EatingAsia

In Mae Salong, a Bout of Illness, a Warm Welcome, and a Comforting Soup

On a crisp Wednesday morning in Fang we rose when the sky still bled black and blue, and walked the few blocks to the once-a-week, everything-sold-here market. We first hit this market two years ago while collaborating on a piece about Naomi Duguid's northern Thailand 'Immerse Through' cooking course/adventure (for the story and slideshow, which are are still online, go here). It's what I would call a "destination market", one that justifies the trip to Fang -- huge and heaving, drawing Thais and minorities from villages ringing the town. This year we had the added pleasure of wandering the market's aisles with a staff member from a nearby seed bank/agro-forestry center whom we'd met the day before.

After passing a splendid two hours browsing and tasting, taking notes and talking with vendors (more on the market to come) Dave and I and our new friend Ruth sat down to breakfast: Shan-style rice noodles doused with thick yellow bean 'soup', all garnished with Sichuan-ish la jiao (chili oil), cilantro, green onions, and garlic oil. I purchased 5 baht worth of pickled mustard greens from a nearby vendor to eat alongside our noodles. Such a warming, comforting way to end our Fang market tour.

After saying our good-byes Dave and I hurried back to our hotel to pack up. We were eager to be on the road to Mae Salong, a tea-growing town not far from the Thai-Burmese border that was settled in the 1950s by former Nationalist Army (Kuomintang / Guomindang) soldiers from China.

The drive from Fang to Mae Salong is easy, just a little over an hour. And it's beautiful: hills and swooping curves that straighten out to endless views over far northwestern Thailand's hilly, forested (and increasingly tea plant-terraced) terrain.

We had no guide book and no reservations, but soon after rolling into town we lucked onto a gem of a little hotel/guest house (one of the advantages of traveling off season), with a big upstairs room with a balcony. We unpacked, settled in ... and realized that we were ill. A "hairball" is what Dave and I call it, that feeling in the gut that something is stuck, not moving through the system as quickly and easily as it should.

So began the most unusual case of food poisoning we've experienced. There were none of the usual associated food-borne illness associated "pyrotechnics", no mad dashes to the bathroom. Just a pain that grabbed hold like a vice across across our mid-sections and got worse as the hours wore on, culminating in chills and fevers and then, in the early hours, drenching sweats. When we woke the next morning we knew that the worst had passed.

Except for one thing: the hairballs lingered. We weren't nauseous, but we had no appetite. None at all. And that didn't change for another 4 days.

So there we were in lovely Mae Salong, where we'd gone to taste tea and feast on Yunnanese food (those Nationalist soldiers were from Yunnan). There isn't a lot to do in the literally one-street town but trek the surrounding hills, visit tea plantations, and eat. But we were too exhausted to tackle for former, and without appetite for either of the latter. We napped. We read. We ventured out for 15 minute walks, and recovered with more naps.

But our lodgings came with a wonderful family. And here, perhaps, our bout of illness was a blessing in disguise.

Mom and dad, both descendents of those Nationalists from Yunnan, grow tea on the hills below their house and sell it (and other things) in the tea shop out front. Son Number One, in his mid-twenties, studied hotel and hospitality at university in Chiang Mai. He designed our very swank accomodations and is working on plans for an addition to the hotel. Son Number Two and his sweet shy wife manage the inn. There is also friendly mutt Jackie and irresistable English boxer puppy Yogurt.

When we first suspected something was amiss, I went in search of a slice or two of fresh ginger to to ease our stomach aches. Mom offered ginger tea instead, sitting us down in her tea shop and offering cup after cup. When we'd had enough she gave us the rest of her stash and insisted we take it to our room.

On Thursday evening we returned from a short walk. Headaches told us we were hungry but the noodles we'd eaten earlier in the day hadn't settled. We knew we should but couldn't think of anything that might appeal. Enter mom, to the rescue: "Would you like some tea? Go sit behind our house, there's a great view," she said.

We followed her to the family's rear verandah -- which was actually the heart of the house, the dining area connecting living and bedroom to the kitchen. We drank our tea and watched the sun set as a musical racket and tempting aromas drifted past our noses. Yogurt romped about our chairs and a table was set behind us. When mom announced "Chi fan le!" -- "Let's eat!" -- we didn't think to argue.

The meal certainly wasn't prepared with our tender tummies in mind, but it might have been. Simple dishes incorporating fresh vegetables, excellent locally made tofu, and just a bit of meat and fish -- everything tasted clean and healthy and good for us. The highlight: a familiar Chinese-style soup of dou miao (pea tendrils and leaves) in light broth.

We ate in small bites and conversed with our hosts. The next morning the scene was repeated over breakfast. With this family, who had been strangers less than 48 hours before, we felt welcomed, comforted, and cared for -- exactly what we needed in our recovery state, and everything we hope for as travelers.

 Comforting and Reviving Chinese Vegetable Soup

Serves 2 with a stir-fried or steamed dish (easily doubled, tripled, etc.)

Most every home-style meal in China includes a variation on this theme: a vegetable or several, perhaps an egg or two, in an uber-light meat-based broth.

I've heard foreigners equate this weak soup with "dishwater", but they miss the point. It's not meant to be the hearty centerpiece of a meal, but a digestion-aiding finish. It's also a great way, when serving a stir-fried dish, to add leafy vegetables to the meal without having to fire up the wok a second time. It makes a regular appearance on our table, especially if I'm making something as rich as this corn, edamame, and bacon stir-fry. I prepare the soup first, cook the greens (choy sum/yellow flowering mustard leaves usually) till not quite done, and set it aside while I stir-fry the main dish.

There's no real "recipe" -- it's open your own interpretation depending what's in season and what you have on hand. A bit of meat or vegetable stock to season the broth is preferred, but I sometimes substitute a ginger-tomato broth instead. When it comes to vegetables, feel free to mix and match a couple types. But don't overdo it -- simplicity should be the very essence of this dish. Keep the flavors straightforward and few.

Serve in one bowl at the center of the table so that diners can pull vegetables from the broth with their chopsticks. A ladle or two of broth drunk from your rice bowl (or clean bowls) at the end finishes the meal.

Broth:

1/4 cup any meat or vegetable broth combined with 2 cups water OR 2 inches ginger, sliced, boiled for 10 minutes in 2 1/2 cups water

1 tomato, thickly sliced or cut into thick wedges

2 or 3 green onions (scallions), sliced lengthwise

black pepper

salt (optional)

Vegetables:

One bunch (a big handful) leafy greens: pea tendrils, mustard leaves, bok choy, sturdy leaf lettuce, collards sliced very thin, etc.

1 egg, beaten (optional)

1. For the broth, combine water/ginger or water/meat broth mixture in a medium saucepan with tomato, green onions, a grind or two of black pepper, and a bit of salt if using. Bring to a boil, then cover, reduce heat, and simmer 2-3 minutes or until tomato has softened.
2. Add the leafy greens and continue to simmer until not quite cooked to your liking. If using the egg, bring the broth to a very low simmer, push the vegetables to the side of the pan, and pour the egg into the broth in a steady stream. It will "flower" into a sort of floating pancake. Let it solidify, then gently stir the broth to lightly break up the egg.
3. Serve with a stir-fried or steamed dish and rice.

Salad Days in Chiang Mai

Over the last few weeks Dave and I have developed what I would call a deep -- and hopefully abiding -- relationship with a guy who spends most of every day sporting protective eyewear.

We're not talking about a welder here (although some of the materials he handles can be as dangerous as a blowtorch). The safety goggles-wearing dude in question deals in food, not metal.

Much as we had our Fruit Guy in Istanbul, we now have our Somtam Guy in Chiang Mai. He can be found putting pestle to mortar most days of the week behind Warorot market, in a busy alley that runs alongside the impossible-to-miss Guan Yu temple.

We're not the only fans of this papaya pounder. Arrive within an hour either side of lunch and you could be looking at a wait of 30 to 45 minutes. The idle is more than justified by his product. Grab a seat at the "counter" attached to the front of his cart or at one of his red tables and cool your heels with an order of gai yang (grilled chicken) from the stall just down the alley or a cool Chinese sweet soup from the ladies at the cart adjacent his.

On offer here: somtam Tai (made with fish sauce and dried shrimp), somtam Isaan (sour and spicy, with pickled crab), somtam pbuu bplaa raa (sweetish, with pickled crab and super-fermented fish sauce), and somtam bpuu (sweetish but just with pickled crab). He also whips up cucumber somtam, dtam mamuang (green mango salad), and sup nawmai (Isaan-style fermented bamboo salad).

A perfect dtam mamuang (green mango salad), with cha om and wild pepper leaves

While his somtam Tai (our favorite; neither Dave nor I do pickled crab) is excellent, it's this guy's dtam mamuang and sup nawmai that really knock us dead. For the former he peels and shreds the green mango to order, pounding it with dried chilies, sugar, fish sauce, a bit of lime juice and a whiff of bplaa raa. Served topped with peanuts, the salad bears the barest suggestion of sweetness. It's drier than your average pounded salad -- great for wrapping in the the wild pepper leaves he serves alongside.

(Attention to detail here -- each salad comes with a different assortment of fresh leaves and vegetables.)

The fermented bamboo salad is simply out of this world. We adore sup nawmai but let's face it -- the dish can be overpowered by fermented bamboo's funkiness. But this guy ferments his own, and it's a notch above the rest, retaining much pre-pickle bamboo crunchiness and sweetness. The funkiness is a welcome back note in this sup nawmai, a twangy response to a bit of lime-y sourness, toatsed rice nuttiness, and as much heat as you can stand. Eat it with the accompanying mint leaves.

 

Sup nawmai (fermented bamboo salad)

We've only known our Somtam Guy for three weeks, but we saw each other almost every day. Dave and I knew that our relationship had taken a turn for the serious when our Somtam Guy stopped asking how hot and/or sour we wanted our order. Five chilies in the mango salad, four in the sup nawmai.

We think this might just be a long-term thing.

Somtam guy. From 11am till about 3 or 4, almost every day (his days off are unpredictable). Behind Warorot Market, Gat Luang neighborhood, Chiang Mai. Anything he makes is perfect with an order of grilled chicken from a stall down the lane.

Gat Luang Diaries: Cooking for the New Year

 

This week we're hopping around Thailand's far north (Fang the last two days, Mae Salong for the next two, and then ... ??), taking a break from the research we began last week in Chiang Mai's Gat Luang neighborhood.

If you read our Happy Year of the Rabbit post, you know that this year we're collaborating with several Chiang Mai residents on a book that will be published in commemoration of Warorot Market's 100th year. Warorot (and its sister market Don Lam Yai) anchor the neighborhood of Gat Luang. Though Chiang Mai's "old city" (located within the crumbling city walls) is in fact the city's oldest section, it is Gat Luang -- which is located right on the Ping River -- that has long been its commercial heart.

While our Thai colleagues pull together a "History" section for the book, Dave and I will be collecting "snapshots" of daily life in Gat Luang. After our first week "on the job" it's really begun to hit home what a complex area Gat Luang is -- a neighborhood of multiple ethnicities and religions, diverse businesses and commercial interests that date back decades, of long-timers and newcomers and sojourners just passing through.

While it was Gat Luang's food markets which initially drew us there seven years ago our interest in the area is widening with each day spent in the 'hood. So many people to meet, so many stories to tell, places and personalities of significance not usually noticed by the visitor.

For the purposes of Gat Luang Diaries -- a new EatingAsia series highlighting our experiences in the neighborhood, which we intend to update every few weeks or so throughout 2011 (look for a sidebar banner soon that will link to all Diary posts) -- we'll start with last week's "big event": Chinese New Year.

The majority of Gat Luang's residents trace some family ancestry back to China -- Chaozhou to be exact. The neighborhood has two Chinese temples. And last week, in the lead-up to the first day of the Year of the Rabbit, home kitchens were active with the preparation of food for merit-making in the home and at the temples.

Offerings may vary house to house, but only to some extent. Several items must be included, such as fruit, kanom (sweets), and proteins -- duck, chicken, and pork. For those who choose to prepare the latter themselves (as opposed to ordering out or accepting items prepared by friends or relatives) this means almost a half to a full day of cooking, depending on how many pieces are to be cooked.

As part of our research we sat in on the preparation of "the three proteins" (that's my own term, not an official Chinese New Year term) in one Gat Luang household. The lady of the house is a graceful and gifted cook, and with the help of her daughter-in-law she turned out gorgeously glossy five spice-cooked chickens, ducks, and slabs of pork belly.

This type of Chinese stewing is fairly standard (and not at all limited to the new year): chickens, duck, pork belly are cooked till very tender in water combined with sugar, soy sauce, dark soy sauce, five spice, cinammon, star anise and perhaps a few other items. In this household the Thai touch takes the form of galangal stuffed into the duck, and unrefined local brown sugar and a thick bundle of cilantro roots and stems added to wok.

What most struck me as I watched this woman patiently, and with evident love, teach her new daughter-in-law (married less than a year) how to prepare these all-important foods was her concern with appearance. Of course -- when you're offering something to the spirits, gods, and your ancestors it must look its best!

And so, before the raw ducks were cooked their feet and heads were carefully arranged (feet crossed over breasts, heads tucked in and beaks down). Then they were carefully slid -- breast down to fix their positions -- into the simmering scented bath. And after a couple of hours they emerged from the wok tidy and peaceful-looking, a beautiful addition to the New Year offerings tray.

 

Somtam Outside the Box

This will come as no surprise to you if you live or have travelled a bit in Thailand but somtam -- probably the mostly widely known Thai dish -- doesn't mean "green papaya salad". This 'salad' is less about ingredients and flavor profile (which vary Isaan to northern Thailand to central Thailand) than about a style of preparation: mixing a 'dressing' of sorts in a mortar and then 'pounding' vegetables and/or fruit into it with the pestle.

Our favorite somtam guy here in Chiang Mai (more on him later) lists 6 or 7 styles/types of somtam on his street cart menu -- three or four made with green papaya, one made with cucumber, another with green mango.

Elsewhere, there's carrot somtam and long bean somtam. There's fruit somtam, which I wrote about several years ago (it's fabulous -- give the recipe a try, here). And now, something I've been seeing more and more around Chiang Mai: corn somtam.

We first tried this tasty Thai way with corn last year at a shop near Chiang Mai's flower and plants nursery area. Since arriving in town over a week ago we've seen at least 3 or 4 mobile vendors selling the stuff, often in combination with grilled chicken. Corn somtam is made with cooked corn kernels and isn't as 'pounded' as the green papaya/mango versions -- exploded kernels do not a tasty corn salad make.

The thing about somtam -- it's so much easier to make than you probably think, and quick to make too, if you're using a main ingredient other than grated or cut papaya or mango. Yes, ideally it's done with a mortar and pestle, but it doesn't have to be. It's the perfect accompaniment to a heavier Thai dish or grilled chicken or pork. Here, it's often eaten on its own, maybe with sticky rice or kanom jeen (fermented rice vermicelli), as a late morning or mid-afternoon snack.

The best part -- it's entirely customizable. If you like it spicy, add more chilies. If you don't have fresh chilies, use dried. Fish sauce or bplaa raa ('super fermented' fish) or another fishy element -- pickled crab in Isaan, sometimes gapi (shrimp past) -- is essential, but lime juice actually isn't (northern Thai-style som tam is spicy and salty, but not lime-y). Soft Thai palm sugar is best, but if brown sugar is all you've got, go for it.

Think of somtam as you would any other salad -- simply a matter of mixing a 'dressing' to taste and throwing in what you like.

Corn Somtam

I'm not specifying ingredient amounts here because somtam is a personal thing. When I order somtam Tai (with lime juice, fish sauce, and dried shrimp rather than pickled crab or bplaa raa) I specify 'phet priaow' -- spicy and sour. But maybe you like yours sweet, or not so 'phet'.

You might start with 1 Tbsp fish sauce, 1 Tbsp lime juice, and 1 Tbsp sugar. Then taste and adjust to your own palate. Chilies are necessary for this somtam lover, but if you can't stand the heat leave them out; the same goes for garlic. Add dried shrimp if you like, just a tablespoon full or so. Unless you've got primo quality, relatively freshly dried shrimp, soak them in warm water first and rinse to get the salt off. To make your somtam, use a mortar and pestle -- or a bowl and a couple of spoons, plus the side of a knife for smashing some of the ingredients.

And play around with other ingredients such as cucumber (cut into thick matchsticks or wide ribbons), carrots, French beans, jicama etc. If you like, toss in a few cooked fresh shrimp at the end.

I clove garlic (if you like) ... or 2 or 3

chilies - fresh or dried

Palm sugar or brown sugar

Fish sauce

Lime juice

1 Tbsp dried shrimp (optional) -- soaked in warm water, rinsed and patted dry if not top quality

2 cups cooked corn (barely cooked -- don't use mushy kernels)

a few cherry tomatoes, cut in half lengthwise

grated carrot, if you like

a long bean or three, if you like

In a mortar, smash the garlic and chilies a couple times to release their juices (if you're using dried chilies you might cut them in half and then bash them a bit before throwing the garlic in). You don't want a pulpy paste here -- they should retain some shape. If you're not using a mortar, smash the garlic and chilies with side of a knife and throw them in a bowl.

Add fish sauce, lime juice, and sugar -- maybe equal parts to start. Mix it all up, then taste. Add more fish sauce, or lime juice, or sugar, or all three. Remember that the dressing will be diluted by juices from the veggies so make it on the strong-tasting side.

Toss in the shrimp if you're using them, and pound lightly. (Or smush them with the side of a knife and toss them into your salad bowl.) If you're using a mortar, add the tomatoes and bash lightly. No mortar? Squeeze the tomatoes lightly over the bowl the smush them a bit. Throw in the carrots and long beans (cut in 1-inch pieces) and lightly bash them in the dressing. If no mortar, smash the long beans with the side of a knife and throw them in with the carrots, then stir all in the dressing.

Add the corn and mix well. Ever so lightly tap the kernels with your pestle --- or press down lightly on some of the kernels with the spoon you're using to mix.

Serve with rice, or not (this makes a great, light-on-fat lunch).

 

Our Year of the Rabbit

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At Chinese New Year kanom kaeng (steamed sticky rice flour cakes) are sold everywhere in Chiang Mai's Gat Luang neighborhod

Yesterday the alleys of Gat Luang, the Chiang Mai neighborhood centered on Don Lam Yai and Warorot markets, smelled faintly of caramelizing sugar and five spice. Last night and this morning they were thick with folks on their way to make merit at Gat Luang's two Chinese temples. Families paraded in bunches and in single file, toting five-spice red-cooked whole ducks and chickens, slabs of pork belly, platters piled high with fruit, trays of kanom kaeng (steamed glutinous rice cakes similar to nian gao) and other goodies.

Today is the first day of Chinese New Year -- which in this predominantly Teochew Chinese-Thai neighborhood means cooking for spirits, ancestors, gods, relatives and friends. It also means firecrackers and lion dances, and air thick with smoke from smoldering paper offerings and thousands of incense sticks. This year, for us it's meant the opportunity to observe Gat Luang residents at home in the kitchen and at temple, in worship.

This trip to Chiang Mai is the first of many we look forward to making in the Year of the Rabbit. In 2011 Gat Luang celebrates its first 100 years, and we're honored to have been invited to collaborate with several locals on a year-long project to document daily life in this historic and fascinating market-centric neighborhood.

The culmination of all of our efforts will be a beautiful book on Gat Luang -- its history and living culture (markets, residents, economy, and yes, food) -- photographed by Dave, with text by me to accompany the photos. The end of 2011 or early 2012 will see an exhibition of Dave's photographs from the project. (Both book and photos will be available for purchase.)

Throughout 2011 we'll occasionally update you on our progress here and on the EatingAsia Facebook page, posting glimpses of this wonderful community in the form of out-takes from the book (and perhaps a few recipes). We'll also alert you to centenary happenings in Gat Luang.

(In the meantime, have a look at a slideshow and article on Gat Luang that we did last year for food and wine website Zester Daily, here.)

Gong Xi Fa Cai, everyone -- Happy Year of the Rabbit! Ours is off to a great start, and we hope yours is too.

 

 

More Turkish Anchovies, and a Recipe

In our latest piece for food and wine website Zester Daily: more on anchovy season in Turkey and the threats posed to the Black Sea's anchovy stock, plus a slideshow and a recipe for anchovy pilaf. If you're lucky enough to have fresh anchovies to hand (sardines might be a decent subsitute), give it a try!

Read the story here.