Traitor in Thai market (1)

Dining in a Thai restaurant overseas once, my parents asked me if there was such a thing as bad Thai food.

In Australia, the country where I was born, Thai food is popular if you are dining out.

Since I lived there, it has supplanted Chinese and Japanese as the Asian takeaway (or even eat-in) menu of choice.

Why? Thai is cheap, light, and tasty. And you don't have to struggle with chopsticks if you would rather use a knife and fork (or even a spoon and fork combination, if you want to look really Thai).

'Yes,' I said. 'You can buy poorly-made Thai food from street vendors, almost anywhere,' I said. 'But mostly it is well-made, because Thais love their food.'

We were eating at a 'Thai' restaurant in provincial Australia where not one cook in the kitchen was Thai, or even Asian. They were young farang, working from Thai-cuisine cookbooks.

They used local ingredients as a substitute for 'real' Thai ingredients which are hard to find there. The dishes had also been modified - made more bland - to appeal to Western tastes.

I didn't complain. When I visit my parents every year, we go to a Thai restaurant the night before I am due to return to Bangkok. I get to recommend the dishes, which is fun.

For the rest of the time, we eat Western food, which is a welcome change from the all-Thai diet I normally get in the Land of Smiles.

But back to poorly-made Thai food. Even Thais can be lousy cooks of Thai dishes.

For the last few weeks, I have been trying to wean myself off one of them.

Every night after work, I pick up three boxes of Thai food from a husband and wife couple who run a shop under a tattered tarpaulin in the market opposite my condo.

Talad Phlu at night

This same generous couple once offered to lend me money for a taxi when I had run out of cash to get home from work.

They have made food for me every night for at least 18 months. Normally we pay them once a month.

Lately, perhaps because they rush to get my order finished before midnight when my bus arrives, the quality of the food they make has deteriorated.

When I heat it in the microwave the next day, some is so awful I can barely eat it.

They know what I like, and vary the dishes they make for me each night. But when I open the lid of their white styrofoam boxes, some dishes look so off-putting that I toss the lot in the rubbish.

Clearly, this could not go on. The monthly bill comes to B2,500. That's too much if I am not enjoying it, or not even eating some of it.

Twenty metres away from their stall is another Thai couple who make similar dishes, which they sell in similar white boxes.

I had bought from them a few times before, when our regular outlet was closed.

They use superior rice. Their food is also tastier, and the price is the same. So why not switch?

now, see part 2

Step forward, Mr Geography

I was sitting by the canal yesterday when a group of tourists went past in a long-tailed boat.

They saw me sitting on the rickety pier, and came back for another look.

Actually, I suspect they spotted the eatery behind me, and decided they would drop in for a bite to eat.

The eatery has open sides, juts into the canal on wooden stilts, and is so ramshackle that when you tread on floorboards inside, they open at the ends to expose a glimpse of the water beneath.

The tourists asked the man helming the boat to reverse, which he did.

'Welcome to Thailand, man!'

Whaa? That wasn't me. I don't call out greetings to perfect strangers. That hip-sounding greeting came from a Thai man sitting at a table inside the eatery.

He was sitting with a couple of friends, drinking, and was evidently in an internationalist (ie chatting with foreigners) mood.

The tourists, who were Europeans, looked excited. Here, someone who talks English!

They climbed off their boat, filed past me without saying a word, and entered the eatery, where they took a table and tried to order.

The Thai staff in there lack English. I tried not to listen as the tourists struggled with the menu, which is written in Thai.

Mr Thai Internationalist grasped that they wanted Coke. The word in Thai is the same, but with a funny accent.

'Coke!' the chatty Thai called out to the girl serving.

How helpful.

The foreigners started a conversation. This was Mr Chatty's chance to show his Thai friends that he shines at English.

I saw him lean into the conversation at the foreigners' table, the way a dog might snatch a ball from your hand when he knows you're willing to play.

In any conversation with foreigners, knowledge of geography is useful. Thais, of course, are known for their profound grasp of the subject.

'We come from Vienna, Austria - you know it?' asked one swarthy-necked tourist.

'Sydney? Sure, man. What city do you come from?' asked the Thai.

'No...Vienna, Austria,' said the European.

'Perth?' asked the Thai. 'I worked in Perth, man...for a company,' he said.

''No...Austria...not Australia,' said the European.

'Aus-tra-lia,' said Mr Chatty to his Thai friends.

'It's in Europe,' the foreigner volunteered.

The Thais sat their silently.

I gave up listening. Many tourists leave Thailand remarking on the friendliness of its people.

This Thai was amiable , alright - because he wanted to impress his drinking friends.

These tourists were the unfortunate vehicle for his boasting.

Should Thais' keen sense of geography (or ear for simple English) let them down, then they can always fall back on their equally firm grasp of history.

By way of example, take this quote from a recent post [post deleted - it's about politics] with a political theme.

'Salang has likened the PAD's broadcasts to brainwashing, the way Hitler used to brainwash Chinese youth.'

Remember that?

Salang is a former deputy police chief who criticised the protest group, People's Alliance for Democracy, for spreading propaganda - just like Hitler did to the poor Chinese.

Ah, yes, the Chinese. They will remember him well.

I am sure the Europeans took away good memories of their experience in the canalside eatery.

Thais come across to foreigners as charming and innocent. No mystery there, given the conversation above.

So, here's to Australia - or, er Austria!

Growing old together

A couple of readers have asked why Thai boyfriend Maiyuu and I sleep in separate beds. Because we are both crabby old men!

Actually, he would dispute the fact that he is getting irritable in his old age. But my increasing crotchetiness as I get older is the favourite topic of conversation when we are together.

Last night, despairing of anything decent to watch on television, I turned on the radio. The first station I chose plays 'easy listening' music - sappy, bland stuff, the kind which plays in aircraft, to pacify passengers before the plane takes off.

'Are you trying to kill me slowly?' asked Maiyuu, he prefers his music to sound more lively.

'Soon, I won't be able to stand it any longer. I shall have to send you to an old person's home.'

At 1am, a show started on TV which he wanted to watch, so he turned the TV back on.

'I am going to bed,' I announced.

'Of course - old men go to bed in early evening, and wake in time for the bird call,' he said.

Speaking of birds, the chickens who live along the railway line below still cause me grief. As I write, I have turned up music on the computer so I can't hear them squawking.

When I get desperate, I stand on the small veranda outside my room and curse the birds and their ignorant owner.

Yesterday, the sound of a woman screaming started mixing with the chicken noise. I walked out on to the veranda to take a look at the chicken hutch from hell.

The bare-chested owner, a small mean-looking man in his 40s, was in there with his beloved birds, watching a portable television. Honestly, he spends more time in there with them than he does with his wife.

He was watching the protest group People's Alliance for Democracy, who spend their days hectoring the government from the site of their illegal occupation at Government House. A woman was on the stage, screaming abuse.

Get in line, dear. Here on the rustic Thon Buri side of Bangkok, we have more pressing problems to consider - like bothersome chicken noise, which rises and is magnified in what seems like a tunnel effect, all nine floors to my place.

Maiyuu does not approve of my anti-chicken antics. 'Spare some thought for the tenants below who have to listen to you bellowing,' he says.

My boyfriend ribs me mercilessly. 'Try feeling ashamed for the neighbours (น่าจะอายเค้าบ้าง) - think of how they must feel when they hear you carrying on.'

Maiyuu says he has told his Thai friends about how I like bellowing at the chickens. One of his woman friends, Mai, is even closer to their dirty, overcrowded hutch than I am.

'Doesn't Mai mind the noise?' I asked.

'She doesn't pay any attention,' he said. 'Mai and the others laughed when I told them. They asked: ''Do the chickens pay attention?''

'I told them: ''Are you crazy? They are just chickens!'' said Maiyuu.

I wait outside my condo for a bus to work, where another scruffy, skinny-looking chicken lives in an upturned rattan basket. Occasionally the owner lets it out.

It struts about, bobbing its head, eyeing me with its beady chicken eyes. I would like to throttle the bird by its spindly neck, but I am too afraid to touch the thing, in case I catch some awful chicken disease.

I understand the need for chickens to get out and mingle ocasionally, but this is too much. If a chicken walked up to you while you were waiting for a bus in the West, or even in civilised parts of the East, how would you feel?

So, to go back to the original question: why do we not share the same bed?

Because we sleep better in our own beds. We slept together in the early days of our relationship, when we lived in a single room with just the one bed.

Bangkok is too hot for cuddly stuff between the sheets. Besides, Maiyuu reckons I leave old-man's slobber on the pillow.

Penniless gay chef

My Thai partner and I went to bed at the same time last night, and today woke at the same time, too.

From the other room, he yawned loudly. He must have known I would be awake.

A few moments later when I walked into his room, I couldn't see him. He wasn't on his bed, and he wasn't in the bathroom.

-
I remembered a trick he would pull years ago...he likes to hide.

Some nights I would come home from work, and find him absent. I would look in my room and his, and check both bathrooms - no Maiyuu.

Then I would open the wardrobe, just to see. I would find him hiding in the bottom of the wardrobe, with a towel over his head.

Maiyuu hasn't hidden himself away to give me a surprise like that in years.

This morning he did it again...after checking the bathroom, I turned around and saw a figure in grey, squeezed between the clothes basket and dining table. It was him!

-
'Caught you!' I said.

'How did you know?' he asked, laughing.

'I remember you used to hide yourself, years ago,' I said.

If Maiyuu has started hiding himself again, then he in a playful and happy mood. I hope it lasts.

-
It's two days to pay day, and we are poor.

The extra money I will earn from doing extra work at the office hasn't yet arrived, and the boyfriend hasn't been to work for at least a week.

Stuck at home all day, he gets bored, so likes to cook.

In the last two days, the Kitchen of Maiyuu has been busy. On the sweet side, he has made a tray of brownies, and a pineapple and cinnamon cake.

On the savoury side, he has made a dish of Vietnamese soft spring rolls (miang kum rolls) - thin strips of flour wrapped around spicy ingredients such as ginger, chili, green onion and coconut; and fried guay teow sen yay topped with chicken wings and a diced tomato, mushroom and onion sauce (see image below).

I worked out how much money we had left to pay day, how much I would need to take to work, and how much I could give him.

But over the last two days we have been home together, he has just kept asking...and asking. Icing sugar here...fresh vegetables from the market there.

As a result, the money has all but run out, and for the first time, I shall have to ask a friend at work to lend me money so we can make it to pay day.

Thai purse gets fatter

I have found some extra work to do at the office, so for the first time since the last oil price rise, our income should improve.

When oil prices went up a couple of months ago, I lost two part-time teaching jobs. Boyfriend Maiyuu, who works just a couple of days a week, also found his services in less demand, as Thais felt the income squeeze.

The extra work I have found should bring in an extra B12,000 a month, which is a big increase - even compared to the days when I had teaching work.

Maiyuu and I have not discussed what we want to do with it, other than to buy a new pair of jogging shoes for me. We might like to take a trip somewhere - get out of Bangkok, which we have not done together for at least a couple of years.

-

'Would you like to go back to Chon Buri?' I asked Maiyuu last night.

'No. It's boring...nothing to see or do,' he said.

'I will take you to the Don Wai floating market in Nakhon Pathom instead,' he said. 'We have been there before.'

We have? I have forgotten.

'We will buy food...walk around...eat in a restaurant.'

At the start of our relationship years ago, we would spend weekends away in Chon Buri.

Maiyuu and I travelled to the coast to visit his home town there a couple of times a year.

We stayed at a hospitality hotel kept by the navy.

One of Maiyuuu's childhood kathoey friends has a father in the navy, and if we we wanted to stay, his friend would arrange a place through her Dad.

Ocassionally Maiyuu invited me out with his friends for the night. More often, his gay and kathoey friends - Chon Buri has so many, they could start their own theme park - would gather at our place for something to eat, then go out dancing without me. I stayed back because I wanted time by myself.

I would take a bath in the place we rented for the night, then look forward to sleeping between cotton sheets. At home I have a duvet, which is not the same.

My fantasies of enjoying another bubble bath and wriggling my toes between the crisp cotton sheets of the navy hotel will have to wait. The Chon Buri phase in our relationship appears to have passed.

Maiyuu's family is over there - his sister and grandmother, with whom he has fallen out of touch, plus uncles, aunts, and their children - but he has no desire to see them. His childhood friends are over there, too, but he does not appear to miss them.

-

The cool season is approaching, to replace the wet one we are now in. The sun goes down faster - by 6pm, it's almost dark in Bangkok - and the air is getting cooler.

The ants who have taken over my place in recent weeks are growing fewer.

They do not like the cold, so take shelter wherever ants go when it gets too cold to roam.