On our initial visit, it"s still too early in the evening for the girls and boys to play, allowing us to explore their haunts without risk of untoward propositions. The poking around goes quickly because the same-old sensation takes over after a few minutes. By the third alfres...o...b..r, they all begin to look alike. The search for a good place to eat takes much longer. Lots of restaurants serve fresh seafood, often displayed on ice in front of their large pavilion dining rooms, but they focus mostly on standard international preparations rather than Thai specialties.
Finally, our sleuthing brings us to a small, inviting spot called the Sea Hag. Maybe the name should have alerted us-or at least the clueless waiter standing outside by the posted menu, which appears Thai judging by the dish names. Before we go in, Bill asks the server, "Is your food truly Thai?"
"Oh, yes, in all ways."
Staring at him eye-to-eye, Cheryl says, "We want our food cooked Thai-style, like the chef would do for you. Understand?"
"Oh, yes, madam."
So our crab appetizer shows up without any seasoning at all, leading us to reject it as unacceptable and to reiterate our desires. When our two fish entrees arrive later, we simply give up, taking enough bites to stave off starvation but leaving the rest; one is insipidly bland and the other submerged in a sickly sweet chile sauce rather than the advertised red curry. Noticing we left a fair amount of food, the waiter says, "Oh, too spicy for you!"
Our dinners the next two evenings make up for most of the Sea Hag"s deficiencies. After spending much of the second day in Patong reading by our hotel pool, we take a tuk-tuk south in the afternoon to the Karon and Kata Beaches. Unlike the scary three-wheel carts of the same name in Bangkok, the tuk-tuks in p.h.u.ket are small pickup trucks with bench seating in the bed for six or so people. Taxis and buses don"t exist for transportation between beaches, so the uncomfortable trucks enjoy a monopoly on the traffic and charge accordingly. Dominated by a couple of mammoth hotels, Karon put us off, but Kata seems fascinating in a laid-back style. If we had a chance to choose again, this is where we would have stayed after the Amanpuri, probably at the hotel attached to our dinner restaurant.
Arriving early for our reservation at Mom Tri"s Boathouse, we kill time across the street at the Cool Beach bar, which climbs up a hillside jungle on four small concrete terraces covered with tin roofs, punctured at points to allow palm trees to grow through into the sunlight. Portraits of the king and queen, found in most Thai businesses, hang on the walls of the upper level watching over a full-size pool table, where the women who run the place are currently teaching befuddled male opponents how to handle a cue stick. Bill orders a "Mai Thai," festooned with orchids, and Cheryl gets a frothy and cooling "SingaPore Sling." The drinks come with roasted peanuts and a choice of watching BBC TV or listening to Tracy Chapman songs.
The "Mom" in Tri"s name is a t.i.tle, like "Sir," rather than a shorthand form of "mother." His Boathouse restaurant enjoys a long-standing reputation as the best place to eat in p.h.u.ket and it sure shows us why. Executive chef Tummanoon Punchun skillfully steers a tough course, offering both cla.s.sic French and Thai dishes, each prepared to complement the extensive, international selection of wine in the professional cellar. Our first night comes close to perfect as a dining experience, with superb food and wine in an enchanted setting, on a beachfront terrace with a gentle sea breeze and stars winking at us from above.
Cheryl starts with poo cha, poo cha, deep-fried crab served in the sh.e.l.l with a sweet plum sauce, while Bill goes for deep-fried crab served in the sh.e.l.l with a sweet plum sauce, while Bill goes for gung cha nam pla, gung cha nam pla, a rock lobster salad with a rich fish-sauce dressing laced with thin slices of chile and loaded with garlic and basil. The kitchen seasons both expertly, pumping up the heat in the salad but not so much that it overpowers the wine, a peppery, rustic French Mourvedre. For main courses, we try a rock lobster salad with a rich fish-sauce dressing laced with thin slices of chile and loaded with garlic and basil. The kitchen seasons both expertly, pumping up the heat in the salad but not so much that it overpowers the wine, a peppery, rustic French Mourvedre. For main courses, we try tom yam heng, tom yam heng, deep-fried garrupa caught just off the sh.o.r.e, and deep-fried garrupa caught just off the sh.o.r.e, and gang phed ped yang, gang phed ped yang, pan-roasted duck b.r.e.a.s.t.s with a spicy curry sauce and lychees, which rates in the top ten dishes of our long journey. pan-roasted duck b.r.e.a.s.t.s with a spicy curry sauce and lychees, which rates in the top ten dishes of our long journey.
Invoking her all-time favorite rationale for dessert-"since everything else was so good"-Cheryl suggests we share something, knowing Bill will leave most of it for her. Because we both want to sample a dish from the French side of the menu, she orders a financier, financier, a warm almond-scented cookie-cake. The kitchen bakes a magnificent version and then takes tropical liberties with the idea, adding pureed fresh pineapple on top, and on the side, a creamy coconut sorbet and bits of luscious starfruit, mango, guava, and mint. An ideal finish for a dreamy meal, we feel like hitchhiking back to our bed on a cloud. Instead, we make a reservation to return tomorrow night. a warm almond-scented cookie-cake. The kitchen bakes a magnificent version and then takes tropical liberties with the idea, adding pureed fresh pineapple on top, and on the side, a creamy coconut sorbet and bits of luscious starfruit, mango, guava, and mint. An ideal finish for a dreamy meal, we feel like hitchhiking back to our bed on a cloud. Instead, we make a reservation to return tomorrow night.
A lashing rain wakes us the next morning, the last day of the official monsoon season. Brief showers have rolled past Patong earlier in our stay, but this is a black-sky drencher. The man who cleans the pool beside the breakfast restaurant appears bundled for a storm at sea in the north Atlantic, wearing a heavy, hooded, bright blue slicker and rubber boots. Given the dreary prospects for any time in the sun, we linger longer than usual at the breakfast buffet. Our waitress sympathizes about the weather but can"t help pointing out the obvious. "We"re still in our rainy season, after all."
A half-dozen serving tables offer the same selection each day, an international Who"s Who of morning foods. Lacking anything better to do, we try to guess the guests" nationalities by their main choices, knowing most of them will stick with favorites from home. "That"s an American couple for sure," Cheryl says, "because they got cereal first and then an omelet."
"I bet they"re Scandinavian or German," Bill conjectures, pointing at a group loading up with cold cuts and cheese. Only the j.a.panese opt for miso soup, and only other Asians for congee. The fruit, sushi, and the various breads, ranging from croissants to scones, don"t provide solid clues because a cross section of people pick them up. In case anyone else is playing the same game, we try to be tricky, eating a lot of the locally raised pineapple and a little of everything else except the tasteless boxed cereals.
The rain continues all day, driving us by the middle of the afternoon into the hotel bar. After surveying the worldwide list of possibilities, we order a margarita and a mojito, figuring Thais know a lot about lime and mint flavors. They do indeed, and the drinks go great with the snacks on the table, peanuts studded with garlic and cilantro.
Back at Mom Tri"s a few hours later, we find the atmosphere gloomier than the night before, with the terrace closed and the windows shut tight against the storm. The cooking excels again, particularly the pla tod ki mow, pla tod ki mow, a deep-fried sea ba.s.s topped with red curry, and the a deep-fried sea ba.s.s topped with red curry, and the goong sarong, goong sarong, a p.h.u.ket specialty of shrimp rubbed with a paste of white pepper and cilantro, then wrapped in softened rice vermicelli and deep-fried. The food lifts our spirits, but not to the peaks of our first dinner. a p.h.u.ket specialty of shrimp rubbed with a paste of white pepper and cilantro, then wrapped in softened rice vermicelli and deep-fried. The food lifts our spirits, but not to the peaks of our first dinner.
It"s still raining in the morning of day number one of the dry high season as we pack up to leave for India. By now, we"re ready for a change of scenery. Our joys in Thailand certainly outnumber our disappointments, and guarantee to be far more memorable, but the up-and-down swings tire us in a way we don"t experience elsewhere on the trip. Going from elation to frustration and back again requires a lot of running to keep up with the tempo. At this point, the soggy finish line ahead looks welcome.
THE NITTY-GRITTY.
[image] ROYAL P PRINCESS C CHIANG M MAI 112 Chang Klan Road, Chiang Mai 66-5328-1033 fax 66-5328-1044 Large, pleasant deluxe rooms, but the hotel is too close to the madness of the Night Bazaar for our tastes.
[image] HONG T TAUW I INN Nimanhaemin Road near the intersection of Huay Kaew Road, Chiang Mai 66-5321-8333.
lunch and dinner
[image] THE N NATIONAL E ELEPHANT I INSt.i.tUTE www.thailandelephant.org Lampang 66-5422-8108.
[image] SIAM C CITY H HOTEL B BANGKOK www.siamhotels.com 477 Si Ayuthaya Road, Phayathai, Bangkok 66-2247-0123 fax 66-2247-0178 Cla.s.sy for a moderately priced hotel and near the Phayathai Skytrain station.
[image] THE O ORIENTAL www.mandarinoriental.com/bangkok/ 48 Oriental Avenue, Bangkok 66-2659-9000 fax 66-2659-0000 Once often ranked the world"s finest hotel and still as polished as ever.
[image] AW T TAW K KAW F FOOD M MARKET www.talay.org Bangkok
[image] RAAN J JAY F FAI 327 Maha Chai Road, Phra Nakhon, Bangkok 66-2223-9384.
dinner only
[image] POLO F FRIED C CHICKEN 137/1-2 Soi Polo off Wireless Road, Lumphini, Bangkok lunch and early dinner (no reservations)
[image] RUT & L & LUK on Soi Phadungdao near the intersection of Yaowarat Road, Chinatown, Bangkok dinner only (no reservations)
[image] CHOTE C CHITR 146 Phraeng Phouthon, Bangkok 66-2221-4082.
lunch and dinner Don"t miss it.
[image] AMANPURI www.amanresorts.com Pansea Beach, p.h.u.ket 66-7632-4333 fax 66-7632-4100 Absolutely lovely and restful.
[image] AMARI C CORAL B BEACH R RESORT www.p.h.u.ket.com/amari/ Patong Beach, p.h.u.ket 66-7634-0106 fax 66-7634-0115 Conventional in most respects, but close to the water for Patong.
[image] MOM T TRI"S B BOATHOUSE www.boathousep.h.u.ket.com Kata Beach, p.h.u.ket 66-7633-0015 fax 66-7633-0561 Great ocean-front location for both the hotel and the restaurant, which is open for lunch and dinner.
Beef Khao Soi SERVES 6 6 OR MORE OR MORE.
The Chile Paste1 whole dried red New Mexico or ancho chile2 to 4 whole dried chiles de arbol or j.a.ponais chiles or other small hot dried red chiles2 teaspoons coriander seeds teaspoon c.u.min seeds teaspoon cardamom seeds1 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg1 teaspoon ground turmeric teaspoon ground cinnamon3-inch chunk fresh ginger cup vegetable oil3 medium shallots, sliced into thin rings and rings separated6 garlic cloves, chopped fine Toast lightly in a dry skillet over medium-high heat until fragrant, first the New Mexico chile, followed by the chiles de arbol, coriander seeds, c.u.min seeds, and cardamom. As each is fragrant, dump out into a spice grinder or mortar and pestle and grind. Then add each to a food processor. Add the nutmeg, turmeric, cinnamon, and ginger. Pulse to combine.
In a small heavy skillet warm the vegetable oil over medium heat until very hot but short of smoking. Add the shallots, stirring them almost continually, until they begin to turn golden. After 5 minutes, add the garlic and continue stirring. Reduce the heat a bit if the oil is spattering or the shallots begin to brown darkly. Cook about 10 minutes longer, until both shallots and garlic are deeply golden. Pour the oil through a fine strainer into a heatproof container and reserve it. Spread the shallot mixture out on a couple of thicknesses of paper towels to cool briefly and crisp.
Add to the food processor and puree to a thick paste. The chile paste can be used immediately for the khao soi or refrigerated tightly covered for up to several days.
The Noodles1 pounds thin dried egg noodles, about the size of fettuccine, Chinese or Italian2 tablespoons coconut milk, freshly made if available2 tablespoons coconut oilReserved shallot-garlic oil and vegetable oil for deep-frying Take one-third of the noodles (8 ounces), break them more or less in half, place them in a large bowl, and cover them with warm water. Let them sit in the water until they become pliable, about 30 minutes. Strain off the water and scatter the noodles on a clean dish towel to dry, patting them down a bit as you go so that all surfaces dry thoroughly.
While that batch of noodles softens, bring a large pot of salted water to a vigorous boil and in it cook the remaining 1 pound of noodles until quite tender, a bit softer and creamier than for al dente pasta. Drain the cooked noodles and place them in a large bowl. Toss them with the coconut milk and oil to help keep them from sticking together. Reserve them at room temperature.
Rinse out and dry the pan used for cooking the noodles. Add to it the shallot-garlic oil and at least 2 inches of vegetable oil and heat to 350F. In several batches, deep-fry the 8 ounces of noodles that were soaked and patted dry. Fry until crispy and lightly golden, about 2 minutes. Remove with a slotted spoon or strainer to paper towels.
The Broth and Beef1 pounds boneless top sirloin steak, sliced across the grain into thinstrips, about inch across and 2 inches long1 teaspoons curry powder1 cup coconut cream (not cream of coconut), freshly made if possible3 cups coconut milk, freshly made if available cup plus 2 tablespoons soy sauce1 tablespoon Thai fish sauce, or more to taste2 tablespoons palm sugar, turbinado sugar, or brown sugar cup sliced scallion rings, both green and white portions cup chopped cilantro leaves2 teaspoons to 1 tablespoon fresh lime juice Ma.s.sage the steak pieces with the curry powder.
In a large heavy skillet with high sides, or a Dutch oven, bring the coconut cream to a boil over high heat. Stir in the chile paste and reduce the heat to medium. Cook for about 2 minutes, until the oil separates. Mix in the steak, stirring it into the mixture well, and cook until the meat loses its raw color. Pour in the coconut milk and cook the mixture another 10 minutes, adjusting the heat as needed to keep a bare simmer. Mix in the soy sauce, fish sauce, and sugar. Simmer for about 15 minutes longer, until the broth has thickened just enough to have some body to it and the steak is quite tender. Add the scallions in the last 2 or 3 minutes of cooking. Taste and add more fish sauce if desired for salty tang. Mix in cilantro and enough lime juice to balance the sugar and coconut. Keep the broth warm. If it thickens beyond soupy, add a little water to thin it.
Putting It All Together1 tablespoon ground dried chiles de arbol or j.a.ponais chiles or other fairly hot dried red chiles, warmed in 1 tablespoon vegetable oil, then cooled12 lime wedges, from 2 medium limesAbout cup finely diced shallotsCilantro leavesThai fish sauceAbout 1 cup packaged Thai or Chinese pickled cabbage or mustard greens, rinsed, patted dry, and chopped, optionalChopped peanuts and/or shredded coconut, optional Place as garnishes into individual bowls the chile in oil, limes, shallots, cilantro, Thai fish sauce, and optional pickled cabbage, peanuts, and/or coconut.
In soup plates or large individual bowls, arrange equal portions of the boiled noodles. Ladle broth over each portion, distributing the steak equally. Scatter with the fried noodles and serve. Guests garnish their bowls as they wish, from the selection of toppings. Start with chopsticks to slurp the noodles, then alternate with Chinese ceramic spoons or other soupspoons to finish the broth.
INDIA.
"WHAT THE h.e.l.l IS THAT?" BILL POINTS OUTSIDE, where explosions light the night sky on our plane"s approach to the Mumbai airport.
"Good grief," Cheryl says, "it looks like Baghdad out there."
"Well, if crazies of some kind are firing at us, they must be poor shots. None of the blasts seem close."
Everyone has told us to expect the unpredictable in India, but this seems pretty extreme for an introductory howdy-do.
It is, as we soon find out. Our arrival coincides with the biggest night of the Hindu New Year celebration known as Diwali, the Festival of Lights. All the city is ablaze, though in a fashion as under control as anything ever gets here. A greeter from our hotel, the Taj Mahal, welcomes us at the airport and explains the occasion. "This is our biggest annual religious holiday and also the most jubilant night of the year, kind of like a combination of Christmas and New Year"s Eve on the same day. The crackers"-fireworks-"will be going off all night and for the next couple of days."
His account continues while he escorts us to the hotel limousine for transportation into the heart of the city, provided as a part of our package for an executive-club-floor room in the Taj"s original midrise Palace wing. With a special Internet rate, the deluxe room costs only a little more than a standard double in the same building, but the staff extends special attention and courtesies to the guests, including airport transfers, a club lounge with complimentary breakfasts and c.o.c.ktails, in-room registration and checkout, and a private butler-c.u.m-concierge. Even at a normal time, and especially now it seems, the city formerly known as Bombay can be as chaotic as any metropolis on earth, but we"ve ensured ourselves a means to retreat at will to one of its calmest corners.
"On the way to the hotel," the greeter goes on, "you will see lights everywhere because on this night the G.o.ddess Lakshmi, the provider of wealth, descends from the heavens to bless people with prosperity. Families put out lights so she will find their homes." When he turns us over to our driver, he tells us, "Ask him about anything you don"t understand on your ride downtown, which will take a little longer tonight than the usual hour." Every neighborhood we pa.s.s through, even the slums, glows brightly, sparkling with candles, bonfires, lanterns of all kinds, and strings of twinkling white lights.
"Incredible!" Cheryl exclaims. "Mumbai looks beautiful, even though I know it"s partially an illusion."
"Light in our religion," the driver says, "represents goodness and spiritual wisdom. Tonight, the light vanquishes wickedness, violence, and ignorance."
"What about the flowers?" Cheryl asks, peering out at houses and shanties bedecked with golden marigolds and other blossoms in red and yellow hues.
"They are offerings to Lakshmi. We also give flowers to friends and family at Diwali as symbols of love, along with sweets and other festive foods."
"The women and girls walking on the streets," Bill says, "look just as radiant, dressed in glorious silks."
"That"s part of the celebration," the driver explains. "Families who can afford it make sure all mothers, wives, and daughters get new dresses and jewelry for Diwali."
"Oh," Bill mumbles, regretting that the notion came up with Cheryl listening so raptly.
Our car reaches the Taj Mahal right at midnight, pulling up to a small, private entrance for the Palace wing. When George Bernard Shaw stayed in this building not many years after the hotel"s 1903 opening, well before the management added a conventional high-rise tower, he claimed that he no longer needed to see the real Taj Mahal in Agra. It"s easy to understand the sentiment. The edifices differ substantially, of course, but both are architectural wonders; this one designed in an amalgam of Asian, Moorish, and Florentine styles. The other sports a more romantic origin, to be sure, but our nest sustains romance through sleepovers. Take your choice.
Our butler greets us in the reception area, escorts us to our room, expedites the check-in formalities, and gets us gla.s.ses of champagne as welcome drinks. "I can also bring you a deck of cards," he says, "if you want to celebrate Diwali that way."
"What do you mean?" Bill, the poker player, asks.
"It"s a tradition to gamble on cards today. The G.o.ddess Parvati played dice with her husband Lord Shiva on Diwali night and decreed that people should gamble then, too. Winners are supposed to prosper in the next year and losers get another chance for success the following year. The real losers are people who don"t try their luck, because legend says they will be reborn as donkeys in their next life."
"You better bring us a deck," Cheryl says quickly. Bill decrees we"ll play two hands of Texas hold "em for two rupees each, the equivalent of a nickel, giving us both a chance to win. Bill takes the first pot and then folds his cards on the second hand, forfeiting to Cheryl. Our mutual good fortune becomes instantly apparent, preceding even the fate of the deal. With pure good luck and no advance planning, we"ve arrived in Mumbai at exactly the right hour on the most exultant day of the year. If it"s all about karma, as many millions of Indians believe, each of us must be starting with a full tank.
In tourism circles, India is known as a tough nut. One of our most widely traveled colleagues, a master journalist at the New York Times, New York Times, told us before we left, "No matter how much you like to chart your own course on a trip, India rules. It will always throw you tricky curves." In recognition of the difficulties, most Americans who visit the country come on a group tour or pay an expert to handle their planning in detail. Neither option appeals to us; we"ve never traveled like that and don"t want to begin now. Perhaps we"re too stubborn, a complaint each of us has made about the other a few times before. told us before we left, "No matter how much you like to chart your own course on a trip, India rules. It will always throw you tricky curves." In recognition of the difficulties, most Americans who visit the country come on a group tour or pay an expert to handle their planning in detail. Neither option appeals to us; we"ve never traveled like that and don"t want to begin now. Perhaps we"re too stubborn, a complaint each of us has made about the other a few times before.
As an alternative, after talking about the situation with Cheryl, Bill carefully picks hotel companies in our two destinations, Mumbai and the state of Kerala, that have the resources and experience to deal with all our local arrangements. Established places with a solid track record according to his research, they charge a premium for their accommodations and services, but that seems reasonable in India if they can deliver. The Taj Mahal certainly does, at least for guests on its executive-club floors.
In our room, swaths of silk in multiple shades of gold cover the bed, windows, and chairs, matched handsomely with carved-wood wall panels and accents. Bright sprays of orchids play counterpoint to the white-and-gray marble in the bathroom. For real executives occupying the quarters, the desk provides hookups for every imaginable electronic device, and for their downtime, a nearby cabinet holds a large plasma-screen TV. Surveying the gadgets after our poker game, Cheryl says, "We could probably launch the s.p.a.ce shuttle from here."
"Go ahead. I"m stumped right now just by the master console for the lights."
Early the next morning, we"re off to explore our neighborhood on foot. For many residents, the celebratory night continues. Crackers pop loudly all around us, and ladies parade past in their finery. Other locals go back to work. Crowds surround the ma.s.sive arch in front of the hotel called the Gateway of India, waiting for boat transportation or trying to peddle goods to the captive audience. When Gandhi and his allies ended British colonial rule in 1947, the last of the occupying soldiers marched through the Gateway to waiting ships for the long sail home, leaving behind some inst.i.tutional infrastructure and a widespread use of the English language.
While hawkers open stands on the sidewalks and a man ties a cow to a tree, traffic barrels through the streets, daring pedestrians to dally. Many of the vehicles are black-and-yellow Amba.s.sador taxis made in India some thirty years ago. Rusty and battered, with meters welded on the top of a front fender, they look completely unreliable, but according to an English-language paper at the hotel, the drivers resist government efforts to modernize because they can repair the old cars themselves and fill them with the cheapest gasoline on the market. The taxis, as well as the buses and trucks, flaunt strings of marigolds and other flowers, palm fronds, and spirited ornamentation, often in gold, orange, red, and fuchsia shades.