Cuisine and Culture from a Road Side Cart

by Michelle Sz (Canada)

Making a local connection Thailand

Known for “scuba diving by day, partying by night”, the small island Koh Tao in Thailand was mostly inhabited by foreigners; but if one ventured a little deeper, charming slices of local culture shone through the chaos and bustle of the touristy facade. We came to take the 5-days Open Water course and our dive company set us up in a little bungalow nearby. After an exciting first day of breathing underwater, we came back to the shop exhausted. Not having explored the island yet, we asked our dive instructor Chloe for some food recommendations. A shop employee overheard us and said to go to “the lady with the little cart up the street.” Chloe agreed, as did her colleague from the boat. “She makes the best pad thai in town. And basically any other dish. We go there all the time.” Following their directions, we stopped in front of an open verandah. There was no shop front - just a cart the size of a kitchen stove with woks hanging off the side, some food stuffs in various containers, and a few plastic chairs and tables strewn about. But if the Thai woman in the apron wasn’t a giveaway, the mouth-watering aromas wafting from the cart sure confirmed that this was the place! We sat down and she handed us a menu, which contained only pictures of the dishes she offered. She didn’t speak English, but understood when I asked for pad thai, while my partner pointed at a red chicken curry, and off she went. Soon enough, the air was filled with a lovely scent again, a mixture of garlic, ginger, lemongrass, and basil. As is the case in tropical countries, the spices always seem headier, the vegetables more fresh and ripe, the fruits more sweet and juicy. It became a routine: we’d head straight for her cart after we cleaned up from a day of lessons and diving, not bothering to look for other options along the streets lined with 7-elevens and bars. Sitting on the side of a dirt road flanked by lush jungle, we gobbled up delicious meal after meal the matron of the “establishment” whipped up. It didn’t matter which meal we ordered – every concoction was fragrant, tasty, and satiating. On the third night, our chef came around to check on us. My partner gave her the “OK” hand signal that divers used and said, “This is so good. I want to be able to make this.” “You make?” She looked confused. “No, I want to learn.” Jokingly, he pointed at her then at himself. “You, teach me to make?” He imitated tossing things in a wok, then pointed at himself again, then at her cart. “Ah! You make? Same same?” That seemed to be a favourite phrase in the area. “You come. Tomorrow. You make.” The next evening we arrived with much anticipation. She immediately shooed us into the tiny space behind her cart, then proceeded to indicate which oils and sauces to pour into the wok. Once it was hot enough, she threw in a handful of meat. Under her instructions we mixed in different vegetables, spices, ingredients. “More sugar?” I had thrown in a pinch but she mimicked adding more. “Sugar! More!” She took the container from me and emptied about a third of the box into the dish. When it was nearly done, my partner did a taste test and thought it could be saltier. She pointed at the fish sauce. “Not soy?” “Fish sauce, same same.” Well, she knew what she was doing. With many gestures, some guesswork, and lots of laughs, we managed to cook a green basil curry and a tom yum soup despite the communication barrier. As we tasted our creations, our culinary teacher beamed down at us with a gap-toothed grin, nodding in approval at the appreciative noises we emitted while slurping and munching our hard-earned meal. We’d taken cooking classes along our travels before, but this unusual impromptu lesson was by far our most memorable experience. In her tiny cart on a small island, our matronly chef gave us a taste of what it’s like to be in her apron for a day.