Dessert is not usually part of a meal in Southeast Asia; instead, sweets are eaten as a snack at almost any hour of the day. Fried Bananas (page 299), for example, one of our all-time favorite street foods, makes a wonderful mid-morning snack.
We’re not going to give a recipe for another one of our favorite Thai sweets. Not a formal recipe, that is: It doesn’t need a formal recipe. And it’s not that we eat this particular sweet treat very often, we don’t. But we love it, well, we love the fact of it. So here it is: Take a hot dog bun, fill it with several scoops of coconut ice cream, and pour sweetened condensed milk over the ice cream, gooping it on. An ice cream sandwich, Thai style.
Better yet, try some of the easy sweets that follow, from Tashi’s Favorite Black Rice Pudding (page 292) to Sweet Corn Fritters (page 296) and Classic Banana Shake (page 303). Another surprising and simple dessert is Tapioca and Corn Pudding with Coconut Cream (page 294); it may transform your idea of tapioca, as it has ours.
We confess that, when traveling, we often arrange our days around a good source of Thai or Lao or Vietnamese Iced Coffee with Sweetened Condensed Milk (page 304); luckily, it’s easy to make at home, so once back from travels, we need not go without.
Deep-frying is a quick way of cooking sweet treats, from FRIED BANANAS (page 299) to SWEET CORN FRITTERS (page 296).
At a morning market, a woman carries freshly made rice doughnuts and fritters.
In Mae Sai, on the Thai-Burmese border, vendors fry up rice dough nuts for hungry shoppers.
TASHI’S FAVORITE BLACK RICE PUDDING
Since black rice is a big favorite of Tashi’s, over time we’ve developed a quick version of black rice pudding, aromatic, sweet, and satisfying. You can prepare it and have it in bowls for impatient rice pudding fans in under an hour, with no presoaking of the rice. Serve it for dessert or as a snack, or even for breakfast. The rice is moist, almost soupy, when first made, but if it’s left to stand in a cool place, it firms up into a pudding-cake texture and can be eaten in slices (see Note). Eat it on its own or topped with sesame seeds, coriander leaves, or fried shallots, or a combination.
2 cups black sticky rice
3 cups water
2 cups canned or fresh coconut milk (see page 315)
¾ cup palm sugar, or substitute brown sugar
½ teaspoon salt
OPTIONAL TOPPINGS
2 tablespoons Dry-Roasted Sesame Seeds (page 308)
½ cup coriander leaves
¼ cup Fried Shallots (page 310)
Ripe mango or other sweet-acid fruit, sliced
Place the rice and water in a heavy pot and bring to a boil. Let boil vigorously for several minutes, stirring frequently, then cover, lower the heat to medium, and cook for 10 minutes. Lower the heat to very low and let simmer, still covered, for about 30 minutes.
Just before the rice finishes cooking, place the coconut milk in a saucepan over medium heat and stir in the sugar and salt until completely dissolved. Heat just to a boil, then reduce to the lowest heat until the rice is cooked.
Add the coconut milk to the rice and stir well, then remove from the heat and set aside for 10 minutes, or as long as 2 hours.
Serve warm or at room temperature, in small bowls, with your choice of topping.
MAKES about 4 cups; serves 4 to 8
NOTE: If you like, once the pudding has cooled (or if you have leftover pudding), transfer it to a small baking sheet or a baking pan and use a spatula to smooth the surface. Cover and place it in the refrigerator for several hours, or overnight, to firm up. Cut into strips and serve sprinkled, if you wish, with the sesame seeds, coriander, or fried shallots, or a combination, or topped with the fruit.
Traditional Vietnamese straw hats offer shelter from sun and rain. Because they rest lightly on the head, they’re remarkably cool.
Purplish slices of black rice pudding are set out for sale on banana leaves.
TAPIOCA AND CORN PUDDING WITH COCONUT CREAM
We’ve eaten versions of this thick-textured comfort food in the Mekong Delta and in Thailand. The corn is used here for its sweet taste, more like a fruit than a grain. It also gives an agreeable soft crunch to the smooth pudding. The combination of corn and tapioca is inspired, far from the bland gluey tapioca puddings of English tradition. The pudding is aromatic with rose water and enriched with a little coconut cream.
Tapioca is widely available, sold in clear plastic bags, in Asian groceries. Tapioca pearls come in large and small sizes, and the small ones, used here, are sometimes pale green, looking as if they’ve been soaked in pandanus leaf juice. (You can also buy pink ones and white ones.) If you can, use green tapioca for the pudding, because it’s fun when combined with the yellow corn; but undyed tapioca is just fine too.
The tapioca sweetens and softens as it cooks. Sugar will make it tough, so don’t add the sugar until the tapioca is cooked.
3¼ cups water
1 cup small Asian-style tapioca pearls
¼ teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon rose water
½ cup plus 1 tablespoon sugar
1½ cups fresh corn kernels (from 2 medium ears)
½ cup canned or fresh coconut cream (see Note)
Place the water in a heavy pot and bring to a boil. Add the tapioca and salt and stir as the water comes back to a boil. Lower the heat slightly to maintain a low boil and cook, stirring frequently to prevent sticking, until the tapioca is completely cooked and soft, 15 to 20 minutes.
Stir in the rose water and sugar until the sugar is thoroughly dissolved, then stir in the corn kernels and simmer over low heat for 5 minutes. The kernels should still have a slight fresh crunch.
Serve the pudding warm in small bowls, topped with a dollop (a generous heaped teaspoon) of coconut cream.
SERVES 8
NOTE: You can use fresh coconut cream (see page 315) or canned; canned coconut milk usually separates into a thick dense cream and a thin liquid. Use the cream in this recipe.
Fritters are a quick way to make a treat from simple ingredients. This is a version of the corn fritters sold by street vendors in Yunnan, usually in the morning. They’re very easy to make at home if you have a large stable wok or a heavy pot. The fritters are tender as they come out and golden brown, with a slight sweet crunch of corn as you bite into them.
Make the fritters for a special breakfast or as a snack anytime, to accompany tea or coffee. You can also serve them for dessert, with sliced fruit or sorbet as a cool contrast.
1 medium egg
½ cup all-purpose flour
1 cup corn kernels (frozen or from 1 or 2 small ears)
½ cup water
¼ teaspoon salt
Peanut oil for deep-frying
Sugar for sprinkling
Break the egg into a medium bowl and whisk to blend the yolk and white. Stir in 2 tablespoons of the flour to make a smooth paste. Stir in the corn. Add the water, then stir in the salt and remaining flour. Transfer the batter to a blender or processor and blend or pulse for 30 seconds to 1 minute to break down the corn kernels. (See Notes.) You should have about 1¼ cups batter. Transfer to a bowl and set aside. (The batter can be made up to 2 hours ahead and set aside, covered, in the refrigerator. Bring back to room temperature and stir thoroughly before proceeding.)
Place a large plate lined with several paper towels beside your stovetop. Place a large wok (make sure it is stable) or a wide heavy pot over medium-high to high heat. Add peanut oil to come to a depth of about 1 inch at the deepest point of the wok or in the pot and heat until hot. Test the temperature by dropping a blob of batter into the oil. It should sizzle as it drops down into the oil and should float back up immediately. If it blackens quickly, the oil is too hot and you should reduce the heat to medium-high. Or, if it doesn’t rise back up to the surface, the oil is not yet hot enough; wait another minute or two before testing again.
Once the oil is at the correct temperature, scoop up just under 3 tablespoons of batter and drop it in a circle onto the hot oil. It will form a disk. After about 30 seconds, the underside should be brown. Use a slotted spoon or slotted spatula to turn the fritter over and cook for another 15 seconds or so on the second side until golden brown, then transfer it to the paper towel–lined plate. Sprinkle with sugar. Repeat with the remaining batter. If you have room in your pan, you can cook two or three at once. Serve hot.
MAKES about 8 fritters
NOTES: The corn kernels must be coarsely pureed to eliminate all whole kernels. Whole kernels may pop while being deep-fried and spatter hot oil.
We find that once the oil is hot, if we set our flame to medium-high, rather than high, it maintains the correct temperature.
Many people first encounter sticky rice in this classic Thai-Lao sweet. Most are astonished and delighted and immediately want to know how to make it at home. The recipe is very simple.
As with most of the sweets in Southeast Asia, you can eat Coconut Milk Sticky Rice as a snack or serve it as dessert.
3 cups sticky rice, soaked overnight in water or thin coconut milk and drained
2 cups canned or fresh coconut milk (see page 315)
¾ cup palm sugar, or substitute brown sugar
1 teaspoon salt
4 ripe mangoes, or substitute sliced ripe peaches or papayas
OPTIONAL GARNISH
Mint or Asian basil sprigs
Steam the sticky rice until tender, following the instructions on page 91 (about 30 minutes).
Meanwhile, place the coconut milk in a heavy pot and heat over medium heat until hot. Do not boil. Add the sugar and salt and stir to dissolve completely.
When the sticky rice is tender, turn it out into a bowl and pour 1 cup of the hot coconut milk over; reserve the rest. Stir to mix the liquid into the rice, then let stand for 20 minutes to an hour to allow the flavors to blend.
Meanwhile, peel the mangoes. The mango pit is flat and you want to slice the mango flesh off the pit as cleanly as possible. One at a time, lay the mangoes on a narrow side on a cutting board and slice lengthwise about ½ inch from the center—your knife should cut just along the flat side of the pit; if it strikes the pit, shift over a fraction of an inch more until you can slice downward. Repeat on the other side of the pit, giving you two hemispherical pieces of mango. (The cook gets to snack on the stray bits of mango still clinging to the pit.) Lay each mango half flat and slice thinly crosswise.
To serve individually, place an oval mound of sticky rice on each dessert plate and place a sliced half-mango decoratively beside it. Top with a sprig of mint or basil if you wish. Or, place the mango slices on a platter and pass it around, together with a serving bowl containing the rice, allowing guests to serve themselves. Stir the remaining sweetened coconut milk thoroughly, transfer to a small serving bowl or cruet, and pass it separately, with a spoon, so guests can spoon on extra as they wish.
SERVES 8
NOTES: You can substitute black Thai sticky rice (see Glossary) for half the white rice. Soak the two rices together; the white rice will turn a beautiful purple as it takes on color from the black rice. Cooking will take 10 minutes longer.
Unlike plain sticky rice, Coconut Milk Sticky Rice has enough moisture and oils in it that it keeps well for 24 hours, in a covered container in the refrigerator, without drying out. Rewarm it the next day by steaming or in a microwave.
We don’t know the true origin of this dish, except that the first and only place we’ve ever seen it served is by a street vendor who sets up at night on a sidewalk not far from the post office in Chiang Mai (see Chiang Mai, page 122). He’s been there for years and years, and is there almost every night until very late. He doesn’t seem to do a brisk business, but it’s steady.
We have a feeling that this is somehow a “medicinal dessert,” with the combination of tofu and ginger, but we’ve always loved it for its slippery texture, and because late in the evening, when we are walking back from the night bazaar and the air is cool, this sweet treat takes the nip from the night air.
1¼ cups water
½ cup sugar
1 heaping tablespoon minced ginger
1½ pounds silky tofu (4 small blocks or 2 large [12- to 14-ounce] blocks), chilled
Mint sprigs for garnish (optional)
Place the water in a small nonreactive pot and bring to a boil. Stir in the sugar until dissolved, then add the ginger. Lower the heat and simmer, uncovered, for about 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. (The sauce can be made a day ahead and set aside, covered. Bring to a simmer before serving.)
To serve, set out four shallow bowls. Use a large spoon to scoop up a smooth diagonal slice of tofu and place it in one of the bowls. Repeat, overlapping the slices and distributing the tofu slices among all the bowls. Spoon or pour the hot syrup over, then sprinkle the ginger from the bottom of the pot over each bowl. Garnish, if you wish, with mint sprigs.
SERVES 4 to 6
NOTE: If you want some crunch and color to contrast with the smooth white tofu, sprinkle on some finely chopped Dry-Roasted Peanuts (page 308) mixed with sugar, or some Dry-Roasted Sesame Seeds (page 308).
This simple home-style pudding is often eaten as a snack at home or in the market, as most sweets are in Southeast Asia, rather than as dessert after a meal.
In Thailand and Cambodia, people sometimes make coconut milk by using scented water to extract the milk. You can achieve a similar effect by adding a little rose water to the coconut milk; be careful—it’s very strong, so use restraint. The bananas simmer briefly in the slightly sweetened coconut milk, then are served in a small bowl, topped if you wish with a sprinkling of golden sesame seeds or chopped roasted peanuts.
1½ cups canned or fresh coconut milk (see page 315)
½ teaspoon rose water (optional)
¼ teaspoon salt
½ cup sugar, or more to taste
4 regular bananas or 10 small sweet Asian bananas
1 to 2 tablespoons Dry-Roasted Sesame Seeds (page 308) (optional)
1 to 2 tablespoons Dry-Roasted Peanuts (page 308), finely chopped (optional)
Place the coconut milk in a heavy pot over medium heat, add the rose water, if using, and the salt and sugar, and stir until completely dissolved. (You can make the sauce ahead and let it stand for up to 1 hour before cooking the bananas. Reheat before proceeding.)
Peel the bananas and cut into bite-sized pieces.
Add the bananas to the pot and cook until softened, 5 to 10 minutes, depending on the bananas you are using and on how firm or soft you like your bananas. Serve warm or at room temperature, in small bowls, topped with sprinkled sesame seeds or chopped roasted peanuts if you wish.
SERVES 8
NOTE: Leftovers, once cooled to room temperature, can be stored in a sealed container in the refrigerator for up to 24 hours.
For fried bananas, the bananas (you need firm regular North American–style bananas, not special small sweet ones) are sliced, then dipped in a sweetened batter just before they’re fried. Sometimes the batter contains roasted sesame seeds; they’re not necessary, they just give a little extra flavor and a slight change in texture before your teeth reach the soft hot sweetness of the bananas.
⅓ cup all-purpose flour
½ cup rice flour, or more if needed
½ teaspoon baking powder
2 tablespoons sugar
½ teaspoon salt
½ cup water or canned or fresh coconut milk (see page 315)
1 tablespoon Dry-Roasted Sesame Seeds (page 308) (optional)
4 to 5 firm ripe bananas
Peanut oil for deep-frying
In a large bowl, mix together the flours, baking powder, sugar, and salt. Add the water or coconut milk little by little, stirring until a smooth batter forms. The batter should be a smooth paste, not watery; add a little extra rice flour if it seems thin. Stir in the sesame seeds, if using. Let stand for 10 minutes.
Peel the bananas. Cut crosswise in half, then slice each lengthwise into 3 slices. Place a heavy pot or stable large wok over high heat. Add oil to a depth of about 1½ inches (in the deepest part of the wok) and heat until the oil just starts to smoke. To test for temperature, add a blob of batter to the oil: It should sink and then rise back up immediately, without turning black. If it blackens quickly, the oil is too hot and you should reduce the heat to medium-high. If it doesn’t rise back up to the surface, the oil is not yet hot enough; wait another minute or two before testing again. Place a paper towel–lined plate by your cooking surface.
When the oil is at the right temperature, place a banana piece in the batter and turn to coat it, then slip it into the hot oil. Repeat with a second piece of banana. If the banana is very ripe and a little soft, the pieces may break into two smaller pieces; don’t worry, it doesn’t matter. Deep-fry, turning them over halfway through cooking, until golden brown, 1 to 2 minutes, depending on the size of your pot. Remove with a slotted spoon, pausing to allow excess oil to drain off, and place on the paper towel–lined plate. Repeat with the remaining bananas. Transfer the cooked bananas to a plate and cover or place in a 150°F oven to keep warm. Serve hot.
MAKES 24 to 30 pieces; serves 4 to 8, depending on the size of your bananas
NOTE: Vietnamese restaurants often serve a colonial fusion version of this, called bananes flambées. Long slices of banana are pressed flat, dipped in batter, and fried. Just before they go to the table, they’re dusted with sugar and then a liqueur or high-alcohol rum is poured over and set alight. The bananas arrive glowing with quiet blue flames.
Almost nine years after our first trip to the Mekong Delta, I went back, this time by myself, in rainy season. In Cantho (a large town at the heart of the Delta), I stayed in a cheap hotel by the market, situated between a twenty-four-hour restaurant run by a woman named Lulu and an old Chinese Buddhist temple.
Lulu is Chinese, smooth-skinned and plump. She and her husband work the evening shift, starting at about five in the afternoon; her sister works the opposite twelve-hour shift, seven days a week. The restaurant was closed for ten years after the end of the war in 1975, as private enterprise was discouraged by the Hanoi government. But things loosened up in the mid-eighties and now it’s a bustling place, not just at lunch and supper, but all through the night, with boatmen and market people who come to eat after unloading produce at the dock across the road.
One day an alert young boatwoman named Vui and her friend Hanh sat down to chat with me while I was having lunch at Lulu’s. They persuaded me to hire them for a morning’s excursion along the small waterways not far from Cantho.
We got to a morning market just at dawn, a floating market. At floating markets, boats become market stalls, selling anything from household goods (pots and pans, plastic basins and buckets, metal spoons and cleavers) to dry goods and toiletries, to food of all kinds. Vendors hold weighing scales in the air because there’s no level surface on which to place them. The buyer’s and seller’s boats lightly rock side by side, held together with a free hand while the buyer picks through the produce on offer. Food vendors have their cauldrons of broth, their piles of noodles and fresh herbs, all laid out in their narrow skiffs. We pulled up alongside one “stall,” put in our orders, and soon were handed large, steaming white china bowls of noodle soup. We ate quickly with chopsticks and spoons, then handed the bowls back and pushed off.
Two days later we made our big expedition. In a powerful long boat driven by a friend of theirs named Tranh, we traveled across the southern branch of the Mekong and into Tra Vinh Province, a trip that even Tranh had never made. We left well before dawn, needing to be across the big river and into Tra Vinh before any police boats were out, for traveling by boat between provinces without a permit is against the rules. Once in new territory, a maze of straight canals and twisting smaller waterways, we had to stop several times and ask directions.
We traveled for miles and hours through low green swampy country. We passed a few villages and floating markets, we saw fishermen and farmers and children playing and women doing laundry. People looked at us oddly each time we pulled over and asked for directions, but we had no trouble and, eventually, pleased and relieved, we reached the town of Tra Vinh, the sleepy capital of Tra Vinh Province.
It was already midafternoon, so there was only time for a quick lunch and a visit to a Khmer temple before Vui and Hanh had to leave. As the boat roared back up the channel, heading for distant Cantho, they waved and waved. Then I went looking for a place to stay.
In many Delta towns, there’s a small ferry crossing near the market. Women come and go all day, chatting as they wait for a boat across.
Sangkaya (the Thai name) is found in various versions from Vietnam (where it’s called banh gan) to Cambodia (the Khmer call it sankiah) to Laos. It’s a simple coconut milk–based custard, sweetened and flavored with palm sugar. In Vietnam, a little ground cinnamon, ginger, anise, and cloves may go into the custard, darkening it slightly and giving it a more complex flavor. Sometimes it comes topped with fried shallots and coriander leaves, a startling combination of savory and sweet. Coconut milk custard is sold by the slice in markets all over the region.
This is the basic Thai version of sangkaya.Serve it as a rich dessert, on its own or with sweetened sticky rice, as suggested below.
1½ cups canned or fresh thick coconut milk (see page 315)
⅔ cup palm sugar, or substitute brown sugar
⅛ teaspoon salt
4 large eggs
OPTIONAL ACCOMPANIMENT
2 cups Coconut Milk Sticky Rice (page 297) or Tashi’s Favorite Black Rice Pudding (page 292)
Have ready six custard cups or small heatproof bowls that will fit in a steamer.
In a heavy pot, heat the coconut milk until lukewarm. Add the sugar and salt, stirring until the sugar has completely dissolved. Remove from the heat. Break the eggs into a bowl and whisk briefly, then stir into the coconut milk.
Pour the mixture through a muslin- or cheesecloth-lined sieve into the cups. Place in the steamer, cover, and steam over gently boiling water until the custard sets, about 15 minutes. (You can also use a roasting pan filled with 1 inch of water as an improvised steamer. Place one or more trivets in it to hold the cups of custard.) Remove from the steamer and let cool.
Serve at room temperature, or refrigerate and serve chilled, with the sticky rice or sticky rice pudding if you wish.
SERVES 6
Banana shakes are foreigner food in Thailand, prepared for foreigners who crave a taste of home for one reason or another. Banana pancakes are another common foreigner food, and are even more ubiquitous, appearing on menus all the way from Indonesia to India.
Both have now been around so long that, like other dishes, they have their own culinary histories. We won’t discuss banana pancakes (because we don’t love them), but the shake is a different matter. The early shakes, the shakes of the late seventies and early eighties, were truly inspired. The vendor would put condensed milk, ripe or even overripe bananas, and lots of ice in a blender, then turn the blender on and, this is the important part, blend and blend and blend. The ice had to completely disappear, even the graininess of the blended ice had to disappear. The shake was thick and creamy, like ice cream.
Nowadays, banana shakes cost a lot more. The vendors put in ice cream or yogurt, trying to justify the cost, and they come out more like floats than shakes, kind of foamy and overrich. The old type can still be found, but it takes some looking.
The good news is that they, the old kind, are easy as pie to make (easier than pie …). We don’t bother with condensed milk, just use regular milk, and the shakes are still plenty sweet. But be sure to blend them long enough; that’s the secret.
2 to 3 ripe medium bananas, fresh or frozen, broken into pieces (See Notes)
2 cups ice cubes or crushed ice
1 cup milk
Sugar (optional)
Sweetened condensed milk (optional)
Place the bananas, ice, and a little of the milk in a blender and start blending on the lowest speed. As the machine starts to whiz, increase the speed. The blender will sound burdened and a little bumpy as it works on the ice cubes, and you may need to stop it and use a spatula to free a jammed ice cube or piece of frozen banana. Once the blender is going well, add the remaining milk, increase the speed, and blend for 20 to 30 seconds, until you no longer hear any bumping of large pieces against the sides of the blender. Taste and add a little sugar or sweetened condensed milk if you wish; we rarely find we need to supplement the bananas’ natural sweetness.
Pour into tall glasses.
SERVES 2 to 4, depending on their capacity
NOTES: Whenever we have bananas that are ripening to overripe, we peel them, then put them in the freezer. This way we maintain a supply of very ripe and sweet bananas, so we’re always prepared when the urge for a banana shake strikes.
In Vietnam, in the Mekong Delta, we’ve had avocado shakes, made like a banana shake but with less ice and a whole large avocado. The shakes are sweetened with sugar and also salted lightly. They make a delicious and very beautiful pale green drink. The only problem is that they’re so filling, we don’t feel like eating for 24 hours.
ICED COFFEE WITH SWEETENED CONDENSED MILK
Coffee is grown in the mountains of Vietnam, Cambodia, and southern Laos; it was introduced by the French in the colonial era. Throughout the region, except where instant coffee has made inroads, coffee is made strong and dark, by some version of the filter and drip method. Traditional Thai coffee has an almost mocha taste and is, we’re told, grown in southern Thailand. If you find it in a Thai grocery store, buy some and try it.
In Laos and Cambodia and Vietnam, coffee is made in a little individual stacked metal filter, designed to let the boiling water filter slowly through the grounds into your cup; in Thailand, the ground coffee goes into a cloth bag and then boiling water is poured through it.
The coffee is bracing, hot, and thick and often smoky-tasting on its own. We confess that our favorite version of Southeast Asian coffee is over ice, flavored with sweetened condensed milk. You’ll find it served in restaurants and also at street stalls. In Thailand, you can get it sai tung (meaning “in a bag”): It comes in a plastic bag tied at the top with an elastic band, with a straw stuck in one corner. You slip a loop of the elastic band over a finger, letting the bag hang down; as you walk along, you can take small sips, savoring each intensely flavored mouthful, trying to extend the pleasure as long as possible as the ice slowly melts. (If you’re having Southeast Asian coffee first thing in the morning, you might want to drink it hot, with sweetened condensed milk and no ice. As the day warms up, the iced version becomes irresistible.)
This makes a dazzling treat to serve at the end of a Southeast Asian meal, even to guests who always drink their coffee black.
½ cup sweetened condensed milk, at room temperature
12 to 16 ice cubes
3 cups hot strong coffee (Lao, Vietnamese, or Thai coffee, or espresso; See Note)
Place 2 tablespoons sweetened condensed milk in the bottom of each of four small coffee cups before adding the hot coffee. Place 3 or 4 ice cubes in each of four tall glasses and put a long-handled spoon in each.
Serve each guest one cup of coffee with a small spoon, and one tall glass of ice cubes. Instruct your guests to stir the coffee thoroughly while still very hot in order to blend in the condensed milk, then to pour it into the tall glass. (The long-handled spoon prevents the hot coffee from shattering the glass.) Stir briskly with the long-handled spoon, making an agreeable clatter with the ice cubes, to cool down the coffee.
Sip the coffee slowly, as a treat on its own or to finish off a meal.
SERVES 4
NOTE: If making Lao, Vietnamese, or Thai coffee using metal filters, bring 4 or more cups of water to a boil. Place a Vietnamese metal filter over each cup and fill each with about 2 tablespoons ground coffee, depending on the coffee and your taste. Pour boiling water into the top of each filter and put on the lid. Or use a regular filter or drip pot or an espresso machine. If using espresso, make it just before you wish to serve, allowing ¾ cup per person; distribute it among the four cups, pouring carefully so as not to disturb the milk on the bottom.
There is really only one rule in Southeast Asia about what to drink when, and that is that when you drink, you must also eat. It is extremely rare for someone to drink and not to eat; eating and drinking are intimately connected. But for wine, beer, and spirits, and what to drink with what, there are no rules.
Because of the French legacy in Southeast Asia, French wines are available in many cities in Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos. Even in Thailand, in the last decade (with higher personal incomes), people have begun drinking imported wines. Now there is even a vineyard in northeastern Thailand near Loei, a vineyard producing some pretty good wine.
But, frankly, we find drinking wine with Southeast Asian food to be a bit crazy. For one thing, the food can be very chile-hot, in some cases extremely chile-hot. Why waste a good wine? Far better, we think, to borrow the Thai tradition of drinking a local whiskey or rum, served on ice and very diluted with soda water. At a well-heeled Thai meal, the whiskey or rum becomes an imported scotch, also served very diluted with soda. (It’s not unheard of in Thailand to dilute red wine with soda water, so prevalent is the habit of diluting alcohol.) A traditional meal anywhere in the region, a festive meal, can last a very long time, with new courses coming to the table one after another after another. A diluted spirit holds up well in competing with all the big flavors, not to mention quenching thirst.
Beer is also commonly drunk. In each country there are several different local beers, as well as imported beer, and we like a number of these local beers a lot. In Yunnan, just as in the rest of China, each major city has its own locally produced beer, and that beer somehow miraculously finds its way into the smallest communities in the most remote regions. In 1989, we were in the Mekong Delta in Vietnam, all the way in the southern part of the country, drinking bottled Chinese beer at a time when the two countries were almost at war.
Yunnan also has a great many different spirits, many made from millet, sorghum, and rice. The ubiquitous bai jiu, or white liquor, is made from sorghum and has a taste we will never like; in fact, we find it absolutely foul. But many other spirits are just the opposite, and always worth at least an adventurous sip. Generally they are very strong, fifty to sixty percent alcohol. Occasionally we will see them in a big jar with a snake or some other creature inside. These are for medicinal reasons, impotence or better blood circulation or whatever. We can’t vouch for their effectiveness, but they often taste fine, even fairly good.
Last but not least, there is something that we call wine, for lack of a better word. Known as lao khao in both Lao and Thai, it’s made from ordinary rice or sticky rice, and is of a strength and taste not unlike sake. Rice alcohols can get very expensive and sought after in China or they can be common and very cheap. If we are out in the fields at harvest, or eating dinner in a little restaurant in a backwoodsy place, some version of this “wine” will often be served. We’re always delighted, honored even, to be offered a homemade drink made from local rice, created for drinking right there, right then.
All kinds of drinks are sold sai tung or “in a bag,” from iced coffee to these cold drinks, at the Lao market in That Panom (see page 276).
