Greater than the Sum of its Parts

Arriving in Bangkok in the middle of the night, the cab ride through this capital of 10 million threatens sensory overload. Blocks are overtaken with food vendors shoehorned side by side. Sidewalks host diners perched on plastic stools at shaky tables, cutlery in stainless steel boxes and condiment caddies filled with sauces of increasing spiciness at hand.

The allure of intermingling aromas of Thai cuisine overcome exhaust fumes inviting the adventurous foodie into its fold. Forget Paris, Bangkok hosts the ultimate moveable feast. Each cart boasts its own specialties. Skewers of squid lie next to chicken hearts. Durian wrapped in plastic unable to contain its odor. Fried insects encourage a customized snack mix. This would require time and a strong stomach.

In a narrow alley behind a hospital in Sukhumvit where wealthy Thais and expats make their homes, nurses in their mint green uniforms and neatly pulled back hair, huddle in groups dipping in and out of a plastic bag to extract pale green ribbons peppered with flecks of red, pink and tan.

A middle aged woman stands behind her beaten silver cart, wrinkled by hard work and harsh sun, strong hands machete an oblong and still young green papaya into long slivers, then shaved into ribbons. Into a stone mortar, seemingly innocuous tiny Thai chiles and garlic are pounded with the pestle melding their flavors. Muddled together, dashes of nam pla, a dollop of beeswax yellow palm sugar paste, squeezes of fresh lime juice, tiny dried shrimps and tomato halves create a sum of ingredients made greater than its parts. Topped with peanuts, a side order of sticky rice sops up the precious juices and attempts to cool the mouth. Long green beans and a cabbage wedge also work to balance the heat.

No seating here, we squat on the curb as the heat builds with each bite and my lips throb, eyes water, and hiccups begin. I’ll be back tomorrow to try ordering a whole chile pepper rather than my usual half.