Northern traditions
Originally published in the October 2018 edition of Bangkok 101 Magazine
Pak kood, an edible fern prevalent in Tai Yai tribe cookery
On a clear day in Mae Kon, Chiang Rai, we pass through a mysterious iron gate opening onto a long, tree-lined path. Discovering ourselves ensconced in lush farmland, interwoven with centuries-old virgin forest - we ascend a small lychee-tree-covered hill, to find Khamdaeng – a fair-skinned lady nearing her 50s – about her work in a humble, but spotless, kitchen. With no makeup, her long, black hair in a pony tail - the beauty of her youth still glows through the smile lines around her eyes.
Travelling to Chiang Rai by foot through a tortuous mountain route over 30 years ago, Khamdaeng and her husband Kham set off from their poverty-stricken village, in Kengtung, Burma, in search of survival. With a choice between starvation and a dangerous and uncertain trek to Chiang Rai - with a leap of faith - the couple took a chance on a better life in Thailand. Despite an inhospitable journey, eventually they found their sanctuary in Mae Kon where, slowly, they began their new lives as agricultural workers.
Today, Khamdaeng is head cook of Canary Natural Resort: a 200-rai private property dedicated to preserving virgin forest and promoting organic growing in accordance with the late HM King Bhumibol Adulyadej’s Sufficiency Economy Philosophy. While her repertoire spans from the Northern favourite khao soy (a curry-based noodle dish) to mulberry waffles, Khamdaeng’s real speciality is the cuisine of her Tai Yai heritage. Tai Yai is the Thai name given to the Shan ethnic group, who live primarily in Shan State in Burma, and constitute one of the four main Buddhist ethnic groups. Of an estimated total population of 6 million, approximately 95,000 Tai Yai reside in Thailand, mainly in Chiang Rai, Chiang Mai and Mae Hong Son provinces.
For those who request it (in advance), Khamdaeng happily prepares her favourite Tai Yai dishes, using ingredients freshly foraged from the surrounding forest and organic farm. Upon our arrival, a colourful array of foraged produce lies waiting on her wooden table, still gleaming with the energy of the earth: whole, bright orange turmeric roots, their dramatic shoots still intact; wild green and red chilis – shorter and plumper than their supermarket cousins; and vegetable ferns, their elegant fractal fronds hanging over the edge of a stainless-steel bowl – among others.
Khamdaeng shows us how to make one of her classic dishes: a tea leaf chilli paste. As she crushes some ginger, chilli and lemongrass with a mortar and pestle, she gently explains to us over the din that ‘the most wonderful thing about our food is that it comes from the forest; it is truly natural.’ She pauses to add some roasted garlic, together with a small amount of fermented soybean cake; this is followed by a handful of Thai and pea eggplants (makeua proh มะเขือเปราะ; makeua puang มะเขือพวง). A rooster crows in the background as the sound of the mortar and pestle resumes its echo through the orchards. Khamdaeng then adds the finely chopped tea leaves, and some roasted bakeua som - the sour, juicy local variety of tomato – and seasons. After some further pounding, the final result is a glistening feast of textures and colours. She arranges the chili paste delicately in a bowl, suggesting that the paste be eaten with sticky rice, and steamed vegetable ferns (phak kuut ผักกูด). She swiftly moves on to present to us other Tai Yai delights, such as vegetable ferns with tomatoes and fermented sausage, turmeric and lemongrass chicken steamed in pandan leaves - and the simple, but incredibly fragrant, salt fried rice.
Needless to say, we go on to enjoy a veritable and delicious feast, leaving fully sated: our palates tickled by the forest flavours of Khamdaeng’s incredible dishes; our minds amazed and inspired by the immense possibilities of the Tai Yai forest kitchen.