Читать книгу Floyd’s Thai Food - Keith Floyd - Страница 8

On this early Bangkok morning, the waiter brings me a bowl of plump, duck red Thai curry. I am drinking apple juice, it is six o’clock in the morning and yet the Intercontinental Hotel, where I am staying for free, is buzzing. Multilingual businessmen are eating with one hand while the other clamps their mobile phones to their ears. If you suffer from a hangover or jetlag, there is nothing better than this exquisite spicy food I am eating. My very good friends at Pakistan International Airways kindly flew me to Bangkok, but by the global scenic route (of course, I am not complaining because the flight was free – thank you, PIA) and, I must say, the in-flight Pakistani food is delicious. The reason I am wrecked at breakfast time like a wet sack of rice is because I flew from Heathrow to Lahore, from Lahore to Islamabad, from Islamabad to Hong Kong and Hong Kong to Bangkok and did not sleep a wink.

My driver, Pata, is waiting to take me away on this Sunday morning to the huge market where I will have another breakfast, this time of succulent, ripe mango and creamy sticky rice. A hawker, standing behind his mobile kitchen, built on an elaborate tricycle, laughs with charming disbelief when I request crushed, dried chillies to be sprinkled on my mango. That, washed down with the milk from a freshly decapitated coconut, has brought me and the morning back to life. For four hours I walk up and down the crowded stalls, while my photographer is taking pictures.

A superb meal aboard Pakistan International Airways.

Naheed Tabassum, a charming member of the crew.

My good friend Mr John Nielsen of the Intercontinental Hotel, Bangkok.

Street food at Chatuchak Market, Bangkok.

Grilling sticky rice and shrimp in banana leaves at Chatuchak Market.

Luscious tropical fruit at the market.

Coconut juice is very refreshing in the heat of Bangkok.

It is the rainy season and the humidity and temperature are insupportable. However, the charm of Thailand is washing over me like soft rain and it is funny to think that fifteen or sixteen years ago I was sitting in a hotel eating breakfast, but that time in Newcastle. We were about to film a BBC programme called ‘Far Flung Floyd’ and were due to go to Thailand. The general manager of the Gosforth Park Hotel told me I would enjoy meeting Thai hotelier Khun Akorn and his wife Chompanut. I asked him how he knew more about my life and my work than I. Enigmatically he said, ‘Wait and see’ and lit a cigar and swept out of the room.

I must point out that at that time, Akorn owned the largest hotel chain in Thailand, an empire that stretched from virtually the borders of Burma to the enchanting island of Samui. Akorn is sadly no longer with us, but because of him, and indeed his wife and his staff, every door in the country was opened to us during our filming. In his philosophical and altruistic way, Akorn wanted no commercial credit for what he did. He didn’t want his hotel logos to appear on camera, he just wanted to assist us to show that Thailand is a magical destination. I frequently stayed with Akorn on Samui and, over a bottle of Black Label, we would talk of food and wine and Buddhism, while he puffed on an aromatic cigar as the waves lapped onto the nearby beach. I dedicate this book to him and his family.

These grilled sticky rice in banana leaf rolls are jolly good.

The wonderful beaches of the island of Phuket, getting back to normal after the Tsunami.

So, here I am again, and now we’ve travelled to Phuket, where I’m having breakfast once again. Believe you me, breakfast is a very important meal in my life, because you never know the events that may unfold throughout the rest of the day. I am sharing my breakfast with Mr and Mrs Minah. They are sitting in the hanging basket of orchids just above my head by the pool, chirping happily here in the charming Burasari Hotel, where we are staying. From time to time, they hop onto the table for a few grains of rice or another sugar cube. I am eating boiled rice soup and pieces of roast pork, lashed with chillies, chopped spring onions and fresh coriander. It is hot, but I am feeling good.

A chance to chill out in Phuket – Pearl Island is in the background.

Believe it or not, I’m drinking tea.

These fish are so spanking fresh.

After breakfast, our hosts at the hotel, the managing director, a charming lady called Khun Lilly, the general manager, Mike, and the food and beverage director, Mark, take us on a gentle tour around the island.

Phuket was badly hit by the Tsunami of 2004, but apart from the emotional scars, it is pretty much back on track. The hotels are back in business, the great little tumbledown beach restaurants are back in business and, of course, the shopping areas are throbbing with people. There are some wonderful beaches, but if you want to get away from the crowds, you can go up into the richly wooded hills or take a long-tail boat to one of the many tranquil little islands that seem to float in clear, turquoise water – so clear that you can see the shoals of multi-coloured fish dancing around close by.

We stopped for lunch at a beach restaurant that Mike knew well and had some spicy, tangy salads – virtually the signature dish of Southern Thailand, the fiery prawn soup Tom yam goong and spanking fresh bream, dorade and other fishes simply grilled over charcoal by smiling, busy, cheerful ladies. It is too hot to drink wine, particularly in the daytime, so recommended drinks are – and this is what the locals have – freshly squeezed lime juice and soda, ice-cold Thai beer, or green tea (although many Thai people favour very watery whisky).

We sat on the beach under a banana leaf-thatched roof and watched the long-tail boats hurtling by and fishermen coming back with their catch to go and unload it against picturesque wooden piers.

A wonderful array of Thai pancakes at the Damnoen-Saduak floating market in Bangkok.

A painted lady noodle seller of Damnoen-Saduak floating market.

The Slam winery vineyard.

The following day we flew back to Bangkok and checked into the Intercontinental Hotel, before taking an air-conditioned (essential) car ride down to Bangkok’s famous floating market. This is a complex of canals with pretty houses built on their edges, where you can take boat rides in cigar-shaped, traditional Thai punts, paddled gently through this labyrinth of waterways by smiling ladies. Tied alongside the main landing stage are dozens of these charming little boats, each with a lady in it, sitting cross-legged, selling their freshly picked produce – all kinds of greenery, lemons, limes and other fruits. Some are making delightful little Thai sweets, or stir-frying noodles, or grilling racks of prawns and small fish.

From there we move to the curiously named ‘Floating vineyards’, which are about 30 km outside the city and which take hours to get to because the Bangkok traffic is appalling. Since there is so much water available, these vines are planted on little raised, rectangular islands and they are irrigated twice a day by the simple expedient of a sluice gate. Hitherto, I had not known that Thai wine was produced in Thailand and, although quite expensive, it was jolly good.

Back to Bangkok and we hurtle around as many restaurants as possible to check out what is happening in this big city. Then, after a sightseeing tour, at lightning speed, of the incredible golden Royal Grand Palace, we get back, exhausted but happy, to the air-conditioned freshness of the hotel. We had been on the go for twelve hours this particular day and, after a shower and change of clothes, I sank happily into the comfortable bar and, as is the Thai custom, had a refreshing Johnny Walker Black Label with lots and lots of iced water.

It might be a precarious way of checking the grapes, but the end product gets my approval.

The stunning Royal Grand Palace, Bangkok.

To my amazement, I saw a chef walking towards me in his immaculate whites and white clogs and, my goodness me, it was an old friend of mine, Marcel Nosari, now the executive chef of the hotel and trying to control 600 cooks, perish the thought! It was an invaluable meeting because he had just opened, in stark contrast to the beach bars and street vendors’ chariots, a light, airy and exquisite Thai restaurant in the hotel, called the ‘Charm Thai’. This served modernized and stylishly presented food, which I thoroughly enjoyed, but because my assistant Adrian cannot take spicy food of any kind, I managed to get special dispensation for him to have a fine steak, fresh vegetables and potatoes. I had a delicious deep-fried fish with chilli and cucumber sauce, followed by a spicy papaya salad and then a relatively hot yellow beef curry. The meal was finished by a sour tamarind sorbet and it was time for bed.

The next day, we took a terrifyingly fast, bouncing, long-tailed boat ride up the river past rickety little shacks standing perilously on stilts, and past the wats, all the while Tony the photographer shooting away like mad.

I rustled up this plate of refreshing papaya salad with my old friend Marcel Nosari, executive chef of the Intercontinental Hotel.

A trip down the Chao Phraya River, Bangkok.

The bananas are creamy and cheap.

The colourful Chao Phraya riverbank.

Scenes from Klong Toey Market, Bangkok.

The city streets were heaving with stalls, food hawkers, errand boys carrying huge sacks of rice on their heads, women with huge wicker baskets filled with fruit and vegetables, open-air butchers, and fresh chickens crowded into igloo-shaped bamboo cages. But, Mark and Mike say it is time for us to go back to Phuket. We had to fly back there to meet the architects and designers who, I hope, are going to follow my suggestions for the creation of Floyd’s Restaurant at the Burasari Hotel in Patong. We spent three days poring over plans, discussing menus and staff requirements, and although it is hard work starting any kind of enterprise like that (especially when you have to be au fait with Thai time), if you approach it gently as, by the way, everything that you do in Thailand should be approached, you will see why one smile makes two.

Keith Floyd

Burasari Hotel

Patong

Phuket

Thailand

2005