Light Snacks Will Be Served

My Goodness That's a Huge... Krok (Note: Actually it's called a saak, but sexual innuendo still intact. Thanks Mr T)

 

Each and every weekend tens of thousands of Thais and tourists waddle through Chatujak Market, which I'm told is the world's largest weekend bazaar. Regardless, it's huge, and wading through the sweaty current of humanity makes one hungry. This being Thailand, there's food everywhere -- but much of it the the hotdog-and-rubbery-meatball-on-a-stick shit that I'll never, ever eat. Life's too short for bad sausage. 

Behind Chatujak proper is the JJ Mall, and across the traffic jammed street from that mall is a parking lot. Every Sunday evening people drive pickups loaded with antiques and old wood from upcountry and sell them there in the dark. I've been to this 'flashlight market' a few times in the past few weeks, looking for interesting pieces for my restaurant. And in going there I stumbled upon a restaurant called Big Krok. (Krok is the Thai word for mortar and pestle.) 

This is not an exemplary Isaan restaurant. They do a few things well, including char-grilled fatty beef dipped in a spicy, sour jiim jeeow. And because I was eating there with my manager/friend Thanapat, I ate some things that I usually don't in Isaan restaurants. Like a plate of crispy grilled cow udder, which almost has the texture of squid (not as gross as it may sound) and a fiery salad of mint, beef blood, chili and tripe. 

But what is most memorable about this place are the truly massive mortar and pestles that decorate the front of the shop (see above) which are used to make papaya salad. That, and the frightening male members above them, which are a common sight upcountry but are rarely so prominently displayed in Bangkok. "They're there to make lucky," Pat said as he ate some chewy, very beefy meat. Then he looked back again, laughed, and shook his head.

 

Southern Markets

I quickly snapped this image while wading through one of the most interesting markets I've seen in Thailand, in a small town just outside of Nakhorn Si Thammerat. The market was beside the highway there, and inside an even mix of Muslims and Buddhists traded in meats, an amazing array of fish, and fruits and leaves and flowers. But this shot of hooves stood out, and so I share it with you. Much more on my culinary adventures in the south of Thailand coming soon.  

 

After the Rain

Yesterday, a vigorous storm blew through Bangkok, washing away the dust of the dry season, and sending the rats of Klong Toey market scurrying from their nests. I went shopping. As the city cooled off, and there was a quiet, contented vibe in the largest downtown produce market. 

 

Ingredient Porn

"You guys are so spoiled" said my friend Dan, as we picked sweet basil leaves from stems this afternoon, and washed those beautiful eggplants, which made their way into a green curry. And he's right. We really are.  

 

The Wonders of a Good Local Market

Not all Asian markets are created equal. In fact, very few are the same.

I scoured markets in East Java on a recent trip, and was very disappointed by what I found there. There were good things - the fruit, primarily - but the vegetables and much of the seafood that I encountered there was limited and looked tired. Sometimes things were much worse than that. I'm sure there are other markets on that huge island where the produce is brilliant; but I didn't trip over any.

Chinese markets are as different as the provinces themselves. In Shanghai, you get a good selection of shrimp, freshwater fish, ducks, pork and chickens - but a usually bland assortment of bloated and tasteless vegetables (monster carrots, perma-pink tomatoes, withered greens). 

Head Southwest to Sichuan or Hunan, and this all changes: there's great charcuterie, vibrant vegetables, but the handling of the raw meats often leaves something to be desired. In Gansu and Xinjiang, vegetables are replaced by grapes or dried fruit (and root vegetables), and pork is chased away by hunks of mutton. 

There are countless variables that affect the local market: affluence, season, religion, the temperature that day, the time you visit. No one buys a hanging piece of pork at 7pm, in August, in China for instance. It's just not sensible. 

This year I've traveled through much of Southeast Asia. And I can honestly say (I'm sure there are people out there that will disagree with me) that Bangkok's neighborhood markets are the best I've come across. The  variety of herbs, greens and vegetables; the quality of the poultry and the pork; the availability of freshly caught seafood; and perhaps most importantly, the fastidious cleanliness of the vendors and their care for their products can't be beat. There are other places that do certain things better. But I haven't found another place where it all looks so good. 

I can slide down to my market at 4pm, and pick up a half-dozen tiger prawns like these:

They're crisp and fresh and straight from the sea. Beside the fishmonger, a lady's freshly pounded curry pastes are displayed, saving me a very time consuming (and irritating to my neighbors, as I've recently learned) half hour on the business end of a pestle. And just beside the curry lady I can pick up one of my favorite things: freshly pressed coconut milk and cream.

 

As I clean the prawns and pick herbs from mottled stalks, the cream rises up above the coconut milk, and I separate it with a spoon, slowly admiring its texture (you can see the separation in that plastic bag). It's viscous and nutty and really nothing like what comes out of a carton.  I eat spoonfuls of it as I break the cream in a wok, where I'll fry that old lady's paste, which will fill my house with the smell of shallots, coriander, chilies, lemongrass and garlic.  Before you know it there's a beautiful red curry of plump prawns, and a sour little salad of cucumber, chili and coriander for dinner, and I barely spent eight bucks. Did I mention the Thai rice?

An unplanned trip to the market makes me appreciate how lucky I am to live here.

 

On the Uighurs, Markets, and Progress with Chinese Characteristics

I've been silent on the situation in Xinjiang, mainly because I can't add much to the discourse regarding the tragedy that occurred there. It's difficult not to feel some sympathy for the Uighurs, as they are treated, like most minorities in China, with a mixture of paternalism and arm's-length distance by their government. Uighurs, like Tibetans, should be happy for what they have, goes the conventional wisdom. And too often in the news, that really is how the situation is explained: Religious freedoms and ethnic identities are sacrificed for economic progress. So be it.

It's surprising how many journalists refute the Chinese party line, only to return to it in their own, roundabout way.

But if you're more familiar with the mechanisms of economic 'progress' in minority dominated areas of the west, then you know that most of it passes through the hands of Han. Sure, wealth trickles down to minority people, but it is a painfully slow trickle. And as more Han Chinese head west there are fewer drops to go around (it should and has been noted in coverage that living conditions for many Han Chinese in Xinjiang aren't that great either.)

I think this Ian Johnson article for the WSJ Asia managed to explain the problems in Urumqi better than others because he frames it in simple economic terms. The Grand Bazaar in downtown Urumqi - when I visited in 2001 on a school program - appeared to be almost entirely owned and operated by Uighurs. But that jaw-dropping market was torn down in 2003, rebuilt by a Hong Kong developer and a Han-operated Xinjiang construction company and now "features anchor tenants, such as a Kentucky Fried Chicken and the french department store chain Carrefour." Presently the government is doing the very same thing in Kashgar. Sigh.

Recently, I told a friend he couldn't miss the Grand Bazaar when visiting Urumqi. I remembered a vibrant night market, brimming with whole roasted mutton carved on tables, rice fried with carrots and lamb fat, dried friuts, pulled noodles, and sweet cakes of nuts and raisins. Weathered Uighur men rolled stubby cigarettes out of newspaper and their local blend of tobaccos. It was an exotic place to eat; but when my friend returned, he didn't seem all that impressed.

Now I know why...

(More on Xinjiang later)