by | 05/11/2014 · 3:21 pm

Just Ducky

Chinese-style duck at Ros Niyom

Chinese-style duck at Ros Niyom

Because it’s so hot, I’ve been even lazier than usual about getting out and about with the street food. It took a handful of text messages and maybe a phone call or two before my friend Chris could gently pry me off of my couch and into the real world, where people move around on sidewalks and take crowded Skytrain rides and, yes, even sweat. Although Chris swears that the temperature in Bangkok has only been hovering around the mid-to-late 30s (and where else can you say “only in the mid-30s”? Very few places), I swear this city is the hottest its ever been, and that it’s foolish to even pretend to go about your daily business, because the world is crumbling down around our very ears (earthquakes? A tornado? Never before in Thailand, in my lifetime).

A good meal will make your forget these things momentarily. So will a good drink, but it’s noon, and things are not (yet) as dire as all that. So when Chris takes me to the far end of Nana (past the entertainment complex, past the various Indian restaurants, and what appears to be a fairly new gigantic Subway), we end up in the kind of relatively quiet, sedate neighborhood that you’d expect to find much further from the pulsing heart of the city’s nightlife center. Right before the street dead ends into a factory sits the Thai-Chinese restaurant Ros Niyom (172-174 Sukhumvit 4 Nana Tai, 02-255-0991), an aharn tham sung (made-to-order) spot that specializes in pet palo, or duck braised in 5-spice sauce. You can tell this is what to order from the ducks hung from their necks in front, where a fairly taciturn lady silently dissects duck meat and skin for practically every table in the restaurant. And it’s not just the duck meat that’s in demand here: also a specialty, the congealed blocks of duck’s blood served swimming in a duck broth, its jelly-like texture contrasting with the sour chili sauce ladled over the top.

Duck blood in a bowl

Duck blood in a bowl

The essence of everything that is ducky, with a generously-sized plate of rice and maybe a stir-fried garlicky bitter gourd shoot or two, and you’ve got a substantial lunch that could see you safely to dinnertime. Throw in a couple of bowls of beef noodles, the highly-recommend hae gun (deep-fried shrimp dumplings) and a couple of beers, and you can just forget about venturing out  from under the safety of that restaurant awning for the next few hours, or, at the very least, until the next torrential downpour comes to take some of the bite out of this heat.

 

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Filed under Asia, Bangkok, duck, food, restaurant, Thailand

by | 05/04/2014 · 2:58 pm

Color My World

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“Vegetable parade” Japanese curry at J-Curry

I want to say from the outset that in no way am I a Chicago fan. I am not a 65-year-old man, despite what you may have heard/seen. But I did recently give Chicago IX and Jefferson Airplane’s Volunteers — recorded by two bands that the late great music critic Lester Bangs reportedly loathed — another listen and found that they were better than I remembered. I know this makes me hopelessly middle-aged.

I mean, I haven’t completely lost my mind; “Color My World” still makes me want to jump off the nearest cliff (RIP rock flute solos. RIP forever). But it’s nice to hear something sometimes that sounds like humans had actually put their hands to something and played it; that they had made mouth-noises which had been captured the way they had sung it. When compared to a lot of the popular music out today, it actually sounds like it has some sort of authenticity to it, in a way that it may not have had when it was actually released. Issue me that AARP membership card now.

A lot of the food in Bangkok is very good, but some of it also has this abnormally polished, blank quality, like it has emerged from the flagship restaurant of the nearest Aman resort. It’s engineered to be “good” and “tasteful”, the way Banana Republic clothes are engineered, or the stuff at Pottery Barn. Sometimes, if you go really upscale, you can get — oh, I don’t know — the culinary equivalents of Tory Burch and Restoration Hardware. The point is this food is designed to please as many people as possible, regardless of where they are from, what they really favor, or who they are. This renders it seamless and kind of neutered — sort of like what I imagine the Velvet Underground-loving Lester Bangs hated about Chicago. Maybe this means that this is the sort of food I’ll be missing in 30 years’ time.

This is why street food is so popular here. Although you do get the “tourist trap” places that specialize in sloppy fried rice and hot dogs on sticks, the very best ones take great care in their food despite their humble surroundings. That sincerity has translated so well that some Thais are just starting to accept that maybe, just maybe, non-Thais want to eat street food too. Street food vendors become more confident and begin to experiment with new things and new formats. This is how you get a place like J-Curry in the basement of the UBC II Building (591 Sukhumvit 33), a place my friend Chris (christao.net) first took me to a little while ago.

It might not strike you as street food, but I think it is: an open-air stand serviced by a couple of tables and chairs, but with backs on them and a neon sign because, hey, it’s Japanese food, so it’s a little fancy. A straightforward menu of different Japanese curries — from simple broccoli (110 baht) to beef, cheese and egg (195 baht) — is obviously the main focus here. And, this being Thailand where everyone reserves the right to re-season everything they are served because that’s just how it is, each plate arrives with your own personal shaker of curry powder, chili powder, black pepper and soy sauce — just like the condiment trays that arrive with your bowl of noodles.

 

 

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by | 04/18/2014 · 1:40 pm

My Grandfather

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Stir-fried Hokkien noodles at Pong Lee

My grandfather passed away a couple of days ago, but I don’t want to make this a sad post about loss. Instead, I want to talk about all the stuff that I remember about him. Most of it has to do with food. Not because that is the only way I can relate to people (although that may be part of it), but because that was the way he related to people, too.

My grandfather, Sawake Phromburi, was a policeman. He served in Northern Thailand for many years, and then he moved to Bangkok, where my mom and her siblings were raised. But even though he worked in law enforcement, he appeared to save his best thinking and planning for his food. He would spend days planning menus for family gatherings, making sure the durian was in the perfect condition for serving on that certain day, that the sea pomfret was fresh, that everyone’s favorites were represented on the dinner table. There was never a paucity of anything, no matter how he might have loathed it. I remember I went through a durian guan (preserved durian) phase, and then, as a weight-conscious teen who could never quite get her body under control, a period of eating only yum (Thai-style spicy salads). Not to mention the times I openly despised Thai food, happy only when a plate of spaghetti was set in front of me. He made sure I got that, too, although I doubt he understood it. While he wasn’t the most demonstrative or touchy-feely of guys (his lengthy diatribes and “lectures” terrified all of my mom’s friends), he felt comfortable showing his love through making sure we were all happy with what we ate, that there was a lot of it, and that it was the best that he could find. From him, I inherit my deep love of coconut milk-rich curries, distaste for noodles at dinnertime, rugby ball physique, and apparent fondness for home entertaining. 

He didn’t go out often, but when he did, he had his favorites: one, the Chinese-Thai standby Pong Lee (10/1 Ratchawithi Soi 9), and for special occasions, Methavalai Sorndaeng (78/2 Ratchadamnoen Klang Road), which enjoyed its heyday while Elvis was still popular, and still features singers that may have been popular during that time, too. When I get back to Bangkok, I’m going to stop off there, and have a yum or two (or, let’s face it, three) in memory of him.

 

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