Pad Thai: Confessions of a Newcomer to Thai Cuisine
When exotic becomes familiar through peanuts and tamarind
I entered this small restaurant called Pad Thai with the face of someone about to dive into the sea in January. The sympathetic owner greeted me with a laugh – he had already understood everything. "First time with Thai cuisine?" "Is it that obvious?" The place is small but incredibly intimate. The friendly host wasted no time: "OK, let's do this. Start with the Pad Thai, sound good?"
For those who don't know, Pad Thai is an iconic dish of rice noodles stir-fried with a harmonious balance of flavors: the sweetness of tamarind sauce, the umami of fish sauce, the complexity of soy sauce, and the freshness of lime and vegetables. When my dish arrived, I was enchanted: thin ribbons of noodles spiraled among tender pieces of chicken and crunchy vegetables, while around the edge, with studied precision, were arranged chopped chili, toasted peanuts, and bright lime wedges – an invitation to personalize each bite according to your taste, balancing spiciness, crunchiness, and acidity.
I asked the amiable proprietor what he thought of my theory: if we could define Pad Thai as a "dish of peace," considering its creation in the 1940s during a period when the country was trying to strengthen its national identity and internal cohesion. Pad Thai, therefore, as the cherry on top of about 700 years of Siam's history (later called Thailand), was made up of skillful diplomatic relations that always tried to avoid wars. Explore further, and you'll understand.
The genial restaurateur nodded, reflecting on my interpretation while bringing me a Som Tum, the traditional green papaya salad. A triumph of flavors and textures: grated green papaya mixed with halved cherry tomatoes, chopped green beans, all enriched with toasted and chopped peanuts, dried shrimp, garlic, fresh chilies, and dressed with a pungent mix of lime juice, fish sauce, and a touch of palm sugar that perfectly balances the acidity. Right after came the Goong Chae Nam Pla, fresh cleaned and peeled shrimp marinated in an elegant combination of fish sauce, lime juice, minced garlic, fresh chilies, and a pinch of sugar, all garnished with fresh mint leaves that added an intoxicating aroma to the dish.
Meanwhile, the establishment was filling up. The welcoming manager greeted both new customers and familiar faces. In the kitchen, I met the chef, a young and empathetic Thai woman who showed me ingredients, sauces, and spices. She confided that her version of Pad Thai is designed to be more "welcoming" for Western palates.
I looked for a real encounter, not the exotic from a postcard. I wanted to be caught off guard, confused, and won over. Who is observing whom? There shouldn't be an "other" in the great human tribe.
I left with that feeling of familiarity you get when something initially foreign becomes immediately comfortable. And Pad Thai, in my city, Naples in Italy, exists. Worth the trip. Promise.
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