Earlier this week, I promised our staff in Doi Saket that I would make an American-style meal for them, and asked if there was any food they had always wanted to try.
After a few seconds of conferring in Thai, one of them said — or, more accurately, asked skeptically — “beef steak?”
I asked, “Have any of you had it before?”
None of them had.
So I did a quick Google search on the price of steak in Thailand, and decided to go for it.
Rocky — the dad from one of our Doi Saket homes — volunteered to drive for our Saturday shopping excursion. We started at Makro, a large, modern supermarket in the suburbs of Chiang Mai.
I quickly found the vast meat section, but was disappointed to discover that all of it was frozen. Most of it fell into one of two categories: low-quality, cheap cuts that would be about as tender as a bucket of old boots, or eye-wateringly expensive wagyu slabs that would break the budget and leave me penniless for the remainder of my time in Asia.
I eventually found a pile of top sirloin steaks that would — if I could thaw them in time — provide a reasonable introduction to the world of American backyard grill craft, at a price I could defend, if necessary, to Accounting. I grabbed thirty portions’ worth and headed, mostly satisfied, toward the veg section.
That’s when I noticed a large butcher’s counter with a much better selection. I found some nice-looking rib filets that weren’t frozen and were only slightly more expensive than the sirloin.
We moved on to Produce and found lemons (actual yellow ones — not the small, round green Thai ones that are, to me, indistinguishable from limes), thyme, and rosemary. They also had some good-looking local yellow potatoes, and I grabbed about six pounds. We snagged butter from the dairy section, loaded a couple dozen liter bottles of soda into the cart, and headed to checkout.
After Makro, we stopped at a more traditional local green market. I bought one vendor’s entire stock of carrots and picked up cilantro, green onions, limes, garlic, fish sauce, chilies — and a decent selection of whatever else I thought might come in handy. I knew Tutu had a nice bottle of organic honey at home and figured I could come by sugar and salt without much trouble.
After church on Sunday morning in Wiang Pa Pao, a bunch of our kids helped us harvest a bushel or two of star fruit, which I planned to turn into a sweet-and-sour cold salad.
When I arrived at our Doi Saket 1 campus early this morning, I was feeling pretty good about the setup — especially relieved to have bought fresh, not frozen, beef. When our staff brought the food to one of the home’s large outdoor kitchens, however, I discovered that someone had — with helpful intent, I’m sure — stored all of the fresh meat… in the freezer.
Hard as a rock.
I quickly overcame a brief spasm of irritation, set the meat out in the bright sunlight to thaw, and began prep. Our staff looked with concern at the relatively small amount of meat and decided to add a few dishes of their own to the menu. They asked how much the steak had cost, and when I told them, one of them said, “Next time we will buy a whole cow. Cheaper.”
Over the next few hours, we set about the work of meal prep in earnest. The staff made a delicious, very spicy papaya salad and marinated about ten pounds of pork belly and intestines in garlic, ginger, and fish sauce. I seasoned the mostly thawed meat with a simple mix of salt and pepper and set my team of assistants to a variety of tasks. At one point, we had three mortars going and four people working the cutting boards.
We zested and juiced lemons, crushed garlic, matchsticked ginger, sliced star fruit, and roasted chilies. I made a compound butter, which found its way into all three of my dishes.
None of them had ever seen or tasted rosemary or thyme, and most seemed unfamiliar with butter. No one had any idea what to do with the edible flowers.
A few of the men worked to get the grills up to temperature while the ladies and I made honey-glazed carrots and garlicky, buttery, herby potatoes. Everyone who gathered genuinely enjoyed the food. I’ve been around Thailand long enough to know when people are simply being polite; nearly everyone joined the second-serving, clean-plate club, and that’s the best review I could hope for.
One of the women said to me, “American food is so delicious!”
I told her that all of my American friends are jealous of my culinary adventures in Asia.
“Do they know about Thai food?” she asked.
They laughed and applauded, seemingly astonished to hear of their cuisine’s worldwide acclaim.
This, my friends, is the good life.
Every time I cook with our staff — or with our kids — the same thing happens. Language barriers dissolve. Cultural distances narrow. Somehow, I walk away having learned more from an hour in the kitchen than I ever could in a week of classrooms. And a meal prepared and shared with friends carries the weight of a sermon, the tenderness of a love song, and the sincerity of a promise.
