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.

Street Carts of Morocco: Catering to the locals (MOROCCO - part 2 of 3)

The sights and smells of fresh baked bread and griddle-fried blankets of dough fill the early morning maze of the Ancient Medina of Casablanca. The souk or "marketplace,"most cities will have at least one, are gritty and tightly packed with vendors of cheap, colorful Western goods. (Think Chinatown crammed into half the space). Sunlight passes through gaps in the plastic tarps hung as makeshift shelters between storefronts. The counters of bakeries and minimarts spill over with the traditional Moroccan rolls; thick, flat wheels of essentially French bread (French domination from 1912 through WWII to Moroccan independence in 1965). The souks are mainly a marketplace for durable goods and raw ingredients: spice mosaics, raucously flapping chickens, and fresh produce. Despite the large gathering of individuals in a central location, restaurants and even small eateries are only sporadically dotted amongst the other shops.

After winding through a decent portion of Casablanca's souk, I passed by a legitimate street vendor doling out slivers of (cornmeal?) cake from a shallow, round tin steamer. 180-degrees heel turn brought me face-to-face with the man's simple operation. He and his small rickety pushcart were temporarily stationed in an unremarkable corner while he carved out breakfast for a middle-aged woman, swathed in dark draping cloths. I was sorely conflicted to try some but felt hindered by the absurdly large bills I had just withdrawn from the ATM minutes ago, and also by the cultural intimacy of the transaction of which I was observing and intruding upon. The cake bridged a consistency between semi-soft and firm polenta and perfumed the air with an intensely rich scent of sweet butter and dairy.

Beyond the boundaries of the souk, continuing our tour on the streets of Casablanca, we ran into another similar enterprise. This cart, nearly identical in appearance and functionality to polenta-man's, featured a one-item menu of boiled chickpeas sprinkled with a fragrant spice mixture, of which I'm positive contained cumin. A large slotted spoon scooped a generous load of steaming chickpeas into a plastic bag followed by several shakes of the seasoning.

A MOBILE OPERATION
Polenta-man appeared as taken-aback by my sudden interest in his business as I felt suddenly plopped down in North Africa. My presence startled him enough to stop serving his awaiting customer and contemplate me, contemplating him. All eyes suddenly turned towards me, and the vendor seemed warily confused as I edged forward for a closer view into his steamer. Truly mobile street vendors such as Polenta-man and Chickpea-man serve a distinctly local consumer base. Their food is unapologetically basic and cheap, a few ingredients thrown together as a quick in-between-meal ration in exchange for a few coins. My near-miss encounter with Polenta-man (despite my street food mindset) demonstrated how easily overlooked these simple snacks are to tourists and Westerners, even middle-class natives.

Street vendors have historically been known to move continuously throughout the day in search of customers or perhaps in avoidance of the local police. The men pushed their carts loaded with ingredients, serving and eating-wares, cooking vessels etc. until hailed by a hungry truck driver or laborer. Over three days, I ran into another chickpea seller in Marrakech, a total of three street carts. Unless one knows where to look, the portable nature of these operations make them difficult to come across. Another form of Moroccan street vending were stationary table vendors providing nutritious grab-and-go lunches of bread stuffed with hardboiled eggs, canned tuna, olives, and mayonaise.

ORGANIZATION AMIDST TOURISM
Certain lineages of street vending have blossomed into touristic enterprises in Morocco, namely in Marrakech's major market-square, Djemaa el Fna. Upon entering the largest plaza in all of Africa (if you're not immediately overwhelmed by its vastness, you will be by the cobra charmers and monkey trainers who sidle over to lay their "tamed"creatures across your shoulders and demand money for the unsolicited joyride), I ran into a few dozen identical stalls of fresh orange juice and bulk nuts and dried fruit vendors grouped together in blocks of five or six vendors. The stalls are designed in a circus style complete with false wooden wheels, canopy facade, and gaudy, flaking paint. A small placard labeled with an identification number 1 through 40+ dangle from above the vendor's head. Number 8, a young man with a childishly disarming grin waved us over and squeezed out a citrus blend of Moroccan oranges, grapefruit, lemon, and possibly mandarins in record time. One twenty ounce glass rid me of three bulky dirham coins (33 cents) and was delicious. The ruby-coral hued liquid was inexplicably fresh, perfectly blended, and sweetly rounded. Unlike his peers, #8 was friendly without being harassing and I walked away with the plan to revisit later in the afternoon for an interview and another glass of OJ. As if Spain had not offered enough of a lesson, I returned a few hours later to discover that #8 was replaced by #8b. Through a series of mocking gestures and an uncomfortable dialogue, I pieced together that the vendors rotate shifts throughout the day with probably two daytime shifts (including OJ and candied nuts or dried fruit), before the evening cooking shift appears. The highly structured organization of the market's transactions was fascinating to come across after the mainly informal street food of Casablanca.

* photo of #8 OJ to come.

A NECESSITY FOR RECYCLING?
(A final observation from my Moroccan eats.)
Forms of recycling are present in the absence of cheap disposable materials that fuel our on-the-run lifestyles in America. Paper cups with their "recycled"cardboard holders stand in for authentic glassware or mugs. Overlooking an aesthetic appreciation or the implications of paperware on our social interactions, the simple act of using durable eating-ware be it spoon, bowl, cup etc. plays a role in conserving resources and reducing waste.

We toasted our final meal in Casablanca with bottles (not cans) of soda. While paying for our food, our cashier gestured that we could not take away the bottles, they would be refilled with soda and sold again at a later time. Noting the disappointing in our faces from nearly securing a cheap, Arabic-inscribed Coke bottle for a souvenir the owner allowed us to walk away with the bottles for the equivalent of a CRV of 1 dirham (or about 11 cents USD). The soda itself, or I suppose the liquid inside, only cost 6 dirham. (Incidentally there is a controversy in Arab countries over the multinational domination of the beverage industry by Coca-Cola. Small, though growing competitors are fighting back with an independent brand of Cola. I was half-asleep to escape the pangs of seasickness while watching this (a BBC production for those interested) so someone may want to fact-check me.

Other recycled dining ware I used included a ceramic bowl of fresh unpasteurized yogurt and metal spoon that the baker wrapped up in a brown paper bag for me to take "togo"as long as I promised to return it to him later that day. Orange juice in Marrakech was also served in hefty IKEA glasses.

Street cart foods were "packaged"in disposable plastic bags or square of paper.

If for nothing else, I must return for the chickpeas, and perhaps another glass of OJ with the first #8.