We’re on a Thai kick (see our Green Papaya “Noodles” post). The inspiration has come from both home and restaurant cooking. Co Ba and O Mai, two virtually adjacent places on 9th Ave. (the former run by our friend Steven Duong), serve delicious, simple Vietnamese fare. (Only Co Ba has a banh mi, which is terrific.)
The dishes in both places share the same “what the hell” property characteristic of Vietnamese food. In other words, what the hell was in that succulent thing I just ate.
That sweet, sour, salty dish of sauce accompanying grilled eggplant; the marinade for sticky, caramel coated barbecued pork ribs; the noodle broths, etc. Even the banana bread pudding was memorable for the toasted sweetened coconut sprinkled over the scoop of vanilla ice cream slowly melting on top.
Eating this food, you step into an entire culture, into the world of a chef who, octopus-like, reaches for a little of this a little of that, merging everything into a seemingly simple, but ultimately complex, bowl of food. Back home, guided by David Thompson’s great books, we’ve come fairly close, but you can only go so far. For the real deal you need to stand by the fire alongside someone born into the culture.
For instance, Thompson’s chili jam is perfectly delicious: a ton of fried garlic, shallots blended with dried chilies, fish sauce, palm sugar and so on. But it doesn’t quite match Chez Pim’s nam prik pao, cooked the same way except that you return the paste to the hot wok, along with some sautéed shrimp paste.
The result is more complex than that in Thompson’s cookbook. Perhaps it’s the fried shrimp paste, which is how we return to the “what the hell” situation. Shrimp paste is truly vile, far worse than fish sauce. Unscrew the top and you’re immediately assaulted by the sharp pungent odor of unsold fish. The dark brown color and cement-like texture are also less than reassuring.
Yet fried, it mellows into a powerful, fishy blast of umami. Add a curry paste or other item to the wok, it is further tamed, but still a crucial piece of the puzzle. I’d never be able to identify shrimp paste in a finished dish but I know the Chez Pim nam prik pao (okay, it’s Thai) is a superior product.
Trying to suss out the shrimp paste in a chicken curry is like trying to put your finger on “what it is” about some guy you don’t like. It’s invisible and odorless (hopefully), but innate. Find some shrimp paste, make this stuff-note, a little messy-you’ll see what I mean.
Nam Prik Pao (adapted from Chez Pim)
75 grams whole dried chili (about 7 tablespoons chili powder)
100 grams garlic (about 2 medium heads) peeled and slice thinly
150 grams shallots (about 5 medium) peeled and sliced thinly
1 cup oil
100 grams palm sugar (or brown) or about ½ cup
2 tablespoons Thai shrimp paste
¼ cup tamarind paste
3 tablespoons or more fish sauce
¼ cup water
- Heat the chilies in a wok over medium heat. When fragrant, about 5 minutes), remove to a plate and let cool.
- Add oil to the wok. Raise the heat a bit. When hot, add the garlic and fry until just golden. Remove with a slotted spoon to a paper towel-lined tray. Do the same with the shallots. Don’t let either burn, it’ll ruin the dish. It’s okay if they’re not totally dry; you’re not making French fries, you want some oil in the final product. Also, it’ll help them puree in the processor.
- Stem and seed the now-cool chilies and grind in a spice grinder.
- Add the shallots and garlic to a mini blender (or food
processor) and puree to a paste. - Add shrimp paste to the remaining oil (you should have about ¼ cup) and fry about two minutes, breaking up and stirring. Add the chili powder, garlic mixture, and stir in tamarind, palm sugar, and fish sauce. Stir well and add water.
- Reduce over medium-high heat for about 7 or 8 minutes. You want a sort of oily jam consistency, and since it thickens as it cools, don’t reduce too much.
- Remove to a bowl and let cool. Then to an airtight container. Supposedly it stores in the cupboard but I keep it in the fridge.
