To bring you this post, I had to use the little charm I had not only to gain access to the kitchen of a Thai restaurant after they had closed for the night, but also to get them to make a plate of Pad See-Ew* when the people were cleaning up and getting ready to leave.
Did I know no shame? Perhaps not. I did it all for the sake of my readers, you see. Besides, I wanted to make a very important point. Continue Reading →
“Can I give you a word of advice?” my cabbie said to me as we were approaching my destination, Central World, a huge mall in the center of Bangkok. “Of course,” I said. After over an hour of discussing every topic imaginable, from the state of the country to the state of his dermatological and prostate health, our bond, at that point, was stronger than titanium. “I noticed when I picked you up that you were carrying your purse on your right shoulder,” he assumed a parental role now. “It’s better to carry it on your left shoulder when you walk in the same direction as the traffic like you did. That way, it’s harder for the thieves on motorcycles to snatch it from you.” In a left-hand traffic country like Thailand, this makes perfect sense.
That was not the first time I learned something valuable from Bangkok taxi drivers. It would not be the last.
Though my globetrotting life began since I was – literally – in diaper, ironically the small, confined spaces inside Bangkok taxis remain some of a very few places wherein the deepest and richest learning experiences occur. The vast majority of taxi drivers in Bangkok are from economically-disadvantaged provinces, bringing with them experiences and stories that a city-dweller like me, unless blessed with opportunities to engage in meaningful conversations with them, would only know of through the media.
Dale Konstanz, an American who lives and works in Bangkok, shares my sentiment. Still Life in Moving Vehicles is an excellent blog where he brings to your computer screen the curious and wildly amusing world inside Bangkok taxis. Ever since Dale rode in his first taxi in Bangkok six years ago, he has been fascinated by what he sees inside local cabs. “Amazing” is how he describes the various collections of religious and superstitious charms, the quintessential พวงมาลัย (fresh flower garlands offered to the gods), the personal photographs and effects of the driver, and the random stickers and knick-knacks.
Even before he started blogging, Dale began taking photos inside Bangkok taxis as he started taking them regularly to and from the university where he teaches. “It was the perfect opportunity to do something creative and constructive with my time stuck in Bangkok’s infamous traffic jams,” he says.
A competent photographer, Dale carries a small camera with him everywhere he goes. His original goal was to create a body of work to be exhibited in art galleries and possibly a photo book. He also thought more research was necessary as the photos needed written descriptions and stories to give viewers more insight into the objects and experiences in the taxis.
Later, with an encouragement of a writer friend, Dale started blogging with his photos as a way to further document his experiences inside the cabs as well as a method to organize his thoughts, research, and the photos. He also thought it would be a fun way to share his photos and stories with others.
Dale was right. I, for one, was hooked the first day I discovered his delightful blog.
I find the way Dale looks at things inside Bangkok taxis to be refreshingly childlike. Children notice things which adults often take for granted. Children find wondrous the things which we find mundane. Out of playfulness and vibrant imagination rather than irreverence, they see humor in things we consider sacred. They see (and point out) the absurdity in what makes perfect sense to us. And, as anyone who has been around children for any length of time would tell you, they ask questions – probing, innocent, unedited questions. Their indefatigably curious minds just want to know and reasons behind everything are never irrelevant to them.
This is not to say that Dale is juvenile in his worldview. Far from it. It’s just that I believe adopting a childlike attitude when one is a foreigner in a land/culture different from one’s own is what facilitates the learning and adaptation. It’s almost like being incarnated into a different world, at a risk of sounding absurd.
The best students of a foreign language or culture, from my observation, are often the ones who take on the traits of a child: highly observant, curious, and eager to learn from anyone and about anything. From what I’ve seen of Dale’s blog and the little I know of him as a person, I think he’s not only surviving, but thriving as a foreigner in a very quirky city like Bangkok, his struggle with the different tones in the Thai language notwithstanding.
“I had always wanted to live abroad,” says Dale. From an early age, he’s been attracted to other cultures and often befriended foreigners when he lived in the States. A few years before his very first trip to Asia, Dale had bought an old edition of the Lonely Planet Thai Phrase Book at an estate sale. Whether it was a premonition of sorts or a coincidence, he had no clue at that time he would soon be offered a position to teach art-related courses at a university in Bangkok on a 9-month contract. Neither did he know that 9 months would eventually turn into 6 years and counting.
Allowing the perspective of an outsider — someone who did not grow up in my culture and is impervious to the cultural or creedal indoctrination to which I’m susceptible — to penetrate the arrogant veil of my ignorance has helped increase my awareness. Their questions make me look afresh at the things which I thought I knew only to oftentimes find that I really don’t know them at all.
“I consider the experience of riding in the cabs as well as taking photos to be metaphor for life,” says Dale. “This project, like life itself, is a journey that has taken me to unforeseen places. I’ve met so many interesting people through this project, including the cabbies.” Much of what he has learned, Dale adds, has come directly from the drivers who have taught him about Thailand, Thai beliefs and culture, and even life itself.
Taking photos of religious and superstitious objects in the taxis has caused Dale to think deeper about his own beliefs and philosophies of life.
“There’s an excellent quote from Buddha that I’ve included on the blog that states, ‘It is better to travel well than to arrive‘. I like that statement because it reminds us to live in the moment.”
Too often, Dale observes, we’re focused on the next thing instead of stopping and appreciating the here and now. “I think it’s interesting that photography inherently does that; photography seizes the moment.“
I promised Dale that if he told me what his favorite Thai dish was, I would feature that dish along with the post on him. Khao Mok Gai (ข้าวหมกไก่), a southern delicacy, a Thai-Muslim version of Chicken Biryani, is what he has chosen, not only as his favorite Thai dish, but potentially the dish he would like to have as his last meal on earth.
My initial plan, then, was to make the famous chicken and rice dish. Unfortunately, I am a lazy, wicked, deceptive Thai woman who often changes her mind at the last minute and for no particular reason. Having been craving Thai steamed pumpkin custard, I decided my needs were more important than Dale’s.
His Khao Mok Gai would have to wait.
This panna cotta-filled steamed squash isn’t entirely unrelated to the story, though. Religious syncretism is something that is very apparent in Thailand. In theory, Buddhism, the dominant religion in the kingdom, rests on the teaching of Gautama Buddha. In practice, however, it’s a different story. Superstition, animism, and several practices neither prescribed nor mentioned in the Tripiṭaka, the Buddhist canon, are part of what people generally refer to as the Buddhist faith.
The fact that Buddhism is not a theistic religion in the strictest sense much less monotheistic, in my opinion, has played a big role in the inclusivistic attitude of most Thai buddhists. Seeing the statuettes of Vishnu or Ganesha, an image of Jesus, and animistic amulets together on the same altar along with various statuettes of Buddha is not at all uncommon.
Only the most learned and the most zealous of Buddhists would understand the real teaching of Gautama Buddha; the others seek spiritual guidance and comfort from whatever or whoever they can cling to. What we have here is an inclusive if-one-god-is-good-several-must-be-better belief system that is not endorsed by any one religion.
This dessert demonstrates, for lack of a better term, culinary syncretism. Call it “fusion” or whatever, but here I am borrowing the well-known Italian treat, panna cotta, and using that in lieu of the traditional Thai custard (สังขยา).
Traditionally, the famous Thai steamed pumpkin custard (ฟักทองสังขยา) is made by filling a hollowed out pumpkin with a mixture of eggs, coconut milk, and palm sugar and steaming the whole thing together. While this is not exactly rocket science, I have yet to find one single foolproof recipe. So in the manner of the spiritually-hungry syncretists who borrow gods from various religions, I am borrowing from the Italian their panna cotta to satisfy my unfulfilled hunger for Thai steamed pumpkin custard. This is my own idea which was born out of laziness.
No offense to anyone. Some of the steamed pumpkin custard recipes I have found out there work some of the time, but not a single one of them works all of the time. A one-size-fits-all recipe simply does not take into account the various kinds of squash, steamer, etc. I’ll save my rant for later. For now, suffice it to say that the factors that directly affect the outcome are too numerous. Those who have filled pumpkins explode or collapse on them, or those who have shed tears over shrunken custard once it’s cooled, know what I am talking about.
So what’s great about this panna cotta-filled steamed squash. It is a way of solving the numerous problems that you can run into when you attempt to make the traditional Thai steamed pumpkin custard. Instead of cooking the custard mixture along with the pumpkin, or in this case acorn squash, you steam the hollowed-out squash separately, let it cool, and fill it with panna cotta mixture.
The filled squash is refrigerated to allow the panna cotta to set. Then the filled squash is served and eaten just like you would the traditional Thai steamed pumpkin custard. The panna cotta filling is soft, jiggly, delicious, and goes very well with mildly-sweet flesh of steamed squash.
Granted, what you get here is not exactly identical to what you get from the traditional version. The absence of the eggs means that the texture of the filling is not, well, eggy or custardy. Also, if you like to eat your steamed pumpkin custard warm, this version is not going to do it for you. Panna cotta firms up with the help of gelatin; it is not heat stable. Room temperature is as warm as you could go without the filling losing its textural integrity.
But if after considering the downside, you still want to try this delicious treat, please read on.
Printable Instructions
Get 2 1.5-lb acorn or sweet dumpling squashes, wash the outside, slice 3-4 inches off the top, hollow them out with a spoon, and steam them (along with the tops) until just fork tender. Remove the squashes from the steamer and let them cool completely. While the squash is cooling, make the coconut panna cotta by whisking together in a medium pot two cups of coconut milk, 3/4 cup of brown sugar, and 1/4 teaspoon salt. Sprinkle 1 packet of unflavored gelatin powder over the surface of the coconut milk mixture and let the gelatin “bloom” for about 5 minutes. Heat the pot over medium heat, stirring constantly, just until the sugar and the gelatin completely dissolve; remove from heat. Whisk in 1 teaspoon of vanilla extract and pour the mixture into the squashes. Gently transfer the filled squashes to the refrigerator, cover each with its own top, and let them chill for 4-5 hours.
Coconut panna cotta-filled squashes are served cold or at room temperature. Eat it with a spoon. Make sure each bite consists of equal amount of the squash flesh and the panna cotta.
“Thanks. See you on Sunday. I’ll be the funny-looking Asian, staring blankly at the door,” I ended my note to Pastry Chef Patrick Fahy as we arranged for an interview and a recipe demonstration. I am, apparently, the master (mistress?) of lame humor. Did I think he would have me confused with another funny-looking Asian, waiting outside, staring meaningfully at the door?
As it turned out, though the restaurant was closed that day, I didn’t have to wait outside to be buzzed in. The uniformed and apron-clad Chef Fahy was already waiting in front of the entrance looking clean-cut, friendly, and a lot younger than I’d envisioned him.
Within minutes after a brief introduction, Fahy and I were standing in his kitchen in the presence of a massive bowl of beets. With gloved hands, we started peeling and cubing the highly-staining orbs. As the frothy deep crimson juice trickled down the spout of the ferocious-looking Champion juicer, the conversation started flowing.
The desserts were excellent.
It was obvious to me that some genius thinking went into the flavor-texture orchestration. They were presented in a simple yet elegant and creative manner. Affectation was nowhere to be found. I’m old-school when it comes to food, believing that the taste that bears witness to the impeccable, well-chosen ingredients as well as the adroit hands that put them together should be able to enthrall any diner without anyone standing nearby whispering, “Eat it quickly. In two bites. The psychedelic purple sphere first, please, then the periwinkle.”
Something honestly good has the ability to impress even though it is not presented amidst pluming clouds of solid carbon dioxide or skewered on Capellini-thin sticks precariously balanced on a martini glass.
Sated, I closed my eyes to sleep that night with thoughts of the subdued earthiness of the beet ice cream, the slightly bitter bouquet of the dark chocolate pavé, and the lingering vibrancy of the lime zest-perfumed grains of salt. Even Robert Linxe’s biscuits moelleux au chocolat consumed by the Seine didn’t have that effect on me. It could be the Libran moon. It could be that I’ve watched Babette’s Feast way too many times. Or it could be that the desserts I had at Blackbird were honestly good. Excellent food made and served ex animo tends to have a heart-warming effect on you. What a way to celebrate my first bittersweet birthday without either one of my parents alive.
A few keystrokes on my computer later, I found out, Patrick Fahy, the man behind the scene started working at the restaurant only a few days prior to my visit. The 30-year-old Chicago native spent the last year working as chef de partie at the celebrated French Laundry in Yountville, CA. Being one degree separated from the renownedThomas Keller, I suppose, must make for an impressive curriculum vitae not to mention an enviable position to be in.
It did not appear to be a stroke of luck, however. Apparently, blood, toil, tears, sweat, and I’m sure substantial financial investments in education, had gone into landing Fahy where he is. According to the chef, his early years involved countless hours of menial jobs in the kitchen. He had worked in the restaurant and catering industry doing a variety of tasks, accumulating know-how and experience working in places such as Bittersweet Pastry Shop and the Ritz Carlton in Chicago. The half-year L’Art de la Pâtisserie program at the French Pastry School in Chicago and 14 months apprenticing in Florence, Italy, have strengthened Fahy’s standing in the culinary realm.
“Nothing unusual. It’s been done,” Fahy humbly mumbled a response to my praise of the pairing of dark chocolate and beet, carefully dropping chunks of beet into the juicer’s feed chute, not noticing that I’d just clumsily dropped a piece of beet on the floor. Shoot.
The cold chills that suddenly went up my spine were unwarranted by the chef’s friendly demeanor. In fact, to describe my first impression of Fahy, I’d say this. You know how when you’re alone at a Starbucks working on your laptop when suddenly the need to use the washroom arises and you look around for someone to watch your computer and blueberry scone in your absence?
Well, based solely on appearance and mannerism, Fahy struck me as a guy under whose care I would not hesitate to entrust my laptop and fruit-studded pastry. My utterly illogical theory: If someone looks like they might run away with your laptop, they probably are the yelling/cussing type.
Sadly, Gordon Ramsay’s falsetto insults (warning: YouTube clip with F-bombs) had left an indelible imprint on my memory. And though Fahy did not appear to be the kind of chef that yelled, I was taking no chances.
In an attempt to divert the chef’s attention away from the floor, I asked how he came up with the dessert ensemble. “Chocolate and root vegetables go very well together,” he said and I nodded. As Fahy mentioned that he was thinking about pairing chocolate with butternut squash and other starchy, autumnal items, I dropped yet another piece of beet on the floor. This time the chef saw it. The stray sucker got thrown into the garbage can and the conversation continued as if nothing had happened.
My theory was correct. He wasn’t the yelling kind.
It seems cooking is something the chef had enjoyed since he was a wee lad growing up in Rogers Park, a Chicago neighborhood. For as long as he could remember, he had always wanted to be a chef. Asked what he would have become if life had been different and he was not a chef, Fahy strained for an answer as if the thought never crossed his mind. “I’d probably be in professional sports, I guess,” he answered, adding that he used to play quite a bit of tennis.
At first, that sounded a bit odd. But observing Fahy work in the kitchen, I could see the connection. Professional cooking requires the kind of physical stamina comparable to that of an athlete. You need to be able to be on your feet at least 12 hours a day. The job is also very physical with a great deal of heavy lifting and squatting down to retrieve things from the low-boys among other things. Everyday you come into contact with sharp metal tools capable of severing digits and causing the jettisoning of blood. Then there’s the deadly molten sugar which can burn like a …. You get the idea.
“What was the first dessert you made as a kid, Patrick?” I asked. A long pause followed. “Brownies. Got to be brownies. Every kid starts off with brownies,” I obnoxiously helped him answer my own question since silence could be so unbearably awkward. “Actually,” the chef finally spoke, “It was a custard pudding.”
I swallowed hard.
So the first dessert he made as a kid involved controlled oxidation of C12H22O11, creating an environment wherein protein molecules can coagulate just right, and possibly baking au bain marie. When I was a kid, my greatest culinary accomplishment was being able to crack open an egg and not having it land on the floor.
Quickly recovering from a brief bout of inferiority complex, I set out on a little supervised tour of the kitchen. Something about this place beckoned the little kid inside me to come out and play. I moseyed around the clean and well-organized, albeit limited, space, checking out all the cool gadgets and gizmos. Every box was clearly labeled and neatly stowed away. The chef showed me the contents of some of the boxes. Pulled sugar ribbons. Chocolate tuiles. Blown sugar miniature green apples. Dried shaved coconut. Fun.
Behind me was a huge dehydrator inside of which lay sheaths of sorghum. Tucked away in the a corner were dozens of pears and whole coconuts. Just as I was about to ask the chef whether he thought coconuts migrated, I quickly remembered what a friend once said to me, “Sometimes, you sound really smart when you shut up.” So shut up I did. Not that it was easy.
“Patrick, what makes you different from other pastry chefs?” Now, I thought that was a pretty smart question. “Dedication,” he answered. The willingness to give more of himself to the job, Fahy believed, was one of his greatest assets as a chef. He works up to 18 hours a day and spends much of what he earns on tools and trainings that would enhance his skills. “My girlfriend gave me a picture of a flying penguin as a reminder,” he said, beaming. “To be different — to fly — you just have to flap a little harder.”
Aww …
The chef turned around to check on the beet juicethat was reducing and turning almost syrupy in a saucier. The benevolent beets, after having been juiced to a pulp, were now surrendering what was left of their flavor and color to the cream mixture simmering in a gigantic pot. Some of the hot liquid was briskly whisked into a bowl of egg yolks. Fahy was slowly bringing the temperature of the yolks up closer to that of the cream mixture thereby preventing them from scrambling upon contact with the hot cream — a process called tempering. The tempered yolk mixture was then returned to the cream pot.
Asked whether I made ice cream at home, I winced. The truth is, I don’t make it as often as I’d like. This is because the crème anglaise (French for “pain in the rear”) base is not exactly fuss-free. Crème anglaise, as opposed to crème pâtissière, does not contain a certain amount of starch which would help protect against curdling in the event of excessive heating. The coagulation of the egg proteins is what creates the homogeneous, viscous end result. Heat the custard beyond its threshold and it breaks on you like a brittle parchment scroll from 200 BC.
In a manner devoid of self-importance, Fahy responded to my whining about botched crème anglaise by suggesting I bring the curdled mess back to life by giving it a whirl in a blender. “An immersion blender works too,” he added. Good to know.
That wasn’t the only tip I learned from the chef that day. As the ice cream base was removed from the stove and strained through a wire gauze chinois, I learned that the best way to facilitate the straining was to tap on the rim of the strainer instead of pressing the mixture against the sieve which would cause the sediments to fall through the mesh. I learned that by adding milk powder to the ice cream base, you increase the amount of milk solids thereby reducing the iciness and increasing the creaminess of the end product. I also learned that when plating a frozen dessert, it’s a good idea to place it right on top of a layer of something (candied cocoa nibs, in this case) to keep the ice cream from melting too soon and slithering about on the plate.
But the greatest lesson I got from the good chef that day? How to form an ice cream quenelle.
Hopelessly non-dexterous, I spent a good part of my life convincing myself that symmetry and surface smoothness were irrelevant and unattainable. But maybe, just maybe, my luck is about to change for the better.
“Do you use a lot of booze in your desserts?” I asked Fahy. We were now sitting in front of the bar. If you have to know, it was a pretty bottle of Frangelico in the background that prompted that question. “Not really,” was his answer which somewhat surprised me. Fahy went on to talk about his experience at the French Laundry. The Napa Valley restaurant, naturally, puts a strong emphasis on the impeccable pairing of food and wine. Thomas Keller’s opinion that the taste and aroma of alcohol in desserts would interfere with and detract from such experience has influenced Fahy’s minimal use of alcohol in his dishes. He was interested in employing ingredients from other cuisines more, however. I told him about the use of coconut and palm sugars in Southeast Asia and he seemed intrigued. Purple rice and how you could infuse creams and broths with kaffir lime leaves or lemongrass were included in the conversation. Blackbird’s menu will change in just a few weeks and I can hardly wait to see if there will be any Southeast Asian influence in my favorite chef’s new creations. 
Acquiring mastery of the basics rather than going for titillation was the theme that ran through all of Fahy’s comments about cooking. For some reason, I’d suspected as much about him. From the beginning to the end, the man seemed to be about hard work, building solid skills, and dedication to the profession. His voice mellowed as he summed up his personal philosophy which I think applies to everything in life, “Keep it classic and simple and do it really, really well.” Oui, chef.
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Introducing THE EPESTLE
Bury Me in Nam Phrik: Mike Sula’s Exploration of Thai Relishes (Plus Salted Soybean-Pork Rind Relish Recipe)
Food and Cooking in Thai TV Dramas, Love Destiny, 17th Century Siam, and Crispy Noodle-Wrapped Pork Dumplings
A Simple Thai Dipping Sauce
Northern Thai Rice Noodle Soup with Pork Ribs, Dried Cotton Flowers, and Tomatoes (Khanom Jin Nam Ngiao)
How to Prepare Rice Vermicelli (Khanom Jin) from Dried Noodles
How to Prepare Pomelos for Thai Pomelo Salad
