Let’s begin with an earnest apology for my extended absence, an absence so conspicuously long that some of you probably assumed I’d abandoned writing altogether and taken up beekeeping. The Epestle has just emerged from its longest hiatus yet: a little over two months on the paid subscription side and twice as long on the free subscription side. In newsletter years, that’s a sabbatical.
If this break has taught me anything, it’s that the world is glutted with merciless, soul-sucking distractions—most of which, I now realize, are far less necessary to life than I’d been indoctrinated into believing. These are not noble obligations. They’re ravenous consumers of my most unrenewable resources—chief among them, time. And, as I’ve come to appreciate with increasing urgency, health. I know better now.
I read—a lot—during the break, falling into all the rabbit holes without which I wouldn’t have had anything to offer to anyone reading my books or newsletter. So, thank you for allowing me the time to rest—to take care of my health, my work, the abandoned projects that have been accumulating both metaphorical and literal dust. Oh, and a new book (!).
Anyway. The Epestle is back for 2025 and, with any luck, beyond. Paid subscribers, prepare yourselves for a new series: The Timeless Table, where we unearth old Thai recipes and adapt them for the modern kitchen. We have a whole year’s worth of discoveries lined up, including a minimalist, century-old version of mi krop (also romanized mee krob), which—fun fact—is still commercially available today.1
As for the ongoing series? Fear not: they are still, appropriately, ongoing. The popular The Impermanence of Things series remains steadfast in its transience. The Nam Phrik (Relishes) series will continue to be as spicy as you dare. The Linguistics posts, where we perform daring feats of philological acrobatics—occasionally dragging ancient Greek manuscripts into discussions of Thai food—show no signs of becoming less bendy anytime soon. And the History series will, of course, persist in its historicalness. (If you recall the tale of how the French ambassador to Siam woke up one morning in 1685 and chose passive-aggression, you’ll be delighted to hear that Part Two is coming and, oh la vache, dripping with drama.)
But before we dive back into all that, let’s catch up. Here’s a collection of things—some related to Thai food, some not—that I’ve been eating, making, and doing since The Epestle last landed in your inbox.
Let’s begin with the most important question: Have you started your annual batch of fish sauce? I have. If you’ve never tried, here’s how—> Fish Sauce from Scratch—Part One is for paid subscribers, but the post is now open for all subscribers and will remain accessible for the next three days.
I’ve long been a devoted fan of fennel.2 And yet, I don’t think I’ve ever consumed this much fennel, in all its glorious forms, as I have over the past several days. I blame a recent brunch at Chicago’s beloved Lula Café: French omelet, filled with butternut squash and ricotta, and served with a simple microgreens salad and a slice of baguette—toasted, buttered, and dusted with fennel pollen. It was transcendent.
Have you had fennel pollen? If you haven’t, try it! (This one is my favorite. A little spendy, but fear not: a pinch is all you need.) Just don’t blame me if you start every morning with a highly flavor-specific craving for crusty bread, toasted, slathered with French butter3, with a sprinkle of fennel pollen.
I’ve also been eating an alarming amount of som tam—with grated carrots. You can use the generic som tam recipe in Simple Thai Food, swapping out the green papaya for carrots. (But if you’d like the official carrot som tam recipe, it’s in Flavors of the Southeast Asian Grill.) I often turn it into a full meal by adding shrimp—poached lightly in salted, barely simmering water—but honestly, the salad holds its own.
Whatever you do, grate your carrots properly. Use a Kiwi (a.k.a. the best $5-7 you’ll ever spend) or a good julienne grater—though the latter won’t give you such slender, elegant strands. A box grater? Absolutely not. It’s simply not qualified for this highly specialized job (but it’s been around so long that HR just lets it slide).
If you have Bangkok, you know how to make foi thong—those iconic golden threads, the ancient Siamese take on Portuguese fios de ovos.4 And if you’re a paid subscriber of The Epestle, you’ve mastered Trang-style pandan chiffon cake—which, as you well know, is distinct from its lookalike counterparts. Now, the only thing standing between you and the most glorious plate of dessert you see above? Stella Parks’s whipped cream. How many plates of this combo had I devoured lately? I could tell you, but my doctor subscribes to this newsletter.
I’ve also rekindled my passion for hydroponic gardening—mostly because the faint humming and soft glow of these tabletop contraptions have been a lifeline during Chicago’s brutal winter. (We’re in the single digits—that’s Fahrenheit—today, and it’s not even January anymore.)
This very affordable six-podder by Aerogarden has been a steadfast companion. I’ve got two running at the moment—one bursting with six varieties of lettuce, including the ridiculously photogenic speckled butterhead, and the other entirely devoted to dill. Dill, in case you didn’t know, is a legitimate staple in Thai cooking and a high-maintenance herb that, when store-bought, dies in the fridge faster than my New Year’s resolution to hit the gym every day.
Author Ong Bunjoon has just released his new book, ข้างสำรับอุษาคเนย์ (“At the Southeast Asian Table”)—a sequel to his ข้างสำรับมอญ (“At the Mon Table”). It’s Ong dropping knowledge, so the book is, of course, packed with fascinating things. Ong is not just a scholar—a newly minted Ph.D.—but also Thai of Mon descent, giving him both academic expertise and a deeply personal connection to his subject. Plus, he’s just a genuinely wonderful human—love him to death!
It’s in Thai, though, and available only in Thailand.
Speaking of the Mon, if you’re in Bangkok, you know that the ever-so-fleeting khao chae5 season is fast approaching. It’s going to be big, extravagant, and utterly over the top. All the stops pulled. Ice everywhere. Fruits and vegetables carved with even more fervor than usual. Jasmine buds and rose petals raining down like confetti.
But if you visit Thailand outside the sweltering, khao chae-justifies-its-existence hot season, you can still enjoy a more homespun, everyday version year-round in the Mon community on Koh Kret.6
I just made a brief—very brief—pit stop in Thailand over the break and thought I’d snap a photo of my khao chae lunch on Koh Kret—complete with butterfly pea-tinted rice—just for you.
And, of course, no trip to Bangkok is complete without at least one bowl of boat noodles.
These days, though, I no longer brave Bangkok’s relentless sun in search of the city’s best—too many of the greats have either shuttered or declined beyond recognition.7 Instead, I head to Thong Smith.8 And really, what better way to enjoy a bowl of boat noodles than from a balcony overlooking the Chao Phraya?
Let’s wrap up this edition of The Epestle with a love declaration.
I know, I know—no DMs needed—durian isn’t in season in the winter. And if I choose to eat mediocre, out-of-season durian, well, that disappointment is entirely on me. But I couldn’t have left Bangkok for Chicago without at least stealing one last look at the love of my life.
Durian completes me. It had me at hello. I would rather spend one lifetime with it than face all the ages of the world alone. To me, it is perfect.
Did I leave out any movie?
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This version fascinates me to no end because it may very well be the urtext—to borrow from textual criticism—of what we recognize as mi krop today.
Read my What Can’t Fennel Do?—a notable inclusion in the 2020 edition of The Best American Food Writing.
Or, if you’re in Chicago, you can conveniently grab some pre-made at Talard Thai.
Khao chae is a traditional Thai dish of rice soaked in chilled, jasmine-scented water, served with an array of savory, intricately prepared side dishes—a royal summer delicacy with Mon origins. More details (and recipe) can be found in my Bangkok book.
Koh Kret is a small island in the Chao Phraya River, just north of Bangkok, home to a thriving Thai-Mon community known for its traditional pottery, traditional Mon cuisine, and laid-back village atmosphere. This place is great for a day or half-day trip from central Bangkok. There, you can explore historic temples, weekend markets, and pottery workshops. It’s a very peaceful spot.
Well, except one. The place doesn’t look like much, and there isn’t anything else around to eat, see, or do (unless you count the beautiful mural paintings inside the main sanctuary of Khrueawan Temple across the street or the Temple of Dawn nearby). But is it worth the trip out to the Thonburi side of the city? Yes, it is.