To try Soul Food Mahanakorn's recipe for lamb grapow, a spicy Thai stir-fry made with holy basil, click here.
On a night when rain fell loudly in Bangkok, flooding the street outside, a stranger peered into my restaurant's dimly lit dining room. Though the restaurant was unfinished and closed, he took a step inside, and looked around with an unnerving smile. I walked across the room to cut him off before he sat at a table. "Get out of my way," he said coolly, and sat down.
The man was loose from drink. I was nervous, and confused about how to handle my first difficult customer. Bangkok has its fair share of disturbed expatriates, and I'd long before decided that they're best avoided. "I see what you're trying to do here," he said, offering his unsolicited opinion. "But Thai food, and cocktails, and wines, it will never work. No f—-ing way."
A wine dinner with Thai street food, my confused staff giggled. Imagine that.
He shook his head. I grinned at him like a dog does before it bites.
Then I started to tremble a little bit. From anger and the stress that weighed on me during that time, and from the obtuseness of the uninvited. The encounter became more surreal as the minutes passed. He was from Ireland, and had lived in Thailand for longer than he should have. He was bitter from his own financial failures, of which he only vaguely alluded to. Instead he chose to focus on the financial and emotional peril that I would face as soon as my doors flew open, as if we were the same person, destined to suffer the same fate.
"No one will pay anything for Thai food in Bangkok. Not in a place like this, anyway. And what is this room supposed to be? Japanese? Thai? And there's you, a farang, the face of it." He giggled. "Cocktails, and fancy wines, you must be kidding me. Thai food is cheap food. It's beer food, and you can get it right outside for nothing." He continued, "Then the staff will start to steal from you, and you'll lose control of the shop, and then that will be it. Poof." After 20 minutes of this, and after kindly asking him to leave, I simply walked up the stairs to my kitchen, leaving him with my burly bartender, who spoke not a word of English.
When I peeked around the corner of the stairwell 20 minutes later he was leaving. And then, in Joycean fashion, the mean-spirited, half-pissed Irishman wandered off into the night.
But I took his words to heart. I knew that I could and probably would fail, perhaps in the first few months. So I worked harder on this little restaurant than I've ever worked in my life. During the first few weeks we were open, the rain often fell hard, and at those times business slowed to a trickle. When the rain fell it reminded me of the stranger, and I waited for him to take a seat at my bar. He never returned.
MORE FROM SOUL FOOD MAHANAKORN:
Jarrett Wrisley: Biggest Crisis
Jarrett Wrisley: The Big Opening
Jarrett Wrisley: All Thanks To Dad
It seems like a cruel twist of fate to meet a miserable creature at such a critical time, but in retrospect I'm glad it happened. For now, for the first time, I feel confident enough to say that he just might have been wrong.
Because people are paying for our food. And they do drink the cocktails (with the food, too!). And a few weeks ago I held a dinner where we served Thai street food paired with wines from small European and Australian producers—and the room was full. So in the spirit of our inebriated contrarian, who thought Thai cuisine was suited only to watery Asian beer, I'll boldly disagree. Thai food and wine get along just fine.