Dateline: Ottawa

If you’re like me, Canada is always somewhere in the back of one’s head, in two senses.

In the first sense, Canada is the soft-spoken, low-key, rather vague place to the north. Seldom in the news, it’s the “nicer” America, where even the Conservatives are about as liberal as Hillary Clinton, and the Liberals are about as revolutionary as G. B. Shaw.

In the second sense, though, Canada is the escape hatch: think of the loyalist emigres to Halifax, Fredericton, and the Eastern Townships; the Underground Railroad’s Free Star of the North; the net into which the draft dodgers happily leapt to escape General MacNamara’s sharks. In a category that sometimes includes Mexico and France, it is high on the list of destinations spoken of in hushed, tentative tones by American liberals, and in strident, judgemental dudgeon by Bill O’Reilly and Anne Coulter.

But “escape hatch” doesn’t quite capture the sense of the place. Canada is really much more of an antechamber, America’s porch, if you will or — because we are speaking of a bilingual nation, after all — a porte-cochere.

I say that for a couple of reasons. Mainly it’s because Canada is really a place of transition. We often think of it as an immigration destination — like the U.S., or Australia, or these days at least, most parts of Western Europe. But it is also — and this is less often remarked upon — a place of emigration. As someone pointed out to me this week, if Canada had closed her borders at Confederation (1867), taking in no new immigrants, but sustaining the same birthrate it did in “real” terms over the next 130 years, she would today have 80 million people. That her population stands instead at 30 million indicates the degree to which people are constantly leaving this place.

Thus, Canadians always seem to be coming and going. And that has a bunch of implications, not the least of which has to do with national identity.

As a site upon which to ground one’s identity, porches and porte-cocheres are problematic. They are not a house — in this case, the US, the UK, France, etc. They are shelter, though, and as such, they are welcoming, even sociable spaces. But they are more exposed to the elements (think not just cold, but also economics). One can live there, but one doesn’t typically, not in the long term anyway.

But neither are porches like streets. In the street true expats really do live on the fly, like Didion in New York, always keeping the plane schedule in the top drawer of the dresser. That’s not how Canadians appear to think. It is not Ellis Island writ large, nor is it one big Green-esque Foreign Correspondants Club.

So perhaps one ought not to think of Canada as Gaul to America’s Rome, with the St. Lawrence standing in for the Rubicon. Considering the “Canadian option” is not really the same as thinking — as Baldwin, or Stein, did — of Paris, or as Isherwood did of Berlin or (to press the political point) DuBois did of Ghana.

Considering the Canadian option is, instead, much more like stepping out on to the stoop for a smoke.

Thinking of Canada in terms of this analogy also allows one to describe why, for instance, Canadians have a quite difference sense of perspective as compared to Europeans. America is there, and it towers over Canada. And while it is true that when one is here one is not “of” America, it’s also hard to see the fuller picture. You do get a better sense of “street life” while here, and a far clearer view of the houses across the way. But when one looks up, or around the corner, one’s view is blocked by the immense, monstrous shadow of American power and American culture.

So if the family feud gets too loud; if our Percodan-addled “strong father” goes into another psychotic rage; if the country bumpkin cousins begin rifling the knife draws and the gun cabinets and muttering darkly about “being washed in the Blood of the Lamb;” know that one can always slip out to porte-cochere. The air is bit cooler our there, and one can clear one’s head. But the real party, as everyone knows, is inside the house.

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No rant this week, just some philosophical musings.

So I spent the past week camping in Yosemite with the fam. It was, not surprisingly, a delightful vacation. We stayed at Tuolumne Meadows, ate at a restaurant above 9,000 feet (one that served outstanding food), and hiked on mountains that looked like they had been created yesterday.

My partner and I, on the way down to Sacramento, also made time to stop by the new UC campus. While not exactly smitten by the place, he was pleasantly surprised to discover that Merced is no Modesto, and is in fact probably on a path to become a nice little college town in the next few years. Perhaps like Davis, say, 25 years ago.

California was, well, easy. People were friendly, food was good, and the scenery was always stunning.

Comparisons with my current abode were, also not surprisingly, never far from my mind.

Neither was Didion’s wonderful, chilling phrase from “Notes From a Native Daughter” which I am sure I won’t get 100% right, but the gist of which is: “for at least in one respect California resembles the Promised Land; that those who would absent themselves from her blessings are thereby banished, exiled by some perversity of heart.”

So, having bit of the fruit of the knowledge and paid the price, what hope is there of re-admittance to the Garden?

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If you’ve been living in a cave for the last decade or so, you might not know that Thai cuisine has become quite trendy here in America and abroad. As a Thai man living in California, I learned quickly that knowing one’s way around the Thai kitchen can be quite an asset in so many ways.

When I tell people that I’m from Thailand, they will usually follow up with an inquiry about my Thai cooking abilities. Furthermore, on occasions when I find myself at Thai restaurants with friends, it is far more likely than not that I’ll be in charge of doing all of the ordering.

Knowing that Pad See Iew is not something you write on and that Moo Prik King has nothing to do with cows or royalty, makes for a great dining experience and helps to maintain bliss on the friendship front. Also, the ability to whip up some passable (I’m no chef) Thai food on a whim is particularly valuable as I’m often cooking for myself.

So, for me, being somewhat knowledgeable about Thai cuisine has spiced up my life, so to speak, whether it’s dining with friends or cooking for one.

So, with that thought in mind, I decided to write this longish piece about Thai cuisine.

While certainly not comprehensive, I’ve discussed some of the influences on and the regional character of Thai cuisine. Although drawn in part from personal experience this piece owes much to various authors, particularly to David Thompson and his seminal English language works on Thai Food. For those who might be interested, I have available a list of sources consulted during the drafting of this article. Your suggestions, clarifications, corrections and comments are always welcome.

The Eclecticism of Thai Cuisine

These days, it seems that everyone is getting into the Indian / South Asian cultural scene. Whether it’s the success of A.R. Rahman’s ‘Bombay Dreams’ or Jhumpa Lahiri’s Pulitzer Prize-winning literary work, hardworking South Asians on the subcontinent and abroad have helped to propel a growing awareness and interest in South Asian culture here in the United States. For Steamed Rice readers, I almost don’t have to mention that Parminder Nagra, one of the leading ambassadors facilitating this new interest in things Indian, is a professed lover of Thai cuisine.

Thais and other Southeast Asians living in the United States might find this development to be quite interesting. You see, the attraction of Indian cultural elements is nothing new to us. In fact, it’s quite old. The novelty of such things like, say, how Bhangra rhythms influence the contemporary music scene in the West is not so stunning for someone whose ancestors have had relations with India going back into antiquity. In Thailand, formal language, religion and cuisine are but a few of the major cultural spheres that have either been touched by Indian influence or that are of South Asian origin.

Today, among Thailand’s 66 million citizens, the Indian community is 85,000 strong with some families tracing their Thai roots back to the 18th century when Thailand was known as Siam. Ms. Nagra might be interested to know that Punjabis make up the largest subgroup. Sikhs number approximately 35,000, Punjabi Hindus 18,000 and Namdhari Sikhs up to 7,000. Given these facts, Parminder’s penchant for Thai cuisine seems that much more appropriate.

Many Steamed Rice readers are no doubt familiar with Indian cuisine or Thai cuisine or perhaps even both. Some may be intrigued by the ostensible affinities between the two cuisines. Curry, a seminal element of Indian cuisine, is also found in Thai cuisine, albeit in a slightly different form. Thai curry pastes may be derived from the wet masalas of India in which fresh and dry ingredients are ground with spices to create aromatic seasoning pastes. Interestingly, the Thai and the English words for “curry” share their derivation from a common Tamil root.

One culinary writer, Sushil Saini, opining on the underlying culture and spiritualities of the two cuisines used curries to make his point: Indian curries rely on dried roots such as ginger, garlic, and turmeric, reflecting “the deep thrum of the unconscious made palatable.”

Also present are cardamom, cumin and cinnamon bark. These ingredients are fried together in extreme heat and simmered to allow the flavors to deepen. Thai curries, on the other hand, are more “ethereal.” Fresh ingredients such as lime, lemon grass, and ginger are ever present and gently cooked in coconut milk in what is perhaps a metaphor for mothering and nurturing.

Although the Indian influence on Thai cuisine is relevant here, it should also be noted that Chinese culinary influence is quite profound. This is illustrated by the inclusion into Thai cuisine of basic staple ingredients of Chinese origin such as noodles, soy sauce, and tofu. Stir frying, a common cooking technique in contemporary Thailand, may have also been imported from China or may have been brought along when the ancestors of modern Thais migrated from what is now Southern China.

In addition, a culinary imprint of cultures from outside of East and South Asia is present in many Thai desserts of Portuguese origin and in the inclusion of such ingredients as coriander, lime, and chilies from the New World. Despite these influences and elements from outside culinary cultures, Thailand’s cuisine is still relatively pure and a unique and discernable entity in and of itself. Whatever the reasons for this, wherever one is in the Kingdom, “one still recognizes Thai food as Thai.”

Thai cuisine is generally said to be a mixture of four basic tastes: salty, sweet, sour and pungent (hot). Unlike in Western cuisines where various tastes blend to create a pleasing whole, Thai food “creates a locus of flavors within each dish, through its components, producing a complexity that can be dazzling.” Strong flavors come together to create subtle tastes that generally should not overpower.

Considering the amount of ingredients and spices that end up in some dishes, the fact that these concoctions don’t turn out tasting like an explosion at a Mrs. Dash factory is a testament to the skill of Thai cooks past and present. Although Thai cuisine emphasizes a balance of the four basic tastes, the idea of seasoning has never been one of stilted culinary formality.

Rote reliance on exact measurements is hardly the norm as there is wide latitude given to personal preference. Depending on which region a particular dish comes from, there is variation as to customary preferences for seasonings and spices.

Regional Tastes

Broadly speaking, Thai culinary styles are divisible into four basic groups according to region of origin: central, northern, northeastern and southern. The fact that the capital city of Bangkok is located in the central region has resulted in two main categories of cuisine in that part of the country: traditional home cooking and elaborate palace cooking sometimes called Royal Thai cuisine.

The former, as expected, tends to be simpler and less extravagant. The latter is characterized by, among other things, ornate fruit and vegetable carving and also by sweeter dishes that are more mild in terms of spiciness. An emphasis on coconut milk is also discernable. Many dishes require much time to prepare and represent “the triumph of craftsmanship over efficiency.” The presence of the royal Thai culinary tradition has made the cuisine of the central region perhaps the most diverse, complex and sophisticated in the country. Many of the popular Thai dishes that have materialized overseas in one form or another are originally from this region and making the cuisine of Bangkok and its surrounds the regional cuisine that foreigners are most likely to be familiar with. Many of the popular Thai dishes that have materialized overseas in various forms are originally from this region and make it the regional cuisine that foreigners are most likely to be familiar with.

The cuisine of the North tends to be milder than those in other regions with spicy and salty being the two predominant flavors. Although pork is a favorite meat and cooking medium in the region, Northerners take full advantage of the abundance of ingredients found in nature. One of my memories of traveling there is that of stumbling upon a market of forest goods.

Among the expected bounty of wild vegetables, bamboo shoots and mushrooms, the gutted carcasses of exotic looking birds, small deer and lizards were laid out in a haphazard fashion, unintentionally creating a macabre effect. One merchant insisted that I consider buying a water buffalo’s afterbirth that she was hawking. I’m not sure if this is a traditional part of northern fare, but I decided to take a pass. Eventually, I wound my way toward a stand displaying mounds of cooked insects. It was there that I settled on a few bags of crunchy deep fried crickets and caterpillars. The trick here is not to scrutinize them too closely before you eat them, just plop them into your mouth for a clean, healthful snack that’s high in protein.

Various Vietnamese, Chinese and Burmese influences are present in the region’s cuisine. One northern tradition with which some American diners may be familiar with is dining “Kan Toke” style, where individuals are served meals on raised platters of teak or lacquer as they sit on woven mats placed on the floor. Items, such as glutinous rice (a.k.a. “sticky rice”) are presented in small dishes along with perhaps a small bowl of perfumed water for washing as food is consumed by hand. I can say that it’s quite an interesting dining experience and one which allows the people of the region to demonstrate the hospitality for which they have become famous.

The Northeast is Thailand’s largest region and is known among Thais as “Isarn,” a name derived from the Sanskrit word for “northeast.” The people of the region share cultural and linguistic and ethnic ties Laotians across the Mekong River, formerly having all been part of the Siamese kingdom until Laos was ceded to the French in the 19th century. Due to deforestation and relatively poor soil, the Isarn region is comparatively lacking in agricultural abundance and that is reflected in the cuisine, which is simple and unpretentious, lacking the complexity of flavor and of ingredients found in other parts of Thailand.

A trip to Laos confirmed for me the fact that our brethren across the Mekong have not, gastronomically speaking, done much better in their years under the French and after. Heavy spices are used to season the rice and people have made due over the years with the ingredients that are available. This has led to a menu that can include ingredients unappetizing to the Western palate: water buffalo, locusts, lizards, amphibians and red ant eggs, which are delicacies.

Strangely enough, I’ve seen these red ant eggs for sale in the freezer section of a popular Thai market in Los Angeles. No doubt these are for some adventurous gourmands.

Thailand’s Southern region, blessed with abundant marine resources and spectacular beaches is also Thailand’s most restive region. While it may be best known to foreigners for resorts such as Phuket (poo-get), Phang Nga and Samui, the region was most recently in the news during December of 2004 when Southern Thailand was struck by a devastating tsunami.

The South, with a population split between Buddhists and Muslims and also between ethnic Thais and Malays, has not had the relative cultural insularity of the North and the Northeast. For centuries, the region has been a commercial entrepot, seeing the arrival of travelers from India, the Middle East and Europe. Partly because of this eclectic and cosmopolitan history, the South has been blessed with a vibrant and varied cuisine. Like the food of the Northeast, the food in the South is some of the spiciest in the country, although a preference for sourness is also discernable. Curries, chilies, coconut cream and a great variety of seafood are all definitive culinary elements.

The Muslims in the region favor ingredients and dishes that may be more familiar to people who are of South Asian descent. In the Islamic cuisine of the South, one can find a prevalence of ghee (clarified butter), yogurt, roti, saffron rice and curries spiced with cardamom and cumin. While perhaps surprising on its face, the presence of these ingredients and dishes is less so when one considers the fact that Islam spread to Southeast Asia not from the Middle East, but from India. While it has been said that southern fare is the least well known of Thailand’s regional cuisines, it’s distinct and delightful array of flavorful dishes, probably means that this “obscurity” will not last for long.

The unified whole that is Thai cuisine is not possible without its regional components. Although the distinctions may be lost to the casual Thai food lover in the U.S., they are ever present. Awareness of the distinctiveness of certain dishes is sure to make one’s appreciation of Thai cuisine more acute, adding a new cultural element to the experience of Thai dining.

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Happy Independence Day, everyone! 229 years of liberty, freedom, and democracy – always contested, ever vigorous, never so fragile – and counting!

So I was in Alabama for the 4th of July this year. Specifically, I was sitting on an inner tube, drinking Bud Light, up to my chest in the bathtub-warm waters of the Black Warrior River, surrounding by some of my extended family.

Now, there are several observations I would share about this weekend, but let me start with the incident that, for me, was most troublesome.

One of the family members – specifically, my uncle, off whose dock we were all floating, lazily buzzed with cheap beer – asked everyone present a rather interesting question. I won’t get the wording quite right, but it goes something like this:

Forty years ago, we had Jim Crow laws in this country. And while pretty much everyone now agrees that they were wrong, back then there were plenty of people who thought that they were right. Forty years from now, what will people look back on and say “what were they thinking?”

Now, on one level, the different answers were interesting and revealing: one person (it should be obvious who) said “the fact that our country chose deliberately to turn into an empire.” Another (my uncle) said “the fact that we did not have universal health care.” Another (my uncle’s wife’s niece’s husband, a rather contrarian gentleman whose answer was I think more directed at goading me than in expressing a “real” answer to the question) said “that the U.S. ever did what the U.N. told it to do.” Another (my partner) said “that it took us so long to do anything about global warming.”

On a second level, it was more than a little bizarre how everybody else (which is to say, the wives, the unattached women, the not-quite-adult men) deliberately chose to take the question in a completely different direction and avoid politics altogether. My aunt’s nephew’s girlfriend, for instance, said “that people ever cleaned their own houses instead of someone else doing it as a job.” My aunt’s niece’s oldest son said “that people ever sat on a river and swam, like we’re doing now” (not the subtle shift in agency there: not that we didn’t do anything about pollution and global warming, but that we ever enjoyed nature recreationally).

On a third level, of course, what I found most interesting was what people did not say: Not until the conversation was over did anyone (my aunt) mention (only to me, sotto voce) abortion. Not until most people had left did anyone (my aunt’s niece) mention the war. Not until I was in the car the next day, headed home, did I talk with my partner about the elephant in the bedroom (ahem!), the whole damn reason my uncle had asked the question in the first place: which is to say, gay rights, and gay marriage.

Now, there are a number of ways I could go with this. One (referred to in the title of this post) goes back to a point W.E.B. Dubois made, just over a century ago. Namely, how it is a truly alienating experience to be “a problem” – especially an unstated, unspeakable, problem, the wire so live it threatens to numb anyone who touches it. But I am sure that authors more eloquent than I have already drawn the obvious parallel between DuBois’s notion of “double consciousness,” and the epistemology of the closet: the veil that “only lets [us] see [ourselves] through the revelation of the other world,” “this sense of always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity.” (from “Of Our Spiritual Strivings,” chapter 1 of The Souls of Black Folk)

But I’d rather talk about something else: the sheer difficulty of talking about politics. It is truly, truly perverse that on our national independence day, the day we set aside to commemorate the birth moment of our democracy, the day we shout and cheer the founding of our Republican form of government, we do everything possible not to talk about politics. Especially if you live in the South and are not an adult white male. Everything else, however, was up for grabs, and I mean everything:
- sex (the lady who lived next door who liked to flash her tits at passing coal barges, my pseudo-cousin’s extra-sensitive nipples),
- religion (the nature of the Jewish covenant with G*d, and how it is different from the Christian covenant),
- family dirty laundry (the cousin who just checked into rehab),
- hell even class (my pseudo-second cousin asked me how he could get a union at his job-site. My jaw nearly hit the floor on that one).

But not politics. No, not politics. Mustn’t discuss politics.

So, in the interests of proving me wrong, I invite the readers of this blog (and that means both of you) to answer my uncle’s question: what will we look back on in thirty or forty years and say “my God, what were they thinking?”

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