Around the World in 80 Dinners - Bill Jamison [64]
Despite our failure to locate these two cafés on our own, we do find three others that Bob recommends. It takes a little diligence in each case. Som Tam Polo, aka Polo Fried Chicken, requires the least effort since it’s near the large Polo Club grounds, marked on all maps. The problem for us, at least the first one, is picking the right side street, Soi Polo, not identified for the public in any way we can decipher. Our second guess turns out to be correct, evident only when Cheryl spots a painted picture on a storefront window. “That looks like a Thanksgiving turkey on a platter, but maybe it’s a chicken.” Walking over for a closer gander, we notice the place’s English name in inch-high letters.
Bob dubbed it “Polo Fried Chicken” years ago when he raved about the three-table stall in his Bangkok Post column. Since then, the cook-owner has added a regular dining room of sorts down the street, a simple space with the “turkey” poster outside and glaring overhead lamps inside for a decidedly non-subdued style of lighting. In place of a drinks list, liter-size plastic bottles of Pepsi and water sit on the tables for guests to pick and pour at will. A waiter brings us a place-mat-size picture menu with the half-dozen dish options, which include shredded fried beef and larb moo, minced pork with chile and other seasonings. Both of us point at the fried chicken and a green papaya salad. He scribbles the choices on a pad and hustles out the front door, heading to the kitchen that remains in its original location.
The waiter returns shortly with a tray of condiments: an ample bouquet of fresh basil worth more in the United States than the entire $6 lunch, a cabbage pickle, and a couple of nam priks, one reminiscent of a Mexican salsa made with cascabel chiles. Next come generous plates of crispy chicken pieces showered with chewy fried garlic slivers. At home, we would eat this by hand, but instead we follow the lead of Thai diners by cutting off morsels with a fork and maneuvering them onto a spoon for munching, like a two-step country dance: first a taste of chicken, then a nibble of the intensely anise-scented basil. When Bill branches out to the fiery papaya salad, he almost detonates his mouth by chomping down accidentally on a whole chile, mixed freely into the fruit medley along with dried shrimp for salty tang and tomatoes and green beans for crunchy sweetness. Except for that inadvertent bite, everything glows with unmitigated goodness.
The same holds true at Rut & Luk, a seafood eatery in Chinatown near the intersection of Yaowarat Road and Soi Phadungdao, oddly nicknamed “Soi Texas.” Our information puts the restaurant on one of the four corners, but no such luck. It turns out to be down a side street, a rudimentary kitchen on the ground level, completely open in the front, with big washtubs used for cleaning plates. Without any place to eat, it looks weird and bewildering, as our expressions probably do to the cooks staring at us from inside. One of them finally gestures to us to come in and go upstairs, so we tromp past the tubs, fish, and other ingredients to get to another brightly lit dining room.
Except for a couple at one table, we’re the first to arrive on a Sunday evening, though the space fills up completely within thirty minutes. The menu is mostly in Thai but contains some pictures, allowing us to identify the specialty we want, a whole fish baked in foil with loads of black pepper and garlic. We each order one of these, a beer, and an oyster omelet, a popular side dish in Bangkok. It’s a hearty bellyful for both of us, wonderfully fresh and flavorful.
Chote Chitr impresses us even more. None of our maps show its street of record, Phraeng Phouthon, but we know