Around the World in 80 Dinners - Bill Jamison [63]
Good taste isn’t always easy to find in Bangkok, at least not if you’re looking for the distinctive and characteristic flavors of real Thai cooking. The same friend who put us in touch with Vithi suggested that we seek eating-out guidance from Bob Halliday, an American who has lived in Bangkok for most of the last four decades. A food, film, and music buff, he studied Russian and James Joyce at Columbia University before moving to Thailand, where he quickly learned the language with a fluency that startles locals. Over the years Bob has written extensively for the Bangkok Post about his favorite subjects, including modern composers and places to find good Thai food. During a long stint as the newspaper’s restaurant reviewer, he worked anonymously under the self-deprecating pen name of Ung-aang Talay, meaning “Sea Toad.”
Having read about Bob in articles on Bangkok, we knew him by reputation before our friend gave us his phone number and encouraged us to call, which Bill did before we left home. Friendly and down-to-earth, Bob said he would be happy to join us for a meal and talk about Thai food, but that he was tied up judging a film festival early in our stay. Bill scheduled a dinner with him for one of our last nights in town, and for our eating pleasure before then, confirmed that Bob still liked several spots that he had recommended highly in the past according to our research. He also advised us to try street-food stands, particularly in the evening, going to areas where they are concentrated, such as Chinatown. “Find the most popular vendors and get what the other customers are buying, even if you don’t know what it is.” We’ve been intending to do just that, but get waylaid by the rain in trying to follow the plan.
On the appointed night for our dinner together, Bob picks us up at The Oriental and takes us to Raan Jay Fai, a tiny, fluorescent-lighted eatery at the corner of two streets, completely open to the breezes on both sides. A few days earlier at lunchtime, we had searched in vain for this and an adjoining place, but neither was open then and even with the exact addresses, we found nothing to indicate the presence of restaurants. Bill asks Bob about the situation, and he says, “It’s tough for a visitor, even the most intrepid.” He agrees with Vithi that most restaurants with Thai menus serve bland tourist food, and for authentic fare, you have to seek out small cafés with home cooking. “Many of them are in out-of-the-way locations and don’t even have names.” But even if you make it to one despite the obstacles, if you don’t know Thai, ordering becomes a problem.
At least we’ve found Raan Jay Fai with Bob’s help and can place our requests through him. He greets the owner and cook, a wiry, elderly woman, and tells her we all want the house specialty, pad khee mao, broad rice noodles combined with a wealth of seafood. She takes several steps back to her kitchen—three fiery gas burners and a charcoal brazier just outside the building on the slower of the streets—and jumps into action with surprising speed and dexterity. She puts water in a wok and brings it to a boil over a burner, adds the noodles by themselves briefly, and then in stages, tosses in prawns, calamari, chunks of fish, fresh hearts of palm, and red chile. After a little simmering, she pours off the water into another wok, fries the noodle mixture a bit, places some of the cooking liquid back, and stirs in coconut water from a young coconut with some of its jelly-like meat. That’s it—and it’s glorious. The noodles remain slightly chewy, the seafood shines, and the simple flavorings bring everything together in resounding harmony.
As we leave, Bob spots a street-food stand a few doors away selling sweets. He wants to get desserts for the three of us and selects a steamed rice-flour disk stuffed with banana custard and coconut milk, as well as a folded banana-leaf pouch filled with a steamed mixture of coconut, coconut milk, and palm