Thailand

1/22/25

Basically, I’m the product of two different intellectual traditions: Reform Judaism and New England Puritanism. From an exoteric perspective, these two movements should want nothing to do with one another; indeed, in many settings, Jews and WASPs mix together like oil and water. Ultimately, I think their mutual animosity comes not from irreconcilable differences, but rather, from a disturbing similarity. Calvinists, in many ways, are the Jews of the Christian world: perpetually dissenting, endlessly schismatic, they form a community in spite of their deeply held suspicions only because they fear God more than they fear one another. Similarly, the Reform movement was an attempt to Protestant-ize Judaism, even down to the name, which makes reference, of course, to Luther’s Reformation — ironic, I think, considering the fact that Luther once wrote a 1000-page book titled “On The Jews And Their Lies.”

In any case, I’ve found that my Jewish ancestry and my neo-Puritanical upbringing harmonize together smoothly. Both traditions value individualism, self-reliance, privation, reason. Both take the apocalypse as their starting point, and somehow arrive at progressive, utilitarian lifestyles. Both are inclined towards asceticism. Both think of pleasure as the enemy.

I grew up terrified of pleasure.

But what happened to me? The same thing that happens to everyone: I became obsessed with the things that scared me most. At 30 years old, I’ve spent more than half my life at the Front Lines of Decadence. It’s been a long time since I did most of the things that scared me as a child, like smoking a cigarette, or getting naked in front of a girl. Even so, occasionally there are still experiences that spook me; experiences of a pleasure so gratuitous, so luxurious, so infernal, that I am forced to remember that fearful Judeo-Puritan kid from Connecticut, who will always live in my heart of hearts.

Thailand was kinda like that.

~

What do I know? Not much, and even less when it comes to Thailand. Before arriving, I only knew the stereotypes: Eat Pray Love-type girls in elephant pants looking for spirituality and sleazy sunburnt Anglo men looking for the opposite. I went there in spite of the stereotypes, because I like fruit a lot. I wasn’t disappointed. They’ve got great fruit.

If I were to go back, I’d pretty much skip Bangkok. 24 hours sounds about right. Just enough time to hit up Or Tor Kor for some durian — that will only take an hour or two, but then you need the other 22 hours to get through all the traffic. I mean, Bangkok is undoubtedly one of the greatest food cities in the world, and maybe things are different in the summer, when there’s less tourists. But this time around, I liked Chiang Mai a lot more. It reminded me of the best parts of New Orleans or Paraty, where everything is old and historic and delicious, and no one is in a rush to do anything, besides taking naps, and drinking beer.

New Year’s Eve in Chiang Mai

What do I know? Not much, but I learned a little bit more in Thailand. I learned that Thailand has a king, and their king is named Rama X, as in Rama the Tenth, and that his power is quite serious. In Thailand there are strict lèse-majesté laws concerning Mr. Rama, as in, if you criticize him or his family or his dog (and there are a number of well-documented cases where people have been arrested for making fun of the royal poodle on Facebook) you can face a significant prison sentence. Around Thailand you’ll see gilded pictures of Rama X installed at every restaurant, temple, and traffic roundabout. These are obligatory.

Through a quick Google search, you can also find surveillance camera pictures of Rama X where he is wearing a sleeveless crop top, with fake yakuza tattoos stenciled underneath. It seems this is a fashion statement he likes to make privately, often accompanied by one of his wives (of which he’s had four) or mistresses. Unlike the portraits where Rama X wears full ceremonial dress, these photos are, of course, illegal to reproduce in Thailand.

Several Thai cabbies told me that Rama IX was a beloved ruler. Unfortunately, Rama X spends most of his time abroad, primarily at a German estate, where it’s rumored that he has a private, all-female unit of some 20 soldiers which functions like a harem.

Lastly, I learned from Wikipedia that Rama X has a net worth between 30-70 billion USD — not a bad range, especially when you note that Thailand’s median annual income is 23k.

Seems chill, right?

Another thing I learned is that Thailand has the distinction of never being colonized by Europeans, unlike its neighbors. Before Thailand became its modern incarnation in the 1780s, the country was controlled by the Burmese Kingdom, who had conquered the Ayutthaya Kingdom in 1558. Finally freed from Burmese imperialism, the early Thai government came to power sandwiched by the French next door in Vietnam, and the British on the other side, in India. In order to navigate this delicate state of affairs, the nascent Thai government was forced to bargain and Thailand’s then-leader, known now as King Rama I (the 7x-great grandfather of Rama X) was the man for the job. He brokered deals wherein Thailand agreed to neutrality between the competing Europeans, while also ceding parts of present day Laos to the French and Malaya to the British. Importantly, as yet another concession, the Bowring Treaty (as the British deal became known) included a trade agreement that would completely deregulate the Thai economy towards European investment capital. From that time forward, opium, silk, and spices became available for European markets, tariff free. This proved very important, for obvious reasons.

Seems to me that ever since these agreements with the Europeans, Thailand has been in the business of being used as a Western wish-fulfillment depot. Thailand is commonly called “The Land of Smiles,” and foreigners are encouraged, in so many ways, to project whatever paradisiacal fantasies they might have. Many, many people buy into it too. Everywhere you go there are thousands of Westerners drinking cheap Chang beers and being massaged to death, smiling blissfully beneath their Ray Bans. Even my deeply skeptical ass had a hard time resisting the Thai siren song, when I first sampled the country’s insane fruits.

It’s not hard to find cracks in the façade. But why would you want to? Just enjoy yourself. There’s never anything wrong with that. Right? Right?

In my Notes app I carry a quote, “‘Don’t trust the stories of travelers,” says Saadi in The Gulistan, ‘They see nothing. They think they see, but they only observe reflections.’”

What’s the name of that strange, sad shadow-image, hollow in the center, that I saw reflecting off of Thailand’s smiles?

It might rhyme with “Bapitalism.” Or “Bolonialism.” Or “Becadence.”

In all likelihood, it doesn’t rhyme with anything, and it’s unpronounceable, and that’s why it’s so sad. There are a lot of shadows that don’t yet have names.

Part of me wishes I could have gone to Pattaya to see just how deep the pleasure vortex really goes. Arriving alone, close to New Years Eve, that’s where a lot of Thais assumed I was headed, anyways; another farang loser, dragging his suitcase full of hormones.

Maybe what scared me in Thailand was my own reflection, shimmering darkly.

I had another pleasure vortex in which to lose myself. At some point, during pretty much every meal we had in Thailand, I’d turn to Malu and say, “This has gotta be one of the best things I’ve eaten in my life.” Thai food is so unfair to the rest of the world — more beautiful and intense than I ever could have imagined. Let’s talk about that.

Culinary Tactics Deployed on The Front Lines of Thai Decadence From Late 2024 to Early 2025:

Fruit at Or Tor Kor Market

Or Tor Kor Market is one of the Wonders of the World. It boggles the mind. It’s not particularly remarkable for its size or even the breadth of its offerings — though it is large enough, and very well-stocked. Or Tor Kor is special (understatement) because it carries the best of the best produce in a country that is already the best of the best of the best for produce worldwide.

My first morning in Bangkok, I went to Or Tor Kor, and I ate a papaya to end all papayas: zero fibers, deep orange-pink blush, tasting like saffron and orange blossom and maple syrup; it melted on my tongue, rich and sweet, like a spoonful of creme caramel. I think I cried a little, knowing I’d just lost a certain kind of virginity, “But maybe all Thai papayas are like this” said some eternally skeptical demon in my head. Not so. Every day in Thailand I’d eat a papaya for breakfast. Some came close — none were the same.

Never the same as the first time.

I’d say a majority of the money I spent in Thailand went to the vendors at Or Tor Kor. Relatively speaking, their fruits are not cheap — typically 2-3x more expensive than at other Thai markets. Even so, they’re underpriced. Quality is extremely high. So what if that papaya cost 3$ instead of 75 cents? If a 500$ bottle of Sauternes tasted half as delicious, every wine critic would declare it a masterpiece. A 3 dollar papaya in New York tastes like a yeast infection.

As far as I’m concerned, those fruit vendors can take all my money. Other people travel and buy handbags or whatever — I went to Or Tor Kor and bought pallets of longan, amla, snakefruit, mango, mangosteen, and, of course, durian. I’m not going to write about the durian just yet — suffice to say, it was life-changing. I need more time. Perhaps I can find a residency for a couple months, to shut out the world, and meditate upon durian in all its glory. Stay tuned.

Miang Kham at Krua Apsorn

Miang Kham looks like the mise en place for another dish: you get a bunch of little bowls containing peanuts, dried shrimp, chunks of ginger, lime etc. with a tamarind sauce and betel leaves. You make wrap it all together et voila. It’s fun, in a Lunchables kinda way. It’s also shockingly delicious: bright and fresh and texturally exciting. Something so simple should be more-or-less the same everywhere in Bangkok, but for some reason the best version I had was at this brutally over-touristed Bib Gourmand spot in the Old City. Terrible vibes, but maybe their ingredients were the freshest, or their sauce the most punchy. IDK. Loved it.

Mi Krop at Methavali Sorndaeng

Alongside Mexican and Sichuanese, Thai food is one of the world’s great maximalist cuisines. Every flavor in every dish is turned up to eleven: sweet, sour, spicy, salty etc. A Thai meal is usually a full frontal assault of flavor.

To be honest, I don’t understand how people eat like that three meals a day. I am weak.

That being said, like all sophisticated cooking, Thai food is about balance. Typically, when talking about the intensity of Thai cuisine, Westerners focus on spice. This isn’t undeserved. Everything is spicy. Less-discussed is the Thai predilection for sweetness, which they use to balance heat. Similar to their liberality with chili peppers, Thai people are not afraid to put a spoonful of sugar in just about anything. The sugar helps mellow out the chilis, and vice versa.

Mi Krop is the kind of fine dining dish a child might imagine — in a word, “deep-fried cereal for dinner.” It’s kind of brilliant, and it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted for the first five bites, and then that sixth bite pushes it over the edge. To make Mi Krop, you basically deep fry rice noodles until crispy, then glaze them with a sauce made from palm sugar, tamarind, fish sauce, lime juice, and chilis. Presto: deep-fried cereal for dinner. Everything about this dish is dirty, dirty, dirty. Tastes so good, feels so bad. I am weak.

Pork Belly Pineapple Roti at Haawm

In Taiwan I ate every meal alone — huddling on a plastic stool at some night market, an outcast in the midst of neon-soaked rabble, I was once again the lonely loser at my high school cafeteria. Fortunately, now as then, I find it fun to sit alone, because it’s an opportunity to engage in my favorite pastime: looking mysterious. “I’m a lone wolf,” I think to myself, my hat pulled down over my eyes, “No one understands me.” Everyone ignores me.

My girlfriend came to meet me in Thailand. Her cheery presence not only drove away all dark clouds of moodiness from meal times, but we also started to eat real, honest-to-God meals, instead of just street food all day every day. I booked a dinner at Haawm because it checked a lot of our favorite boxes: non-traditional, post-Asian Fusion, haute cuisine junk food, with loud, aggressive flavors. Certain dishes at Haawm wouldn’t feel out of place at Mission Chinese or Ha’s Dac Biet, like Brussels sprouts caramelized in a deeply savory nam pla sauce. However, it was the finesse evident in a dish of smoked pork belly, pineapple ajad, and roti that made it clear that Haawm had its own identity. I mean, it was still diabolical — fatty and sweet and smoky and salty — but the delicate, flaky layers of roti and perfectly cooked pork belly satay spoke to something happening in the kitchen that was a bit more refined, a bit more tender, a caress hidden in an uppercut.

Nasturtium Flower Thing with Chicken Skin/Oyster in a Lime at Ore

Here’s my thing: I hate fine dining. One star makes me groan, two stars make me queasy, three stars make me barf. 50 Best? Fuck off.

That being said, sometimes you’re hungry. A man’s gotta eat. And sometimes when you’re hungry, you end up at a restaurant where they serve you 30 courses and give you a speech about how all the dishes use spring water shipped bi-weekly from Kanchanaburi. These things happen sometimes. You can’t control everything.

My problem with fine dining is that it’s invariably directed more towards judgement than it is towards enjoyment. Everything might be technically flawless — wow, great, who cares? It might be innovative — again, don’t care. I want to feel good. Full stop.

Against the odds, the food at Ore made me feel good. Not all of the food, mind you — when you’re served literally dozens of dishes, some of them will inevitably be less successful. But the opening salvo (let’s say, the first 10 dishes) had some absolute bangers. I doubt I’ll ever be able to forget dish number 5: one gorgeous bite of mizuna, nasturtium, and fried chicken skin. If I had my way, I’d eat about fifty. Dish number 10 was equally mind-blowing: an oyster served in a hollowed-out makrut lime with a few leaves of sansho. So bright and green and fragrant and briny. Waiter? Could I get 11 more?

What makes me feel good? Delicious food. How do you make food taste delicious? Many answers. One is to murder it with fat and salt and sugar. This is a tried and true method. Now, I love fat and salt and sugar, but in terms of flavor development, that’s cheating, in a way, and your body can tell, which is why it feels like garbage afterwards. Instead, if you want to measure a chef’s skill, see if they can make you a light, refreshing dish, which practically tastes healthy, and give it intense, multidimensional flavor; if they succeed then they are truly A Good Cook.

For what it’s worth, Ore doesn’t have stars or 50 Bests or any of that, not for lack of good cooking, but because it opened just a few months ago. There is no doubt in my mind that these accolades will soon follow; so if you, unlike me, are a fan of fine dining: run, don’t walk.

Red Snapper Hotpot at Ayutthaya Night Market

A young man, just a trace of stubble on his upper lip, probably my age, or a few years younger; he walks slowly through the night market, crooning softly into a microphone, with a small loudspeaker hung around his neck. His milky eyes are turned up sightlessly, towards the moon. His mom holds him by the hand, leading him through the crowd. In her other hand she carries a small box and asks for donations.

A mother and her disabled son, helpless, yet helping each other, singing softly, walking slowly, through the humming night market throng. This scene made me want to cry then and it makes me want to cry now.

Soft Shell Crab Khao Soi at Khaosudsoi

It’s hopeless to try and describe just how good Khao Soi can be. I don’t think I’m exaggerating at all when I say that it’s one of the greatest dishes yet conceived, anywhere in the world. There are a lot of reasons to visit Chiang Mai — but even if there was nothing else good about the city, it would be worth visiting for the Khao Soi alone. I’m not going to try to describe the impact of a good Khao Soi, or the depth of its sour, spicy, rich broth. Seek it out for yourself. Fly to Chiang Mai. Try a lot of spots. Then go to Khaosudsoi. You’ll see what I mean.

Quick shoutout as well to the Pu Ong at Khaosudsoi. This was a dish I was unfamiliar with — it’s made by taking rice paddy crab fat, mixing it with egg yolk, then grilling the mixture until it gets creamy back in the crab shell. The result is like if bone marrow was made from crab: richer than a dozen billionaires. Heavenly. Only thing missing was some toast points.

Herb Salad/Pork Belly Curry/Fried Catfish at Krua Phech Doi Ngam

My favorite restaurant that we visited in Thailand. I was lured here when I saw Andy Ricker — chef of Pok Pok fame and Chiang Mai resident — posting pictures with a plate of grilled bee larvae, served inside the honeycomb. So cool. There are many other local Lanna specialties across the menu: ant egg salad, stir fried gurmar with eggs, a sour sausage, soft enough to remind me of nduja. Besides these, we also got a salad called Yum Samun Phrai, and a yellow curry made with pork belly. Both dishes floored me. I’m a sucker for a bright, herbal, anti-salad (by which I mean, the kind of “salad” that foregoes leafy greens for crunchy veg, herbs, and nuts), and Yum Samun Phrai takes that concept to the nth degree. It’s an explosion of white turmeric, lemongrass, sawtooth, shredded betel and kaffir lime leaves, topped with cashews, fried shallots, and dried shrimp, then dressed with coconut milk, fish sauce, and lime juice. Unreal. Its freshness was the perfect counterbalance to the pork belly curry which was sweet and rich, topped with slivers of ginger and crushed peanuts. The only problem with the meal was that they were 86 bee larvae. Which meant we had to come back.

Come back we did. This time ordered a nam prik hors d’oeuvres platter, oyster mushrooms with some kind of chili sauce, and the most insane deep fried catfish, which was covered by a huge heap of fried kaffir lime leaves, galangal, and bunches of green peppercorns. Unfortunately, they were once again 86 bee larvae. Guess I just have to go back, again.

Currywurst at Chiang Mai Sunday Night Market

The longest line at the Chiang Mai Sunday Night Market was for currywurst. The cook, as well as his customers, were all Thai, and above the grill there was a sign in English that read, verbatim, “No addiction, monopoly, or faith but DO… Truly Social Care Business HMade German Sausage”. When I got to the front of the line the chef refused to speak either Thai or English with me, and responded to my order in German instead. If I was a journalist, I’d have dug deeper — Lord knows there’s a story behind this spot. Fortunately, I’m not a journalist. I’m just hungry. Great currywurst.

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