Masterchef Thailand

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It's been a while since I wrote and I am now nearing the end of my time in Thailand. So, over the next few days, I am going to catch up with some blog entries of my travels over the trip.

The food in Thailand is really excellent and we have been quite spoiled on our trip as our Thai friend, Wilaiwan, is an excellent cook and made us a lot of food to take away on-board. On one particularly memorable occasion, we decided not to go ashore as there was a fairly big swell on the beach which might make taking the dinghy in uncomfortable (my dad has lost many friends through capsizing them into "mini Tsunamais").** We had some lovely peppered pork and boiled rice in the fridge provided by Wilaiwan so all the cook for the evening had to do was heat the pork in a pan and do "something" with the rice. When my dad voiced his eagerness to be Delia that evening, I suggested that we play it safe and just eat the rice cold rather than attempting to reboil it or refry it.

However, spurred on by some misguided confidence in his own culinary abilities, Dad was adamant that the rice would be fried despite the fact that, by his own admission, he had never made this particular dish before. I'll admit my expectations were not high ("Please", I pleaded weakly "there is nothing I love better than cold rice") but I quelled any misgivings with the thought that at least it would be edible.

When the plate was (finally) presented to me with a triumphant flourish, I noted with apprehension the lurid yellow tinge to the rice, but determined not to say anything potential hurtful to the sensitive chef. On tasting the rice, I noted (with rising panic) the strange "soapy" taste of the rice. After a few valiant mouthfuls in silence, I timidly queried whether the pan used had been properly rinsed. A few (disgusting) mouthfuls more and I remembered noticing at the time of cooking that both the oil and the washing-up liquid were in yellow containers. At the time I had not voiced the observation; thinking it an insult to the chef's (now less certain) intelligence, but the texture and taste of the rice suggested that this dismissal had been over-hasty.......

Cue a very upset stomach that night after imbibing what must have been a good few teaspoonfuls of washing up liquid.

Following my attempted poisoning, we spent a few days at Patong where I treated myself to a facial during which any blackheads I may have once had (very few, I assure you) were ruthlessly extracted. As well as the obligatory thai massages, foot massages, etc some of the salons in Patong also had tanks of fish in order to offer a "fish foot massage". The advertising signs up claimed that the fish nibbled at the dead skin on your feet and performed "reflexology" with the win-win end result of "Happy Fish, Happy Feet". Now, not wanting to be a sceptic, I was extremely dubious that each of the fish in any given tank had a relevant qualification in podiatry and so was understandably nervous about putting my trotters at the mercy of uncertified practitioners (especially ones with gills). However, I was less concerned about my Dad's feet and was disappointed he claimed to be ambivalent to both the happiness of these and that of the poor fish (certified or not).

After our soujourn in Patong, we sailed back to our Thai base in Ao Chalong. We spent a night at Nai Harn and Wilaiwan, Poie and another friend, Leck, all travelled out on Poie's motorbike to see us and have dinner and an after-dinner cocktail. Very few Thai women (other than those that work in bars) seem to drink alcohol, although Poie made sure that she learnt the word "Singapore Sling" (my drink that evening) so that she would know what to order if she went out with a "farang boyfriend". She also insisted on walking me to the toilets in case I got attached by "Thai mens". Given that most "Thai mens" I have seen are about 5ft 4" and half the size of me, I was not unduly concerned, but I suppose it never does pay to be too complacent or make assumptions (as I learnt to my peril with the whole rice-fried-in-washing-up-liquid-debacle).


** Re-reading this entry, I learned that this sentence sounds as if it could be more serious than it actually is. When I say "lost", I, of course, mean that they fell out with him rather than that they perished. As far as I am aware my dad has not killed anyone yet - though he made a good attempt with me when he fed me that fried rice.

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