Apologies for radio silence these last couple of days but, as you can see, we’ve been filming…There’s much to tell, from the bugs of Issan, grilled chicken a-go-go, the best Pad Prik Khing in the world, and more.
One quick thing, though: I remain staggered and awestruck by the immense power of the oncoming monsoon. The cycle of life begins again. Last night, at dinner, the heavens opened briefly. And when the rains stopped, the outdoor (covered) restaurant filled with flying bugs, out to greet the damp and seek the light.
Not just any bug, I realised, as the restaurant owner’s children rushed out to catch as many of the fat, young flies as they could. They’re called mang mun, and apparently they’re such good eating they fetch BHT700 a kilo. The kids caught enough for an omelette. Apparently, if you eat the wrong ones, the males, called mang mao, they make you ill. They tell me it feels like the wrong kind of drunk. I shall avoid.
Then today, the rain began mid-cooking sketch. The clatter on the corrugated iron roof was so loud we had to stop. The street outside turned into a canal. I was transported back to my childhood on Soi 31 in Bangkok, when I used to rush out, shampoo in hand, to wash my hair in the downpour.
Some things never change.
(Now where’s that bottle of Pantene?)