Peter Green

Austin is spot on. One option, instead of quartering them, I've often seen them added crowned, that is, carve off the top with wedge cuts, exposing the seeds and flavour inside, while retaining the overall shape.

Another rule from my walking, talking reference: Soup goes on the right of the setting, rice in the middle of the setting, banchan in the middle of the table. As to the crab soup, her reaction is a bemused "I would eat the crab". I can attest to this from past history. She and her friend brought a restaurant in India to a hushed silence as they broke and crunched through the carapace. That horrible cracking sound. I still have nightmares.

Okay, I'm back with my books. The version I do at home is lifted out of Sodsook's True Thai (1995), and it's something I get around to a couple of times a year. This is named as an Ayutthaya recipe, and is a mixed seafoood, so it just goes as Haw Mok Talay. I do this is a steamed version, which I kind of like for the presentation and the colours that you get out of it, but Sodsook, like Austin, calls for grilling. The flavours also change slightly compared to the grilled version, and the smells are very different (I prefer the smell of the grilled, I do admit). Both are excellent. I'm a lot lazier than Austin, and will just buy a package of red curry. Anyways: For the mousse: 1/4 lb fish fillet (white, mild flesh) 3/4 lb shrimp peeled, cleaned, and minced 1/2 lb fresh crabmeat (make someone else get the meat out!) 16 kaffir lime leaves julienned (remove the centre strip, roll, and slice thin) 5 mild red chilies, stemmed and sliced 19 oz of coconut milk 1 cup of red curry paste (pick your favourite) 3 eggs 4 tablespoons of palm sugar 4 tablespoons of nam pla More stuff: banana leaves Thai basil (but I'll use what I can find) nasty little red chilis - stemmed, seeded, and sliced into slivers wooden skewers coconut cream Food processor time! Mix the fish to a smooth paste, scraping down the sides a couple of times as you go. Move the fish paste to a large mixing bowl, and manually work in the crab, shrimp, and everything else. It should be fairly wet in the mex, and have a nice goopy feel. Put the stuff into a saucepan and cook for a couple of minutes until it starts to thicken. Cut the leaves and fold them into small boxes (okay, obviously I don't do this part myself. I'm a klutz). Play with sheets of paper until you get the right dimensions, then template from these (or get the skilled hands of a Korean to fold for you). at the bottom, layer a couple of leaves of the basil. Then dump a packet of the mousse on top of this. Then put a tablespoon of coconut cream on top, and top this with a cross of red chili slivers. Then fold it closed, and seal with two wooden skewers in an x-closing. Steam this for about 15 minutes (adjust depending on how big you've made the servings) These look really, really pretty when you open them up......I should make some more soon.

The term "moutai" is one of those branding things that is passing into common parlance. Like Ketsup. It's easier to tell people they're drinking moutai than to go into the specific details of which other brand it is, where it comes from, etc. As you point out, it would be better to be generic, and say something like "white spirits" (although that does evoke images of Casper and his cousins in the haunted house.....). As such, distillation standards can vary quite heavily, and there's a lot that can go wrong in the heads and tails that don't get tossed at the right points. Myself, I cannot say that I am a big fan of Chinese white spirits. And this is coming from a man who spent an evening drinking bottles of what turned out to be Vietnamese cough syrup. The spirits are harsh, with little mellowness, and a backbite that can have you on all fours howling at the moon in the parking lot of the Great Wall Restaurant #8 in Zhou Zhou.....ignore that last statement. I also agree with the earlier statement that these things are inflated in price for face value. While I would take exception on the part of the teas (there are some excellent teas to be had, and they will cost you quite a bit) these spirits are a fairly straight distillation run, so there's not a lot of care or scarcity in ingredients. That's my two bits.

Thank you very much for the excellent writing and glorious pictures (particularly of cheese). My appetite is restored (at least for the nex four meals).

Julian, Please do a post on Le Bouchons. I may have to go back to KL on business again, and I need to start building a portfolio of places to graze at. Cheers, Peter

I'll try and get to Dosa King for one of my lunches tomorrow before I have to head to the airport. I figure with a 6 p.m. flight, I can manage three small meals tomorrow besides lunch before I have to check out. I'm already two days behind in this, not yet having covered the M. Chapoutier dinner on Tuesday, or last night. So many meals, so little time.

I come out firmly in favour of metal. As my significant other explains, as a Korean and as a food scientist, metal chopsticks are just more hygienic (unless we go disposable, but let's be "greener" about things, shall we?). Metal can be taken to temperatures quite easily that will kill anything, wood can be a pain (although there's all that business about wooden cutting boards being safe, too). When I travel in odd spots with questionable hygiene, I generally carry a couple of light metal pairs with me. I can boil these if needs be. I got a few stares from the Mongols, but I just told them I was Korean. Then they stared more. Oh, well. Second point, traditionally all Koreans are given a silver spoon and pair of chopsticks at birth. Our kids all have sets. When I get home I'll have to get a shot of the set of 10 I had made in Phnom Penh. Solid silver, with a wonderfully heavy hasp to them, backloaded about 20gm. I cheated and had them slightly corrugate the tips. All my Korean in-laws are in envy of these.

When you find yourself spending time in Bangkok cursing over the image posting process so you can get your latest stuff up rather than out on the streets....... I think I need professional help (and I don't mean with the image posting).

'Eid and the Angels - Part 3 - Moving On Up I awake at dawn to the great phallus of Wat Arun tumescent beyond my bedroom window. Now that’s a great line to open with. Dawn and things are stirring. I would’ve liked to have been able to say that my razor sharp mind had snapped me awake at just the right time to appreciate the morning calm….but,…basically,…..it was the rooster. I’d been struck last night by how quiet the neighborhood was, and this morning was no exception. Except for Foghorn Leghorn down there, not a creature was stirring. The river was quiet, with not a longtail in earshot. Serenity. (Later, from my friend Pom, I was to learn that the neighborhood was quiet because it was considered one of the more dangerous parts of town, and nobody really wanted to be out from under cover). I was, it appeared, a prisoner, as I discovered when I try to head out for the early light. No one was in reception to unlock the doors. Nothing to be done for it but to retreat back up stairs, plug the kettle in outside (they’re the only electrical outlets that the kettle’s cord can reach) and wait in anticipation of my first cup of Nescafe of the trip. Why is it, with the bountiful coffee plantations of Vietnam, the exquisite coffees of Laos, and perfectly good quality beans coming from Doi Tung, that all we ever seem to be able to come up with in hotels is Nescafe? As I waited for the boil, fond memories come back of other places I’ve been locked-up in. Hotel Linh, in Saigon. Still one of my favourite trips, even if the food was mediocre (I am not the greatest fan of Vietnamese cuisine, having laboured over a decade in one such restaurant). That place in Siem Reab back in the 90’s where the staff blocked the doors with their beds in case the place was attacked. This is the price you pay for “boutique”, I suppose. Ah, 7:15 and there was life down there, somebody cleaning the deck. Across the street the old lady had her stall open and was brutalizing the remains of a fish with her cleaver. Then she would wade out through the shin deep water backing up from the Chao Phraya to do the dishes with her grand daughter. By 8 a.m. I feel up to navigating the staircase again. I found the door open a crack, and slipped out into the morning. I turned right at the top of the soi, and walked towards the vegetable market – the Pak Klong talaat It was a little later than I would’ve liked, but things were still lively. Women were collected in bunches doing things to bits of green; men manhandled their mountainous loads of lettuce on dollies. And then there’s that beautiful light, the sort that tumbles in from the odd cracks (and gaping holes) in the roof, dancing and falling with dust amid the broken slats of wood and mud within the rigid confines of its shafts and beams. Potatos were meshed and carefully handled like fine bottles of wine. Chilies are pilled in mounds, and the sizes range from the tiny rat turd and bird chilies, to gargantuan red things that glare evilly at me from their mounds. A garlic shop sells ten different types of garlic. Banana leaves are available by the cubic meter (what would you do with a cubic meter of banana leaves, I wonder? Steam a whole pig? Maybe I could do something with a hor mok muu approach, or a Northern preserved pink pork…….? Closer by the river it was a choice of footwear. Gumboots or nothing. I picked my way carefully from islet to islet, while the working crowd dutifully waded through. The river at this point had flooded things to a depth of a foot or so. A matter of concern for my Rockports, but much less serious than what I’d feared. High tide in the the Gulf of Siam was scheduled for the 23-26th, which, if the rains kept up, would push all the drainage back up to my thighs in Sukhumvit. Last October I’d been trapped in a taxi on soi 24 watching as the water slowly filled the bottom of the taxi and grasped towards my pant cuffs. But, it seemed, we’d escape that this time. Little Chinese shrines dot the place. Stuffed into a shophouse front up the soi from my hotel, Kuan Yu menaces passersby with his halberd. And in the middle of the market there’s a pretty little Thai shrine open to the sky, again with that beautiful light and dust falling upon it. Coming back, I stopped by another boutique. This one called Aurum, and looking very sleek, almost like something pulled out of the Middle East, with granite counter tops and faux Grecian stylings. I wonder if they have a pool? But near to them is a small café fronting the river. I stop in and order a double Americano to recover from the Nescafe trauma I was still trying to shake off. The barista was much more competent than my Thai, and he delivered a good black coffee which I lingered over as I contemplated the river. From there, it was time to return to the hotel for a shower, and a rest in bed, savouring the comfort of clean sheets and horizontality, taking in Wat Arun through the window as I rehydrated myself. My friend, Pom, had called the day before and was insistent that she take me from Arun Residence to the Emporium. I explained that access would be difficult, but she was insistent. I told her access down this soi would be close to impossible, but she wasn’t taking no. I gave up. I packed (a moment’s work, given that I had barely unpacked), and then popped back into the Deck for lunch. I was after the softshell crab burger with the pesto mayonnaise. When it came, it clearly fell into that category that your mother warns you of. Don’t try to eat anything bigger than your head. I solved this conundrum by breaking it into two open faced burgers, as there were two crabs in there. The mayonnaise was good, but I must say I didn’t ttaste very much of a pesto in it. But the crabs were great, crunching as my teeth rended in, giving up squirts of juice with each chomp. I took my time, until Pom called to say that she was up at the top of the soi, and couldn’t make it through all the cars. I changed into my clean, yellow King’s shirt. There’s some controversy over Farang wearing these. Most of the controversy stems from other farang, as the shirts I have are gifts from my Thai friends, and they quite expect to see me in them on Mondays (at least). Pom picked me up at the top of the soi, and we dropped in at the S&P across from the River House. A meal of laab pork, som tam, noodles with green curry, and rice with sweet Chinese sausage. Comfortable food. The laab gave a coarse texture, with the bite of the north east. The som tam was tomato, done in the Thai style as opposed to Issaan. The rice was smooth and warm to the palate, blending things and taking away the bite, and the noodles were pleasant. A bite of the rice noodle, a bit of the fried whatever it was, a crisp basil leave, a bit of egg, and a spooning of the curry over the top. After lunch, and getting out of the parking lot (I have too many grey hairs to take up parking in Bangkok. There’s way too much double and triple parking for my liking), we headed back up to the Emporium. I was home. Like a monk, I can be a creature of habit. I like the Emporium for its size,, and I love it for its view. On the 37th floor I look out over Benjasiri Park and the expanse of the city. At night, when it lights up, I can stare for hours…..okay, I exaggerate, but I can easily kill a beer or a glass of Chardonnay while taking in the landscape. And I was so, so happy to have a shower that I could use without a background in yoga. I showered, swam, and hit the street, or rather, the mall. I stayed in the a/c, traversed the hall of the Emporium office towers, and slid into the Emporium mall, where I bee-lined to the gourmet mart upstairs. I really need a kitchen in Thailand. That and a lot more time. But that ‘ll come to pass sooner rather than later, I suspect. Beers were at the Londoner, of course. I was meeting with my director, P, and we were going to go over the current status on our film, discuss future projects, and mainly drink a lot. We sat at Frank’s Corner. Frank was a longtime resident here, and a good man to talk to. He passed away just a few months ago. I won’t try to argue over the Londoners’ cream bitter. It’s not a proper cream bitter, perhaps, but I like it, and I’m going to continue to drink it. So there. I wasn’t too keen on the egg part, but biting in it was very much like biting into a good dumpling. The outer skin was fried up but inside it had overtones of, like I said, dumpling, but also slightly of warm spam. Happy hour at the Londoner is 2-for-1, so we stayed for our usual six or eight pints, and then headed out. We’d discussed our dining options, and P, from the South of England, held that Khazama had the best Indian food to be found in Bangkok. Now, as airline food is sometimes considered the national cuisine of England, you may question my putting a matter of this importance into the hands of a son of Albion. But he and I have eaten before. When I was last in London, I met up with him, and his first recommendation for food was identical to mine – St. John. So I know I cant trust my palate to him. In the rain we hailed a taxi up Sukhumvit to Faces. This Balinese inspired complex hosts Thai, Indian, and Balinese outlets, as well as an attractive little bar. Entering, and meandering through the expanse, it does feel like Bali; like the Dirty Duck or Poppies in Ubud. Lots of really lovely wood, staggered layers, and the nice conceit of wrapping inside and outside around each other, with no clear boundary (other than the a/c and the reflections in the glass) of where one ends and the other begins. We ordered more beers, to maintain continuity, and then looked at our choices on the menu. I opted for the raita and the palak paneer, and Paul chimed in with prawns in a red tamaraind curry, and mutton in a karma. All savoury, and perfect to go with some naan and kulcha. The dishes came out as saucy as we’d hoped. And the breads were just right, a crisp outside, but with a pull to the texture inside. We rampaged through the meats and cheese, and then mopped up the remnants. After dinner, we dropped down to check out their bar, another beautiful piece of work. I had something limey and alcoholic called a Bangkok Boom, and P took something less technicolour. As a comment on bodily waste (you knew this was coming) they did have a very nice washroom, with ice in the urinals, something that just brings out the competitive nature in most males. I’d first noted this in Sharkey’s in Phnom Penh, where large bricks were put down to keep the odours non-toxic. It was good to see it here. We followed this with some more beers, (Heinikens and Tigers- I would’ve had to go further back down Sukhumvit to find Beer Lao). We had some discussions about the film - now showing in Singapore under a new title – The Possessed. We couldn’t quite figure out the title change, and there were some other issues, I am certain, that were of great concern to us. I think there’s going to be a sequel. I seem to recall getting home and explaining to the guard at the Emporium how a rose could be a lethal offensive weapon.

It's been wayyyyyy too long since I was in Vietnam, so I could hardly hazard a guess. The banana blossom salads I've had lately were in Chiang Mai, and the blossom had been cooked slightly. As with a lot of things here, there were plenty of chilis in the mix to wake me up,but the background flavour of the blossom still stood out, along with that texture I like. A really neat banana blossom dish was in Singapore at the WGS this year. Justin Quek did a stuffed banana blossom. He was looking for something that would allow him to indulge in the flavours and smells of Singapore, while still delivering a good European style product. Great texture in the blossom, and wonderous smells and flavours. At least if the Dear Leader were to pop one, it would be an excuse to go to Yong-san. I always found it so bizarre, going from the 12 floor world just outside the wire to the classic middle-American Everywhereville that you have on the base. Plus the choice of restaurants felt like you'd been back in the Midwest somewhere in the 70's. I do recall there was one club there that had a couple of great Belgain brews, and none of the service men would go near them because they were charging $1.50 as opposed to the $1 Budweisers...... Now I'm getting nostalgic again.

I second the cautioning statement. I made the mistake of laughing once as I put back a shot of the Beijingerrrr brand. It came out my nose. It took about three days before my sinuses stopped bleeding.

‘Eid and the Angels – part 2 – arrivals The new airport. I’d grown so accustomed to Don Muang that I’m disoriented. No golfers by the taxi-way. Only endless factories and container yards. And swamp…..okay some things are the same. The airport, contrary to much of what’s been said, runs well. I was in, through customs, and had my bags within about 15 minutes. Jetway worked, no need for bussing. And my driver was there and waiting for me. A short walk through the concrete and steel, and we’re at the car. Driving in is where I really get lost. No more Baiyoke to navigate by. My friendly billboards I’ve come to recognize aren’t there. The Rama Gardens don’t flash by, nor does the Eastin Hotel. Instead I have the Cobra Swamp, trees going into the centre of the motorway like plugs going into a bald man’s head, and an odd, forlorn string of mosques, in various stages of construction along the freeway. And then the freeway ends, and it’s the grand game of traffic. But that’s okay. I’m just one big grin staring out the window as we pass the Golden Mount, and Democracy Monument. I see more restaurants I need to try. My hotel, Arun Residence, is down on the river, across – like “right across” - from Wat Arun, and an alms bowl’s throw from Wat Po. I sit now in their restaurant, chilling out in the a/c, watching the temple, and noting the medium sized monitor lizard that just slipped into the water. Big boy. I remember once, long ago, we’d questioned if anything lived in the river. Then we saw the fishing going on. Then we thought of the fried catfish we had eaten earlier. End of questions. There are distinct signs of flooding. Some of the sidestreets we passed are still underwater, and the telltale sandbags and stepping stones are plentiful, even buttressing the front of the hotel’s restaurant. The rooms here are very pleasant, although I caution you that if you’re water buffalo sized like me, the shower can take some careful navigating. But the place has great charm, and the view from the verandah I have is, well, special. You look down, and you see the half dozen tables and the river. There’s not a great deal of set back. You also see Wat Arun up close and personal. And the room is well appointed. There’s the usual mitch match of wiring, but it’s fitted into the look well enough. And the bed and I are going to spend some quality time together after that flight from Bahrain. Once I had the room settled, I went walkabout. My first stop was lunch. I was back to Ton Pho. This used to be one of my favourite spots on the river, right beside the Phra Athit pier. But, I was back. And things werent’ going well. First they were out of the banana blossom salad. Then they told me they didn’t have any clams. Then the frogs weren’t there. Heck, I was wondering if I had to bring my own mower if I wanted their yard grass salad. I finally settled on a yam (salad) of tamarind leaves and prawns; soft pork neck braised in red curry and basil; and fried coconut tips with prawns. This last one I find delicious, and there’s a certain frisson that comes in appreciating that they have to use up a whole tree to get the coconut tips. The salad came nice and leafy, with enough fibre to keep me going until I’m in my 60’s (What does Miss Manners say about flossing at the table?). The pork neck was delightfully soft, giving way as you bit in and relished the warmth of the creamy curry it had been fried in with the chilis. And the coconut tips did what I needed them to do. They provided a mellow undertone of sweet and crispness against the diverse heats of the other two dishes. A bit of sour, a bit of sweet, a bit of sharp, a bit of soft. The service, with the exception of the main waiter who recognized me, was generally surly. And, as I looked around, I found the demographics heavily farang weighted. That didn’t use to be the case. You could always count on a few teachers from nearby Thammasat University, but otherwise the backpacking crowd stayed away from here and kept their trade to spaghetti joints. And there, on the table right in front of me was the damning evidence that this place had definitely gone farang. They had paper napkins. You know when a Thai restaurant gives up on the little squares of toilet paper jammed into a plastic cup that they’ve gone upscale. Ah, a cruise boat just went by playing luuk thung (country – Issaan music) . Must be a Thai charter, ‘cause I can hear them singing along. I should explain my setting at this point. It’s 10:30, and I’m up on my balcony with a Maekhong coke and an emergency can of beer Chang. If something goes horribly wrong, with the Maekhong, I can quickly pop the tab on the Chang and re-establish order. Wat Arun, across from me, is lit up magically, all sepia tones. Down the river, Wat Kalayanimit is likewise done up. And further down from that is the albino edifice of the old stupa. The floods leave their mark, a continual play of light reflecting back and showing the river flexing its muscles in corded ribbons (not bad, eh?) There’s the odd cruise boat, and the occasional tug, but life on the river has gone dormant now. As has life on the street. This part of town goes to bed early, it would seem, which suits me fine, as the sound proofing here isn’t going to stop much. Okay, enough scene setting….damn, it’s pretty out there. Back to the eating tour. After Ton Pho I walked along Phra Athit, looking for something good. I had a mind to stop in the Peachy Guest House’s beer garden, immortalized in Ekhardt’s writings, but it looked a little too concrete for me. Plus all the chairs were on the tables. I walked. I found myself at the National Gallery, and stopped in to see the exhibit of photos on the “Tranquil Coup d’Etat” put on by the Royal Photographic Society of Thailand. . Some very good shots, but they all fell into the set categories: soldiers/hardware with flowers; soldiers and kids; soldiers and monks; hardware and traffic; soldiers and go go dancers. Okay, the last was probably the best. As a center piece, they had a collage of the various headlines for that day blown up. Bottom left corner was the Bangkok Post one that I’d kept. The Gallery, if you haven’t been, is quite pleasant. It used to be the old Royal Mint. Tall ceilings, whitewashed walls. Odd rises and drops to keep the unwary on (or off) their toes. I also took in the art market running on the weekend. I’m sorry, but it was sad. There was one fellow who had interesting looking stuff, but only one. And I wasn’t about to try and cart it home. Ahh…..there’s a breeze blowing back up the river. Where did that come from? After the gallery, I was at Khao Sarn Road, home of the world’s foremost anthropological study. I hadn’t been here since 2001 when we took the kids down for the water fights. That was fun. This wasn’t. Everything was, effectively, cheap junk,. And densely packed cheap junk. At least on Silom you can find anime t-shirts and foreign film fest DVD’s and stuff. Here it was beads and tattoos. And I found nothing worth my eating. That’s a very sad comment. I did stop for a beer at the famous Gullivers to rehydrate, but I found this a pale shadow of the newer one up on Sukhumvit, with only two pool tables. With a handful of police lurking in the darker corners, and some scraggly looking occupants, I wasn’t in a mood to linger. I walked some more. Through the back streets, coming out on Rachadamnoern Klang and democracy monument. This major street was packed with vendors, every one of them flogging lottery tickets. In the midst of this was the Black October monument, commemorating the violence of 1973 when things weren’t so tranquil. Very few smiling faces here. Then, as a young man’s fancy turns to his stomach, I thought “aha! Café Democ” with lemon pork that some people I know had said was very good. So, in I went. “Do you have food” “Have, but chef no come yet.” “When will the chef come?” “I don’t knowwwwwwwwww.” So, to salvage the situation, I had an ice coffee. I like these. I know, Asian wisdom says you have hot things in hot weather, but I like ice coffees. Sickly sweet and brown flavoured. A good head, with a straw proudly protruding. Talking with the lone waitress, the place usually gets going after 7, and the DJ’s kick in around 10. That’s when it’s fun to be here. So, I’d been to Café Democ, although I felt hesitant to count coup. But there, across the street, was my ancient nemesis. Methavalai Sorn Daeng. In 1988 we’d driven by this restaurant and thought “that looks like a nice place to eat”. Okay, maybe we walked. We were poor then. Over the years I’ve made tentative approaches to my Thai friends about this place. The answers I’ve gotten back have ranged from “It’s very old”, “My mom ate there”, “It’s old”, and “Huh?” This was it. I had my opportunity. I could do this, and no one would suffer but me. Approaching the restaurant, you’re first informed that it’s been serving the best food since 1959 (I may be off a year or two, humour me).. When you enter, it’s precious. There’s no other word. The busboys are all in dress naval whites, epaulets and all. The waitress (I think there was another, but she was glowering at the cash register the whole time, so I can’t say for certain.) was done up in a very nice red outfit with sash. She seemed particularly perturbed that I was there, which is odd as there were at least two other farang couples, each in the care of a Thai. But, she was cheerful, and eager to please, and after Ton Pho that was a relief. I ordered fried mussles with chilis; fluffy catfish salad with mango; and fried preserved pork. Of these the fried preserved pork was best. This wasn’t what I’d expected, but rather another version of something I’d done at home years ago with beef. It’s basically dried meat that’s been deep fried with a sesame seed coating. But this pork was succulent and yielding as you bit in, with a fine flavour. The catfish salad was also quite good, but I could only take so much. It was fluffy to the extreme, the catfish being reduced to a deep fried tangle of fibres, almost like fried hair. The mango spooned out well on this, but as you can imagine, there was a lot of volume to work through there. I didn’t do it the justice it deserved. But the mussels, the mussels…how can I describe them?…..bad? Yeah, that describes them. First, they were too large. Second, I suspect they’d been frozen ala Walt Disney’s head at some point. Third, they just werent’ good. I’m suspicious, too, as the most expensive thing on the menu was proudly labled as “fried canned Pacific clams in oyster sauce”. The place itself was so neat, though. Louise Cans (and I mean that spelling) furniture. Stiff backs and embroidered flowers. Starched white table cloths laying over a lace base. Good china. Nice cutlery (but no knives). And a baby grand piano in the middle of everything. The middle-aged group of Thai at the table behind me were calling the old lady, maybe my Mom’s age “nong” (younger sibling). And the old lady was assiduously raking the carpet. It didn’t matter that there was almost no one in there, she was going to rake that carpet until every dust mote was gone, darn it. I felt like I should toss some bones on the florr or something to give her a working stock. As there was no one playing the piano just then, they had canned piano music on the sterea. I ate what I could and fled. After this I wandered some more, taking in the street life of Ratanakosin, which I find generally much more sedate than the rest of Bangkok. Lots of food – but I was beginning to feel full – and lots of interesting tableaux, generally of the sitting-in-front-of the-shophouse milieu. My target was the Pig Shrine. I don’t’ know how I missed this over the years. But there, close to Wat Benjabo whatever, was the pig shrine. It’s like this big, gold, thingy, with a pig. …. I’m going to have to ask someone about this. And then it’s back to the hotel to write and rest. Particularly the rest part. I will never do well with airplanes. Dinner I took early on the Deck. I’d snagged a menu earlier, and had been looting through it. Khun Gai, the chef, had a nice collection of items, half the menu Western, and half Thai. The appetizers include fried mozzarella, sautéed Italian sausage with herbs, shrimp tempura with olive oil, grilled mushrooms, baked spinach steamed NZ mussels, sautéed mussels. Terrine de foie gras with passion fruit aspic. Under Just Sandwiches they have a soft shell crab hamburger with pesto mayonnaise. Soups include cream of pumpkin, and a shitake and truffle, as well as soup de legume. Salads – the deep fried soft shell crab with pesto catches my eye, as does the warm chicken liver salad. And then there’s a pan seared escalope of foie gras with strawberry jam and salad. Pastas come as your choice. Spaghetti, fettucine, penne, fusilli, rigatone or ink. Sauces include baby clams (vongole), very spicy tuna, with crispy sweet basil, stir fried garlic, chilies, kale, and salted Thai fish. EEVO, garlic, anchovies, olives and “blocoli”. Mascarpone cheese sauce with fresh shitake sounds low cal, and there’s a carbonara. Then there’s two risottos – on mushroom cream, the other saffron with grilled tiger prawns. Mains! Duck leg confit. Pan grilled Australian “serloin”, Braosed pxtao; om red amd herb wine with veg. Pan grilled rack of lamb – the most expensive at 480 baht. Stuffe chicen breast. Roasted Atlantic salmon. Steamed sea bass fillet. Roasted trout with wosemary and pine nuts. And there’s a Thai selection of two pages, with various started, soft pig neck braised in curry (that’s familiar from Ton Pho), duck leg roasted with oyster sauce, and fish and prawns galore. Grilled aubergine, which I suspect would be wonderfully smokey. I started with a glass of Jacob’s Creek chardonnay, and began with Thai. I began with a yam som o that didn’t quite hit the right balance of sweet and sour. The chicken was a little dry at first, but with the sauce was very good. And the som tam of cucumbers was extremely pleasant, burning enough that I sheltered the Chardonnay for a bit and stuck to water. And there were a couple of skewers of pork satay, nice and creamy from the coconut marinade, but not yet gone over to mush. For the main, I went with the duck leg confit. Unfortanately, while the skin was very nicely crisped, the meat had gone a bit too dry. Not really bad, by any means, but disappointing. I do think part of this may be to Khun Gai not being in the kitchen that night. I wouldn't write the place off, and will probably come back for that soft shell crab hamburger. It's nice to know it's here as the choices for dining this close to Wat Po or the Palace are fairly limited. After dinner I headed over to Phar Arthit again in the hopes that all those “yuppy bars” would now be open. No luck. And Heritage, which had been on the list of places I wanted to do was closed. I end up back at Khao Sarn Road, but found myself unable to face the noise levels and the crowds. Sadly, I contented myself with a reasonable bowl of Hong Kong style bamee (which, by this time, I forgot to photo. So sue me!), and then stumbled up the new Gullivers around the corner from the old one on Khao Sarn. It had four pool tables. Things were looking up. And from there, it’s back to the quiet streets around Arun Residence, and this wonderful view of the river.

In the brief, Dead Artists' Street, AKA soi 33, has been, for several years, the home for a string of slightly upscale (let's not get carried away, though) bars going by such names as Degas, Renoir, etc. I'm not certain who gave it this name originally, but I'd first read it in one of Christopher Moore's excellent Calvino books. Besides the bars, there are more than a few restaurants down the soi, and I'll have to see what I can turn up. The soi next door, Soi 31, is already home to a number of good places, and will be even better when Le Vendome moves there (in November?). Now, back to the show.

Julian, An excellent review, and congrats on having more backbone than most of us in taking the staff to task when they try to pull a fast one. Is it just a KL thing where they try to convince you that their dishes aren't very good? I've had a chef try to talk me out of his signature dish "No one likes this". Why is it on the menu, then? Cheers

Infusions are one thing. What would work well packed up the column for a fifth run?

I have little to add. I just want you to know that I really like this thread. Dipsophilia forever.

Sorry to have jumped in like that, so far out of sych with the thread, but all this political interference with cheese just gets my blood churned.

Let me expand on this point: The law, which is governed by the FDA, relates to *any* cheese (foreign or domestic) that is made with raw milk and aged less than 60 days. AOC Brie de Meaux, for example, is a raw milk cheese that is aged for 45 days. Most goat's milk cheese is aged a very short period of time, typically from as little as 7 days to 45 days. Before 9/11, cheese came into the U.S. and customs either looked the other way, or they were told the cheese was made with pasteurized milk when it wasn't. After the Bioterrorism Act came into play, however, the process for bringing anything with organic material/contents into the U.S. changed. Now, you have to get pre-authorization from the FDA and U.S. Customs. In order to get this, you have to detail what your product is (in this case, cheese), where it came from, how it's made and where the ingredients came from. This process change is what effectively shut the door on the importation of most fresh raw-milk cheeses from France and everywhere else. The cheeses that are "close" to 60 days, like Brie, can be aged another 15 days and then sent over. So you can still get AOC Brie, if you look real hard. Other cheeses just don't have their special flair if they hold them over too long. Think of a banana that's overripe and you'll have a sense for what I mean. This is not a health issue, it is a money issue. The stated reason has been that there are food-borne illnesses associated with raw milk products, most notably, listeriosis. You can get listeriosis from a piece of cheese made with pasteurized milk, by the way. It just depends on when the infection/bacteria reached the cheese - pre-pasteurization or post. Europeans are not dropping dead from eating cheese. What makes me laugh even more is how pregnant women here avoid raw milk cheese like the plague because they think they (or their unborn baby) will drop dead from it. Meanwhile, you can go to a Bennigan's in Pittsburgh and get some scallions on your nachos that are infected with Hepatitis. The whole premise is laughable. It is much more difficult and expensive to make cheese with raw milk. In France, you have to test every batch of milk for pathogens before it goes into production. That means you have to dump batches of milk if they don't pass. If you produce cheese using pasteurized milk, you can use 100% of what you take in. This also means you can take in a lower quality product - it all gets smoothed out in the end. Unfortunately, the flavor goes away as well. Try boiling a bottle of your favorite wine before you drink it. You'll see what I mean. You can tell this is a soapbox issue for me... ← Steingarten has a lot to say on this (okay, he always has a lot to say). No one on record has suffered a serious illness in the US from unpasteurized cheese. Period. You can import any number of other things that will hurt you (in the long run) but not a nice, runny, smelly cheese. Strangely, on the Canuck side, I found a wonderful little cheese shop in North Van at Park Royal that carried a fantastic selection of French cheeses. When I reminisced about the Tristar, a topped-over goat cheese from Upstate New York that Ihsan Gurdal introduced to me, I found out that you can't import American cheeses into BC! We live in strange and unpleasant times.

> > Subject: Warden Message > > Date: Sat, 21 Oct 2006 07:29:50 -0400 > > > > The Canadian Embassy has received reliable > information that threats > > of a terrorist nature may be in the final planning > stages within > > the Kingdom. > > > > This information indicates the oil industry may be > targeted as well > > as compounds housing foreigners. Also, there may > be possible > > threats against westerners in public places. > Canadian citizens are > > advised to avoid public areas for the foreseeable > future and ensure > > security measures and procedures are in place to > minimize any > > threat. > > I figure if you're going to enjoy your trip, then timing is everything. It was obviously the right moment to get out of Dodge City. I was taking the Embassy's warning to heart and heading for Bangkok. Some of you (okay, all of you) are saying "Wait a minute! You piece of filth! You just got back from Bangkok! And some of us have never been! This isn't fair!" "Yeah? So?" say I. As I write this I'm at the Bahrain airport. I've exercised my option for an upgrade, and am hoping now that the di Bartoli Noble One is still on tap. I've had a glass of a Languedoc Chardonnay that was a little bit too far over on the fruity side for my liking tonight (a La Baume 2003?), and a Haut-Medoc from 2000 that's quite plumy. This is another of those "is this trip really necessary" trips. The family was off on an education trip to Egypt. After my last two business trips there, I realized that the last thing I needed was a jam packed tourist adventure to a place where I'd already spent five good years of my life. Plus, even though the originated it, they make a mess of foie gras. I was content to stay at home for the five days. Swim, perhaps paint the courtyard, loaf, do some video editting, and catch up on my writing. And then they saw the moon a day early. Coming back from the last trip, we were advised upon arrival in Bahrain that while it wasn't yet Ramadan in Bahrain, the Saudis had jumped the gun and declared it fasting time. This had a knock-on effect, bringing the holiday at the end of Ramadan, the 'Eid, a day forward, and giving us a six day weekend. I won't go into the vagaries of our vacation calculations. Leave it be said that you need to have the blood of an accountant in order to form the pentagram to make sense of it all. I couldn't get away for the whole week, but six days is six days after all. I argued with myself. After all, I'd done that four day trip to Singapore for the WGS, and Yoonhi and I had done a fiver to catch my intronization into the Chaine and go up to Chiang Mai to use up the package I'd bought at the last auction..... Alright, it wasn't much of an arguement. I bought the tickets, made the reservations, and spent the last two weeks counting down the working hours. The others left on Wednesday morning. Since then I have regular reports on how Serena is having the time of her life; sleeping on trains; crawling through the Pyramids; going to museums; and shopping, shopping, shopping. Scud has reverted to a form of speech I thought impossible, an abbreviated form of monosyllables. I can tell he's thrilled. For myself, I look forward to this. Had you any doubts? I have set myself the goal of 22 meals in my five and a half days. Really, just four a day. With all the walking and sweating, I think this is achievable. However, I also appreciate that I can be distracted by the twin evils of beer and pool. These are sirens I must guard against. I've now switched over to the Pouilly-Fume. Not as over-the-top sweet as the Char was, more a wine to drink and write - which is what I shall do. My plans are - as you would surmise - fluid. D'Sens has a wine dinner with M. Chapoutier on the 24th that the good Doktor Kelamis will join me at with his wife, Abdulrahman, and his wife Sandra, our ballet teacher. This should prove to be interesting. D'Sens opened to significant fanfare, the franchise of the brothers Jacques and Laurent Pourcel from Le Jardin des Sens in Montpellier, a two star operation. The opening went well, but since then it's been a controversial ride. Some say that once the brothers left to get on with business, standards fell. Others claim that there is nothing wrong, it's just that the local palate isn't sophisticated enought to appreciate the subtleties. Whichever the case, my associate, who's office looks directly upon D'Sens, says it's "DEAD" (all caps). However, I have the time and the interest. And this is the only wine dinner I could turn up. But, the wines should be very, very nice. And M. Chapoutier knows Montpellier, and Montpellier knows M. Chapoutier. After that, on the 25th, I have dinner with M and F, two of my friends (okay, one of my friends, this will be my first opportunity to meet F. I hope he will become a friend), and, with luck, the good Khun CL, who is one of my role models in food. And so, I look with dismay upon my remaining three evenings. One is bespoke, although I know not which. A and I are off to find the choicest Vietnamese food in town. One of my first dinners will be spent on the terrace at Arun Residence, where I've taken the penthouse suite for my first night. Honestly, I'd almost like to spend the entire trip there, but I suspect I'll be bored cut off in the old part of town from my usual coterie of dining companions (plus, the room is only available one night, but that sounded better). So, it'll be back uptown to the Emporium, and that lovely view out upon the City. The Londoner is across the street, and the Dead Artists' Street is nearby, so there's an opportunity for beers. Baccarra supposedly has some very nice Belgians they've brought in, and I am, as ever, a fan of the cream bitter at the Londoner. I intend to eat some Thai food. A lot of Thai food. I've been on a euro-centric binge the last while, which isn't surprising given the nature of the WGF. But Thai cuisine is a marvel of our times, and I've been remiss in not spending my time on yams and gaeng for the last few trips. Perhaps Ton Pho at Tha Phra Arthit? Or the more upscale Heritage?......... But then, there's the tasting menu at the Peninsula. And I do so want to get to Paragorn to the charcouterie guy and to Saveur, the rebirth of Bee's original Saveur by her daughter Cake (Bee now has Taling Pling). Come to think of it, I should go back to Taling Pling. So many meals, so little time.

I just can't get comfortable with this term "IB". It'll always be "Mr. Buzzy" to me and mine.....and they're great. It's seems like the second tool (after the knife) that I see the chefs going for in the demo classes.

Hor Mok Talay! What a great dish. It's really a fish mousse, and then all steamed up with the coconut cream to finish and that bite of chilli..... I'm drooling. I'm in transit, so I don't have my cookbooks, but I'll try to get you the recipe(s) when I get back next week. Another way I've had this (generally in Thai beer halls) is roasted in the banana leaf. The leaf comes out all charred, but when you open the big bundle (and they do these big) at the table, the smell just takes you away. And another neat way to do it is to bake and serve it in a khanom plate, the clay one that looks like a cross between and escargot dish and a mini tagine. The lids steams the hor mok in its own juice. (I think that was a Khmer take on the Thai dish, at Khmer Surin in Penh).

Thailand's international food scene languishes (if I can say that) in the shadow of their national cuisine. Let's face it, if you only have a week or two in country, perhaps for a very rare excursion abroad, you want to mine the motherload of one of the world's best cuisines. And Thai food outside of Thailand never tastes quite "right". But if you have the time (or you're really jaded) Thailand attracts a lot of people in the food and wine business, who come for promotions, vacations, or just to settle. This works in conjunction with a very well educated upper middle and upper class, who aren't afraid of things foreign, and genuinely love food. Like Singapore, it's almost a nation of egulleters. So, if you have the interest, you can find a steady stream of Michelin starred chefs regularly cycling through town, and some very interesting wine dinners promoting some very good vineyards (where I'll be this Tuesday). Add to that the most charming service you'll ever find, and you have a wonderful place to eat. For other non-standard Bangkok reviews, check out my Catering Your Next Coup series that I did last month (and which delayed this somewhat). I'll have to figure out what I'll call the next six days. My target is 22 meals in 5.5 days.

Threr are a couple of dishes that come to mind, one is haemul-jeongol a seafood hot pot with vegetables and beef, or two maeuntang, a spicy, thick stew of fish, clams, and veggies. But I am unsure of the actual dish you are thinking of, as I can't reacll any dishes with divots in them. ← I think it was a version of haemul jeongul!

Sorry, it was 14 years ago. When you get as old as me, the memory (and other things) start to go. I still remember that taste, though, and the selection of raw shellfish we had before.