Thanksgiving Delicacy

Yesterday we had the day off work because our office follows the American holiday schedule. I prepared lots of Thanksgiving food for Jip and myself, expecting we would probably have a quiet, early meal around 2 or 3 in the afternoon. Jip doesn’t like to eat much in the evening.

But she surprised me by saying that she already had a lunch plan and that my food would have to wait until after her exercises, maybe around 7pm. OK, I said, but I better go out and get something to eat now before I faint (I’ve learned not to argue about the small stuff).

I ended up at a place near our apartment that has always caught my eye but I’d never gone in before. It seemed like they could whip up something quick. Then I realized that it was mostly a Chinese menu, specializing in dim sum.

Dim sum is fine if you know what you’re doing, or if they bring around the cart and you can point, but neither case was true, so I decided to keep it simple and ask if they had any Thai salad.

He replied that yes, they had salad, but I didn’t catch what kind. The word he used didn’t sound familiar, but I figured I can always learn something new. Then the plate arrived and it didn’t look familiar either: kind of opaque and a little bit noodle-like, but not exactly.

The taste wasn’t familiar. If you want the truth, it was a little like chewing on shredded plastic. I was faced with that decision you sometimes arrive at with celery: spit it out or swallow the undigested fibers.

After a few swallows I thought maybe I didn’t really need to finish this meal. Food at most places in Thailand has the advantage of being cheap enough that you can always give up and start over if it’s not working for you. So I paid up and walked off, thinking about where I would go for my second lunch.

On my way out I happened to spot the name of my dish on a hand-written chalkboard menu. I recognized the word for salad, but the words “maaeng ga phroon” meant nothing to me. I figured I’d ask a Thai friend at work to translate. In case it was something really weird, I didn’t want Jip to know what I’d eaten.

My friend raised his eyebrows a little bit. “What kind of place was this?” he asked. I told him it was Chinese. He nodded and said, “Yeah, they always care more about texture than taste.” He didn’t want to tell me at first, but I pressed him and so he coughed up what I’d had for Thanksgiving: jellyfish!

Grand Opening

Last Saturday Jip and I made the trek to Prachinburi, a province about two hours east of Bangkok, to check out the restaurant that Chao and his wife have just opened. They did a fantastic job building the open-air, lunch-and-dinner place. It sits next door to a rice field, where diners feel like they’re picnicking.

This grand opening is a milestone for Chao and Lek, who were married more than three years ago but have had a commuter marriage for most of that time. Chao recently resigned his job at Thailand’s biggest newspaper in order to live with his wife, who takes care of her father and runs the family bookshop. It wouldn’t surprise me if together they ended up starting a new family next year, in addition to this new business.

But it’s also a milestone for the connection between Jip and her younger brother. Throughout the time we have lived in Bangkok, Chao has been a frequent visitor, sometimes just to say hello, sometimes to use the pool at our apartment. We’ve even seen a fair amount of him during the construction and outfitting of the restaurant, because he has had to buy supplies in the big city, and has often spent the night at our place.

Restauranteuring is consuming work. Now that the place has officially opened, I doubt he’ll take many days off. If we want to see him, we’ll likely need to take a drive to the country, as we did last weekend.

Vets World Cup

Bangkok’s soccer league for old men tried out the idea of everyone playing for their home country. After countless matches as the lone Yank among Brits, it was strange but fun to play on a team of (North) Americans.

Not that it was easy to fill the roster. Three of us from the States had to combine forces with three Canadians and a naturalized U.S. citizen who was born in Turkey, just to be able to reach the minimum number of players. Japan, by contrast, fielded three of the 18 teams. England and France had two apiece, and many other European countries were out in force.

But for those countries it’s not unusual for the teams to break down by nationality. During the regular vets’ league season most people end up sticking with their own kind. For whatever reason, us Americanos—maybe because we’re in short supply to begin with—have ended up shared around. Not that I mind playing for the British Club. I get to hear some different accents and to keep up with who’s on top of the English Premier League table.

Yesterday's team, unlike many of the British Club squads I’ve been part of, made a respectable showing in the final standings. A dynasty in the making?

Going Native

Four years and counting, yet I still don’t know how to sleep in Southeast Asia. Air conditioner? Fan? Open window? Each has its advantages.

Our place often gets nice breezes at night, so what has worked best recently is to set up a little tent made of gauzy fabric and place it on the bed. The idea is the same as mosquito nets that hang from bedposts. But because we don’t have bedposts or a low ceiling, I bought a free-standing pop-up device that assumes its shape when you pull on a cord at the top. During the day we stash it in a closet, where it looks like a tall folded umbrella.

Does that make me a native? Or a slow learner? Before you decide, you should know that I now finally am consistent about looking to the right before crossing the street in this drive-on-the-left country. It’s only taken me this long to figure out which lane is going to hit me first.

Loner Krathong

Last night was Loy Krathong, the annual chance to go down to the river with your beloved and launch a little banana leaf boat with a candle in it. Originally it was meant as a day to express gratitude for all the good things nature has done for you over the year. During the twenty-plus years that I’ve been aware of this holiday, it seems to have morphed into more of a Valentine’s Day than a Thanksgiving.

Jip has never been a big fan of Loy Krathong (“what part of polluting the river says ‘thank you?’” she asks, quite reasonably). For the past couple years I’ve been able to sweet-talk her into at least acknowledging the romantic part of the day. But after I finished making our krathongs this year, she declined at the last minute to participate. I went downstairs to the little fountain at the gate to our apartment, thinking that at least I wouldn’t waste the banana leaves.

I invited the security guard to join me. He now thinks I’m even loonier than he maybe already did, but I also think he was secretly pleased to have a chance to thank the water gods.