Just Enough

In 2009, I was lucky to periodically stay with a Thai friend’s family in a small village near Sathing Phra, Thailand. A family poor financially though not for any other aspect of their lives. The mother seemed to prepare rice in her sleep as it was the first thing she did at four in the morning. Next, she'd put on her boots, grab the fishing net and head for the bountiful inlet. And she'd always return with a catch!

The coconut tree provided all sorts of bounty. A banana tree in their front yard, and a garden of vegetables, seasonally rotated. Nothing was in excess, and everything was enough. Down the road was their rice field where the father would go most days.

A duck farm went in on the corner, and one day, the mother came home with a live duck. She had the poor guy by the ankles though he must have already accepted his fate as he didn't make a peep. “Gin phet mai, khaa?” (Do I eat duck?) No sooner had I said “chai" did the knife come down! The next thing I knew feathers filled the little kitchen, and a trickle of blood ran down to the underside of the house.

She would sometimes reluctantly put me to work with the mortar and pestle. They made a joke, you could tell if a woman had children or not (I don’t) by the rate and rhythm of that ubiquitous-to-Thailand clinking noise. Pok! Pok! That wood-on-stone sound of smashing chiles, garlic, lemongrass, shrimp paste.

Occasionally, I’d be lazy and go to the market unable to resist the sumptuous fried chicken. I’d bring it home knowing I’d be chastened. We’d all sit in a circle on the floor, rice to the side of the mother, all the mains in the center. A feast of fried fish, sautéed morning glory with garlic, scrambled egg with sugar, a communal water cup, and my fried chicken. No one touched it for at least ten minutes! My mouth watered until I forced it on the youngest son who acquiesced happily, and then we all dived in like gluttons. I felt a little guilty, but sometimes you have to live it up.