Enticing Eat Me – Bangkok

When I first sought the somewhat cryptic location of Eat Me thanks to a recommendation by a sagacious friend, my journey down its unlit side-street had me preemptively bidding goodbye to my wallet…and my right kidney.

Fortunately I lost neither and instead found myself in a palatable paradise. Upon entry, the downstairs décor conjures a twisting hedge maze in a quiet wooded garden in my mind’s eye. The lighting is dim but mysteriously enchanting, the stairs spiral upward like a winding tower, and the short ascent feels like climbing silvery strands of long blond hair. The upstairs finds a buzz of consistent contentment amongst the sweet stillness of a fairy tale’s happily ever.

I rarely order alcohol, but the Twisted and Bitter was candy in a cup, too good to pass up. The candy comes from the Johnny Walker, and the giant ice cube in the center melts slowly to maintain a calming cool serving temperature without watering down the drink. This smooth concoction makes for small silky sips with a hint of wake-me-up-from-this-beautiful-dream bitterness.

The Grilled Tiger Prawns are sweeter than the drink. The olive oil browns the innocent pink shrimp like a welcome bruise in a not-so-innocent white-flesh apple. The tom yum spice is wake-up kiss, abrupt and welcome, from a dashing prince.

My Tasmanian Salmon Gravlax is anchored by the espresso mustard emulsion and tempered by tangy fresh capers. The salmon tastes of purity and innocence, the pink of true bliss, sweet as Sleeping Beauty’s flitting fairies. The salmon is lighter-than-air, and the bitter emulsion brings it back to earth.

The Barramundi has skin seared to a crisp and the clean crunch stays despite the cradle of creamy coconut broth. Barramundi is a local Thai fish, making this dish a rarity in Western cuisine, a crying shame as tragic as finger-stick on a spindle. This flaky fish is my pauper-turned-prince, showing me a whole new world with a flying carpet and the rub of a lamp.

The Risotto is ripe with black truffle, as charming as an enchanted castle, illuminated by a talking candlestick of pecorino with none of the parmesean bitterness of the cynical clock. When Lumiere told Belle to try the gray stuff, it’s delicious, I think this was it.

The sheer volume of jokes spawned by this restaurant’s most commanding name is matched only by the depth and breadth of choices offered by its menu. I’m told that Eat Me will receive its first Michelin Star this year, and something tells me that much like this review, it’s long overdue. The food commands your attention, and the name gives you your marching orders. The infinite attention to detail is as refreshing as the minted water, the creativity is as ingenious as an idyllic ice cube, and the expansive menu carries a contradictory contrast to the unusual unity within each dish.

After a month-long journey, my travel blog concludes thus. Eat me allows me to exit with a bang and on a high note at that. After this, it will be back to critiquing instead of describing, back to the clean conciseness of Yelp and the sarcastic cynicism that defines my fascination with the fantastic and disdain for the down-and-out. I gladly return to my role, but if it’s the vacation blog you prefer, stay tuned for the next installment of Foodie Houser’s fantastic foreign feast. It may come when you least expect it.

 

May Kaidee Cooking School – Bangkok

Taught by May herself, this May Kaidee’s Cooking School offers a variety of captivating courses including Thai cooking, raw food, and fruit carving. Our cooking class covered ten recipes, ten courses that you must eat, one by one, each a little more elaborate than the other, each a little richer than the last. May taught our group in her newer kitchen, hidden behind the exquisite masterpiece home of Rama V. The prepared ingredients are laid out and the woks heat in an even circle as they gleam under fluorescent bulbs. In our small class of four, with such idiot-proof designations, it is impossible to fail. May’s enthusiasm never wanes as she guides us through each recipe, subtly turning down the heat and sprinkling water into too-dry woks and insisting you did it yourself. She sits with us while we eat and tastes our dishes, especially the Issan, which she endorses as her fave.

During our class, May was flitting feverishly between teaching and posing for a foreign photo shoot. I think it was for a Cali magazine, but don’t quote me on that. Despite her engagements, we never wanted for attention and barely noticed her absence. Between the idiot-proof kitchen and the simple recipes, May is the slimmer version of Ratatouille’s Auguste, and her cooking school will assure even the weariest egg-boiling failures that anyone can cook. May is slim and beautiful from eating the very recipes we prepared, and her energy fills every room. Despite achieving international acclaim, May seems to genuinely enjoy turning her bumbling foreign hopefuls into adequate Thai chefs. How well I’ve mastered the art of her craft is hard to say, but keep in touch with me, and you’ll know if I’m suddenly looking for non-charred housing.

Our first dish was the Tom Yum Soup. Light broth with a sharp sour-tang, this deceptively clear soup is a stellar starter loaded with carrots and healthy tofu. The baby corn lacks the offensive aftertaste of canned brine, a freshness I have yet to find in the US.

The Tom Kha is made in the same breath as the Tom Yum. It is richer and creamier with the addition of more coconut milk and less water yet its flavor remains ahead of its caloric value. Tom Kha would warm you from the inside out on a cold winter’s day but it made us lose all our water weight in Rama V’s fan-conditioned dining room.

The Issan was a surprising favorite of mine and May’s. The way to eat this dish rekindles my love for sticky rice and sets me salivating every time I think about it. Just use your CLEAN fingers (this is one dinner to which you don’t invite the guy who doesn’t wash his hands after he uses the restroom…) to roll some rice into a ball and dip into some soy/chili-based sauce. Then you dip into your dish, using your fingers to grasp a few morsels of whatever mushroom or tofu or soy protein falls near them. The sticky rice sops up the sauce like a sponge, and after a few bites, eating with your fingers may become a new pastime. Again, make sure your hands are clean. E. coli is NOT a spice.

The Stir-Fried Vegetables is the very essence of standard Eastern stirfry, the backbone of Asian cuisine. Learn to make this dish, and you’ll have an endless arsenal of simple meals for the rest of your life. The combinations of ingredients and sauces are endless, and creativity knows no bounds.

The Pad Thai was our crowning glory. I don’t know how anyone stays thin when one of their staple foods, available on any street corner, consists of sweet noodles with peanut and a hint of lime. The noodles in Thailand have a chewy-but-not-sticky texture, which I’m told stems from being soaked and not boiled. The wok-kissed noodles remain firm, and they give you a feeling of real substance without sticking to your teeth.

When I saw Peanut Sauce on the list of dishes, I thought it was a cop-out, a take-a-break filler involving a spoon and a blender. But this recipe is more than meets the eye. May’s peanut sauce starts with a base of fresh tomato, yet you’d never know it by the time the sauce is done. Ours was judged a masterpiece as the oil was starting to separate. This peanut sauce drowns the Pad Thai in a delightful muddy stream and makes a spirited dipper for fresh spring rolls.

Our Massaman Curry also received May’s generous praise, with its exceptional thick heaviness and deep yellow color. This curry douses May’s crisp brown rice with its almost gritty depth, fluid as the dessert sand. The best part is that May’s recipe books contains an addendum for the sweeter Penang Curry. Just switch a spice and pour a little extra coconut and you’re as golden as your curry.

The Green Curry is a deep sea of treasures full of tasty veggies and healthy spice. The baby corn crunches in its youth, and the pumpkin is a flavorful, clashing orange weight, grounding the jewel-green curry.

The Fresh Spring Rolls are really just veggies rolled in a chewy, impossibly thin wrapper, topped with an artful smattering of peanut sauce. That wrapper is the unsung hero here, marking the line between simple and simply extraordinary. The spring rolls are readily available at produce markets, made in a flash before your prying eyes by a lady with a fistful of dough and flat, fiery-hot griddle. They also make a popular afterschool snack around brittle shreds of colorful cane sugar, my new favorite street food.

Though I feel that only a narcissist would review her own cooking in her own food blog, I wouldn’t mind a little positive reinforcement for advancing beyond boiling pasta so pretend to be impressed. If you’re not impressed, lie. Duh.

All pathologic need for false flattery aside, May deserves her own spread, especially one that covers many of the dishes central to Thai cuisine. May also embodies the spirit of Thailand in the kindness I’ve encountered throughout my trip. She and the people of Thailand are some of the sweetest people I’ve ever met. Their small acts of kindness have warmed me more than their hundred-degree weather and have choked me up even more than the stifling 100% humidity. Their subtle kindness is manifest in making us wait for fresher waffles at a street stand, keeping our teacups full despite our meager order of one split bowl of soup, and carrying my bag across the railroad tracks at the sight of my struggle. Megabus threw our bags into a puddle in the pouring rain, but the shuttle driver to the Lomprayah ferry placed a tarp on the dusty ground before unloading his cargo hold. The people I’ve met in Thailand have paid attention to the little things. Their kindness has a rare genuine quality, and May is no exception. So if you’re a vegetarian or vegan, someone who loathes meat, a hippie trying to save the world with your diet, or just need a little love during your first adventure in front of a stove AND you’re looking for a cooking school in Bangkok or Chiang Mai enroll with May Kaidee. You’ll get your earthy experience and you may even leave with your eyebrows unsigned.

Krua Apsorn – Bangkok

I never expected to be able to write an actual restaurant review in Thailand, but here we go!

The simple starter to the greatness that is to come was itself the very picture of simple grace. Elegant, long lines of green papaya ground in a light, spicy-sour juice, the Papaya Salad goes even farther than an ice cold beer in the sweltering heat.

Leave it to Yash to order a fantastic fried rice the day after I post a less-than-stellar spread on rice. And of course it’s a stellar Basil Fried Rice. It’s like I always get on the right train, at the wrong station…in the wrong country…but rest assured, unlike myself, Krua Apsorn can do no wrong.

I plan to do a spread on just noodles so I won’t go into much detail about the Pad Thai here. Let’s just say it’s how Pad Thai should be. Chewy, almost-gelatinous noodles, clear as day, with just the right mix of sweet and soy.

The Crab Omelet was described as resembling tortilla espanola and a must-try by Lonely Planet. This is the first time in my life I’ve ever disagreed with Lonely Planet. Considering I travel with Lonely Planet like a missionary with his Book of Mormon, it is earthshattering that I should find any points to dispute. Anyway, all sarcasm aside, the crab omelet is certainly tasty with bits of crab intermixed with fluffy egg, however this egg is not the dense, compact stuff of tortilla espanola. Though savory, this dish begs neutrality and tries to please all parties. With none of the seafood-sting of the other dishes, the omelet is a virgin daiquiri. I enjoyed it, but there is a far superior option for crab lovers.

The Fried Crab with Yellow Chili is the daiquiri blended in a Jamba Juice blender with the world’s best rum. And no, that’s not Bacardi. Just no. if that was your first thought, you and I are no longer on speaking terms. Forget rum, this dish is the ambrosia and nectar of the Thai gods. Chunks of lump crabmeat with the searing pain of Thai chilis, this dish is one of few good things that burn – it shares that honor with a roaring campfire and marshmallows on sticks, an afternoon sun on a pristine Koh Tao beach, and Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire.

My first visit to Krua Apsorn commenced with the Fish Ball Green Curry as they were out of the claim-to-fame yellow curry. I’ve never cared for the vulcanized texture of fish balls, but the green curry is a rich green, deep as the Emerald Buddha. There’s one veggie I don’t recognize, but it’s green with a texture and flavor resembling zucchini/squash crossed with the crunch of carrots. Every bite is better than the last.

The Yellow Curry comes with a pedigree of famous food critics, and the two lobster-like shrimp flavoring it are the gold standard by which all curries should be measured. I’ve had curry with shrimp before, but never one so permeated by the shrimp and so brilliantly enhanced by the sour crispiness of tiny lotus shoots. I never thought that a few puny shrimps could be so mighty, but that just goes to show that all you smug tall people who underestimated the shrimps stand corrected. (Groan!)

At Krua Apsorn, your order of white rice is molded into the shape a double heart, and if I were ranking in hearts instead of stars, Krua Apsorn would get all five of mine. Sadly, I only have one heart, and I left a piece of it here. In the Legend of Zelda, the more pieces of heart Link collects, the more blows he can take before succumbing to his injuries. So go to Thailand one day, whenever you have a whim, and find that piece of my heart at Krua Apsorn. That kind of food and that kind of experience just might cushion the blow of whatever life hits you with next.