It is the neutral maypole at the centre of the table, around which all other flavours dance. It fills the stomach and feeds the soul. It is as constant and dependable as the summer rains.
Of all the things my mother left me when she died, perhaps the most precious to me is her rice bowl. Made of heavy blue and white china, it holds a thousand memories. And, with its sturdy lid, it never fails to deliver that set-piece moment of any Thai meal: the moment when the lid comes off and the scented steam of jasmine rice perfumes the air with the promise of the feast to come.
Rice is central to Southeast Asian food. Each country in the region has its own particular relationship with it. It is the neutral maypole at the centre of the table around which all other flavours dance. It fills the stomach and feeds the soul. It is as constant and dependable as the summer rains.
Rice is so key to Thai food that you don’t ask your friends if they’ve had dinner yet, you ask ‘Tarn khao ayang?’ or ‘Bai kin khao ma?’ (‘Have you had rice yet?’ or ‘Do you want to get some rice?’). Why? Because – and this may perhaps be the most important thing that foreigners don’t understand about Thai food – rice is not a side dish. It is the main dish. Everything else on the table, no matter how fiery, feisty or delicious, is an accompaniment.
Rice has so profoundly shaped Thailand and its people that it is revered at every stage of life. It is at the heart of Thai customs and culture, integral to the celebration of births, marriages and deaths, scattered across the floor at a cremation to separate the living from the dead.
Its very cultivation has transformed the landscape from virgin forest to vibrant, verdant paddy fields, filled with life-giving grains of rice. Not to mention a host of fish and frogs and birds that can be captured and transformed into sustenance.
No wonder, then, that Thais cherish so many myths about the grain that feeds their entire way of life. Rice has a soul, a khwan. Observances must be made to ensure its untroubled growth. For it is a gift from the animist gods, and each region of the country has a tale of its own of how rice came to feed the nation.
As a Thai-born girl with a foreign face, I often wonder if my love of rice is the most obviously Thai thing about me. Certainly, when I move to a new place, Thai rice is one of the first things I cook because the scent of it (and fish sauce) smells of home. And I would never dream of cooking anything other than a Thai rice to serve with Thai food. As delicious as basmati is, with Thai food it’s just plain wrong.
I say ‘Thai rice’ because, although hom mali or jasmine rice is the most famous and readily available Thai varietal, there are many others, grown all across the country. Brown, red, black, white, all can be found. Indeed, some restaurants now pride themselves on serving you options between them.
One of my particular favourites comes from the island of Koh Klang, which lies just off Krabi. Here, the local sangyod rice strain not only survives but thrives in slightly brackish paddies, the salinity of the water giving the grains a subtly different taste, all the better to pair with the crashing, banging, fierceness of southern Thai flavours.
So, please, don’t just smother your rice with curry sauce. Savour each grain. Engage with it as the true star of your Thai meal. Rice is your friend, your ally, and the best thing to take away the blistering burn of chilli.
I’m biased, I know, but I think Thai hom mali – jasmine rice – is the best in the world. It’s fragrant and delicious, and its texture is second to none.
I cook it ‘by the measure’ in a pot with a good lid over the gas hob. Unless I’m cooking for a lot of people, when I’ll use a rice cooker, because I don’t have the hob space or I don’t have a big enough pot. What’s brilliant about ‘by the measure’ is that, if there’s just two of us and we’re not that hungry, I might use a coffee cup to measure out the rice. If one of the nephews or nieces has brought an extra chum, I can make two mugfuls in a larger pot. I can use two again if I want to make extra for a Fried Rice (see here) or a Khao Tom (Rice Soup, see here) tomorrow. It doesn’t matter, because it always works. The only variable you have to look out for is the age of your rice: the older the rice, the drier it is, so you might need to add a little more water.
1 measure of jasmine rice
1⅓ measure of cold water
First, rinse the rice in a sieve (strainer) under cold running water, until some of the starch has run off.
Pour the rice and the measured water into a saucepan or casserole which has a tight-fitting lid. Place over the heat and bring to the boil. As soon as it’s boiling, turn the heat right down to a simmer and pop the lid on. Cook for about 10–12 minutes.
When the time’s up, taste it. If it’s not quite cooked, add a dash more water and cook for a little longer. You should be able to smell when it’s done – its wonderful perfume fills the kitchen.
Turn off the heat and let it rest for at least 5–10 minutes, so each individual grain of rice can puff up to its perfect glory. It will happily sit and keep warm for up to 30 minutes, leaving you plenty of time to pull everything else together.
~ As a general guideline, allow about 75 g/3 oz uncooked rice per person. ~
Sticky rice (khao niao) is the staple in Isaan and Laos. It comes to the table in one large or several individual lidded baskets (kradip khao niao), wrapped in banana leaf or, more commonly these days, clingfilm (plastic wrap). It’s also (unappealingly) known as glutinous rice. If that in any way worries you, please note that this does not mean it contains gluten, just that it’s sticky, a quality caused by a selected mutation that means it has a very high quotient of amylopectin.
Traditional sticky rice is cooked in a special steaming basket that sits over a pear-shaped vessel of boiling water. The rice is turned in the basket about three quarters of the way through cooking, to ensure it all steams evenly. Most of us don’t have such things, so it’s easiest to cook it in a steamer.
1 measure of sticky rice
Soak one measure of sticky rice (say, amugful) in a bowl of cold water for 3 hours. Drain, and rinse the rice in fresh water.
Bring water to the boil in the base of a steamer. Place the soaked and rinsed rice in a clean muslin (cheesecloth), and place that in the steamer’s upper level. Make sure the rice, in its muslin, is spread in an even layer. Steam the rice, covered, for about 20 minutes. When it’s done, the rice should be soft and sticky, but not mushy.
Divide into portions and serve.
You can also make it in a microwave. Soak the rice for 15–20 minutes in cold water, then rinse until the water runs clear. Place the rice in a microwave-safe bowl, and cook on high for 3 minutes. Remove from the microwave, stir the rice, then cook again for another 3 minutes or so. The rice should look translucent, and feel as above. If it doesn’t, stir again, give it another couple of minutes, and you’re done.
~ Rice generally doubles in size when cooked, so 125 g (4 oz) uncooked makes approximately 250 g (9 oz) cooked, which is enough for 2–4 people when served alongside other dishes. ~
This is a distinctly Thai soup that is at once both profoundly soothing and the most excellent breakfast. It’s also a very good way of using up the rice left over from the night before.
You can use either the Basic Pork or Chicken Stock (see here) for this, or powdered stocks to make life simple. You can also substitute the pork for chicken, or you can make the whole thing vegetarian using mushrooms, a vegetable stock and the Vegan Fish Sauce (see here).
If you’re using a store-bought stock or stock powder, taste it for saltiness.
Serves 2
2 tbsp vegetable oil
2 garlic cloves, chopped
500 ml/17½ fl oz/2 cups stock (see above)
250 g/9 oz/2⅓ cups cooked jasmine rice (125 g/4½ oz/2/3 cup uncooked rice)
80 g/2¾ oz minced (ground) pork
1 tbsp nam pla (fish sauce)
1 tbsp light soy sauce
a good pinch of sugar
to garnish
1 spring onion (scallion), finely sliced
1 tbsp fresh coriander (cilantro) leaves
2.5-cm/1-inch piece of fresh ginger, peeled and finely slivered
a good grinding of white pepper
1 tbsp preserved radish (optional)
1 salted egg, halved (optional)
Heat the oil in a saucepan, and fry the garlic until it’s golden and fragrant. Set aside to cool and allow the garlic to infuse into the oil.
In a larger saucepan, bring the stock to the boil and add the rice. Add the pork by pinching off small pieces into the liquid until you have used all of it. Bring back to the boil, add the nam pla, soy sauce and sugar and simmer gently until the pork is cooked.
Divide into two bowls, scatter the fried garlic over the top, along with a drizzle of its oil, and garnish with the spring onion, white pepper, ginger and coriander, and the preserved radish and salted egg, if using.
Serve with a Kruang Poong (see here) on the side.
Fried rice is one of the great comfort dishes – it’s filling, soothing and satisfying. I’ve used prawns in this version, but you can use slivered beef, pork, chicken, tofu, whatever. Feel free to pull back the chilli, too, if you like. You can always add extra heat later with some Nam Pla Prik (Fish Sauce with Chillies, see here).
Three words of cooking caution: firstly, when you add the rice, you may be tempted to add more oil. Don’t do it. It will make the dish claggy. Keep breaking up the rice as you stir it through the wok, and work through it. Secondly, if you want to make this for more than two, by all means do. But don’t double up all the ingredients and throw it all into one wok. Make the dish once, wipe out your wok, and go again with the second batch. Thirdly, make sure the cooked rice is at room temperature when you make this. If it’s too warm and steamy, it will clump and stick. If it’s too cold, it will turn out as hard as a rock.
Serves 2
2 tbsp vegetable oil
2 garlic cloves, peeled and finely chopped
180 g/6 oz peeled prawns (shrimp)
2–3 Thai bird’s eye chillies, chopped
1 tbsp nam pla (fish sauce)
1 tbsp light soy sauce
a good pinch of sugar
500 g/1 lb 2 oz/4½ cups cooked rice (about 240 g/8½ oz/1⅓ cups uncooked rice)
½ onion, peeled and finely sliced
1 spring onion (scallion), green part only, sliced
a good grinding of white pepper
fresh coriander (cilantro) leaves, to garnish
cucumber slices, to serve
lime wedges, to serve
Heat the wok or frying pan (skillet) until it’s very hot. Add the oil, then the garlic and stir-fry until golden. Add the prawns and the chillies, and carry on stirring, adding the nam pla, soy sauce and sugar, until the prawns are cooked. Add the cooked rice and stir through well, breaking up any clumps. Add the onion and the spring onion and incorporate well. Season with white pepper, then turn on to plates and serve sprinkled with coriander and with the cucumber slices and lime wedges on the side.
Serve with Kai Dao (Deep-fried Eggs, see here) on the top and Nam Pla Prik (Fish Sauce with Chillies, see here), as pictured, on the side.
This is one of my favourite Thai breakfasts. The chicken and rice are fragrant and soothing, while the nam jim is zingy and punchy. It’s well worth cooking from scratch, but it’s also a great way to use up leftover roast chicken, so I include both versions here.
My nam jim recipe is compiled from several versions I’ve had up and down the country, including the one from my favourite stall on Soi Saladaeng in Bangkok, run by my friend Khun Udonsak.
Serves 4–6
1 chicken, about 1.5 kg/3 lb 5 oz (there will be leftovers)
1 small onion, peeled and cut into chunks
4 coriander (cilantro) roots (see here), crushed
1 garlic clove, crushed
a good pinch of sea salt
a good grinding of white pepper
for the rice
1 tbsp vegetable oil
1–2 garlic cloves, peeled and finely chopped
275 g/9¾ oz/1½ cups jasmine rice, rinsed
for the nam jim
4-cm/1½-inch piece of fresh ginger, peeled and finely sliced
2–3 Thai bird’s eye chillies, sliced
a small handful of fresh coriander (cilantro), chopped
2 tbsp yellow bean sauce
2 tbsp rice vinegar
2 tsp sugar
1 tbsp light soy sauce
1 tbsp dark soy sauce
to garnish
4-cm/1½-inch piece of cucumber, sliced
1 tbsp fresh coriander (cilantro) leaves
Put the chicken, onion, coriander root and garlic in a heavy-based stock pot or casserole and pour over cold water to cover. Season with salt and white pepper. Bring to the boil, then turn down to a very low simmer until the chicken is cooked, about 1 hour 20 minutes, depending on the size of the chicken. Skim off any scum on the surface of the water with a spoon. To test when it’s done, remove the bird from the broth and insert a skewer or a fork into the thickest part of its thigh – if the juices run clear, not pinky-red, it’s done. Set aside.
Strain the broth, then taste and adjust the seasoning accordingly. It should be very mild and soothing. Set aside to cool.
Next, cook the rice: heat the vegetable oil in a saucepan that has a tight-fitting lid. Gently fry the chopped garlic without letting it brown. Add the rice and stir to thoroughly coat in the oil. Cover the rice with 330 ml/11 fl oz/1⅓ cups of the cold broth, and bring it to the boil on a medium heat. When it starts to bubble, put the lid on the pan, turn the heat right down, and cook for 10–12 minutes. Taste to see if it’s cooked – if it’s not quite ready, add a dash more broth and cook for a little longer. Sometimes the age of the rice will affect its cooking time, so keep an eye on it. Let the rice rest for 5–10 minutes before serving.
In a separate pan, bring the remaining broth to a simmer.
Meanwhile, make the nam jim: grind the ginger to a paste in a pestle and mortar. Add the chillies and coriander, stir together, then thoroughly combine with the other ingredients and 2 tbsp of the chicken broth. Spoon out into a communal serving bowl.
When ready to serve, slice the chicken and lay each portion beside a serving of rice. Garnish with the cucumber and coriander leaves and accompany with a small bowl of broth and the nam jim.
The Leftovers Method:
Make the broth from your chicken carcass, as though you were making stock. Then use your cold, roast chicken in place of the poached chicken. Everything else remains the same.
~ To serve the rice, I usually pack it into a small bowl (about 9 cm/3½ inches in diameter) and turn it out on to a plate to create each single serving, as you’ll see in the photograph. ~
A good bowl of noodle soup is probably one of the world’s greatest breakfasts.
Although you find noodles all over Thailand, not least in the form of the ubiquitous pad Thai, they actually come from China, and most probably arrived in Thailand with Chinese traders at some point in the eighteenth century. Now they’re everywhere: in soups, in curries, in stir-fries. In fact, a good bowl of noodle soup is probably one of the world’s greatest breakfasts.
Rice noodles (guay teow) are made from an unleavened dough of rice flour and water. They come in wide ribbons (sen yai) and thin (sen lek), and whichever you use is generally up to you. In soups, they are interchangeable. Then there’s sen mee, the thin vermicelli noodles that are almost always sold dried.
Egg noodles (ba mee) can also be used interchangeably in noodle soups.
And there’s kanom jeen, a uniquely Thai style of noodle, which probably originated with the Mon people, who lived in central Thailand before the Tai ethnic group migrated south. Here, the noodles are made with fermented rice.
While you can, sometimes, find all of the above styles of noodle sold freshly made in Asian supermarkets, you will most likely have to make do with dried. Each brand cooks slightly differently, so always follow the instructions on the packet.
I’ve kept the noodle recipes fairly straightforward here, primarily because there are so many minor regional variations on the basic themes that I could’ve ended up with a whole book on noodles wherein all the recipes looked broadly the same. These are the ones I make at home. With the exception of pad Thai, which I only ever seem to cook on request or when I’m teaching, because – if I’m going to go to that much trouble – I’d rather make something else. So sue me.
This is probably the most requested dish in the Thai repertoire. So perhaps, for once, we should call it by its proper name: Guay Teow Pad Thai, or ‘noodles stir-fried in the Thai style’.
How it came to be so widespread across Thailand is down to Prime Minister Plaek Phibunsongkhram, more commonly known as Phibun, who came to power in 1938. Very conscious of protecting Siam’s (as it was then) independence, he passed 12 Cultural Mandates between 1938 and 1942 in a bid to turn Thailand (he renamed it) into a proud and modern country.
In the process, he ordered the creation of a new national dish. Restaurants across the country were given the recipe; anyone with the inclination to open a pad Thai street-food stall was provided with state help to do so; and it was cheap. Small wonder that it quickly became so popular.
A good pad Thai is all about the preparation. There is a lot to do before you fire up your wok and assemble the dish. Fortunately, none of it is especially difficult, just time consuming. So, make sure you have everything prepared and in easy reach before the final cooking.
Serves 2
1 tbsp dried prawns (shrimp)
125 g/4½ oz medium rice noodles
1 tbsp palm sugar
1 tbsp nam pla (fish sauce)
1 tbsp tamarind paste (purée)
1 tbsp unsalted peanuts, roasted (see tip)
juice of ½ lime
4 garlic cloves, peeled and finely chopped
200 g/7 oz raw peeled prawns (shrimp)
2 eggs, lightly beaten
75 g/2½ oz beansprouts
100 g/3½ oz firm tofu, cut into 1-cm/½-inch cubes
1 tbsp preserved radish, finely chopped (optional)
to garnish
a small handful of garlic chives or 2 spring onions (scallions), green parts only, sliced
a handful of unsalted peanuts, roasted (see tip)
a handful of beansprouts
a little fresh chopped coriander (cilantro)
to serve
cucumber slices
lime wedges
Heat 2 tablespoons of the vegetable oil in a wok. When it’s very hot, add the dried prawns and stir-fry them until they are crisp and lightly golden. This should take no more than 30 seconds–1 minute. Remove with a slotted spoon to paper towels to cool.
Meanwhile, prepare the noodles according to the packet instructions. Drain and refresh in cold water. Set aside to dry.
While the noodles soften, make the sauce: gently heat the palm sugar, nam pla and the tamarind paste with a splash of water in a small saucepan, stirring until the sugar dissolves. Remove from the heat and set aside.
Pound the dried prawns and the peanuts loosely in a pestle and mortar – you just want an amalgamation, not a paste.
Now, check through the ingredient list once again: make sure you’ve done all the prep. Once the wok’s on the heat, there’s no turning back! Add the lime juice to the sauce, and you’re all set.
Heat the remaining 2 tablespoons of oil in a wok over the highest possible heat. Add the garlic and stir until it is just fragrant. Add the raw prawns, and stir-fry until they are pink and cooked. Add the beaten eggs, swirling them around the wok, then quickly add the noodles, the peanut and shrimp mixture, the beansprouts, tofu, preserved radish (if using) and the sauce. Stir it together rapidly, making sure it is well combined, then turn out on to plates.
Garnish with the garlic chives or spring onion greens, extra peanuts, beansprouts and chopped coriander and serve immediately, accompanied by sliced cucumber, wedges of fresh lime and the Kruang Poong (see here).
~ To roast the peanuts, scatter them on a baking tray and bake them in a low oven for about 5–8 minutes, shaking the tray a couple of times, until they are golden brown. Remove and set aside on paper towels until you need them. ~
So called, because it’s alleged to be an excellent hangover cure, better even than a bacon sandwich. Most often, you’ll find this served with beef (as here in the photograph), but it is equally delicious with pork or chicken, depending on what you have around. You can substitute the noodles for the same amount of cold cooked rice (added at the same time as you would add the noodles) to make khao pad kee mao… in which case, be sure to serve it with a deep-fried egg (see here) on top.
Serves 2
115 g/4 oz sen yai (large) rice noodles
1 heaped tsp nam prik pao (roasted chilli paste, see here)
1 tbsp dark soy sauce
2 tbsp nam pla (fish sauce)
1 tsp tamarind paste (purée)
1 tsp chilli powder
a pinch of sugar
2–3 Thai bird’s eye chillies
2 garlic cloves, peeled
2 coriander (cilantro) roots (see here)
a pinch of salt
2 tbsp vegetable oil
125 g/4½ oz beef, pork or chicken, cut into thin strips
1 tomato, cut into 8 wedges
4 kaffir lime leaves, finely sliced
a large handful of Thai basil leaves, plus extra to garnish
In a large bowl, soak the noodles in hot water until they separate and reach the texture of uncooked fresh pasta.
In a small bowl, mix together the nam prik pao, dark soy, nam pla, tamarind paste, chilli powder and sugar, until the sugar has dissolved.
Pound the chillies, garlic and coriander root together with the salt in a pestle and mortar until you have a rough paste.
Heat your wok over a high heat until it’s very hot, then add the oil. Add the garlic and coriander root paste, and stir-fry for a minute or so until it’s really fragrant, then add the meat. Stir-fry until it takes colour, then add the tomato, lime leaves and the chilli paste mixture, stirring them in well. Now add the drained noodles and half of the basil. Keep stir-frying until everything is cooked through and well combined, about 5 minutes. Stir through the remaining basil and serve immediately, garnished with the extra basil leaves.
Guay Teow Nahm is not a dish to sweat over. This is grab-a-seat-at-a-stall-and-it-will-be-in-front-of-you-in-minutes food. So let’s be frank: what you make at home won’t taste anything like what you buy on the street. Those guys have been making that stock for that soup for generations. Don’t try to compare this to that.
This is a quick breakfast or lunch that you can have ready in 30 minutes. If you have the time, make the Basic Pork Stock (see here). Failing that, I often use chicken stock made from the Sunday leftovers or a Thai pork stock powder, which you can buy at most Asian supermarkets. It all depends on what I have in when the mood for noodles strikes.
This version is made with rice noodles (guay teow). If you make it with egg noodles, it becomes Ba Mee Nahm.
Serves 2 greedy souls or 4 daintier appetites
90 g/3¼ oz medium-width dried rice noodles
2 garlic cloves
2 coriander (cilantro) roots (see here), roughly chopped
a pinch of salt
1 tbsp vegetable oil
750 ml/1¼ pints/3 cups stock
1 tbsp light soy sauce, or to taste
1½ tbsp nam pla (fish sauce), or to taste
200 g/7 oz pork or chicken, thinly sliced
100 g/3½ oz pak choi (bok choy) or pak boong (Siamese watercress), roughly chopped
a handful of beansprouts
to garnish
3 spring onions (scallions), trimmed and finely sliced
fresh coriander (cilantro) leaves
sweet basil leaves (optional)
deep-fried garlic (see here) (optional)
Prepare the noodles by soaking them in a large bowl of very hot water, as per the instructions on the packet. This softens them and removes excess starch, which will make the soup gummy. Times may vary – you want a malleable noodle, not a squishy one – the texture of fresh pasta. Drain, rinse with cold water and set aside.
Meanwhile, pound the garlic and the coriander root together in a pestle and mortar with a pinch of salt.
Heat the oil in a saucepan, then add the garlic and coriander root paste. Cook until fragrant but not coloured, then add the stock. Bring it up to the boil, add the soy and nam pla, followed by the pork or chicken. Simmer until the meat is cooked through, a minute or two, then add the pak choi or pak boong. Bring back to the boil, and cook for another minute, until the vegetables are cooked but retain some bite. Taste the broth and adjust the seasoning – you may need a little more soy or nam pla.
Divide the noodles between the bowls. Add the beansprouts. Ladle the soup over the top, and garnish with the spring onion, coriander, sweet basil and deep-fried garlic, if using. Serve straight away with a Kruang Poong (see here) on the side.
~ You can add ¼ tsp white peppercorns to the mortar when you pound the garlic and coriander root, if you like. ~
~ If you have any leftover cooked chicken, pork or steak, you can exchange it for the raw meat. Just add the cooked leftovers at the end with the beansprouts. ~
Ba Mee Haeng is, simply, the opposite of Ba Mee Nam. The latter is a noodle soup, and so is the former… without the soup.
I’ve designed this to use up leftover pork. With barbecued pork, this is a phenomenon that rarely happens, but I often find I have roast pork leftovers, which work very well. And if I have none, I’ll buy Chinese barbecued pork, which the Thais call moo dang, or red pork, in Chinatown.
I also often make this with packets of Thai instant noodles – Mama is my preferred brand – which I always have in the cupboard. I’ll often make Ba Mee Nam with them too, and, if I’m feeling extra indulgent, I’ll poach an egg in the stock alongside them for added silky richness.
Serves 2
2 garlic cloves, finely chopped and deep-fried (see here)
2 tsp caster (superfine) sugar
2 tbsp nam pla (fish sauce)
1 pak choi (bok choy), halved and sliced
100 g/3½ oz beansprouts
2 nests dried egg noodles
160 g/5½ oz barbecued pork, thinly sliced
2 tbsp pickled mustard greens
2 spring onions (scallions), green parts only, finely sliced
1 tbsp coriander (cilantro) leaves
First, deep-fry the garlic and set aside reserving 2 tablespoons of its frying oil. Then dissolve the sugar in the nam pla, and set aside.
Bring a large saucepan of water to the boil. Blanch the pak choi and divide it equally between two bowls. Then blanch the beansprouts and divide between the bowls. Finally, cook the noodles according to the instructions on the packet and divide them between the bowls.
Top the bowls equally with the remaining ingredients, and serve with lime wedges and a Kruang Poong (see here) on the side.
~ Don’t be snobbish about packets of instant dried noodles like the ones from Mama – most Thais (including me) grew up on the stuff. My suitcase back to boarding schools was stuffed with them… and fish sauce. Pimp them up with any vegetables you have lying around, leftovers bits of meat or ham, pickled mustard greens, a spoon or two of kim chi or yellow bean sauce, an egg. They’re delicious. And super quick to make. ~
This may be one of my most beloved examples of Thai home cooking. It’s my Dad’s recipe, and kow soi was his favourite dish.
When I had just turned seven, my Mum returned to England to put my sister into school. So Dad took me with him on a trip to Chiang Mai. It was my first time in the north, and I loved it. But my abiding memory is not of elephants and farmers and golden temples; it’s of going to a kow soi restaurant, where Dad ate so many bowls of it he had to be taken back to the hotel in a wheelbarrow. A stunt that, in retrospect, I realise was more for my amusement than necessity. But still.
When they retired to Gozo, he and Mum would cook Thai food at least once a week, adapting recipes as best they could with the ingredients they could find. And I was tasked with carting suitcases full of their favourite brand of curry paste each time I visited, which left my swimwear with an interesting aroma.
Even as a widower, Dad would make a batch of this once a month, freezing the portions so that he could have it every Sunday.
The recipe demonstrates a typical Thai home cook’s trick: paste adaptation. Rather than filling your fridge with every kind of paste, or making it from scratch every time, you simply add the missing spices, often in powdered form, either to the paste or the developing curry; which is incredibly practical, when you think about it.
Serves 4–6
4 garlic cloves, finely chopped
4 heaped tbsp good-quality red curry paste
2 x 400-ml/14-fl oz cans of coconut milk
800 ml/27 fl oz/scant 3½ cups chicken stock
650 g/1½ lb chicken thighs, cut into 2-cm/¾-inch pieces
1 heaped tsp ground turmeric
3 tbsp hot curry powder
2 long dried red chillies
2½ tbsp nam pla (fish sauce)
1 tsp fresh lime juice
65–70 g/2¼–2½ oz egg noodles per head (about a ‘nest’ each), uncooked weight
to garnish
crispy egg noodles (see tip)
4 Thai shallots or 2 regular shallots, peeled and sliced
lime wedges
extra nam pla (fish sauce)
nam prik pao (roasted chilli paste, see here)
fermented mustard greens (see tip)
In a large saucepan, heat the oil over a medium-high heat until hot. Add the garlic and stir-fry until golden brown, then add the curry paste and stir-fry until fragrant – no more than 30 seconds–1 minute. Add half of the coconut milk and stir gently until the paste dissolves into it. Then add the rest of the coconut milk and the stock, and allow to bubble gently until the sauce starts to reduce and to thicken slightly.
Add the chicken, stirring it into the sauce. Then add the turmeric, curry powder, dried chillies, nam pla and lime juice, stirring them in well. Turn down the heat, and simmer until the chicken is cooked, about 20 minutes.
Meanwhile, prepare the noodles according to the packet instructions. Drain, then place each portion of noodles into a bowl.
Spoon the curry generously over the top of the noodles and serve with the garnish ingredients on the side.
~ This is quite a spicy, heat-forward version. If you prefer a milder, creamier taste, just stir in some coconut cream on the final heat-through. ~
~ To make the crispy egg noodle garnish, soak a coil or two of egg noodles as per packet instructions. Drain and dry them well on some paper towel. Heat some oil for deep-frying. Gently lower the noodles a handful at a time into the hot oil and gently fry until crisp, turning with tongs. Remove from the oil and drain on fresh paper towels. Then, fry each batch again until they turn golden. Drain well and serve on top of the Kow Soi. ~
~ Fermented mustard greens can be found in cans or vacuum packs in most Asian supermarkets. Use any left over chopped up and stirred into a Kai Jeow (Thai Omelette, see here). ~
Kanom Jeen is a popular street-food dish all over Thailand. It’s made with cooked, cold noodles served with a hot sauce over the top. This one, which I discovered at Khun Oot’s stall in Mae Hong Son market, is halfway between a Thai kanom jeen and a Lao kow soi. It makes for the best breakfast!
Some key things: first, this derives from a Shan dish, so there’s no nam pla here. Second, it’s often served with ngiaw flowers, dried blossoms from the red cotton tree. They’re hard to find outside of Thailand, so I don’t use them. Third, the kanom jeen noodles are very specific. They’re a fermented rice noodle. In Thailand you can buy them fresh; elsewhere, you cannot. I favour No.1 Hand Brand, a Thai product you can find in most good Asian supermarkets. Do substitute a good-quality rice noodle if you cannot find them.
Serves 2 ‘fat farang’ or 4 normal people
100 g/3½ oz dried kanom jeen noodles
3 Thai shallots or 1 regular shallot, peeled and chopped
3 garlic cloves, peeled and chopped
4–6 Thai bird’s eye chillies
2 dried bird’s eye (bird) chillies
a good pinch of salt
2 tbsp vegetable oil
200 g/7 oz minced (ground) pork
4 good, ripe small tomatoes or 8 cherry tomatoes, chopped
2 tsp kapi (shrimp paste)
600 ml/1 pint/2½ cups chicken or pork stock
2 tsp palm sugar
1–2 tsp light soy sauce
1 tbsp tomato purée (paste), if necessary
to serve
2 good handfuls of beansprouts
2 spring onions (scallions), chopped
crispy rice noodles (optional)
lime wedges
roasted chilli powder (available in Asian supermarkets)
Kap Moo (Pork Scratchings, see here)
First prepare the noodles as per the instructions on the packet, then drain and allow them to go cold. You can do this well ahead of time.
Pound the shallots, garlic and chillies in a pestle and mortar along with a pinch of salt until you have a paste.
Heat the oil in a wok and fry off the paste until fragrant, this will only take about 30 seconds–1 minute. Add the pork and the tomatoes and keep on stir-frying until everything has amalgamated and the pork is cooked. Add the kapi and stir through until it’s well mixed in. Add the stock, sugar and soy sauce, stir through and bring back to the boil. Taste: you want it salty, sweet and sharp from the tomatoes. Adjust the seasoning if you like, and add the tomato purée if your tomatoes are not up to scratch.
Divide the cold noodles between the bowls and pour over the sauce. Top with beansprouts, spring onions and crispy noodles, if using. Serve with lime wedges, roasted chilli powder, pork scratchings and extra beansprouts on the side.
