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A late post. Chinese New Year was a few days ago but I am still in a very festive mood. Not much cooking but lots of eating and eating and eating………..which is not such a bad thing if I still don’t feel so gorged from Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year and birthdays and weddings in between.
When I was growing up I like CNY best for the hong pao — red envelopes with money inside for good luck, given by adults. Now that I am not so young any more, I have become, as dictated by tradition, the giver. No complaints. Nothing delights me more than seeing my younger relatives break into large grins when I hand them the red packets. The best part is when one of them opens it right in front of your eyes and asks everyone else if they have all received the same amount. Yea, I better be fair.
Apart from the gift/money giving, there is also the spiritual side to attend to. Every year to ensure a prosperous 365 days (or more for leap years), my mom would offer all kinds of food at the temple, to deceased relatives, and to the house altar. And each year she would set up a separate table in front of the house and place all kinds of sumptuous fruits, cooked chicken, duck, pork, hard-boiled eggs, dried noodles, mushrooms, seaweed, tofu, all kinds of canned fruits, canned vegetables, steamed sweet buns, and many other Chinese sweet and savory delicacies. All for what my mother refers to as the “good brothers” or more specifically, the wandering spirits. It is believed that these relative-less spirits must be made happy and appeased or they will cause trouble for family members.
Someone once told me that once you start making offerings to the “good brothers”, you have to do it every year or “things will become catastrophic”. I am one of those people who like to scoff at superstitions but somehow I fear this one. To avoid any catastrophe, I simply just don’t make any offerings to these spirits. Even as I write this, I realize how illogical the situation is. If I don’t make them happy, they will cause trouble. And if I do and forget to do so next year, they will, literally, come back to haunt me. Makes sense? No. But one doesn’t question tradition, do they?
But like every holiday, the best part is getting all family members together again. The laughter, the sharing, the food, the traditions (that we may or may not understand), and just being with the people we love and love us most. It’s just a time for celebration despite the bad economy. Or maybe partly because of it, we all just want to be together and count our blessings. Now I understand why Mom wants all to be happy. “Good brothers” included.
I often wonder where my mother got the courage to agree to move to Thailand back in the late 70’s. Then, not many knew where or what is Thailand. Heck, even when I went back for summer vacations in Taiwan in the mid-eighties, people thought I confused Thailand for the United States of America. The two words differ by only one character in Chinese. One of my Chinese tutors even tried to correct me for a good half an hour. Fed-up, I played along until my aunt corrected him. She had to show him where the Kingdom of Thailand was on a world atlas.
So, what was it like for my mom to pack and move to a country that she had never heard of with three very young offspring? I never asked. And now? I am happy to be here. But I do remember how we had to change our palate overnight. The food was so foreign. None of the maids knew how to make Taiwanese food. My mom doesn’t cook, so, we had to eat bastardized versions of the maids’ notion of Chinese food. Basically, anything that is bland and doesn’t use fish sauce. In fact, for the longest time, fish sauce and fermented shrimp paste were banned in my house. Not because of the offensive smell but my parents were afraid they would poison us, kids with weak tummies. Plus they were never part of our diet.
Imagine my surprise one day, when Mom came home with a bag of som tam or green papaya salad. It caused such a raucous. The strong smell of fish sauce and garlic just about exploded into every corner of the house when the bag was opened. Luckily, Dad was at work. I don’t remember what happened next except that Mom seemed to enjoy it, my four-year-old brother was giggling, and I sneaked a small papaya strand. It wasn’t spicy at all (no chili was probably added) but very crunchy. Even to this day I equate som tam with crunch. We soon found out Brother was giggling because he had been sneaking strands of papaya, too.
For years, som tam had always meant those green papaya salad for me. It wasn’t until high school that I found out som tam is just a term that refers to “salads” made a particular way. And it can be made with just about any vegetable or fruit. My first non-papaya som tam was, once again, in San Francisco. It was made with chayote. My second is with carrots in Bangkok. The third one is green apples in France. And the fourth is made with kanom jeen (fermented rice noodle) at home (take out). My som tam experience is indeed limited. And the Powers that Be must have sensed that because out of nowhere I went grocery shopping in a place that I normally never went. I didn’t find many things I want but bought a few things that I didn’t come for. One of them is Taeng Thai Orn or young Thai Long Musk Melon or Cucumis Melo L. The ripe fruit is either bland or tastes like cucumber sprinkled lightly with sugar. It’s the one fruit I avoid buying. The young fruit can be pickled, eaten with spicy dips or made into salads. Yup, that’s where the som tam comes in. In fact, this has become my favorite som tam of the moment.
Taeng Thai Orn look like funky cucmbers with white streaks but are so much more deliciously crispy and crunchy. I also love their faint summery smell of the watermelon’s green rind…………………can watermelon rinds be som tam‘d?
Ingredients:
2 young Thai Musk Melons
5 cherry tomatoes
1 tablespoon toasted dried shrimps
2 tablespoon toasted peanuts
1-2 Bird’s eye chili
3 cloves small garlic
Lime juice
1/2 tablespoon palm sugar
Fish sauce
1. Cut the musk melon width-wise in 3mm slices. Then cut those slices into 3mm-size match sticks. Set aside.
2. In the mortar, add in the chili and pound lightly. Then add in the garlic and pound together lightly. Next add in the palm sugar and pound everything together again. When done add in the dried shrimps and pound them all together very lightly.
3. Cut the tomatoes in half and add in the mortar. Very lightly, mash or pound the tomatoes. Add in the musk melon. Lightly mash or mix everything together.
4. Add in the juice of half a lime and 1/2 tablespoon fish sauce. Mix everything together well and taste. Add more lime juice or fish sauce as needed. Sprinkle with the toasted peanuts and serve.
The first time I had fried stuffed chicken wings was in San Francisco at a Thai restaurant. The wings were stuffed simply with ground chicken meat, mung bean noodles, cilantro roots, pepper and garlic. But I remember it was fried so crispy that when bitten into the crunch oozed out the fragrant and savory juices inside. It burned my tongue but they were so good I had five of them. Funny I rarely see this dish in Thailand.
I have always wanted to make them again since my first try years ago but my procrastinating alter ego never got to it the opportunity never came. Until I received a box of mangoes two days ago. They were more sour than sweet and would be perfect for some kind of salsa but I stuffed them in chicken wings instead. No special reason why. The idea just came.
I first made them the same way that I had at the restaurant in SF except without the noodles. Then I got another idea to add in red curry paste. Imagine all those herbs — kaffir lime peel, galangal, lemongrass, chili, garlic — hugging the sweet and sour tangy mangoes……………heaven!
In the end I did made a sort of Asian salsa to accompany the wings. It’s almost the same kind of dressing that comes with fried fish cakes or tod mun pla (ทอดมันปลา). Except I replaced the cucumbers with mangoes and omitted the peanuts because, well, I didn’t have any at hand. Maybe next time. I’ve used up only half a mango. Many, many, many more to go.
Ingredients:
6 chicken wings
120 grams ground chicken meat
2 tablespoons red curry paste
4 kaffir lime leaves julienned finely (stems removed)
6 strips of mangoes (2″ long x 0.5″ wide)
6 toothpicks for securing the wings
1 large red chili (coarsely chopped)
1/3 cup water
3 tablespoons sugar
3 tablespoons rice vinegar
4 shallots (sliced)
3 tablespoons of mangoes cut into small cubes
1. Dressing: On high heat, boil the water, sugar and vinegar in a small pot. Taste and add more of the 3 ingredients as needed. When done set aside and let cool. Add in the shallots, chili and mango just before serving.
2. Debone the chicken wings and set aside.
3. Mix the curry paste, ground chicken meat and kaffir lime leaves together. Take a strip of mango and wrapped about a 3/4 tablespoon of the chicken mixture around it. Stuff it into the chicken wing and secure with a toothpick. Make sure it’s no more than 3/4 full. More, it’ll burst when cooked. Do the same for the rest of the wings. When done, steam them for 8-10 minutes over high heat and boiling water. Set aside and let cool slightly.
4. Take a wing and dip into the egg. Then coat with bread crumbs and fry on medium heat until golden. Remove and drain. Do the same for the rest. When done serve immediately with the mango dressing.
I’ve never had banana in curry before until now. I adapted this recipe from a previous issue of the Thai food magazine Krua (ครัว), kitchen in Thai. The recipe calls for a starchier type of banana but I couldn’t find it in the supermarket. I supposed I could beat the traffic, drive to the nearest fresh market, risk parking my car somewhere along the road (if I can find a vacant space), wade my way through the slimy wet market and grab the greenest bunch of beautiful starchy bananas. All this would take me a mere 3 hours. I supposed I could.
On top of using the wrong green bananas, I also completely forgot to buy the lemon basil that the recipe called for. Luckily, I had some sawtooth coriander in the fridge. I crossed my fingers and hoped it would work like magic as in the pumpkin curry. Curious, I took a taste while the curry was still bubbling away on the stove. There was the sweet richness of the coconut milk, the mellow spiciness from the large chili, and the faint smell of lemongrass…………………but something was missing. The curry has that rich and full taste. In fact it felt a little too thick for me. I was tempted to add something citrus-y to counterbalance that heaviness. At this point I really wondered if I might just need those lemon basil after all.
When it was done, I scooped a two spoonfuls of the banana and pork belly over a plate of hot pipping rice, drizzled it with the fragrant curry and sprinkled everything with sawtooth coriander. I sat down and took a bite of the banana and realize this is the counterbalance. The green banana was dense yet soft and custard-y with just a tiny bit of stickiness. It was also slightly tarty and had a bare hint of sourness. I can see why the lemon basil would be the perfect accompaniment. It would be the citrus-y something that I was looking for to compliment that soft heaviness. It also made me wonder what the starchier green banana would taste like. More sour? More tarty? I guess I could make that trip to the fresh market after all.
Ingredients:
Recipe adapted from the Thai magazine Krua
280 grams green starchy bananas
100 grams pork belly cut into 1″ pieces
2 1/2 cups coconut milk
1/4 cup lemon basil
5 kaffir lime leaves
Fish sauce to taste
For the curry paste:
5 large dried chili (I used the mild prik bang chang พริกบางช้าง)
12 grams sliced shallots
10 grams garlic
10 grams chopped galangal
15 grams sliced lemongrass
1 teaspoon sea salt
10 grams fermented shrimp paste (kapi กะปิ)
1. Slice the dried chili in half lengthwise, remove the seeds and soak in water until soft.
2. When making curry paste, it’s easier to pound everything into a paste if each ingredient is added one at a time. Start with the toughest ingredient to the softest. Begin with the chili and salt. The salt will act as a grinder. Pound both into a paste. Add the galangal and pound everything together into a paste. Next add in the lemongrass and pound everything into a paste. The same follows for the rest of the ingredients in this order: shallots, garlic, and kapi. When done set aside.
3. Wash the green bananas. Peel just the outer thin green layer, not the whole banana peel, to expose the soft white fibers.. Cut them into 1″ pieces instead of the thinner slices as I did in the picture. This way they won’t melt if reheated again the next day. Soak them immediately in brine or lemon water. They turn black in a split second.
4. On medium heat, put three tablespoons of oil into a pot. Add in the curry paste. Stir-fry until fragrant. Add in the pork belly. Fry until done. Add in the coconut milk. Bring to a boil and add in all the bananas. Let it come to a boil again and simmer for 10-15 minutes or until the bananas are done. Taste and season with fish sauce.
5. Crush the kaffir lime leaves with hands and tear into small pieces. Add into curry with the lemon basil. Serve immediately.
New Year in Thailand is what I refer to as fruit-giving festival. As part of the gift-giving tradition, each year the family gives and receives huge baskets after huge baskets of fruits. And with Chinese New Year a couple of weeks away, we are sure tons and tons of oranges, tangerines, and pomelos will soon make their appearance. I never knew what to do with all those auspicious fruits. We tire of juicing them after a while. This year I might try to sorbet or jam them. That is if I can get mason jars in Bangkok again. They make phantom appearances in the store every once in a while.
Meanwhile I make clafoutis.
I was given a LARGE box of New Zealand cherries a couple of days ago. They are not very sweet which makes it perfect for cooking. No, really. I never cook fruits that are good eaten as it is. I found a recipe in Eric Kayser’s Sweet and Savory Tarts that includes almond meal. Just what I wanted. Plus it’s a Clafoutis Tart. Now I can finally use up that inside-out puff pastry that didn’t rise and ended up being a bit like shortbread. Yup. Got rid of three things at a time. Three? I also made a banana and chocolate chips clafoutis. Ok, that is four. I got these short fat bananas that no one wants to eat. Don’t know why. So, into the clafoutis they go. With chocolate chips, of course.
The recipe is adapted from Eric Kayer’s Sweet and Savory Tarts. I use real vanilla bean in lieu of vanilla extract and my failed inside-out puff pastry.
Ingredients:
300 grams shortbread pastry (Refer to his book for the recipe.)
2 whole eggs
2 egg yolks
200 grams granulated sugar
60 grams ground almound
60 grams all-purpose flour
200 ml whole milk
400 grams crème fraîche
1 vanilla bean
The topping:
200 grams cherries
200 grams banana
Chocolate chips
1. Preheat oven to 150C.
2. Like baking pan with shortbread pastry. I used several small heart-shaped pans.
3. In a mixing bowl, beat the whole eggs and egg yolks together with the sugar.
4. Add in the ground almonds and the flour, beating constantly. Then add the milk, continuing to beat at a high speed to avoid lumps forming. Incorporate the cream and the vanilla extract.
5. Wash and dry the cherries. Remove stalks but leave unpitted. Arrange in baking pan. Pour mixture over the cherries and bake for 40 minutes.
6. For the bananas, peel and slice them about 2 mm thin. Arrange in baking pan, sprinkle with chocolate chips, pour mixture over and bake for 40 minutes.
We spend the past weekend at Hua Hin, a not-so-sleepy-anymore fishing town. People say it still retains old charms and will never become like Pattaya. I say only the later half is true. I last visited Hua Hin five years ago. Back then, it was quiet and sort of sleepy. Today, it hosts an annual jazz festival and its beach is dotted by an alarming number of condominiums — all offering “The Ultimate Luxury Beachside Lifestyle.” I could barely recognize the new facelift.
That said, I had a wonderful time. I didn’t get to visit my favorite places and I hope when I am back next time they will still be there. Back then we always visit the same old restaurants whose menu never change. These restaurants usually have no air conditioning. Mosquitoes are a major problem at night but the seafood is super fresh and that just about make up for everything else. These days there are more Italian and chain restaurants than I can count. Yes, I am sad. But the only constant is change, isn’t it.
On the way back, a friend recommended Krua Loong Ya or Uncle Ya’s Kitchen, a “real Thai, real local” restaurant (read: no air conditioning, no fusion food, plastic plates, aluminium utensils, and real spicy not overtly sweet food), on Rama II. He claimed the Miang Sea Bass or miang pla krapong (เมี่ยงปลากระพง) is a must-order. Must try we went.
Disappointed we weren’t.
Krua Loong Ya is situated on what could be a defunct shrimp pond. I said could be because I didn’t ask. Too busy taking pictures. 
But I am told the many ponds that dot the area used to be shrimp farms. These days, they are used to raise sea bass. Some, like Krua Loong Ya, are converted to restaurants. And, of course, these restaurants feature extensive menus with sea bass.
At Krua Loong Ya, the star is Miang Sea Bass. And Uncle Ya doesn’t let you miss that point. It is well printed on all glasess: The original Miang Sea Bass. (Miang is a traditional Thai snack that usually consists of miang leaves (betel leaves) used to wrap peanuts, lime, dried shrimp, shallots, lemongrass, ginger, chili and a sweet and sour sauce. There are many variations. Today, miang is served as an hors d’oeuvres in many Thai restaurants.)
But the other dishes are equally good. One of my favorites is the Yum Pak Chakram (ยำผักชะคราม) or Chakram Salad. What is chakram? I had absolutely no idea. Thought it was some kind of seaweed — a salty, tart and sour kind that is just perfect for Thai salads, especially drenched in fresh sweet coconut milk. I only found out after googling that it is seepweed.
The next dish is squid stir-fried with salted egg yolks. I seem to be the only one who enjoyed it. Most at the table preferred grilled squid, I think. Too bad, it wasn’t ordered. So I had more than my fair share of this dish. Not complaining at all. I haven’t had this dish in years.
Another of my favorite is clams stir-fried in Thai chili paste. I usually refrain from ordering anything with Thai chili paste (nam prik pao) because they tend to be coyingly sweet. This one was perfect. The clams were super fresh and juicy. (Note the word fresh here. It will be used a lot. Because that’s what it is.)
Not to be missed is flathead lobsters fried in garlic and pepper. Succulent, sweet, tender, and frrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrresh.
Next up is our one of the two sea bass dishes — Fried Sea Bass with a Green Mango Dressing. Fresh! Fresh! Fresh! Get it?
Lastly, the star finally made its appearance. Ladies and gentlemen, I present you Miang Sea Bass! No applause, please.
Actually, I had already forgotten about it. We were already full when the waitress brought the dish. Yea, it was only when we saw it that we went,”What!? Another dish! Oh, wait. It’s what we came for.”
It’s not your typical miang in which some kind of veggie leaves is served with chopped shallots, garlic, etc. Instead, the sea bass is cut into large pieces, deep-fried crispy and topped with chopped shallots, lemongrass, lime with skin on, peanuts, ginger, and chili mixed with the miang sauce. I can see why this was served last. Despite being fried, it was actually refreshing and light. The fragrant lemongrass and acidic bitter sour lime cut right through the heaviness. The fish was tender inside. The crunchiness was further enhanced by the fried peanuts. The astrigent ginger and chili kept everything in balance. On top of that the miang sauce was a perfect mix of sour, salty and sweet. There were no leaves to wrap up everything but it’s not needed. Everything was just as Uncle Ya claims: original. Did I forget to mention that it was………………….fresh!
Go back soon we must.
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