Part I
Saturday crept up real quick with ideally the perfect weather to drag my feet out onto the still icy tarmac. I waited on Niki as she panicked through budgets for work due Monday, but come on though, it’s Saturday. Me and Niki have worked out a system in which we would alternate our Saturdays in choosing where we dine, hence, I am proudly now thus announcing it is my day of indiscriminate selection. Picture underwater screaming turtles. (Excitement or otherwise)
Having said all that, my parents have frequently commented on my fickle mind, and during our weekly Zoom meetings, they have made this known to Niki as well, in which she sometimes uses to her advantage in dire matters such as Saturday lunch selection. I have let my turn go without any resuscitation just for my mere inability to decide. Today however, after dropping of the load of laundry around the corner from Starbucks Parque Sur, where we would stop by a couple of times for a slice of carrot cake and a lucuma frappuccino , I was discerning the difference between a new experience and quantity in my mind.
Thai food. Screaming like said earlier turtle, vibrating down my spine like the decision was already made for me by the divinity of decision-making.
We got in a Didi and headed toward Bangkok Restaurant, which was something we got for delivery during the lockdown of 2021. Although having the food delivered to us back then wasn’t an experience memorable enough for us to go back to anytime soon, exceptionally, it still lingered in the sensory library of my Asian taste authenticating brain. Well, things happening however things happen, it just hit me full force this Saturday.
The driver arrived at a classic looking Chifa styled restaurant and from the outside it didn’t expose Thai by any means except for its Siamese font screaming in bright yellow against the red background. As we entered, we were greeted by a chirpy waitress (who we later found out was Thai, could have fooled anyone) who sat us down at a table for two.
I took charge of the menu, as Niki sat across me with her headphones on, glued to a meeting that was still transpiring on Zoom. It wasn’t as important to her and allowed her the possibility to multitask our Saturday date to an amicable degree. In classic Malaysian Thai Restaurant style, I went with the Tom Yam for two. It was the perfect beginning for the long absence of Thai food from our lives.
As the first spoonful of broth coated my tongue with a burst of fragrant spice, fresh herbs (mint and basil), a very noticeable yet not overpowering tamarind sour, it ruled out all other potential appetizers. Potent yet comforting. Spicy yet rejuvenating. Niki did say it was the perfect level of spice (we got medium). Digging deeper, we found chunks of chicken, mushroom and pieces of tomatoes and onions among floating stalks of lemongrass which added another dimension of flavor.
Happiness ensued and Niki paid less and less attention to meeting transpired and her attention perked at the sound of clanking of utensils from the kitchen surely anticipating the next meal: Pad Thai, a dish that really needs no introduction. A combination of sweet, sour, salty and savory Thai rice noodle dish garnished with ground peanuts, chili flakes and brown sugar baby! Pad Thai is really something I grew up with, and when authenticity drives a bargain, it just can’t live up with what Bangkok, the city in this case, has to offer. I was 19 and just out of college. My boy Champ picked me up from the station where all the buses from Hat Yai disembarked. He took me, a Vietnam vet and his Malaysian wife, to a blueish fluorescent hut somewhere near a clocktower traffic circle with the best Pad Thai ever. So my standards are standards my dusty blisters.
Well, I’ll give Peru credit where it’s due. Ingredients in this beloved country have a way of making their way to this dish in all its exceptional glory. However, with all Thainess intact, it does render a flavor unique and reminiscent of its Thai origins. Now, put that into context, it still tasted 80 percent accessible, as in, I would expect 80 percent of this bitefull to be present somehow or in some way at any of the local Peruvian Chifas (Peruvian Chinese Restaurants). The color was tuned down a little as well and Niki immediately pondered if this was the quintessential Malaysian Kuay Teow Goreng. But Niki, that’s Malaysia baby. Not Thai. She did enjoy it as it was all new to her.
Now, concerning Thai green curries, it commences to be a tad bit controversial, at least for Niki and me, when we circle our spoons in the thick gravy, judging its authenticity of ingredients. Another bar that needs to be met is my personal concoction of this Thai delight, which I have bastardized eternally due to a lack of ingredients (this being Peru and not Malaysia). However, I have still managed to pull together a cross between an Estafado (Peruvian stew) and a Thai green curry. Many might crucify me by the balls for pulling a stunt like this, well, in my defense, it is a survival dish, something I put together just to deal with leftovers. I am now guessing, this is how the restaurant substituted theirs as well. Where certainty lays, never have I had potatoes in Thai green curry and due to good reason. I wouldn’t want potatoes in my Thai green curry ever again. It feels, tastes and breathes a foreign ingredient. The gravy however was nostalgic despite Niki not agreeing.
Part II
When we pushed the squeaky glass doors open, the recalcitrant winter sun greeted our faces with the hum of warmth. The tarmacs weren’t so icy anymore. We clutched each other’s hands in delight and it was indeed a fleeting end to an overall quite spectacular lunch choice. She was happy. Nostalgia was satiated. And we both headed toward Javier Prado with nothing else to do. We ended up on a park bench somewhere between Javier Prado and Av. Paseo Parodi and I had the brilliant craving/idea for Korean corn dogs. I’ve been hearing a rumor on social on how these fancy sausage stick have hit the streets of Lima and trending the balls out of a simple old fashioned corn dog. Just some simple tweaks to an old idea and the shit hits the fan. That’s my take at least. But still I wanted to try them and when I planted the seed in Niki’s mind, she flipped the screaming turtles out. In reality, Arenales Plaza has been on Niki’s mind for a while, a somewhat throwback to her anime infused youth. It is a Peruvian anime shopping center if you can ever imagine one: toys, dildos, corn dogs, scantly dressed women in Sailor Moon outfits, makis, Japanese school girl skirts (in which Niki purchased in hot pink with that gleam in her eye). We did a little window hopping before ending up at SnJ Corndogs on the third floor. The line to get one of these bad boys is reminiscent of a BTS concert, Lord have mercy. I got myself a mozzarella stick after all anticipated build up, turned out to be just a really cheesy corn dog with sweet and sour sauce drizzled in heart waves, in addition to ketchup and a sprinkle of parmesan. The crunch factor initially blew my mind but, the effect wasn’t prolonged and after several bites, it sure did feel like a heart attack on a stick, not like it’s a bad thing though.
Would I crave or go back for these hot blisters of cheese again, I probably wouldn’t. However, Arenales made up for it as it was as captivating as walking in Tokyo (not that I have). We stumbled out on the once again icy tarmacs dizzy from losing a couple of rounds of Street Fighter and Bombsquad. Our eyes dry from dreariness and our hearts filled to the brim with a Saturday well lived.
