Smells like... adventure

I consider myself a very open-minded person, especially when traveling. When I find myself in a foreign place, I become sponge-like, hoping to absorb as much of the culture as I possibly can. To me, this is the only way to travel: with an open mind and a big appetite. It is this very attitude that propels me into strange, unusual, and (at times) uncomfortable situations all for the sake of food. Some of my most memorable meals have been in restaurants that were located in the wrong part of town, the ones that had no name, the ones that couldn’t be found except by the most seasoned residents or by suspiciously long lines. These are the places where you order by pointing at other tables because they have no comprehensive menu, names of dishes may never be known, nor ingredients revealed. But in these places, it doesn’t matter. These are the places where food memories are born.

While I was living in Thailand, my inquisitive appetite took my mother and I on one such adventure. We found ourselves being propelled down an uneven Thai street on the back of a rickety tuk-tuk. Careening around turns and nonchalantly blowing past stop signs, our driver turned to us with a toothless smile to reiterate that he had no idea where we were going. He brought the “vehicle” to a grinding halt before shooing us off and pointing out another driver, lazily lounging on his own makeshift vehicle. A moment later we were once again assaulted by the thick, pungent Bangkok air as we cruised through a deeper circle of an inner neighborhood. At last we arrived, but where exactly we were not sure. You see, we were seeking a restaurant with a name that seemingly not even a native speaker could pronounce, let alone a farang like myself. Sweaty, hungry, and intrigued we started down an alleyway that allegedly hosted Chotechitrl, an infamously tiny yet tasty restaurant.

As we came around a particularly dark bend, we smiled knowingly and inhaled the richly fragrant aroma. Our nostrils filled with the scents of sweet sugar, salty, acrid fish sauce, and sour chili-laden vinegar. Our brows were wet with perspiration and our eyes stung with the biting heat as we sat down at a small table in this hallway-like restaurant. We were greeted not with menus, but with tall glasses of Chang beer poured, Thai-style, over ice to battle the ferocious heat. We looked around eagerly, admiring the ample plates of food that surrounded us. From that moment forward, our entire dining experience rested in the capable, calloused hands of an older Thai woman, who waved her spatula in the direction of others diners and demanded, “Chai/Mai Chai?” Yes or No. That’s how we were to order. Like I said, we were entirely in her hands. We sat back and let the heat and our success wash over us as sipped our beers and laughed at each other. We had made it this far, and we were not the least bit concerned about what was about to happen.

These are the moments we remember. Adam Gopnik describes these as moments of arrival and expectation, when we sit down for a meal and our nerves alight with anticipation. Some of us never get over the thrill of the chase. Luckily, when it comes to food, there’s always another food adventure around the corner.