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Drunken Noodles: How Los Angeles Rewrote Pad Kee Mao

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Drunken Noodles: How Los Angeles Rewrote Pad Kee Mao Photo: Whole Foods Co-op Order Thai food in Los Angeles — or almost anywhere in America — and one dish is guaranteed to be on the menu, usually underlined, starred or marked as a house favourite: Drunken Noodles. Wide, silky rice noodles glossed in a dark, savoury sauce, tossed in a screaming-hot wok with chillies, garlic, Thai basil and your choice of chicken, beef, prawns or tofu. It is fiery, a little sweet, deeply savoury and completely addictive. In Thailand the same dish is called pad kee mao, and it has been a street-stall and late-night favourite for generations. What Los Angeles did — and then the rest of America copied — was not invent it, but rewrite it: wider noodles, bigger portions, a glossier sauce, a fixed place at the top of the menu, and a name in English that nobody could forget. First, the name — nobody is drunk, and there is no alcohol Every first-timer asks, so let us settle it at the start: there is no ...
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Khao Mok Nuea: Thai Beef Biryani

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Khao Mok Nuea: Thai Beef Biryani Photo: Mitr Thai Some dishes travel the world and put down roots. Biryani is one of them — born of Persian and Indian kitchens, carried by Muslim traders and cooks across Asia, and in Thailand it became khao mok: fragrant rice cooked in one pot with meat and warm spices, coloured gold with turmeric, and served with a sharp green chilli sauce and a small bowl of clear soup. The chicken version, khao mok gai, is the famous one. But ask a Thai Muslim cook which version is richest, deepest and most worth saving for a special day, and many will point to this one — khao mok nuea, made with beef, the meat braised until it surrenders, the rice steamed in its spiced cooking liquor until every grain smells of the pot. A biryani that became Thai The name gives the game away. Khao is rice, mok means to bury or cover — the meat is buried in the rice and the pot is covered to steam — and nuea is beef. Muslim communities have cooked in Siam for centuries, i...
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Location: Bangkok, Thailand
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The Complete Guide to Northern Lao Food: Herbs, Heat and the Mekong Table

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If you learned Southeast Asian food in Bangkok, northern Lao food will reset your compass. There is almost no coconut milk. There is almost no sugar. In their place: wild herbs by the handful, fermented fish with real depth, chilli heat that arrives plainly and stays, and sourness drawn from herbs, fruit and lime rather than vinegar. It is a forest-and-river cuisine, built around the Mekong and its tributaries, and at its centre sits not a curry or a soup but a basket of sticky rice. This guide is the map. It explains how the flavours fit together, the dishes that carry them, the markets and hillsides the ingredients come from, and how a northern Lao family actually eats. Start here, and the rest of this blog's Lao kitchen will make sense. A Different Flavour Architecture Every cuisine has a grammar. Central Thai food balances sweet, sour, salty and hot, with palm sugar and coconut milk doing heavy lifting. Southern Lao food, down toward Pakse and the Bolaven Plateau, shares som...
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Lahpet Thoke: Fermented Tea Leaf Salad

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Lahpet Thoke: Fermented Tea Leaf Salad Photo: Taste the Globe Myanmar is one of the very few places in the world where tea is not only drunk, it is eaten. Lahpet thoke takes pickled, fermented tea leaves — dark, tangy, faintly bitter and deeply savoury — and tosses them by hand with shredded cabbage, tomato, crunchy fried beans and peanuts, toasted sesame, fried garlic and a squeeze of lime. It arrives, in the classic presentation, as a beautiful platter: the tea leaves in the centre, everything else in bright piles around them, waiting to be mixed at the table. The first bite is a puzzle you are happy to solve — bitter, sour, salty, nutty and crunchy all at once — and by the third bite it makes complete sense. Tea you can eat Lahpet means pickled tea, and thoke means salad or a hand-mixed dish. The best leaves come from the hills of Shan State, around Namhsan and Kyaukme, where young tea is picked in spring, steamed, rolled and then packed tightly into pits, baskets or bambo...
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Location: Yangon, Myanmar
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Goi Cuon: Fresh Spring Rolls with Peanut Sauce

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Photo: Hungry Huy Goi Cuon: Fresh Spring Rolls with Peanut Sauce There is a moment, just before you roll, when a goi cuon is still a small, perfect garden on a round of wet rice paper: green lettuce, a tangle of mint and herbs, white rice noodles, a slice of pork, and prawns laid pink-side down so they will shine through the finished roll. Then you fold, tuck and roll, and it becomes something else entirely — a cool, translucent parcel, fresh as a salad and satisfying as a meal, made to be dunked deep into peanut sauce. Fresh, not fried — that is the whole point Goi cuon comes from southern Vietnam, and it is the fresh counterpart to the fried spring roll, cha gio. Nothing here is fried, nothing is heavy. Goi points to salad, cuon to rolling, and that is exactly the spirit: salad ingredients rolled up in softened rice paper — banh trang — and eaten at once, while the herbs are still bright and the wrapper is still supple. In Saigon — Ho Chi Minh City — you find them everywhe...
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Location: Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam
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Khao Soi: Chiang Mai's Curry Noodle Soup

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Ask ten people for the one dish you must eat in Chiang Mai and nine of them will say khao soi before you finish the question. It is the north's signature bowl: flat egg noodles swimming in a golden coconut curry, crowned with a tangle of the same noodles deep-fried crisp, the meat slow-cooked until it surrenders. It is rich without being heavy, warmly spiced without blowing your head off, and it comes with a little construction kit of toppings that makes every bowl slightly your own. Visitors plan return trips around it. Locals have a shop, and the shop has a table that is basically theirs. Two Noodles, One Bowl The trick of khao soi is texture. Soft boiled egg noodles — flat, yellow, closer to a tagliatelle than to the rice noodles of the south — carry the soup. On top sits a nest of those same noodles fried until they shatter, so every mouthful has chew and crunch at once. Get the crispy ones into the curry early if you like them softening; hold them back if you want the crackle ...
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Khao Yam: The Deep South's Rainbow Rice Salad

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Photo: Hot Thai Kitchen Khao Yam: The Deep South's Rainbow Rice Salad Some dishes arrive quietly. Khao Yam arrives as a rainbow. In the middle of the plate sits a mound of rice — often a startling, beautiful blue — and around it, in neat little piles, is almost everything a southern Thai market has to offer: shredded herbs, roasted coconut, dried shrimp, pomelo, chillies, lemongrass and lime. Nothing is mixed yet. That part is your job, and it happens at the table, with a spoonful of dark, sweet budu sauce poured over the top. A salad built around rice Khao is rice, yam is to mix or toss, and that is exactly what khao yam is: a rice salad, tossed by the eater. It comes from Thailand's Deep South — Pattani, Yala, Narathiwat and the provinces around them — where Thai, Malay and Muslim food cultures have met for centuries. It is everyday food there: a breakfast plate, a market lunch, a dish made at home when there are herbs to use up and people to feed. Travel north and ...
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Location: Pattani, Thailand
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