EatingAsia

Chiang Mai: Gat Luang Markets for Feast Magazine

The best ruammit ever, in Gat Luang's Don Lam Yai Market

In addition to our cross-country American travels in March and April, for the last few months we've been in the thick of a time-consuming project (more of which we'll speak/write later). At any rate -- that's our excuse, or one of them, for the shortage of new content here. I (Robyn) hope to have my life back, and to return to the blog with something worth waiting for, next week.

In the meantime, here is our feature story on the markets of our beloved Gat Luang neighborhood, in Chiang Mai, for the April 2012 issue of SBS Feast magazine (Australia). We hope this piece conveys how special this place has become to us -- a second home, really. (Click each page to enlarge.)

Many thanks to the folks at Feast for doing such a beautiful job with the layout. We look to forward to working with them again.

For those of you heading up to Chiang Mai, the Hit List on the final page highlights some of our fave eats and shopping spots in the 'hood.

More next week. Thanks for hanging in there.

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.)

Seasonal Somtam

Chiang Mai in August is not Chiang Mai in February.

In August the air -- relatively clean, with not a trace of dry-season smoke or dust -- is heavy with moisture. You love those steely gray clouds, you pray for them. Even torrential rain is tolerable, certainly preferable to blue skies. Because when the sun comes out it's so clammy-hot that sweat begins dripping from your earlobes in minutes.

Chiang Mai markets in August are not Chiang Mai markets in February. The result of monsoonal rains is evident in the mushrooms, mushrooms everywhere. Last month we cooked, in our adopted apartment, bushels of petite chanterelles and a few other varieties varieties of mushrooms I can't name, often with tender curlicue-tipped gourd vines displayed in fist-thick bundles by seemingly every other seller at Muang Mai market.

We ate no mangoes, but devoured plenty of school bus-orange sour starfruit picked in someone's home garden and sold from a basket in front of a travel agency on Tha Phae Road. The travel agency owner also offered up bushel baskets of fresh santol -- a tart, somewhat astringent fruit with vanilla to blush pink flesh and velvety peach-fuzzed skin -- and had a refigerator case stocked with homemade santol jam (delicious stirred into fresh yogurt) and santol pickled with chilies. Last month in Chiang Mai the vanilla scented watermelon we purchased every evening outside Don Lam Yai market in April were scarce; our preferred vendor proffered green guava instead. And carts laden with pomelos lined up in the lane behind Warorot market.

Some of the rainy season's bounty finds its way into seasonal somtam. To sample a salad made with santol -- which is gatawn in Thai, ba dtun in northern Thai -- we payed a visit to our regular somtam guy, in the alley next to Bpu Bpia temple (behind Warorot market). Dtam ba dtun is what we ordered ("pounded" santol), and asked him to exclude the salty preserved crab he usually pounds into his version. Into his big mortar went the fruit, meticulously cleavered into thin slices, as well as sugar, a bit of lime, chilies, and several mini ladles of bplaa raa.

What came out of the mortar was a surprisingly rich dish of soft-ish fruit thickly coated with a fishy "dressing" reminiscent of that which cloaks anchovy-heavy Caesar salad. For us fishiness is not a bad thing, and the dressing played nicely off the assertive tartness of the fruit. We picked our way around pieces of pit and ate our dtam ba dtun with morning glory (water spinach) stems and sliced cucumber to tame the heat of the salad's fresh green chilies.

After a week of searching off and on for dtam som-o (pounded pomelo) -- the fruit is a favorite of Dave's, who is especially enamored of tart-sweet Thai pomelos -- we found it on our last morning in town at a row of stalls across the moat from Chiang Mai old town's Somphet market.

This was a fairly straightforward dish: pomelo pounded to near bits with green chilies, fish sauce, a bit of bplaa raa (at our request) and a little lime. Quartered green golfball eggplants added a hint of of bitterness. Overall the dish was bracing, refreshing, just the thing on a soggy-sticky late morning during northern Thailand's wet season.

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: 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.

 

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.