Malaysian food and Thai food. Which words do these cuisines justice? Probably: "Om nom nom nommm." Are they actually words? I don't know. But they're certainly the sounds I make when I have a mouthful of either. In my opinion, these are two of the best cuisines on the planet. I'm aware I say this about quite a few gastronomical traditions and this makes me a culinary tease, but what can I say? I can't pick just one for the top spot; I adore several equally and I love making foodie calls to whichever one will be most pleasing at any given dining moment.
While a debate about which of the world's cuisines is the best and why would make for a wholly thrilling, fascinating and spirited afternoon (cough *geek!*), all I'll say for now is that Thai and Malaysian are up there in the top ten, perhaps even in the top five. We all know about Thai food. It's a common part of our own culture now even if this means that unauthentic, bastardised dishes masquerading themselves as "Thai" are the norm on many British menus. Malaysian food hasn't quite reached the same heights of fame yet which to me is a good thing - the day a processed Laksa goes the same way as a Thai curry and finds itself on every pub menu, the food world as we know it is over and we should just give up on life. Even as I write those words, Imran rolls his eyes in a "Could you be any more melodramatic or OTT?" way but he simply doesn't get it. The obsessive foodies out there do.
Our plan, when we went to Malaysia and Thailand, was to hit the street food stalls like a chavvy chick hits the bottle of fake tan. Try every single dish on the long list we'd brought along with us and chow down until we had no teeth left. How did we get on? Our food adventure starts here.
Malaysia: The Big O Bowl
Malaysian people love food. They especially love their own food. Who can blame them? Having been all around south east Asia by the time we reached Malaysia, we noticed a stark contrast in the size of the people here compared to the other countries. Still, they're doing pretty well; if I lived in Malaysia I'd be a roly poly. I'd never leave the kitchen and be a 'roll' model to my children. Hahaha.
I love their passion about their cuisine. Do you know how much I love it? I went for a facial at our hotel in Kuala Lumpur one day and the lady had just had her lunch. She'd obviously been eating with her fingers because all I could smell were spices, onions and fried bread being rubbed all over my mug. Instead of getting peeved, I found it absolutely hysterical and we had a great chat about what food she liked to eat for the next hour. I ran back to our room rubbing my face all over Imran crying, "My face smells of curry! Come and enjoy my yum yum Malaysian food face!" (He didn't seem to muster up quite the same enthusiasm.)
They say some foods are better than sex. I've always disagreed with that one. But then I ate laksa... now I kinda understand where the phrase comes from. What is laksa? It's an orgasm in a bowl. And I'm only half joking. We haven't had 'Fun Fact' time for a while, have we? Let's get it out of the way now so that we can go back to the bowlful of euphoria as soon as possible.
To understand this gastronomical paradise, you should understand the make-up of the population. As you know, there are three main groups in Malaysia: Malays, Chinese and Indians. While you can find the original food of each of these groups in abundance separately, what makes 'Malaysian cuisine' unique is the merging of them all to create new dishes. The fusion of cultures has led to a fusion of three intense cuisines and the results are pretty phenomenal. The Malays had the local ingredients: aromatics such as lemongrass and galangal, and pungent seasonings like shrimp paste. The Indians brought the spices: the cumin and the turmeric; the Chinese brought the advanced cooking styles: bamboo steamers and woks. Can you imagine the exciting results such a mix produces? Each took influence from the other and now, in the modern day, you have things you'd never find in the original respective countries: Indian noodles, Malaysian sweet and sour sauces and Nyonya/Peranakan food.
Aah, the incredible Nyonya cuisine. The early Chinese settlers - Straits Chinese - in the 15th and 16th centuries bumped uglies with and married the indigenous Malays, creating a distinctive ethnic group and fare to match. It differs from the Chinese-influenced cuisine of the modern day because the Straits Chinese had no access to their homegrown ingredients in those early years of non-refrigeration and little importation, and, being introduced to the local produce available in Malaysia, had to use them to try to make dishes as similar as possible to those they knew from home. Instead they just came up with a whole batch of new ones.
So what are the most famous Malaysian dishes you might know? Beef rendang, laksa and satay. Although Malaysia and Thailand both try to claim satay as their own, it's actually originally an Indonesian invention. However, I think the Malaysians do it best out of all three so, to that end, I'm calling it Malaysian in this post. We obviously wanted to try all of these with the two main types of laksa being top of the list: curry laksa and Assam laksa (the Nyonya version.) Our full list was far more comprehensive, however, with the consumption of the following dishes being a condition to being allowed to leave the country.
Rojak: a popular snack of fruit covered in a sauce made from shrimp paste and topped with ground peanuts. Sometimes there's powdered prawn paste sprinkled on top, too. The sauce is thick, gloopy, very sweet and very fishy. While we're ok with mixing fruity and seafood flavours in a balanced and subtle dish, rojak is a punch in the face. Definitely an acquired taste and not a dish we wanted a second time to try and attempt to acquire that taste.
Curry laksa: a seriously hot and spicy broth made with coconut milk, full to the brim with squidgy fried tofu puffs, crunchy beansprouts, soft rice noodles, and fresh herbs. We took local advice to ignore the street food stalls and eat this from a random cart in the corner of an alleyway selling nothing else. Wow. So delicious I think it's a top contender for my Death Row meal. You don't even notice that the spiciness is making you sweat because you're on a merry-go-round of flavour and texture. There's the creamy, rich coconut milk quickly filling you up but you ignore the signals; the slippery noodles struggling to fit in your mouth, so velvety that you barely chew; the tofu puffs which have soaked up the liquid and burst a river of lemongrass, chilli, garlic and ginger on your tongue; the vibrant and fresh mint and coriander. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. PLEASE text me right now and tell me which day you're coming over to my place and that you'd like to eat laksa. I need any excuse to make this as often as possible.
Nasi lemak: a bit of a mish mash of a dish and one that relies on excellent quality ingredients to be good. It's rice and curry - any curry at all - served always on a pandan leaf with the accompaniments of cucumber slices, peanuts, a boiled egg, ikan bilis (small fried anchovies) and sambal, the spicy condiment that is the Malaysian version of ketchup, made mostly from chillies, shrimp paste and garlic. Nasi lemak isn't often eaten in the evenings so we didn't have it at the street food markets; sadly, eating it in cafes during the day meant we didn't get a very nice version of this anywhere. Reheated curry slops and microwaved rice more often than not, with stale accompaniments.
Sambal: see above. It's a great condiment but the locals add other ingredients like vinegars and citrus to create a marinade/sauce for dishes that stand alone: our favourite was steamed sambal Red Snapper which we ate everyday in Borneo.
Nasi kandar: the Indian version of Nasi Lemak. Rice with a load of different curries dolloped on the side. Our reason to go to Little India in every city with, as you'll read later, varying results.
Roti canai: One of Malaysia's most popular breakfasts and based on the Indian fried bread, paratha. The dough is put on a grill and lifted and slapped back on it with extreme speed to stretch it. It's really thin but the layers are folded on top of one another to create a fluffy mini mattress for your curry. It's crispy and buttery and gloriously satisfying in a way that only fried bread can be.
Char kway teow: a hawker stall staple. Simple, quick and traditionally fattening as hell as it was the food for labourers. Flat rice noodles are stir-fried in pork fat with soy sauce, shrimp paste (belachan), bean sprouts and chives, and served with pork lardons. These days it's generally made with vegetable oil and served with prawns as, despite the Chinese origin of the dish, Malaysia is a Muslim country and the peeps don't dig on swine. Tourists seem to go crazy for this dish, especially in Penang where it's most famous. Here they add egg to the dish too. It's... fine. It's nice. It's a noodle version of egg fried rice, to be frank. Understandable, then, why it's friendly on the tourist palate but not overly exciting.
Durian: In the health circles it's called the king of fruits. It's huge, distinctive in its thorn-covered exterior and yields an inner fruit that is plump, meaty and so, so very good for you. What makes this fruit famous though is the smell. It stinks to high heaven. The odour is bad enough to ensure prohibitions against bringing the open fruit onto public transport or into hotels and other public places. Here's the problem: we never managed to find someone who would cut it open just for us to smell. I guess it's not cheap. We found ones with just a slit in the skin and the whiff wasn't bad at all, so either we didn't find the scent particularly offensive or it needs to be completely open to fully hit you. We had it mixed into smoothies and it was rich and creamy - very custardy - but nothing that made us want to jump up and down and do the running man. I have a feeling we didn't get the best of the stuff. This is one I need to try again in the future properly before I make a final assessment.
Nyonya pineapple tart: exactly what it says on the tin. It's a European-style tart with a fruit filling so I can only imagine the 'Nyonya' in the description refers to the use of a sunshine fruit. It's the Pussycat Dolls version of a standard European lemon tart: Dontcha wish your tart was tropical like me? Imran ate a whole box of these mini tarts in Melaka. An entire box. And he doesn't even have a sweet tooth. And he said I was only allowed one from a box of twelve. Addictive, much?
In Kuala Lumpur, we pitched ourselves close to the night time street food markets. Here we ate grilled stingray - first and last time because, as delicious as it was, it felt a bit wrong to be eating this particular fish after swimming with it in Indonesia and so I enjoyed it once and will forever have happy memories of it. In KL's Little India we had some badass Papri Chaat. This is one of our favourite Indian street food dishes. Another one to go on the Death Row list, I reckon. The base is fried wheat crisps. They have to be thick enough to be a substantial chew but thin enough to be crispy. Not too oily or greasy and at room temperature. Nestled in the middle of these discs of crunchy loveliness is a spoonful of diced potato, onion and chickpeas. On top is a viscous sweet and sour tamarind sauce made from boiling tamarind pods with jaggery (unrefined sugar), chilli and spices. Cool, natural yoghurt refreshes the tongue as an ideal counter balance to the other flavours but you finish with the fire of a green chilli sauce or fresh sliced chilli garnish. Mmmm mmmm mmmm. Yes, yes, yes. It was better than any single one we'd tried in Mumbai.
The Indian food just got better in Melaka where we had lunch at the restaurant next door to our hotel everyday. In the baking heat, sweating like mad, we blew our heads off and ate in vortexes of steam with hot, spicy, authentic food. The fish tikka made us bang our fists on the table and cry: "F**k me, that's good!" The pieces of fish were blasted in the tandoor for a matter of minutes and came to us moist and barely holding together. I asked the chef for the recipe of the tikka marinade and he said it was yoghurt paste, chilli powder, salt and mustard sauce. Sounds simple enough but I reckon there were a few extras in this 'mustard sauce' and 'yoghurt paste' than just those named ingredients, so I'll have to get creative when I try to recreate this one. Gimme time.
And so on to Penang, the food capital of the country. High expectations here. Were they too high? It seems so because most of the food we had in Penang turned out to be a letdown. Maybe we didn't go to the right places.. but we went to the same places as the locals. Maybe we went at the wrong times. Maybe they gave us the crap food because we were tourists. Who knows? But we sighed in disappointment on more than one occasion. A few times I just got damn right pissed off. Seriously, don't give a foodie crap eats - it actually ruins our day.
There is a ridiculous amount of street food in this city: every road seems to have numerous stands. All the Indian stuff we tried was poor. In Little India we had roti canai that was chewy, soggy and obviously reheated In a microwave. A rubbery, elastic piece of bread: yum. We were willing to let that one go because we went at lunchtime and I guess the fresh stuff is whipped up first thing in the morning. However, the mee goreng (a fusion noodle dish) was so disgustingly heavy on fish paste that we dumped a few notes on the table and walked out of the joint without eating another bite. Across the road we saw a sign claiming 'Best nasi kandar in town!' and a long queue of local people waiting patiently outside. They must know where the good stuff is, right? Wrong. What, was it a bad day in Penang or something? Had the people been eating nothing but stale porridge for the last month so any kind of rubbish curry was worth waiting in line for? Man, I'm getting annoyed just writing about it. We had high hopes for this place but we ended up eating concoctions that were only marginally better than a curry house special in the East End. Potentially great flavours but badly executed, cold and a bit 'meh.' Trying to talk to anyone in there was a waste of time. I'm brown so I can get away with saying it: Indian people can be unhelpful and unfriendly at the best of times, but they're much worse when you're making it obvious you think their food is shite. We tried to find one more place, just to say we'd had a positive experience here, but nothing attracted us.
Perhaps we'd have better luck with the Chinese influenced cuisine and the Nyonya fare? Gurney Drive, a hot spot for the natives, was to be our evening location of choice. 30m down the road we could smell the pork in the air. Yep, definitely Chinese influenced. We could barely see the stalls for all the smoke billowing around and having a conversation was difficult over the volume of frying, chopping and sizzling sounds. All positive signs, surely? Nope. We had popiah, Assam laksa and grilled fish. I'll explain exactly what the first two dishes are in a minute. All you need to know for now is that the popiah was bland and lacking in substance; the Assam laksa didnt have the ideal balance of sweet and sour but was instead salty and had that artificial background taste that comes from using a powdered sauce base. The grilled fish was covered in curry paste and chilli sauce so had the potential to be a fabulous 'pow!' to the taste buds but it was severely lacking in seasoning and therefore flavour. Why were the indigenous people eating this rubbish? They know what tasty, authentic food is even better than we do so why were they enjoying it and we weren't? Perplexing. But then we remembered that not everyone in the world is a foodie. You just need to look in London to know that even people who know what good food is will regularly eat ready-made convenient stuff if they're too busy or don't find it enjoyable to make something themselves.
The problem is that Nyonya food is incredibly time consuming. The dishes have masses of ingredients and they take a very long time to bring together. There are several methods, stages and techniques to create the perfect plateful and people don't have the time or inclination for that anymore. Convenience ingredients are everywhere in the world and Malaysia is no exception. Sadly, this means that real, delicious Nyonya food is slowly dying out and it's the ready made rubbish that's killing it. So, how did I know all this and why was I so clued-up about about how disappointing the street food was and how the dishes should actually taste? Because I got myself a Pearly.
I was desperate to learn legit Malaysian dishes. The proper stuff: the grub all 30-somethings remembered their grandmothers making in the family kitchen. There were 3 recipes I especially wanted to know: satay, Assam laksa and popiah, and I wanted genuine, bona-fide instructions on how to make the real deal. Every single little bit from scratch, exactly as it was done a hundred years ago. And I found just the woman to teach me.
Pearly Kee runs cooking classes at the Tropical Spice Garden, about a 45 minute drive outside of Penang's central hub of Georgetown. It is a beautiful place and an acclaimed tourist attraction in its own right due to the well-tended herb and spice garden and lush surroundings. They run cooking classes regularly here which are known to be of a very high standard but only one of the recipes I wanted to learn was on the schedule of any given class. This just wouldn't do. I sidled up to Imran one night and told him about this place. I told him how desperately I wanted those chosen dishes in my repertoire and how I wanted to be in a select minority in the world of people who knew how to make Nyonya recipes from scratch. I wanted to preserve a fragment of a history that wasn't even mine. He heard the disappointment in my voice when I told him how I'd have to do three separate classes to learn all this - which we didn't have time for anyway - and how the Laksa they taught was a modified version regardless because it was just too long and complicated to fit into one cooking session. Then my amazing, wonderful hubby made my day. "Why don't you ask them to give you a private class?" he suggested. "Those exact dishes; a whole afternoon if that's what it takes." I did and they came back to me with a price that would make a private lesson with Gordon Ramsay look like a bargain basement deal. "So? Do it," said that generous man of mine. "What the f**k do you think I make money for? So my belly can benefit from your new found knowledge. Get your arse there and learn how to make me a proper bad boy satay."
I was like an excited kid on the first day back at school. Pearly was charismatic, loud, bossy and vibrant. She wasn't shy to tell me off and criticise my incorrect techniques. I didn't care because she also wasn't shy of divulging every bit of knowledge and and insight she had, and I learned more from her in a day than I would have ever done reading five books on Nyonya cuisine. We made satay: charred hunks of skewered meat (or whatever you fancy) with a deliciously heavy, coat-the-roof-of-your-mouth peanut sauce; sweet, earthy and piquant all at the same time. We made Nyonya popiah: a spring roll of sorts but with a wrap that is part way between Asian rice paper and a thin wheat chapatti. All the different components of the filling have to be cooked separately, from the shredded jicama boiled in turmeric water, to the seafood and the chilli-based sauce. Along with Hoisin sauce, this is painted on the bottom of the wrap. The jicama goes on, as does the salad, the herbs, the crab and prawns, the fried shallots, the cucumber and the tofu. It's rolled up and a ladle of the yellow-stained jicama water is poured on top. And finally, we made Assam laksa: a noodle broth just like its curry counterpart, but whereas the latter focuses on chilli heat and coconut, the former is sweet and sour. The stock is predominantly tangy tamarind and blended pineapple. The usual aromatics like galangal and lemongrass are used in the base mixture and the common toppings of mint and coriander are a mainstay, but the subtle differences lie in the use of fish like mackerel and a garnish of torch ginger flower. As delicious as this bowl of sexiness was, I'd move away from authenticity to not use ginger flower. I didn't like it. It looks beautiful, like a flaming torch which has exploded in pinks and reds, but to me it tasted overwhelming: like ginger on Speed, so pungent it bordered on medicinal.
It was one of the best activity days I've ever had. Pearly might have been the sort of domineering woman you wouldn't want to cross but she was also open and generous. She expected us to finish at 7pm but I was such a teacher's pet that we were done by 5.30pm. If there's only one thing I can do well in the kitchen, it's chop like a demon. Two young girls from Singapore happened to be visiting the Spice Gardens just as my class was ending so we all shared the food together. They kept profusely apologising for eating the fruits of my labour after Pearly told them how much a private lesson cost and tried to refuse any more offerings. But that just made me want to give them even more (cough *feeder!*) and hey, come on, the real enjoyment of delicious food comes from sharing it with others. There was plenty for me to take back to Imran and left him to feast all evening on the best versions of all these dishes "by a million miles."
It really is true: there's nothing to do in Penang except eat. Does it deserve its reputation as the home of the tastiest food in the country? That's very debatable. If we go by the standards of what we ate out and about then the answer would be no, but if we go by the food we sought out and learnt at the Tropical Spice Garden and use this as a benchmark to what's out there then yes. Our Malaysian pal Shantha told us to go visit her mother while we were in Penang but unfortunately our schedules didn't coincide. It would've been a nice experience to see what a local cooked up for us. Maybe one day we'll go back and try eating in another well-known street food area; there are an array to choose from, after all. But while our gastronomic findings on the bustling roads of Penang might have been underwhelming, our food experience in Malaysia as a whole was incredibly positive. Screw Mr Nobu - Malaysia was doing fusion way before the word fusion was ever invented. This truly has to be one of the greatest cuisines in the world. On that note, it's nearly dinner time and I need me a laksa. Come to mama, baby.
Thailand: Burn, baby, burn
Everyone knows about Thai food. Athough the restaurants at home cover only a tiny number of Thai recipes and adapt it to foreign palates, the standard of the best known and most loved classics is generally ok. Green and red curries, fishcakes, pad thai, hot and sour soup (tom yam) and beautiful salads such as the ever popular papaya salad (som tum) are so unbelievably easy to make at home from scratch that we rarely eat these when we dine out anymore. Let me give you a tip. When you go to a family-run Thai restaurant in London, ask them to make you something not on the menu that they themselves are eating. They'll try their very best to change your mind; tell you that you can't cope with the chilli levels or the very testing parts of the animal they use, but, if you know you can, then insist. That's when you'll get some real authentic food. It will blow your head off, no doubt about it, but ordering this way has gotten me some blinding versions of vegetable dishes (no idea what was in them but they were like nothing I've ever eaten before and absolutely nothing like any dish on the standard menu.)
They say Thai food is all about a balance of sweet, salty, sour and spicy flavours. Get this balance right and it's easy to concoct any dish at all. Palm sugar, coconut milk, fish sauce, soy sauce, lime, lemongrass, tamarind and chillies: those are all the go-to ingredients you need in your pantry and fridge to make any kind of sauce, marinade or dressing. Throw in some garlic, fresh coriander, rice noodles and your choice of protein and you have an infinite number of potential dishes. Thai food is certainly my number one preference when I want to throw a quick dinner together. But while I try my utmost to get this famous harmony just right, I don't quite know how Thai cooks manage to get it spot on even when they use enough chilli to burn a hole in your oesophagus. I think this cuisine could possibly hold the title for the hottest on earth. The folks eat birds eye chillies like they're Skittles.
It would've been nice to go to Thailand and learn some new dishes but, as expected, the cooking schools cover only the tourist favourites of spring rolls, pad Thai, papaya salad, masaman curry, sticky coconut rice with mango and banana fritters. Still, the class I did in Bangkok was £20 so at least I got value, and they did teach us how to make fresh, homemade coconut milk which excited me no end. It takes ages and it's a real case of trial and error in London to find a young Thai coconut at the perfect ripeness in the Asian supermarkets, but when everything goes your way, it's an incredibly satisfying way to spend an hour. For bonkers people like me, anyhow.
It's likely to come as a huge shock to you (sarcasm intended) to find out I'm a total snob when I go to cooking schools because I get irritated by the other pupils, who, 99% of the time, are completely clueless about food. Don't you yell "That's why they're going to a class!" at me. I understand that logic. But it doesn't stop me from getting on my high horse and rolling my eyes when students ask questions I believe to have very obvious answers. I'm a total... um, nightmare. In the instance that 'nightmare' means 'arse', of course. I get there, I immediately make judgements as to who knows their shit and who doesn't, and if nobody does, then I lose interest in making friends and just want to make the dishes and leave. As I shamefully admit this in writing, I'm embarrassed as to how terrible this makes me sound! I promise I'm not like this when I go to a class with friends, by the way: the complete opposite, in fact. Just thought I'd get that out there before anyone I know decides they're never going to a cookery lesson with me. I really am like this just with strangers and generally only abroad.
I feel like I should justify my actions a tiny bit. The other students in this Thai class were young backpackers; 21 year olds who were nice enough but thought coconuts were a root vegetable. I could've been ok with that; I couldn't be ok with one of the kids, a 7 foot Swedish guy and a moronic halfwit, who thought it was acceptable to tell the male Thai teacher and a half-Chinese guy from Canada that they "all look the same" to him because "of the slopey eyes" and proceeded to pull out the corners of his own eyes to illustrate his point. At least his mate had the decency to look mortified. I guess my patience was a little short after having had the most fantastic cooking class ever in Malaysia. And now that I think about it, I was bosom buddies with everybody in my class in Vietnam too when, for the first time ever, all the participants were foodies with a similar level of skill and knowledge. Except Imran. Hahaha. Good job we're already solid because love would never blossom if we'd met at a cooking school. (Once again, I reiterate: I'm fun when I go to one of these things with a mate! Promise.)
Our biggest food education came in Phuket and at the detox place. The Raw food movement. The core idea is nothing can be heated above 42 degrees C. We'd been trying to bring more raw food into our diet for a while but were just so limited in knowledge, and it seemed as if making anything 'gourmet' or 'a proper meal' was time consuming and complicated. Phuket Cleanse showed us the light. It seriously is easy. The staff at PC would whip up batches of sauces and dressings in the blender in five minutes flat; they showed us how to make wraps and crackers in the dehydrator, incredible desserts as well as fantastic versions of samosas, massaman curry and noodle dishes. Many people pooh pooh the idea of Raw as a cuisine and it's understandable why - we live in a world where everyone is so attached to foodstuffs with specifically-chosen chemical ingredients to addict us and brainwashed by advertising that convinces us we have a wholly independent emotional need for them that anything healthy is automatically considered boring or rubbish-tasting. But I speak from the point of view of a foodie and nothing more when I say Raw is the most creative and inventive cooking (or 'uncooking') style I've ever come across. The variety of techniques is phenomenal - culturing, fermenting, dehydrating, cold smoking - and ingredients are used that most top chefs probably would not have heard of. It's common sense: if the movement wants to be an established 'cuisine' as opposed to just made up of people who only eat fruit and salad, it's got to be innovative and clever. A Raw kitchen is like a laboratory; a healthier version of the kind of mad experimentation Willy Wonka would be proud of. In addition, the diversity within the community is great - they don't all agree with each other. Some say Raw should be completely vegan; others say raw fish and meat is ok. Some say you should go heavy on fruit and low on fats like oil and nuts; others say the exact opposite. Some say you can eat bucket loads; others say you need to eat barely anything.
I'd been playing around with veganism a little bit before we went travelling but never went very far with it because Imran just wasn't interested in it. "You can do whatever you want," he'd tell me, "as long as you don't stop making dinners for me with some form of animal protein in it." Well, I wasn't about to make two separate suppers, was I? He was like most people who thought this was essential to a 'complete' meal. But the grub he was given at the detox blew his mind. He changed his tune within a day and is now predominantly meat-free with me. Who on earth would have guessed that could ever happen? He claimed the raw feasts played mind tricks on him; they were made to look like 'normal' food but were tastier and made him feel vibrantly alive rather than in need of a nap. One of the coolest inventions was a 'salmon fillet' that was actually a chunk of papaya. The colour, shape and size is the same. It's cold smoked on the stove which changes the texture to one a bit more similar to fish and then marinated to bring in more flavour. I wasn't too bothered about being on the juice detox and not eating any of the food because I asked for a million recipes and I knew I'd be able to recreate them at home, but I did constantly dip my finger into Imran's pots of sauces to get an idea of tastes and textures. Since we've been back home, we've been eating a lot of raw food with our meals. I'm not sure we'd ever go fully raw because we love cooked food too much and, to my knowledge, some foods are healthier cooked. However, we now need a certain percentage of 'live' food in a day otherwise we really feel the difference: our bodies literally crave the stuff and it's ridiculously good fun making it. Our cupboards are filled with things like lucuma, chia, camu camu, he shou wu, baobab and ashwaghanda. There's a constant stream of crackers and crisps coming out of my new favourite toy these days (the dehydrator.) And hey, if we can make 'Bounty bars' and 'Twix bars' at home that are actually good for us, then how can that be a bad thing?
Bangkok street food was as prevalent and as satisfying as we expected. Papaya salads were our favourite; the hypnotic rhythm of the maker's hands, one constantly bashing a pestle into a mortar and the other throwing in the next ingredient at the perfect, precise moment. Papaya, bash bash, fish sauce, garlic, bash, sugar, bash bash, tomatoes, bash, chillies, bash bash, dried shrimp, snake beans, bash, taste, adjust, bash, serve.
In Koh Phi Phi we ate spicy glass noodle salad every single lunchtime. This is another five minute wonder but HOT as hell. It's comprised of glass (mung bean) noodles, large prawns, cherry tomatoes, cashew nuts and a bit of freshly chopped coriander. And a LOT of chopped chilli as well as the usual 'fish sauce-more chilli-sugar-lime' dressing, of course. We've had this a million times since we got back and I have just one word of advice: don't omit the cashews; they make the dish.
On that note, I'm going to abruptly end this post 'cause I've got a sudden craving for cashew nuts. Don't get me wrong, I love writing this blog, but sometimes a woman just really fancies a mouthful of nuts.
Happy eating, everyone!
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