A Boon to Regional Thai

Duck Larb, Zabb Elee

Talking about the food at the delicious new Nolita restaurant, Uncle Boons, my effusive recollections of dishes has been met more than once with the same question.  “What exactly is Northern Thai food?” 

This is not terribly surprising.  Even as Thai restaurants proliferate across the United States and indeed the world (we once found Thai food in the former German settlement Swakopmund in Namibia!), there is still relatively little knowledge of the regional differences found within the country.  We might know our Pad Thai from our Pad See-ew and our Massaman Curry from our Panang Curry, but do we know how they eat in Phuket versus Chang Mai, or Bangkok versus the Isan territories in the Northeast?

Luckily, a spate of restaurants recently popped up in New York City to try and help us with just this kind of understanding.  Perhaps the most famous of the evangelists of regional Thai cuisine is Andy Ricker, of Pok Pok fame.  I have to admit that even though his former restaurant Ping remains on my list of favorite restaurant memories of Portland, Oregon, I had put off going to his New York outposts until just this past week.  

My mistake.  Somehow I thought a New York version couldn’t come close to what Ricker was doing in his home base.  This is of course, a ridiculous notion given that whether in New York or Portland Ricker is trying to recreate a cuisine from the other side of the world.  And arguably with the ethnic diversity and density of New York, he has better access to hard-to-find ingredients here than just about anywhere.

Ricker’s Pok Pok Phat Thai takes a stab at that Bangkok noodle favorite that has become most associated with cheap and fast Thai food.  The postage stamp-sized restaurant in the Lower Eastside does indeed serve noodles cheap and fast.  But even then, he sticks as close to authentic as possible (sorry, no chicken version, the menu declares).  I picked up one with ground pork and one with shrimp, both pungent with strong notes of tamarind, fish sauce, lime juice, and palm sugar, minus the cloying sticky sauce that bathes most generic pad thai.  The whole package comes wrapped in a banana leaf, the perfect disposable plate.  If it weren’t for the sub-zero New York temperatures, I could almost picture myself eating these noodles on a plastic chair on some street curb, in the tropical Bangkok night.

One of the last times John and I ate at Zabb Elee in the East Village, we were surprised to run into people we knew from San Francisco. Zabb Elee is far from being on the “hot restaurant” radar for locals let alone out-of-towners.  The white interior tries so hard to be cool that it epically fails in the process.  But where is does succeed is with a series of dishes that speak to the Northern Thai and Isan roots of the owners.  Small, plump Isan sausages are sour and garlicky.  Larb, the minced meat dish popular in Laos and the Northeast of Thailand, is fragrant with mint and lime. If you ask for it “Thai spicy” it might just make you cry.  A favorite dish, crispy pork belly with pickled green peppercorns and tiny thumb sized eggplants is an indulgent, heavenly combination, best eaten with a side of sticky rice.

Last fall welcomed the funnily named Uncle Boon’s to the New York Thai scene.  Concerned that this was some attempt to hipsterize Thai food, again, I put off eating there for quite some time.  A couple weeks ago, however, I found myself in Nolita with friends looking for a place to eat.  We decided to give it a try. 

Uncle Boons is the brainchild of two former Per Se chefs and bears a faint resemblance to other restaurants opened by classically trained chefs who broke away from the staid formality of fine dining to reinvent more casual food, such as David Chang did with ramen at Momofuku. 

At is essence, Uncle Boons feels a bit like the Thai version of an izakaya.  If there was any question what we were in for, the first menu category- “drinking snacks”-offers a solid clue.  Yes, you will be drinking beer (or a perfectly quaffable Monastrelle rose) to wash down the dull burn that builds from the abundant use of chilies.  Chilies feature prominently in a classic Isan dish of larb (on this menu spelled "laab"), here in the form of minced lamb in a rich broth flecked with mint, shallot, and thinly sliced cucumber.  A Crisp Sixpoint pilsner and a side of sticky rice help to neutralize the fire.  An interlude of nam prik pla duuk, a dip made of catfish and chilies served with crisp vegetables and fried pig skin, is a nice respite from the onslaught of heat.

Take friends to Uncle Boons as they’ll likely order something you might not otherwise have tasted.  On my first visit I’m grateful a friend ordered the somewhat dull sounding salad of rotisserie chicken with banana blossoms, cashews, and crispy shallots.  The zest and spice were anything but boring- right now this is vying for “favorite item” in my book.

Meanwhile I gravitated towards the rarely seen blowfish tails on the grilled section of the menu.  Moist and meaty served with an addictive dipping sauce of lime, garlic, and chili, this made for a sweet if not saccharine ending to the meal on both occasions I have dined. 

Sadly Zabb Elee makes a concession to the generic Thai food eaters with a page of “Bangkok Rice and Noodles”.   Even Pok Pok Phat Thai adjusted its stridently authentic philosophy to offer a vegan version of their phat thai, kind of beside the point in my opinion as without the fish sauce it would seem to lose its essence. 

That these restaurants are even options is an enormous development for New Yorkers and those who visit here looking for a taste of regional Thai cuisine.  So what is Northern Thai cuisine?  What is Isan?  To that I say, grab a plate of catfish larb at Zabb Elee and dip into a bowl of nam prik pla duuk at Uncle Boons and that chicken green curry and sticky sweet pad thai you thought was Thai food will soon be a distant memory.

Other places in the United States to find interesting regional Thai cuisine

Lotus of Siam (Las Vegas):  The original pilgrimage for those looking to try out Isan and Northern Thai cuisine.  They still offer a standard menu but turn to the back of expansive book for tastes of fermented Isan sausages and mouth-numbing green chili dip with pork skins. 

Saffron (San Diego): Chef-owner Su-Mei Yu offers up lighter versions of Thai street food both at her noodle-focused restaurant and a rotisserie chicken shop next door.  Stop by during Thai New Year for daily specials rarely seen at American Thai restaurants that are only featured during that one week of the year.

Pok Pok (Portland, Oregon):  Since my favorite Andy Ricker restaurant, Ping, a Thai-Vietnamese streetfood concept, is now closed, the original Pok Pok must take up the mantle of favorite Portland restaurant.  The classics like papaya salad have a well deserved reputation for excellence.  I also found the Khao Soi, a mild curried noodle soup native to the north to be delicious.

Amy Powell is a food and travel writer based in New York City. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell

Best Dishes of 2013

Not to miss out on the end-of-year listacles, a look back at my most memorable dishes from this year.  Note these are all restaurant creations.  If I had to include some of the wonderful home cooked meals I’ve been served and cooked myself, it would be a much longer list as the year was also full of great home cooking.  In no particular order….

17 dishes at Hotel the Village: On my second visit to Sri Lanka I continued to be impressed with the vast array of cooking techniques and flavor combinations that could be presented in a single meal.  However, nowhere have I seen more diverse, complex, vegetable-driven preparations than at Hotel The Village restaurant in Girithali, Sri Lanka.  We were awestruck by the bounty when we weren’t busy eating from the 15 different bowls of curried vegetables, dal, pork, lake fish, and sambal presented with two different kinds of rice. With juice, this feast came to barely USD$10 per person.

Cacio e Pepe at Lupa:  Mario Batali’s Lupa is no secret, and for anyone who has eaten there, neither is the Cacio e Pepe.  While it may have taken me a while to get on board with this program, I made up for it plenty going back four times this year.  When you find a dish that is “the best”, it is hard to keep away when the craving strikes for the perfect cheese and black pepper slicked pasta.

Rabbit in Salt Bowl with Courgettes at Duck Soup: Since stumbling upon this restaurant suggestion on a London food blog a few summers back, this has quickly become a go-to restaurant for John and me.  The small plates change constantly and we have been consistently impressed with their range. This Labor Day weekend it was a braised rabbit dish with baby courgettes served in a Himalayan salt bowl that captured my taste buds’ memory and insured that as long as Duck Soup is open, we will keep coming back.

Ddukbokki at Hanjan:  I love Korean, in no small way because I’m obsessed with pickled food and kimchi is perhaps the pinnacle of pickling technique.  Hanjan, a modern Korean newcomer to the Flatiron district makes kimchi all right, and it is a must every time I eat there.  Along with the kimchi, the Pork Fat “Ddukbokki” is now on my “must order” list.  Chewy rice cakes and briny sliced fish cakes mingle in a slick of spicy pork fat.  There is nothing quite like it.

Lamb Neck at Calliope:  I should be embarrassed how often I eat lunch at Calliope.  I can’t help it.  Eric Korsh and Ginevra Iverson might be making classic (and updated classic) French food better than the French in this Francophile city.  But if you go once, go for dinner, as that is where their food truly shines.  There is always a game bird on the menu, and it is always delicious.  Some nights I have been enchanted by specials such as a deconstructed cassoulet made with confit veal breast.  But make sure someone at your table orders the hot and sour braised lamb neck, served off the bone with pillow-light mascarpone agnolotti.  That is the stuff dreams are made of.  

Ceviche at El Camello Jr.: When two singing taxi drivers tell you that this is their go-to place for fish whenever they shuttle tourists the hour and a half drive from the Cancun airport to Tulum, you know the food has got to be good.  El Camello Jr. is owned by fisherman and attached to a seafood market.  The fish is so fresh you can watch the cooks cleaning the catch from an open window.  The “chico” fish ceviche was so not-small and so delicious that could have been a meal for two on its own, with a side of excellent chips and a cerveza, of course.

Adobada at Los Tacos No. 1: Los Tacos No. 1 changed my life.  This is not hyperbole.  As a native Californian, homesickness to me tastes like tacos.  I mean real tacos.  Not the fancy versions popping up all over New York from star chefs trying to reinvent the wheel.  I mean real, honest, homemade tortilla, fresh salsa, meat-on-a-spit tacos.  Then three entrepreneurs schooled in Tijuana-style tacos brought Los Tacos No. 1 to Chelsea Market, practically at my doorstep.  Now when I get the craving, a taste of home (washed down with an ice cold Jamaica) is only a hop, skip, and jump away.

Tri-color Pappardelle with Matsutake Mushrooms at Piora: I despise the word “fusion”, but even then, I have been hard pressed to come up with a word to summarize the style at West Village newcomer Piora.  So I won’t.  It is enough to know the food is wonderful without trying to hard (even if the service does try a bit too hard on occasion).  A special one night last fall of tri-color homemade pappardelle with Matsutake mushrooms, a varietal prized in Japan, seemed a classic mash-up of Asian and Italian sensibilities.  Whatever you want to call the cuisine at Piora, all you need to know is that it is delicious.

Green Curry ramen at Bassanova: Who can chose a best ramen in New York City?  We are spoiled for choice.  And though everyone seems to have a personal favorite for the classic variety (mine is Hide-Chan’s spicy ramen) we are just now seeing the innovation that has been happening in Japan migrate to our shores.  A great early example is the fabled Green Curry Ramen from Bassanova, originally of Japan and now in New York’s Chinatown.  Push the weirdly placed mesclun greens to the side and dip your chopsticks into the beautiful, oversized bowl to fish out springy noodles bathing in a rich, fragrant green curry.  It will make you wonder why no one on this side of the Pacific had thought of that already.

Afternoon Snack at Hasaki: The name “Afternoon Snack” was clearly designed to make one laugh.  This is “snack” fit for a giant, or perhaps an Olympic sprinter.  But for us mere mortals who get hungry at lunch time, this spread is a sampler of just about everything wonderful this authentic East Village Japanese restaurant serves: green salad, red miso soup, tempura vegetables and shrimp, grilled miso salmon, two seaweed salads, and the chef’s sushi and roll selection of the day.  At $18, it might just be the best value “snack” in New York City.

Wishing you food adventures and happy eating in 2014!

Note:  In my capacity as a wine salesperson I do business with Piora, Hanjan, and Calliope.  However, I paid for all food mentioned here and would have happily eaten at any of these restaurants regardless of my business relationship.

Amy Powell is a food and travel writer based in New York City. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell

Sanma Comes but Once a Year

Sanma, salted and broiled

“You are just like Japanese!”  The woman sitting next to me at the bar nearly jumped out of her seat with surprise. For the last hour she had been conspicuously studying my moves.  Sitting alone at the bar of this small izakaya off The Strip in Las Vegas I was a bit of an anomaly.  Amongst the tightly packed tables, I was one of only a handful of non-Japanese faces.

Just then I had removed the spine from a long, thin fish in one movement.  A moment earlier, perhaps sensing this wasn’t my first time eating sanma, my curious neighbor had leaned over and mimed my next steps for eating this strange fish.  She indicated I was to grasp the tail between my thumb and fingers and pulling back in a clean motion bringing the tail toward the head of the fish.

I followed her advice and like that, two salt crusted, slightly charred fillets were separated from the head and the tail both attached by the spine. I had performed the motion, she said, “just like Japanese.”

This was my first experience with sanma, a Japanese fish that makes its short appearance each fall.  I wish I could say I had known what I was ordering but, like most of my dining experiences at this restaurant, the discovery was a happy accident.  I had learned eating at Abriya Raku to defer to the specials board.  Even if the writing on their movable blackboard menu was illegible and the waiter’s description incomprehensible, if I just pointed to a few items these would eventually show up, and I was never disappointed.

Bones removed with the guidance of my new Japanese friend, I found sanma has the sort of rich, firm flesh that I find delicious in other small oily fish.  Mackerel, sardines, and fresh anchovies are all similar in this way.

It would be a while before I saw sanma again.  This fall it made a brief appearance at the Lobster Place, the fish wholesaler with a retail outlet in the Chelsea neighborhood of New York.  Intrigued, I figured it couldn’t be too difficult to prepare at home.  A bit of research revealed recipes that did not differ much from what I often do to sardines.  Guts removed by the fishmonger (apparently some Japanese prefer cooking it with the organs still inside), I made long slashes in the skin and salted the flesh for a quick fifteen-minute cure.  Under the broiler the thin fish needed no more than 4 minutes per side for the flesh to be nicely charred. 

Salt curing the sanma before cooking

A squeeze of lemon and quick spine-removing gesture later and we were sitting down to a light supper of fish that you normally don’t find outside of Japanese restaurants.

The next week at the market we were back hoping for a repeat sanma dinner.  Sadly, in place of the whole fish were thin, boneless fillets.  Without the slender body and delicate spine the fish lost a bit of its magic.  That day we passed and opted instead for the humble whole sardine.  For me, a fish that comes but once a year deserves to be treated with the utmost respect and little does more to honor a fish than cooking it whole, just like Japanese. 

Amy Powell is a food and travel writer based in New York City. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell

Bánh Mì Version 2.0

Meatball bánh mì  at Bánh Mì Saigon in New York

I remember when no one in New York knew what a bánh mì was. This was a time before Instagram and Top Chef, when food porn was limited to Saveur and the weekly dose from the New York Times Dining section.  Unless you were Vietnamese or had backpacked in Vietnam, the sandwich of cold cuts, pate, and pickled vegetables was a complete unknown. 

When was this long ago time, you ask?  Only about ten years ago, actually.  My how things change.

I was in the backpacker category of the bánh mì knowledgable, though I can't say my first experience was a positive one.  Rushing to pack and get out of Saigon for an overnight bus trip, I persuaded my brother we should buy two uncertain looking sandwiches from a street vendor.  Unbeknownst to us, Ho Chi Minh was the perfect place to be picking up the sandwich, as it was there that the bánh mì, in its classic form, was invented.

Unfortunately, my brother and I broke the cardinal rule of bánh mì: eat immediately. These are not sandwiches designed to be packed away for late night snack on a long bus ride.  Most of our soggy, smelly sandwiches were left behind in a rest station trash bin.

Mackerel Bánh Mì at Num Pang

While I was living in California a few years back, I came to New York for a visit and was surprised to find the bánh mì had taken the city by storm. It seemed shops devoted to the sandwich were popping up everywhere, as with the mini-chain Baoguette.  And it appeared every Chinatown coffee shop had signs placed in the window advertising bánh mì alongside pictures of dark tapioca pearls bobbing in plastic cups of bubble tea.  (How the Taiwanese sweet milk tea drink became companions with a Vietnamese sandwich is an investigation for another time.)

A Laotian bánh mì shop opens in Tribeca

Coming back to New York a couple of years later it seemed the bánh mì had so quickly moved from obscurity into the mainstream it was already on to Phase Two: reinvention.  While walking through the Village I stumbled upon a small shop front near Union Square, Num Pang.  A look at the menu revealed a list of sandwiches that appeared similar to bánh mì but, well, different. “Pulled Duroc Pork with Honey” and “Peppercorn Catfish with House Made Sweet Soy Sauce” sounded innocuously Asian, but the rest of the sandwich ingredients- cucumber, pickled carrot, cilantro and chili mayo- put these squarely in the traditional bánh mì category.

Num Pang’s Cambodian-style bánh mì clearly hit a nerve with New Yorkers. Now, living back in the city, there are so many Num Pang locations I only need to walk two blocks from my West Village apartment when I get a craving for their Khmer sausage sandwich piled high with pickled carrot and slicked with a sheen of chili mayo.

French Dip Duck Confit bánh mì from Khe-Yosk

With Cambodian versions and Vietnamese versions it was just a matter of time before that other border country, Laos, chimed in with a version of the bánh mì.  Enter Khe-Yosk in Tribeca, a window counter opening onto the street, an offshoot of the attached fine dining Laotian restaurant. A couple weeks after the “khe-yosk” opened I stopped by for a duck confit “French dip” bánh mì.  The foie gras spread was lost to me between the rich shredded duck and bright pickled vegetables.  And though dipping the enormous sandwich into a small container of au jus was challenging, I found the unusual addition to be a nice accompaniment for the crusty loaf of French bread.

I remember when there was no bánh mì.  Now, just ten years on, I live in a New York era of so many kinds of bánh mì and restaurants that serve them, I could eat a different version every day months.  When it comes to this sandwich none was bad, some was good, and more is definitely better.

Amy Powell is a food and travel writer based in New York City. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell