete with early morning rooster crows, calls to prayer from the nearby mosque, and the typical sounds of a village brushing itself off after a good night’s sleep to get back to work plying the waters for food.

Although Mon doesn’t run his cooking school during the low season (which, in case you were wondering, is right now), he did generously show us a couple of his childhood favorites, lugging several armfuls’ worth of fresh produce and fish into the Wooda House kitchen one afternoon. Hence began an exciting day spent making an entire Southern Thai meal from scratch (and we mean from scratch), culminating in a delicious lunch eaten at 4pm (it was worth it).

When you make a Thai meal from scratch, of course you have to begin with the coconut milk.

Like many people who are used to the craziness of making things from scratch, Mon says this is an easy affair, taking roughly 20 minutes from conking the coconuts open with a well-worn machete to slipping the hard-won coconut milk into a waiting curry. Sadly for everyone, with me at the krathai (a coconut grating utensil on which you sit to supposedly allow for easier grating), it took quite a bit longer, even when I sat astride the krathai man-style (a lady never spreads her legs). Eventually, 6-year-old Manu took over for me and we eventually had enough coconut meat (about 4 coconuts’ worth) to make coconut milk.

The next step is to put the coconut in a basin, add a pitcher of water, and basically scrunch the meat around with your hands to extract the milk. Manu, with his tiny hands, also did this chore for us. In case you accuse us of utilizing child labor for our food, please know that Manu readily and cheerfully volunteered for every single task in the kitchen, which was good for me since I was bursting into menopausal flames from the afternoon heat.

Finally came the food, and what food it was: grilled local fish brushed with turmeric and coconut milk; sayo, a stew of local fresh vegetables and coconut milk flavored with a chili paste of flaked fish meat; a delicious shrimp paste dip with even more fresh vegetables; and, possibly my favorite of all, a stew simply known as “Mon’s Mom’s Dish”, thick tranches of local tuna simmered in coconut milk with mellow banana peppers.

The next day, Mon and Maayan en famille braved a temporary monsoon and took us on a small fishing boat to visit nearby Koh Por, home of the charming (and popular) Malee Homestay , where Malee herself treated us to a grand meal of freshly steamed crab, battered local stingray and vegetables, grilled local fish, sweet stir-fried chicken, and, my favorite of all, grilled turmeric-marinated squid. After the meal, we waddled back to the boat in order to watch young fishermen dive for the sweet mussels that blanket the underwater rocks (and try our hand at prying some loose ourselves). We (and when I say “we”, I mean everyone except me) came up with mussels, a couple of clams, and a regiment of hoy thachai, a big flat shellfish that can be hallucinogenic if not properly trimmed.

Maayan proved to be especially adept at prising hoy thachai from the depths, so much so that she has a great future ahead of her as a deep-sea shell diver if she ever chooses. And Malee has a great future ahead of her as a magician, defying the rocky ocean waves to open shells with a large chef’s knife over a simmering wok set on a gas burner held in place by her bare feet.

After returning to dry land, we bid Mon, Maayan, Manu and Mili adieu, adamant that we would return again to explore even more of Koh Lanta. Until then, we have Mon’s mother’s recipe, which we share with you below, in case you, too, want a taste of the sweet life.

Mon’s Mother’s Coconut Soup with Fish, Turmeric and Big Chilies

Prep time: 20 minutes                Cook time: 20 minutes

Serves 4

• 4-6 shallots, peeled and sliced
• 1 1-inch knob of fresh turmeric, peeled 
• 1 teaspoon of salt
• 1 2-inch knob of galangal, peeled and chopped
• 1-2 Tablespoons of tamarind juice (nam macadam piek, or the cooking kind)
• 1 cup of coconut milk
• Any kind of whole fish (but the fattier the better, like tuna), cut cross-wise into four tranches (or four skin-on filets)
• 3-4 banana peppers (you can halve and de-seed them if you are concerned about spiciness)

In a mortar and pestle, pound shallots, turmeric, salt and galangal into a fine paste.

Heat up coconut milk in a wok until it starts to gently bubble. Add the chili paste from the mortar and stir to incorporate. Add tamarind juice and taste. It should be a little bit spicy, salty and a teensy bit sweet/tart.

Once the curry starts to bubble again, add fish pieces and banana peppers. Allow to poach in the coconut milk until the fish meat turns white and the banana peppers soften, about 5-10 minutes depending on the thickness of the fish. 

Decant into a bowl and serve immediately with rice as part of a great Thai meal.

Some people go through life with certainty and purpose, their upheavals mere blips in the grand scheme of things. Others live their lives in search of the same certainty, only to realize that they have been ants scurrying on a sidewalk all this time, mere fodder for a big old foot that has descended down upon them from out of nowhere. I recently came to encounter this big old foot myself, and as tempting as it’s been to wallow in the “why?”, I find it far more useful to figure out a way into the “how?”

Part of the “how?” A trip to America that I can no longer afford! At the very least, I could gorge myself on fattening American foods, revel in the summertime bounty of Western tomatoes and corn, and ferment on foreign couches while watching heretofore-unheard-of reality TV shows. There was also the lure of the Pine Tree State — I’m talking about Maine, of course — land of L.L. Bean, abundant lobster, and improbably cold lake water in the height of summer.

Chronic Maine summer-er Gen invited friends Trude, Felice and me to an impeccably planned tour of what she called the “three sides of Maine”: the “big city”, aka twee, charming Portland (what you would get if Wes Anderson and a seagull had a baby); the islands further north along the coast close to Acadia National Park; and the deep Northern woods close to New Hampshire and Canada. After this, we would know Maine as well as anyone can possibly expect to, after only a week there.

But first, Portland. As touristy as it is, it also harbors (get that?) a great dining scene, full of earnest waiters in suspenders and tasteful lighting with wood-burning ovens. After a lobster tour where we snacked on an “afternoon tea” of $10 lobsters, we enjoyed elaborate cocktails al fresco before heading to Fore Street for dinner, when a game of “fuck, marry, kill” over rice, pasta or bread became unexpectedly heated. The next morning, we broke our fasts at a place where everyone in Portland, be they tourist or local, inevitably ends up: Becky’s, home of the lobster benedict and mammoth blueberry pancakes.

Next stop, further north along the coast, we enjoyed yet more lobster near Bar Harbour at Archie’s, where my credit card was declined:

Much is made of Maine lobster, but it is in fact not hyperbole. Unlike Canada’s attempt to claim maple syrup and Singapore’s attempt to claim all fried noodles ever made, Maine truly is awash in lobsters at summertime, when the water stays cold (believe me) and the rocky seabed and kelp keep the crustaceans well-fed and hidden from would-be predators. Even better, summertime is when these guys shed their usual carapaces for their version of “white summertime capris”, by which I mean larger and softer shells, making them easier to crack to enjoy the sweetness within. We ate them with drawn butter, but the Thai seafood sauce I had brought with me (Dek Somboon brand) was too sweet for my tastes.

That night, instead of enjoying our rented cabin’s fire-pit for which I risked my life by darting across a highway for $5 firewood, we watched “Fifty Shades Darker”, a movie that moved Trude to tears because she “couldn’t believe anyone would watch this unironically.” Needless to say, we did not do justice to Acadia National Park.

On to the next cabin, this time in Rangeley, set next to a sparkling, clear lake carved out by a glacier millions of years ago. We did not have wifi or television. How did I survive, you ask? Well, I napped, snoring my afternoons away while the others went paddle-boarding, fishing (I wasted $25 on getting a fishing license), and shriek-swimming, a novel way of navigating the icy waters and slippery rocks of Rangeley Lake.

We roasted lamb shanks and sausages, downed more ridiculously sweet corn, drank whisky like pirates and even made som tum out of a semi-green papaya obtained at Whole Foods. We cooked home fries and more pancakes for breakfast, dotted with an ample supply of the wild Maine blueberries which grow naturally in the mountains and are far sweeter than the blueberries found in Thai markets.

In the end, did I forget that I had been squashed by an anonymous giant foot from on high? No, of course not. But I did enjoy some bit of what must have served as ant heaven, at least before returning once more to reality back in Bangkok.

This recipe is my husband’s family’s cherished green curry recipe. It is served at every family gathering and more than a few funerals — indeed, at Grandma Nang’s funeral, it was seasoned with the “ganja” that relatives found in her purse and everyone had a nice, mellow time after the cremation. All of which is to say, this might be a lot different from your family’s green curry recipe. It might even look different. My chef friend Dylan refers to the ideal color of curry as “sexy green”, a lovely celadon hue that some curries boast when they are brought to the table, usually in a fancy restaurant. However, this not a “sexy green” curry. It is what Chef Andy Ricker would call a “khaki” green. To be honest, I don’t trust “sexy green” curries. They are like men who are overly groomed and wax their body hair. Why so much focus on appearance? 

You might say to yourself, “Whoa, all these words for green curry!” but the truth is, this recipe has been my own White Whale, cavorting in deep and choppy ocean waves just out of reach, only to occasionally ram me port-side unawares. Which is all to say, I have struggled with this recipe. Until I discovered the secret of the house.

Part of the curry paste is store-bought.

Yes! It’s true! There are two chili pastes in this green curry: a homemade paste and a store-bought paste. So you can say that this paste is doctored, just like how I used to doctor a jar of Ragu with extra onions, garlic, vegetables and spices and call it my own when I was 12. Except this curry is way, way more complicated (and delicious) than that spaghetti sauce.

There are three components to the curry paste: the dried spice mix, the homemade chili paste, and the store-bought chili paste. You can use any store-bought chili paste. You don’t need to worry about that part. All you need to know is that you need 2 kg of it (we’re feeding 20, you might want to adjust accordingly.)

Green curry (Gaeng Kiew Waan)

Serves 10-20 (depending on how big your eaters are)

Prep time: 5-8 hours                                  Cooking time: 45 minutes

The night before or early in the morning of:

• 2 kg beef shank, sliced against the grain
• 1.5 L coconut milk “tail” (or UHT coconut milk thinned with a little water)
• Fish sauce to taste
• Palm sugar, broken up in a mortar and pestle, to taste

In coconut milk “tail”, stew beef shank until very tender over low heat in a big pot. This could take anywhere between 5 to 8 hours. Skim fat off of the surface from time to time. Towards the end of the stewing process, season with a little fish sauce and palm sugar. Try a Tablespoon of each. When done, turn off heat and keep on the stove (or counter) next to the wok where you will be frying your chili paste.

For the spice mix:

• 2 Tablespoons coriander seeds
• 3 Tablespoons cumin seeds
• 1 Tablespoon white peppercorns (black should be fine)
• 2 nutmeg pods (or about 9 g nutmeg powder)
• 3 mace blades (or about 4 g ground mace)

While your beef is stewing, toast all ingredients in a dry pan until fragrant, then grind finely in a spice grinder. Set aside.

For the curry paste:

• 2 kg store-bought green curry paste (set aside in its own bowl)
• 5 coriander (cilantro) roots, chopped
• 3 big lemongrass bulbs, sliced
• 2 inch piece of galangal, peeled and chopped
• Rind from 1 makrut lime, sliced
• 200 g Thai shallots, peeled (or 100 g banana shallots)
• 200 g Thai garlic, peeled (or 100 g Western garlic)
• 10 green chee fah (or goat or spur) chilies, sliced
• 10 green bird’s eye chilies, stemmed

While your beef is stewing, make homemade paste. Starting with cilantro roots, pound in a mortar and pestle into a paste before add adding the next thing, one by one, continuing down the list until you get to the bird’s eye chilies. Set aside next to green curry paste. 

For finishing curry (the “cooking” process):

• 500 mL coconut cream (“hua kati”)
• 2 Tablespoons palm sugar, broken up in a mortar and pestle
• 2 Tablespoons fish sauce
• 100 g bird’s eye chilies (for garnish)
• 6 makrut lime leaves, torn (for garnish)
• 20 Thai sweet basil leaves (for garnish)

In an already hot wok over medium-low heat, add 4 ladlefuls of coconut milk from the pot of beef stewed in coconut tail next to the wok. Add both curry pastes, homemade and store-bought, to the coconut milk and stir to incorporate. Then add the spice mix and stir. As the paste dries and bubbles, continue adding more coconut milk, ladleful by ladleful, like you’re making a risotto. You continue to stir, adding a ladleful of coconut milk at a time, until the paste is “fragrant” (ie. gets up your nose). This is probably the most intuitive (ie. difficult) part of the curry-making process. You want the paste to have expanded to about 1/4 of the wok, but you don’t want too much oil separation. Stir continuously so that the paste doesn’t burn.

If your beef isn’t on a burner, put it on a burner now and turn on its heat to medium-low. Add paste to the beef and stir to incorporate. In the wok, add about half a cup of water to “clean” it out and add that to the beef as well. We don’t want to waste anything! Turn off the heat under the wok.

Now we season the curry. Add 2 Tablespoons of fish sauce and 2 Tablespoons of palm sugar, and taste for seasoning. If you like the flavor, bring the curry to a boil and add coconut cream.

Lower heat back to low. Taste for seasoning again. Then add your garnishes — chilies, lime leaves, basil — stir and turn up the heat to bring to a boil again. Then turn off the heat and you are done!

Serve with rice, kanom jeen (fermented rice noodles) and/or roti with nam pla prik (fish sauce with chilies), hard-boiled eggs, fresh bird’s eye chilies for spiceheads and maybe a cut-up lime (some people like a little squeeze for freshness).