For
years, jokes of my undeveloped culinary skills circulated among
friends and relatives, who wondered how a grown woman could still
survive on a college-like diet of pasta, PB&J, and five-minute
rice.
Now, I am tittering at them over my chopsticks and homemade
plates of Pad Thai, Sticky Rice in Mango-coconut Milk, and Spicy
Pork with Green Peppercorns in a Red Curry Sauce, which I make from
scratch, no less, with a mortar and pestle.
I developed my culinary skills during a six-hour class at the
Chiang Mai Thai Cookery School in northern Thailand, under the
watchful eye and patient direction of Somphon Nabnian.
Somphon instructs cooks of all levels at his school in the
suburbs of Chiang Mai, several hours north of Bangkok. Daily
classes, averaging 14 students, run from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. for 800
baht (about $22).
Students gather at Somphon's classroom -- a newly built teak house
-- and learn to make five traditional Thai dishes -- a mix of northern
Thai (water-based), and southern and central Thai (coconut-based)
meals -- plus one or two desserts, all of which are eaten as soon as
they're prepared.
The morning of my class, I sit cross-legged on a floor mat,
leaning against a colorful stack of Thai cushions, and pound
furiously at four chilies in the bowl in front of me. There are 12
students, each of us armed with a stone mortar and pestle, preparing
curry paste for Gaeng Hanglay Gai, or Chiang Mai Curry with Chicken.
The steady, rapid clicking of stone against stone sounds like a
construction job behind schedule, and we're quickly developing
workers' hands -- yellow fingers from turmeric and other spices some
of us have never used before.
Somphon circles the room, throwing around witty words of
encouragement. "The responsibility is in your hands," he says. "If
it's good or not good, it all comes down to the paste."
We add ginza, lemongrass, and shrimp paste, and continue grinding
until Somphon inspects our bowls and gives us a thumbs up. Then he
walks around the room, collecting a spoonful of curry mixture from
each bowl and says, "We'll use a bit of everyone's paste, so we can
blame each other if it's bad."
As Somphon explains his secret for storing curry paste, we follow
him into an immaculate kitchen, where there's a large countertop
with a stove and two rows of chairs on a platform overlooking the
cooking area. For the next hour, we watch and help Somphon mince,
wash, prepare, stir, and measure ingredients, while he discusses
marinades, chopping techniques, and traditional Thai cooking
methods.
"Most Thais use the whole chicken - the bone, the skin,
everything," he explains as he's chopping. This elicits a few gasps.
"You're lucky I don't do that." Sighs of relief.
Once the curried chicken is ready, we move on to Panaeng Curry
Pork (Gaeng Panaeng Moo). "Do you want to make it Thai spicy or Thai
foreigner spicy?" he asks.
"Remember, no chili, no sweat! If you sweat, you keep cooler, but
we will make it medium spicy," he promises.
Tangy aromas swirl around the kitchen, while chopped garlic
mingles with red and green chilies and a handful of spices in a wok
- the early stages of a sauce for our third dish, fried haddock. I
volunteer to make the Yam Wun Sen, or Spicy Glass-Noodle Salad, and
spend 20 minutes slicing Chinese celery, mincing pork, and measuring
portions of dried shrimp and lemon juice.
"Very good, keep smiling," Somphon says as he watches.
One mouthwatering hour later, final touches are put on dessert -
thick coconut milk is spooned onto dishes of a sweet black sticky
rice - and we move our rumbling bellies outside to five Thai
kantoke tables, which are short, round, and wicker.
No blame needs to be cast - the curries are simply delicious.
After lunch, Somphon gives us an informative tour of his herb
garden, where he grows many of the ingredients used - basil, kaffir
limes, ginza, chilies, and lemongrass. We finish with fruit-tasting
- guavas, mangos, and rose apples - and then waddle home, completely
satiated.
Somphon's school, the first of its kind in Chiang Mai, but one of
many now, opened in 1993. Attendance has increased every year since.
Its popularity is due to mentions in travel guides, but also by word
of mouth.
Somphon was literally born in a kitchen, while his mother was
preparing sticky rice for breakfast one morning. He grew up helping
his mother cook and, as the son of a butcher, learned all about meat
preparation. He taught himself English between ages 11 and 20 while
studying Buddhism at a local temple. After deciding not to become a
monk, he took a job guiding tourists on jungle treks in northern
Thailand, during which he cooked all of their meals.
Somphon married an Englishwoman, Elizabeth, whom he met on a
trekking trip. While on a six-month trip to her home in Berkshire,
England, he discovered that Thai food is wildly popular in the West
and that Thai ingredients are readily available.
"There are about 20 key ingredients in Thai cooking, and you can
find most of those in supermarkets in your home country," says
Somphon.
He gives students a cookbook with 33 recipes, descriptions, and
sketches of Thai fruits, and write-ups on the main Thai ingredients
- sauces, spices, vegetables, herbs, and pastes.
Most of Somphon's students are from the US, Britain, and
Australia, followed by Germany and the Netherlands. About 35 to 40
percent are male - a higher number than Somphon expected, since
women are the main cooks in Thai households.
"Men here, they know how to make a few dishes to go with their
drink," he jokes.
But Brian Olpin, a computer programmer from Seattle, decided a
cooking class would be a great way to sharpen his culinary skills
during his month-long vacation in Thailand last spring.
"I've been lying on the beach for a couple of weeks and decided I
wanted something unique to show for my trip to Thailand," says Mr.
Olpin.
Alaskan Jenny Norland took the class in Chiang Mai, where she
taught English at a local school for eight months.
"I can't cook anything, but I think I can cook these meals," Mrs.
Norland says.
Thanks to Somphon, Olpin, Norland, and I can now assemble an
impressive Thai spread.
I haven't wiped my old cooking slate clean - I still eat PB&J
and pasta - but I've added an interesting mix of new dishes to my
repertoire.
Pad Thai
12 ounces rice noodles
3 tablespoons
peanut (preferred) or other oil
2 tablespoons garlic,
minced
1/2 pound of medium-size uncooked shrimp, peeled and
deveined
2 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons Thai fish sauce
(available in Asian markets or Asian section of supermarkets)
2
eggs, lightly beaten
1/4 cup tofu, chopped into small pieces and
fried in vegetable oil until brown and crisp
6 tablespoons
roasted and salted peanuts, chopped
1/4 cup chives, cut into
1-inch pieces
1 cup mung bean sprouts, rinsed and
drained
Salt, if needed
2 limes, cut into quarters
Soak the rice noodles in warm water until soft, about 15 to 30
minutes. Drain, toss with half the oil, and set aside. Heat
remaining oil in a wok or large skillet over medium-high heat. Add
garlic and cook, stirring, until just golden, about 1 minute. Add
shrimp and toss with the oil and garlic. Add the sugar and fish
sauce, and toss well.
Add eggs, let them set for about 15 seconds, and then scramble
them in the pan. Add tofu, about 3 tablespoons of the peanuts, and
the chives. Toss gently to heat through, about 2 minutes. Add rice
noodles and bean sprouts and toss together. Taste and add salt if
needed.
Garnish with lime wedges and remaining chopped peanuts.
Serves 2 as a main meal.
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