Bangkok, Thailand: The Mecca for Street Food (& Recipe) (THAILAND - part 1 of 1)

The evening before arriving in Thailand, we were challenged by a professor who had spent a year in Chiangmai in northern Thailand to capture a picture of a Thai child withOUT food in his or her mouth. Already my gastronomic expectations were set high.

Thailand is a place of two coexisting cultures: modernness paired with tradition. Bangkok houses some of the largest mall monstrosities I have ever encountered, surrounded by a moat of neatly organized street vendors selling everything from cheap clothing and accessories to every variety of snack food one might desire. Tuk tuks are as common a transportation means as the highly developed, impressive public transportation system that puts American metros to shame. Street food is no exception to the juxtapositions: rich and poor, locals and tourists, and even vendors bored with their own foods eat from the streets in Bangkok. I stood in line behind a student cradling a 35 baht ($1) noodle soup meal in one hand and a 100 baht Starbucks in the other.



Food is everywhere, or always within a mere five steps away; one can literally trip over food navigating this city. I fell comfortably into the national pastime of perpetual grazing while traveling in Bangkok. Vendors are stationed throughout the day and continuously offer the same foods, immune to scheduled breakfasts, lunches, or dinners. Repetition is not an issue however, as there are about a hundred options to choose from.

NOT SUPER INTUITIVE, BUT IT WORKS...
Despite being in the backpacker's central of Bangkok, vendors know very little English or other foreign languages, faltering with even the basics. This was hardly a deterrence, remedied by wooden placards painted with prices and single word menu descriptions such as "chicken, shrimp, tofu", hanging in front of an obvious pad thai (noodle) vendor. Four or five variety of noodles are mounded into a miniature mountain range along the top rim of a slightly concave, large disk cooking surface. Ordering involves a lot of gesturing and nodding. However faced with a breach of understanding, adopting sous chef and sprinkling in your own spice condiments while the vendor tosses the noodles together with egg and bean sprouts accomplishes the task fairly well.

Organization in the street vending industry is surprisingly advanced however. The arrangement of vendors is efficiently structured into neatly aligned rows parked side-by-side. In the evenings, entire streets will be blockaded and regulated by police for Bangkok's famous night markets to emerge. Vendors will usually stake out a specific spot (determined my rank, seniority, lottery, habit? who knows) to begin their evening and slowly travel half the length of the road over the course of the night. The entire affair is highly mobile. Midway through preparing my order of noodles, the vendor picked up his cart and began rolling away. I was momentarily stunned and then doubly so when I was nearly knocked over by the produce truck he was avoiding.



STREET PERFORMING & TRANSPARENCY
While I may have been impressed by the three-foot-stream method of preparing chai tea in India, Thai tea takes on a whole different meaning. One vendor entertained a crowd of customers with twirls and dancing as he juggled large mugs of the rich, adobe orange tea lightened with sweetened condensed milk and evaporated milk. Not to be outdone by the Indians, our man incorporated the waterfall method of mixing the tea with the sweetener and milk, flaunting his skill by preparing two orders of tea at once instead of one. This culture of food performance is common amongst vendors and while some embrace their artistic nature with greater exuberance, all are equally eager to please.

Cooking on-the-spot is another major distinction between Indian and Thai street foods. Carts are specifically designed according to the type of food offered and are usually equipped with a gas stove on one end and a flat prep work space filling the remaining area. Certain items are prepared in advance, steamed rice, noodles for stirfrying, and broths for soup, but the majority of cooking is done on site, including frying fishballs (a major obsession), steaming yams or meatballs, and grilling corn, mini bananas, skewered meats, and eggs (in-the-shell) over coals. By its nature, performance cooking demands transparency from the vendor and consequently sanitation is well enforced. Cooking utensils, ingredients, and methods are open for scrutiny without the shelter of kitchen walls to hide behind. What you see is what you get; no surprises, save the occasional chili that slips into a bite unnoticed. In additional, all stalls were supplied with their own tubs water (one fresh, one soapy) to rinse dishes or utensils in between uses.

Cleanliness extends beyond the immediate vicinity of each vending operation into the roads and entire public community. Despite the heavy reliance on disposable styrofoam bowls and plastic bags, commercial streets are surprisingly clean. Workers seem to spend a disproportionate amount of time sweeping the streets, a battle against trash well waged. The Thai also participate in glass bottle recycling, although disposable containers are more commonly used. Astonishingly it is virtually impossible to find a public garbage bin along the road; vendors cope by tying a plastic bag to the side of their carts instead.

ASIAN COMFORT FOOD, WHAT'S NOT TO LOVE
Grilled whole baby catfish, sticky rice packages, pork braised stews, crispy quail eggs by the dozen, hot and spicy soups, and crisp, cold fruits; Thai street food is appealing, foremost, for its simplicity and comforting response, and only secondarily for its outstanding, pungent flavors and creative preparation. While I found the taste and textures of Thai food intriguing, I was more captivated by the local culture around street food and the social benefits it yields. As I noted before, everyone is a consumer to Thai street food, motivated by four main characteristics. It has the advantage of incomparably low prices, often less than a third of neighboring restaurant fares. The best (venti-sized) Thai iced tea I stumbled, tucked along the edge of yet another grand mall complex, cost me less than $0.5 USD. Most meals are priced below a few dollars. The food is also conveniently available at frequent stops along a brief stroll. This interactive structure fosters a social community both amongst vendors and between patrons. Additionally, the outdoor setting of the venue encourages a level of physical commitment, minimal as it may be, and creates a festive, carnival-type atmosphere. Cheap, quick Asian comfort food at its best. (That is until we reach Vietnam)



A RECIPE
Savory baked egg custard

One of the clever little nibbles I feasted on was a savory egg custard baked in the shell. It was only after peeling and eating the egg (and finding no yolk) did I realize how this snack was made.

(for 1 egg - multiply recipe according to # of eggs)
- 1 raw egg
- 2 good shakes white pepper powder
- 1/8 tsp (good dash) soy sauce &/or fish sauce (optional)
- pinch salt
- pinch+ sugar
*preheat oven 350F
* carefully chip a penny-sized hole in the top end of the egg and pour out the contents (breaking the yolk if necessary); reserve shell intact
* scramble the egg with the seasonings to taste (my recommendations above are arbitrarily based on my knowledge of the flavors)
* pour egg mixture through a funnel back into the reserved egg shell
* set on a rack at an angle OR in set upright in a mini muffin tin (in which case it might be most profitable to make 12 or 24 eggs as an original party appetizer).
* bake (or roast over a grill) until custard is set. This might take between 10-30 min depending on the number of eggs. (The texture will be only slightly softer than the egg white of a hardboiled egg and should be uniformly firm.)

** Experiment with different spices or replacing them with coconut milk and sugar or sweetened condensed milk for a creative dessert.

#1 Curry: Escaping the Formal Economy (INDIA - part 2 of 2)

Following the lead of a rickshaw driver is a street food lover's dream. As tradition dictated, I dedicated a final, full day in Chennai to enjoying regional flavors, with an emphasis on understanding the informal street food economy of India. Under Rama's lead I was free to sit back, confident that he would expose me to the best street foods in all of Chennai. Stick with the locals.

We headed out with Rama at 2PM, learning that afternoons and particularly the evenings are the best times for street food. Vendors usually uncover their carts by 1PM to serve the midday rush, staying until three or four before wrapping up for the day. A separate wave of vendors emerge with the last rays of sunlight to operate the evening crowd. Over the melee of impatient horns and grumbling engines, Rama shared with us his insights on Indian street food culture.

The majority of local citizens rely on meals bought off the dusty, sooty roads as an inexpensive calorie source. A basic rice and curry plate costs no more than 20 rupees ($0.40), a third of typical restaurant fares. More formal dining arenas are frequented by middle and upper class Indians to avoid the sanitation risks associated with eating in unregulated settings. As we drove, my eyes followed Rama's sudden gesture down an unexceptional street. "This is the #2 place for beef curry. You can see all the rickshaw drivers are eating here today." True to his description, a slanted row of neatly parked rickshaws formed a golden-yellow block against the monotonous cement background. A congregation of men, heads dipped to their plates, hailed Rama as we passed. Our rickshaw continued on, destined for "#1 curry" (leave it to Rama). Moments later we had sidewinded through oncoming traffic and cut a surely illegal U-turn to park by a compact, wooden blue cart. Despite being shunted off to the side of a three star hotel, the cart was surrounded by locals who prefer quality and simplicity to the bounty of restaurants in the vicinity. Rama ushered me behind the production table, elbow-to-elbow with the slightly startled vendor, to smell the action taking place. I edged in behind the surprisingly clean, well-maintained cart, and found myself catching a unique glimpse from a typical vendor's perspective towards the facing crowd. The curious patrons (more curious than hungry, Rama informed us) smirked or smiled up to me, with curry-filled plates in hand.



INFORMAL ECONOMY
Street vending in India plays out a textbook description of informal economies. While there are no legal government permits to operate and impose minimal safety regulations, vendors must bribe local police 10-20 rupees daily to avoid harassment. Despite the fluctuating conditions of the informal economy, vendors usually make more money than participants in the formal food industry according to Rama. #1 curry vendor dishes out an impressive 300 plates in three hours during the afternoon. At 20 rupees a plate, absent fixed start up costs, the man grosses nearly $120 USD for the shift. Variable operating costs are also lower with the one-item menu. Vending is a typically a family affair, with wife and mother participating in preparing and cooking the food. Unlike small independent restaurants in the formal sector, street carts are not usually passed down through the generations. Instead, many relocating Indians might set up a stall to alleviate debts while searching for other work. The unregulated nature of the street food economy has additionally created an informal credit system for trustworthy customers. Vendors may permit monthly payments for meals, and debts are casually memorized rather than meticulously recorded by pen and paper.

SOCIAL NORMS
In a small village, squeezed into another corner of Chennai, a shy woman was crouched by a circular griddle with her patterned sari wrapped neatly around her. She efficiently ladled and spread the fermented daal batter by her side over the hot stone in a few practiced movements. Minutes later, a thin dosa crepe was folded back onto a banana leaf, heaped with a familiar, spicy beef curry, and thrust eagerly into our hands. Feeling accustomed by this point to eating without utensils, I dug in and enjoyed a remarkable sixth dosa in three days. I had requested that we find a street vendor that "cooked" on site rather than merely dole out foods from industrial-sized pots prepared in-home. Beside me Rama beamed at the clear satisfaction on my face and the success of his mission.

Women are invisible participants in the street food industry. We questioned Rama about the female dosa vendor and discovered that her small set up was not typically intended to serve people outside of her village. Within the village, her role as a street vendor was more akin to a member of the cook crew in a cooperative living situation. A larger crowd, including toddlers and their caretakers, gathered around to watch us mop up the simple meal, wide-eyed in wonder as if to ponder, "Why are these foreigners here eating our humble food?" Humble or not my mouth tingled from its spicy deliciousness. Half of my delight I attributed to the elemental nature of our meal, and the other half to the opinion of my taste buds. Aside from our unusual presence, women are never seen eating from street vendors, much less playing the role of one. Rama explained that it was more comfortable for women to forgo the long stares in the clearly male-dominated environment and pay a few extra rupees to sit indoors. Not to say that women don't love street food as well; a national quality. Social customs differ throughout the country and in Goa and Karola, women feast or serve alongside men under the sun.

BEEF - The edible kind
Another intriguing aspect of Indian street food was the availability of meat in a predominantly vegetarian region. India has a hefty 80% Hindu majority which reveres the cow as the god Shiva's vehicle of transport, i.e. the cows with brightly painted, dual-tone horns, wandering aimlessly through the streets are not for eating. Beef and pork are absent from the handful of non-vegetarian South Indian restaurants, substituted instead with poultry or mutton. However, beef is surprisingly common in curries and stews from street carts, albeit scrappy, sinewy cuts and small cubes of liver; fine by me, I prefer the various textures. The reasoning is purely economical, beef is cheap whereas mutton is not.

SUGGESTIONS
Attach yourself to a local (preferably a rickshaw driver) to experience delicious street food at clean(er) locations. You can be certain that they have sampled every street cart around to find the best. Food vendors fill unexpected pockets around the city and would be impossible to scout out unguided. I had no need for either Immodium or pink Pepto, but bring both for peace of mind.

Making "Spicy Tea": Reunion, Masala Chai, & Recipe (INDIA - part 1 of 2)

Rama, our rickshaw driver, approached the tea vendor cheerfully, pulling out a packet of Masala spice powder he had bought seconds ago from the grocery mart across the street. We had been on the lookout for Masala chai since morning and throughout the early afternoon. "If we cannot find spicy chai, we will MAKE it!" was Rama's undeterred response. Nothing is impossible for this slight, elderly man, contrastingly impish in spirit, yet utterly venerated by all rickshaw drivers in the city. After a few pleasantries with the "chai wallah" in the local Tamil language, a separate pot of chai was spiked with the fragrant, coarse-grey powder, specially prepared for our group of four. A few minutes later we were concentrating on sipping the scorching spicy liquid, each of us brimming with peaceful contentment.



Masala chai is an Indian beverage of strong black tea, hot milk, a mixture of spices, and of course a healthy dose of sweetness. The term "masala" refers to any combination of spices, usually used in curries, teas, or dessert, and "chai" is the generic term for tea. Masala chai was birthed out of traditional Indian Ayurvedic medicine as an herbal remedy for wellness. Ayurvedic medicine discusses health as the flow of fluids throughout the body and the characteristic heat from the "warm" spices found in masala chai (ginger, cardamom, cinnamon, peppercorns etc.) are utilized to strengthen the body's internal flow. Today, masala chai continues to be popular in the North but is less common in Southern regions.

Although the summer season was just upon us, and the feverish air plastered sweat to our neck and faces, the Indians seemed to enjoy adding more heat to their bodies in the form of boiling beverages (chai and filter coffee drunk throughout the day) and piping curries fresh off the stove. Periodically, Rama would stop at another chai vendor to request our special order and revive the radiating heat of spice in our chests; each time refusing our rupees. At the end of a packed seven hours, we had been treated to three glasses of chai. In parting, Rama promised to bring back the masala powder for more chai the next afternoon.

RAMA
Two years ago, my sister met Rama on her similar voyage around the world. I recall receiving her excited email about meeting a remarkable man in India who continues to be one of the most interesting people she crossed paths with during her global journey. Before reaching India, I received another email from my sister urging me to contact Rama. Without too much agenda, I warily poked around a cluster of rickshaw drivers (rickshaws are mini, open taxi-buggies run by pushy operators notoriously for indirect routes and constantly changing fares) and asked if anyone knew of Rama. A wrinkled gentleman in a pale pink collared shirt stepped forward and announced "I'm Rama" as if having expected me to appear the entire time. I smiled in wonder at our reunion as I leafed through his sun-stained stack of letters from grateful travelers abroad, including two photos of my sister and a red christmas card in her handwriting.



In the dog-eat-dog world of tourist transportation, Rama's generous and relaxed attitude was a heartwarming anomaly to encounter. He even managed to make chaotic Indian traffic appear tame as we rolled through the sooty streets of Chennai at a leisurely pace. Within minutes of our meeting, Rama adopted my friends and I as his daughters, asking first for our permission before lighting his cigarette and protecting us from greedy salesmen at government-commissioned souvenir emporiums. Before sending us off at the end of the day, he left me with a spare cell phone, complete with a new sim card, to contact him tomorrow.

TEA VENDORS "Chai wallahs"
Franchises and multinationals aside, chai stalls are as common to India as Starbucks are to Manhattan. My first cup of tea in Chennai, however, actually came from a water (tea heater) strapped to the back of a bicycle. Noticing the hesitation in my step, the vendor ushered me forward and proffered a cup, barely a mouthful in a flimsy plastic container. The tea was hot and sweet and surprisingly potent for it's minimal quantity.

The tea found in more permanent stalls throughout the city is prepared in a ceremonious manner. Each cup is "performed" individually, starting with a few good spoonfuls of sugar. Milk, simmering gently in a large metal stockpot is scooped next into the glass cup, two-thirds full. The boiling liquid never manages to bubble over despite the constant exposure to heat. Finally, a linen filter bag packed with black tea leaves is gently bounced in a conical filter mid-air above the cup of milk, allowing the residual liquid of highly condensed tea to runoff and immediately stain the pure milk into a rusty tan. The contents of the cup are dumped into a handled, tin cup and swiftly pulled to a distance above the vendor's head in a thin fountain down to the awaiting glass below. The liquid is drawn back and forth several times until the boiling chai is sufficiently mixed and barely cooled. I managed to drink a lot of chai in India even before meeting Rama. Each time, I was offered a cup of either cheap plastic, hardly meriting the status of polymer, or a stunted paper dixie cup. To my amusement, in the last two days spent in Rama's company I was spared the disposable demitasses and instead offered oversized shot glasses received by locals.

Enjoy chai in any weather and at any time.


RECIPE
Here is my favorite recipe for Masala Chai taught to me by a friend a few years back.

Spicy (Masala) Chai
(serves 1 - multiply the recipe by the number of cups of tea desired)
- 1 mugful of cold water
- 1/2 inch fresh ginger, chopped
- 2-3 pods of green cardamom (available in spice section of most markets
- 1/2 stick cinnamon
- 1 inch piece of lemongrass, chopped (optional)
- 1 black teabag (such as Lipton) or 2-3 tsp loose leaf black tea (Ceylon)
- milk and sugar to taste
*Place all spice ingredients in a plastic ziplock bag; crush with a frying pan or hammer to break apart cardamom pods and release juices from ginger
*Dump into water and set over the stove. Add tea(bag) and bring to a boil, uncovered
*Once boiled, pour in milk and sugar to taste. Return to stove and bring to a second boil (do not let the milk foam over)
*Cover and set aside 10-12 minutes for flavors to strengthen before drinking (or enjoy immediately)

Boerewors Rolls with Mrs. Ball's Chutney: Fancy Hot Dogs with BBQ Sauce (SOUTH AFRICA - part 1 of 1)

Before being let loose in lively city of Cape Town, we were instructed to eat a Boerewors roll with Mrs. Ball's Chutney sauce by a South African native and shipboard guest. What are they and how do you pronounce the name? Are the two immediate questions that should spring to mind. Boerewors (boar-er-vorsh - I take unscientific liberties with the pronunciation guide) rolls are hot dog buns filled with a spicy, minced beef cured sausage, usually topped with sliced grilled onions and your condiments-in-a-squeeze-tube of choice. Which brings us to Mrs. Ball's Chutney sauce, essentially a Westernized Indian take on American BBQ sauce (ie: spicy! smooth, and highly processed). Ten Rand ($1) will buy you one of these quick bites on the street while 30 Rand and a hungry wait is the going rate for a mediocre (stiff and lukewarm) boerewors at the strip mall fast food joint.

Distinguishing from the township experience I outlined in my previous Namibia post 2 of 2, street food is not a dominant food means for locals in Cape Town. To better understand the street food dynamics of this highly developed city I should first describe the impression of the class structure I gathered during my short stay. The city is very much socially and racially split between unbelievably wealthy white tourists and citizens, and predominantly destitute, native blacks. A small "middle-class"of sorts is composed of the "colored"community including Muslims (colonial slaves from Indonesia), those of mixed race, Arabs, or essentially everyone else. This middle class will be our target group of interest, the consumers of popular street food, and I will refer to them as the "locals"(as opposed to the native black locals, or African-born white locals). For the most part, mainly locals and edgy tourists are "wealthy"and adventurous enough to participate in the street food scene in downtown Cape Town.

BOEREWORS IS KING
Despite the Mediterranean influence of chicken shwarma and falafel in a pita present on several vendor menus, boerewors definitely reigned supreme amongst street food patrons. At one location our local guide marveled over the newest offering of double boerewors in a roll (apparently an innovative thing?). Within a walkable distance in the heart of Cape Town, I counted three unique boerewors stands: a standard small push cart at the mouth of a crafts square, a Halal-advertised shwarma and boerewors double operation, and an evening hotspot on the sidewalk of Long Street (the Center Street, Broadway, Main Avenue, what have you, of Cape Town). The last and greatest of the three was recommended to me as the "best food you'll find at this hour on this street,"and reminded me of the evening food stalls of Southeast Asia (bonus points in my book). A queue crowded around the two butting, collapsable tables and grill and curled down the block. As we shuffled slowly forwards towards the smoky scent of sausages and charred onions, we watched the iron chef production unfold in front of us. The boerewors are procured from a mysterious location below the table, sliced lengthwise, and flipped onto the coal grill for a few minutes per side. A traditional soft hot dog bun encases the reddish-brown link, with the open slit facing up in anticipation of a mouthful of caramelized onions. Farther down past the grill master and cashier, a plastic bottle lineup of sweet mustard, ketchup, sweet chili sauce, Mrs. Ball's chutney, and an unidentifiable pale green salsa of sorts are ready for squirting in unregulated, artistic combinations. "They all taste the same after awhile,"confided a neighboring local at our indecisiveness. I cradled the boerewors in a scrap of paper and nabbed a gluttonous bite of tender, juicy, flaming hot sausage cushioned by the air-filled bun. Sticky sauce and onion-oil dribble added texture and a neutralizing sweetness. Even by my preference for all meats unground, the boerewors made an unabashed statement.

While waiting for my food, I managed to conduct an interrupted conversation with one of the three vending assistants (in between her rubbernecking the police activity of a pick pocketing brawl, and slicing a crate of pearly onions into a less pristine paint bucket). This marked the sixth year of the hopping sidewalk operation. Through her broken English, I gathered that their opening hours ran until 5AM and that a (city?) permit was required to conduct business. She could not explain why their boerewors were so popular in competition with the fast food storefronts currently obstructed by the long chain of patient customers. However the satisfaction of my midnight snack summed up my opinion (this coming from a near-herbivore, mind you). Simple, good food with all corners intact; fresh onions slowly grilled, 100% meat packed with spices, and a league of customers willing to keep their grumpy girlfriends waiting for a boerewors roll.