05.15.06
Dara Thai
To understand the girl I love, I have to go back more than two centuries. Her maternal ancestors hail from a small Khmer Muslim village in the Cambodian countryside. The village, unchanged for generation upon generation, was in a region known to have the best cuisine in all of Southeast Asia.
So when the Army of Siam invaded Cambodia near the turn of the 19th century, the village was subject to a sort of reverse ethnic cleansing. The entire population of villagers, along with their culinary secrets, were forcibly relocated to a crowded neighborhood along a canal near the center of Bangkok. The people were made to cook for the royal court and this part of town became known as Baan Krua: The Neighborhood Of Kitchens.
My girlfriend, Melissa Dara, was born in Washington, DC . Had she been born just a decade earlier, it would have been in that fabled neighborhood. Her mother, as well as the previous dozen generations of Khmer-style Thai Muslim chefs, was born in that unique place on earth.
(A small part of the family back in Baan Krua; Notice Melissa with the huge smile in the middle and King Bhumibol with the suit on the wall in the back)
When I met Melissa, she had been learning the techniques of the Neighborhood of Kitchens from her mother for only three years. But Melissa and I were just friends, and it was kept a secret from me. I recall only vague memories of incredibly inviting smells each time I dropped by to pick her up or watch movies. I never had the opportunity to sit down to eat with the family.
About two years ago, Melissa and I began going out. She spoke of her mother’s cooking often, and soon I was invited to dinner. I was treated to a feast that to this day ranks as one of the best meals I’ve ever had. I have only a fuzzy recollection of the spicy shrimp and ginger soup, fried chicken with garlic and white pepper, and shredded beef jerky with palm sugar and shallots because my pleasures synapses were firing so fast I actaully got a physical high. I told her mother that she shouldn’t have gone through all that extra trouble just because I was coming over, but the whole family was quick to point out that they feast like that about six days per week for as long as anyone could remember.
At that point, Melissa had spent nearly a decade as an apprentice in her mother’s kitchen. And she diligently kept a notebook in both Thai and English of family recipes and cooking secrets. But she’d never cooked without her mother by her side.
Finally, just about a year ago, she tried her hand at cooking on her own in her Soho apartment. She bought a mortar and pestal for the occasion, and she used it to crush the shrimp that she mixed with the ground beef and peas so that it would achieve an ideal level of moistness. She served it inside at perfectly formed pocket of fried egg. Melissa had succeeded in making Kai Yudt-Sai (which translates to “egg-stuffed with stuffing”). We sat down at her counter on Vandam Street to a meal perfected over centuries, a meal quite literally fit for a king. And it was every bit as good as her mother’s.
(The chef gets ready to taste her Woonsen Ob, bean thread with chicken and shrimp in her New York kitchen)
Since that inaugural home-cooked Khmer-style Thai Muslim feast, my culinary life has been a waking dream. Melissa makes her mother proud about three times a week. And she’s already mastered more dishes than I can remember the names of, though her mother claims to have more culinary knowledge than she could possibly pass on in a lifetime. I can’t decide which is my favorite, the Nua Sawan (”heavenly beef”) with roasted coriandor:
or the Pad macaroni, a childhood favorite of Melissa’s:
(Here’s the Pad Macaroni during the brief moment before the eggs are cooked in)
I have the feeling I’ll never decide.
The only problem is that Melissa refuses to go out for Thai food in New York. She can’t imagine that anything could compare to her or her mother’s cooking, and she has a point. But I keep telling her that there is a large, recent immigrant population of Thais thriving in New York, and there are plenty of restaurants that could be phenomenal. I thought she might even learn something. Still, she resisted.
Melissa often rides shotgun with me in my cab to keep me company and chat with or gawk at my kooky fares. And last week, she was with me while I took three Thai restaurant workers from their job at one of the big, corporate Thai restaurants in Williamsburg back to their neighborhood along Roosevelt Avenue in Woodside, Queens. She spoke with them in Thai, and I had her ask where they eat great, cheap Thai food in Queens.
They all agreed that Sri Pra Phai was the best restaurant in the neighborhood. I reasoned with her that she goes out to eat when she visits Thailand, so why not explore Woodside. Eventually she caved.
(Evidence of Melissa going out to eat in Thailand with her Aunt Pa Pah: eating a coconut milk dessert at Lantay outside Bangkok)
Today, we went back to Woodside. Melissa was apprehensive. She seemed to feel as though she was cheating on her mother’s cooking. But she started to relax as soon as we walked through the door and caught a whiff of the restaurant. It didn’t smell exactly like home, but it really did smell like true Thai cuisine.
Naturally, I let Melissa do all of the ordering. We started with Kanom Cheeb, delicate steamed dumplings filled with chicken and shrimp, mostly because she knew they are a pain to make herself so we might as well take advantage of the restaurant kitchen. I tasted one and decided they were delicious. I eagerly looked at Melissa to see her reaction, and I witnessed a reluctant nod of approval. Once the waiter was out of ear shot, she said, “My mom makes them much better. . . but these are good. Oh my God, you gotta try my mom’s.” It was a start.
The Thai iced teas came, and we agreed that they were the real deal. I drank mine much too fast and ended up ordering a second. “As sweet and refreshing as anything I’ve had back in Thailand,” Melissa said.
Then it was time for the moment of truth. The main courses arrived. She ordered two of the most basic dishes that her mother makes. Melissa had already mastered both. We were served generous portions of Pad See-ew and chicken with basil.
(Melissa’s reluctant first bite of chicken with basil in New York that she didn’t cook herself; That’s spicy Thai)
She took her first bite from the chicken with basil, and she spent at least two full minutes tasting it without looking at me before she spoke. I was ecstatic when she gave it the thumbs up. The chicken was tender and the spice allowed the flavor to come through the heat without being overpowering.
The Pad See-ew was more than adequate as well. The noodles were fresh and tasty, the chinese broccoli had been cooked in well, and the beef was flavorful. Obviously, Melissa could have done better herself, but Sri Pra Phai has proven itself a worthy substitute. Most importantly, Melissa left the restaurant with a smile on her face.
We will likely return to Sri Pra Phai relatively soon. And we might even try a different Thai restaurant if we get a solid recommendation. But tonight, Melissa will be busy mastering her mother’s Drunken Noodles. And I will eat like a king.
Sri Pra Phai, 64-13 39th Ave, Woodside, Queens
Check out www.famousfatdave.com for a snicker or to book an eating tour
