In honor of the approaching “cold” front, and because I was ravenously hungry
and needed to stop by my nearby bank, I went to Sap’s South a few days ago for
a late lunch on the way home. Sap’s does an excellent version of Khao Soi, that
magnificent Northern Thai red-curry noodle soup. And while I was there, I also
got an order of Pad Ped Nor Mai with Pork, which is a stir fry of julienned bamboo
shoot strips, garlic, fish sauce, stock, jalapeño, roasted Thai chile sauce, cilantro,
and Thai holy basil (which accentuates the heat of chiles). I love this dish.
It’s got the perfect combination of spicy and salty, with an underlying herbal
sweetness, and an umami-laden porkiness to offset the funky crispness of the
shoots. As good as it is, it’s even better when you eat it with steamed Thai
brown rice, which is nuttier than Jasmine rice, and a bazillion times healthier, since the bran layer is intact.
Pad Ped Nor Mai (with PORK!)
Steamed Thai brown jasmine rice...loaded with antioxidants
Khao soi is one of those dishes that you fall in love with
the first time you try it. The history is long and involved, but at the heart
of it, khao soi is a dish that is uniquely Thai, born from several imports and
morphed by Thai cooks to make it better. It started up in Northern Thailand,
and spread nationwide (although the experts insist that any version not made in
Chiang Mai is an inferior imposter).
The dish was introduced by ‘Cin-Haw' (Chin-Haw) Muslim
traders from Yunnan. Han Chinese called the Cin-Haw ‘Hui' to distinguish them
from non-Muslim Chinese; ‘Cin Haw' are the Thai words for ‘Chinese Hui'.
The
Cin were originally descendants of Uzbek warriors who were brought by the
Mongols into China to help with the conquest of Yunnan province. They were
known as consummate traders, who for hundreds of years regularly plied their
heavily-armed mule caravans over the trade routes from Southern China into
Laos, Northern Thailand, and, eventually Burma. The Cin-Haw population in
Northern Thailand and Burma further increased after the failed Panthay
Rebellion - an uprising against the Yunanese Qing Dynasty, which caused
refugees to flee Yunnan.
Several factors reinforce this Cin-Haw likelihood. There is
a somewhat similar dish eaten in Burma, known there as ohn no khauk-hswe (khauk-hswe, which is phonetically pronounced
similar to khao soi, and simply means ‘noodles' in Burmese). This may account
for the adopted name of the dish in Thailand. The Burmese dish is similarly
spiced, and uses coconut milk in the broth (an unusual trait for Burma), but is
thickened with chickpea flour, a decidedly Indian cooking method.
Another vaguely similar version exists in Malaysia and
extreme Southern Thailand, known as nonya
laksa lemak , a coconut milk and seafood broth with egg noodles, served
with prawns, a garnish of thinly sliced egg omelet, scallion, and ginger (lemak
refers to the presence of coconut milk). The dish is thought to have been
introduced in the South by Haw Sino-Muslim traders or refugees, who later
interacted with the Nonya: ethnic Chinese who resettled and intermarried into
Malaysia and Singapore culture.
Perhaps the best evidence of the origin of khao soi come
from the statements of the founder of Chiang Mai's famous Lamduan Faham Khao
Soi , which has been serving the dish on Faham Road for more than 60 years
(Faham is known as “Khao Soi Road”). The founder, who is now in her advanced
years, says that she was taught the recipe by some Haw Chinese Muslim immigrants
who relocated during the war, first to the area near the town of Fang, and then
to Chiang Mai, “It was the Haw Chinese that showed me how to make the
distinctive yellow noodles, as well as the soup.” Lamduan altered that original
recipe so that it would appeal more to the Thai palette, but the dish was eaten
for many years before that, all over the North. It is important to note that
the dish was originally cooked only with chicken or beef, never with pork,
which also reinforces the Muslim origins. Today, some non-Muslim Thais offer
the soup made with pork, but this is an anomaly which is not typical.
Khao soi is sold up north in noodle shops that specialize in
the dish; traditionally they were open from morning to the early afternoon
only. The shops are usually unassuming affairs, with modest signage. It's a
word-of-mouth type of dish, and insider information is key to finding the best
versions. One of the pleasures of khao soi is that no two noodle shops or
vendors will serve exactly the same dish; every cook has their own subtle
variation, and every khao soi aficionado has their favorite venue for dining on
the luscious noodle soup. Arguments over who serves the best version can get
heated, and everyone has a personal opinion.
A steaming bowl of majestic Khao Soi!
Often khao soi shops will also serve chicken, beef, or pork
satay (pork only if they are non-Muslim), skewers of spice and coconut
milk-marinated meats, grilled over coals, and served with toasted white bread,
and a peanut curry sauce and a sweet-sour relish of shallot, cucumber, and
chiles. In the rest of the country, specialty khao soi shops and vendors exist,
but the popularity of the dish causes it to be included on many standard noodle
restaurant menus.
When a bowl of khao soi is placed in front of you, your
senses take over; it's a work of culinary art. Visually you'll see a subtle
reddish-orange colored liquid, topped with golden-yellow fried noodles,
garnished with pinkish-red shallots, light green pickled Chinese mustard, and
deep red chile. It's fragrant with the aromas of combined Thai and Indian
spices, coconut milk, chicken broth, citrusy lime, and smoky chile. The taste
is ambrosial: rich, spicy, sweet, salty, and sour, all at once, and in perfect
harmony.
My favorite version, like the one served at Sap’s Fine Thai
Cuisine (shown here), is made with a base of rich chicken stock, to which thick
coconut milk is added. You can get it with either chicken meat or stewed beef
meat, although these days, pork is also offered. The spices are a blend of a
paste made from garlic, shallot, galangal, lemongrass, makroot zest and fruit
pulp, with a small amount of shrimp paste and palm sugar. To this paste are
added bay leaf, curry powder, cumin, coriander, black pepper, and turmeric.
Fresh dan mien Chinese egg noodles, lo mein-style, which are
flat and about ¼-inch wide (a little more narrow than a fettuccine) are added
to the liquid. These same noodles are also deep-fried until golden and crispy,
and placed on the top to provide a textural accent. Before indulging, you must
garnish the bowl with the accompanying sliced shallot or red onion, slices of
sour and salty pickled mustard, a vigorous squeeze of tart lime, and a spoonful
of the smoky chile sauce made from roasted red Thai chiles. Sap's version
garnishes with fresh, crisp mung bean sprouts, and places the pickled Chinese
mustard in the bottom of the bowl; an addition that we like.
A bowl of excellent khao soi is hard to beat, a synchronous
blending of Thai, Indian, and Chinese flavors, in a rich and sensual broth,
with complex layered flavor and interesting texture. It is truly perfection in
a bowl, ideal for sultry or cool weather, and uniquely Thai in flavor profile.
Pair it with an order of P-32 with pork, and a side of Thai brown rice, and you’re
one with everything.
Mick Vann ©
