EatingAsia

Gat Luang Diaries V: Crispy Crullers and Deep-Fried Dragons

A well-made cruller is a thing of beauty. Which is why, should you find yourself in Chiang Mai, you should make your way to a lane alongside Don Lam Yai market called Soi Udompon, in the city's old Gat Luang neighborhood, where Ko Ning and his wife Daeng have been frying up some of the city's best for more than a decade. On busy days daughter Kwan helps out behind the fryer.

Everyday from 6am the pair, sometimes with the help of their daughter Kwan, roll and cut dough for bpa tong ko -- crispy and lightly salty double-sided "chromosome" crullers (so-called for their shape, by our English-speaking Chiang Mai friends) -- and sarapao tawt, slightly sweet puffs studded with black sesame seeds. Both make for a brilliant breakfast, taken alongside a glass of cold soy milk (warm soy milk is served in a small bowl), or a bowl of song kryang, warm soy milk with strips of fresh bean curd skin, barley and red beans. For sweet tooths, there's sankayaa, a lurid green pandan-and-coconut milk and egg spread that Malaysians know as kaya.

It's a busy spot, this stretch of pavement fronting weathered timber-doored shop houses next to Chiang Mai's oldest market.

In recent years it's become even busier, as word has spread -- by mouth, newspaper, and local TV -- of Ko Ning's cruller variation: the deep-fried dragon.

The dragon and Ko Ning's other animal shapes are actually themselves variations on his first deep-fried animal.

"Eight years ago I took my son to the zoo. He liked the crocodile so much that when we went home I made one from clay for him," he told us. "Then I wondered if I could do that with dough. My first try wasn't good. It wasn't a crocodile. It was more like a gecko."

Ko Ning's deep-fried crocodiles, dragons and dinosaurs are, predictably, popular with kids. Even big kids.

And they're big sellers. Ko Ning holds a Master's degree in managment and teaches at a vocational college in Nong Khai. That job is "for respect," he says, patting the rectangle of dough on his work table.  "This is the real income!"

Like any born innovator Ko Ning isn't resting on his laurels. When we were last in Chiang Mai he was experimenting with deep-fried dough-swaddled hot dogs.

Early reception for the dough weenies was looking positive, and Ko Ning was posed to add his newest creation to the menu. All he needed a catchy name. Our suggestion: Twisty Dogs.

The man looked doubtful. "I'll have to think about it," he said.

For more images -- some food, some not -- of Don Lamyai Market and the rest of Gat Luang, visit Dave's recently uploaded gallery, here.

Find what is surely one of Chiang Mai's tastiest, least greasy cruller -- and deep-fried animals -- every morning from 6am to about 10am, on the alley alongside Don Lam Yai market.

Gat Luang Diaries IV: A Punjabi Cook, and Gooseberries

Mr. Singh came to Gat Luang's Namdhari Sikh gurdwara from Bangkok and, before that, Punjab. For six years he's been priest and cook at this eighty-year-old center of Namdhari worship in the Gat Luang neighborhood.

When we first visited the gurdwara's kitchen last February, as part of our project to document daily life in this historic neighborhood Mr. Singh was back home in India, and the institution's weekly Friday dinner was prepared instead by a trio of female members. It was good, but there was something about the way our host at the temple spoke of Mr. Singh that made us want to revisit and see him in action.

His kitchen is spotless. Walking into the gurdwara on a Friday afternoon, we're encloaked in an intense  fugue of spices. I expect to encounter a corresponding tumult in the kitchen. Not so. Stainless steel gleams and light bounces off pristine white tiles. On the stove, big pots and a huge wok are arranged in a neat row, each perfectly centered on its burner. Prepared fresh ingredients sit in little bowls arranged tidily on a corner of the counter.

Mr. Singh works alone in the hot space preparing a five-dish meal for sixty, yet his kurta and pajami -- white, as Namdhari tradition dictates -- show no trace of perspiration, no splotches of stray curry.

He moves slowly, gracefully on bare feet, floating from burner to burner, between sink and refrigerator. He doesn't rush but everything gets done. When we arrive Mr. Singh is dicing his homemade paneer, holding a hunk of cheese in one hand and cutting it into cubes with a serious looking curved blade held in the other. The rest of the cheese sits on the counter, beautifully swaddled in a gauzy white scarf as if it had been styled for a photograph.

When he's finished dicing the paneer Mr. Singh deep-fries a few cubes, dusts them with garam masala, and offers us a taste. It's the best I've eaten. Made with milk taken that morning from cows at Chiang Mai University it's buttery and clean, without the rubbery texture that often plagues commercially made paneer. Then he offers hot samosa stuffed with curried potatoes, to dip into tangy tamarind sauce. And there is kheer, more of that creamy milk, lightly sweetened ("For us Indians it would be made sweeter," our host tells us.), laced with cardamom and floating vermicelli and a few tapioca pearls, served hot in metal bowls.

When we arrived Mr. Singh, with his heavy brows, full beard and lush moutache seemed remote and unapproachable, even a bit fierce. But as we praise his food his eyebrows shoot up and his face crinkles into a smile. He is proud of his skill in the kitchen. "You must return tonight for dinner," he says, and we will.

On the counter by the sink in the kitchen are a stainless steel pitcher of cool water and a bowl of amla -- Indian gooseberries -- a seasonal delicacy eaten with spicy dips by northern Thais. At first bite the hard, pitted fruit has no flavor, and then it's sour and bitter, with an astringent finish that sucks all moisture from the mouth.

When you eat this strange fruit water drunk afterwards tastes shockingly sweet. Mr. Singh likes to make amla into a chutney. "Next time you come," he smiles.

A Punjabi saying:

Amle Da Khada

Aur

Shyane Da Keha Bad

Vich Acha Lagdahaey

(Roughly translated for me, by our host at the gurdwara:

Just as the gooseberry has little flavor but makes water taste sweet afterwards, so you do not believe when an elder speaks to you, but learn later in life.)

Gat Luang Diaries III: The Other Side of Songkran

Last week marked our first Songkran in Thailand.

When we lived in Bangkok almost 10 years ago we fled to Hanoi in the lead-up to the New Year, staying away until the Thai capital returned to its normally torpid, hot-season self. If not for our continuing work in Chiang Mai's Gat Luang neighborhood we would have passed Songkran 2011 as we've passed every other Songkran that we've lived in Asia: far, far away from Thailand.

It's true -- there is a not-so-pretty side to Songkran. To whit: A furor broke out when three Thai girls were videotaped dancing topless in Bangkok. On Chiang Mai's Tha Phae Road a farang standing next to me suffered damage to her eye when a high-powered water gun was aimed at her face. (According to traditional Songkran etiquette splashing is for below the neck.) An obviously inebriated bikini-clad farang hopped onto a float in last Friday's provincial procession to the Chiang Mai governor's house. (Note: Thais are generally non-confrontational and unfailingly polite. Just because Thais do not tell you that your behavior is offensive does not mean that they don't think it.) A nationwide death toll of 271 between April 11 and 17, (The silver lining: that's down 25% from 2010.)

But there's another side to the Thai New Year as well.

We began the first day of Songkran by joining the members of Gat Luang's Namdhari Sikh temple in a ceremony marking the Sikh New Year, which begins on the same day as the Thai New Year. After prayers, some sung to the accompaniment of a harmonium and drums, we ate a Sikh New Year breakfast of chickpea daal, paratha, raita studded with bits of wheat dough, and sugar-soaked jelebi hot from the wok -- all prepared in the temple's kitchen.

Then more food -- in another local kitchen we learned to make several northern Thai dishes from the recipes of a family with connections to Gat Luang that go back more than a century. (Recipes will be included in the book, but look for one here later.) One of the dishes was gaeng hang lay, a Burmese-influenced pork and ginger curry that's soured with tamarind. Because it's cooked for half a day, it is considered special occasion food -- especially appropriate to the New Year celebrations.

We then hurried to Tha Phae Road for the annual procession of Buddha images. The statues are brought out from wats around Chiang Mai, paraded through the streets, and washed by observers with splashes of water from silvery cups. The procession finishes in the Old City, at Wat Pra Singh, and then each Buddha is carried back to its home wat.

The third day of Songkran is devoted to dtam hua -- paying respects and making merit. Wat Saen Fang sits on the edge of Gat Luang, set back from Phae Road. The wat's prayer hall and other buildings are Burmese in style, and the old wooden house that now serves as the monk's quarters was built by a Burmese family whose wealth came from the Chiang Mai logging trade.

Around 7am worshippers began arriving to make merit, first in the prayer hall -- for themselves and their living relatives -- and then in the entrance to the monk's quarters (the wat's abbott is pictured above). Some brought baskets of packaged foods, while others brought out pots and bowls from their car trunks and prepared trays of home-cooked dishes. (The opening photograph is an example of the latter -- gaeng hang lay is at about 11 o'clock on the silver tray on the right). An offering is made for each departed ancestor, whose name is written on a piece of paper and handed to the monk so that he can utter it during his prayer over the offering.

Finally, wat members plant paper flags in a sand chedi next to the prayer hall, to wish for a long life. The sand chedi are constructed the previous day (the second day of Songkran). They were once made from sand carried by by community members from the Ping River, but these days trucks make the sand delivery. Why the sand? Throughout the year earth is carried out of the wat as community members come and go. This is a way of returning what one has taken from the wat.

Dtam hua of a different sort took place in the afternoon of Songkran's third day. Every year each municipality in Chiang Mai sends representatives to participate in a procession to the Chiang Mai governor's residence. Partipants carry a variety of most agricultural gifts -- nowadays, mostly symbolic items such as dried betelnuts strung together in the shape of giant lotuses, or large trays of earth planted with herbs and vegetables. The procession starts in the Old City at the Three Kings Monument and ends on the governor's front lawn, where participants may join a line to be blessed by the governor.

Dtam hua is a Songkran tradition repeated in homes, workplaces, schools; the young dtam hua to their elders, staff dtam hua to their employers, students do the same to their teachers. And it's a tradition that northern Thais hold dear. This year Chiang Mai's newish governor -- a descendent of King Rama IV appointed, as most of Thailand's governors are, rather than directly appointed -- caused a stink by announcing that in order to avoid troubling the people on their holiday he would cancel this year's dtam hua procession. Vociferous objections arose from all directions, and the dtam hua procession was held as usual.

If you were in Chiang Mai this year and didn't get past the goings-on at the moat you might not know that Songkran is a deeply spiritual time for many Thais. We're thankful for these peeks at the other side of the Thai New Year. We might even return in 2012.

Gat Luang Diaries II: Old Hotels and Extinct Sodas

A resident pug welcomes guests to Gat Luang's Thapae Inn

This is the second in a series of posts culled from our efforts this year to document daily life in Chiang Mai's historic Gat Luang neighborhood. To learn more about the project, rwhich will culminate next year in a book to be co-authored with several Chiang Mai-ites and photographed by Dave, read the first entry in the series, here.

Trade made Gat Luang. Unlike 'old' Chiang Mai to its west -- that part of the city encircled by a moat and sections of crumbling wall -- Gat Luang was never a royal capital or a center of religion. Yes, its main market was built on the site of a royal crematorium and the neighborhood boasts a wat, two Chinese temples, and a Sikh gurdwara. But its raison d'etre has always been commerce.

Gat Luang sits beside the Ping River, which was once the main route along which goods were shipped between Bangkok, Chiang Mai, and beyond. When a railroad connected the Thai capital to Chiang Mai the river's importance as a transport route waned. But Gat Luang's three main markets -- Warorot, Don Lam Yai, and the sprawling wholesale emporium Naowarat -- are still going strong.

In a commercial neighborhood like Gat Luang traders and other business people come and traders go. They all need a place to stay. And so it should come as no surprise that in this historic area there are a few hotels with stories of their own.

      Khun Panee at the entrance to the Nakorn Ping, and chatting with staff

Like the Nakorn Ping, a lovely old inn at the very edge of Gat Luang built in 1954. When the hotel opened it was one of THE places to stay in town; attracting well-off Bangkok businessmen and even a nationally known folk singer. Now it houses primarily traders from the north who come to do business in Gat Luang and at nearby Myang Mai market.

"I'm a woman taking care of this hotel all by myself," says lively Khun Panee, who shared a few choice words about a couple of famous long-ago guests. She took the Nakorn Ping over from her father when she was 36 years old, and has recently put it on the market. She's tired and wants to enjoy her older days. I hate to imagine the hotel's dark teak floors polished by years of bare feet, and thick heavy teak doors, falling into unsympathetic hands.

No such plans are in the works for the over half century-old Thapae Inn, which nowadays is as popular with backpackers as it is with traders come to buy and sell textiles at one of Gat Luang's markets. Thirty-four year old Khun Tor's grandfather built the place and charged less than 10 baht per room when it opened.

The Thapae Inn isn't just a hotel, but a repository for Khun Tor's extraordinary collection of ... everything. From soda cans to portraits of the King and Queen, there seems to be nothing he doesn't collect. We spent a good hour browsing items stashed in every nook and cranny, on both floors of the hotel.

Just before I concluded my interview with Khun Tor my eye was drawn to a wall display of pop bottles. Dozens and dozens, all made in Thailand. It turns out that the 1930s was Thailand's heyday of soda production. Hundreds of brands of lemonade, orange 'crush', fruit pop, colas, 'polak milk', plain old aerated water were bottled and sold all over the country. According to Khun Tor most provinces -- most districts, even -- bottled their own. Then came foreign brands. Singha gained the upper hand in the aerated water stakes, and finally most local brands withered away.

What a sweet bit of Thai culinary history to stumble upon, tucked away in hotel we probably never would have known if not for the Gat Luang project. It makes us excited for what we'll discover next month in the 'hood.

(An interesting aside: very local soda production was also a big thing in Turkey. Turkish chef and culinary historian Musa Dagdeviren has researched and written on the phenomenon, and its recent revival, for his quarterly publication Yemek ve Kultur.)

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.