There are a lot of Thai fanatics in Seattle, and their loyalties run deep; people suggested places all over town, on Mercer Island, in Port Townsend, Vancouver, and even Las Vegas. One online reader from Asia ordered me to "get the hell out of North America, where the tired stereotype of Thai food will only enhance your distaste for the most delicious cuisine on the planet." Hmm.
Friends from the office sent me to Jamjuree (509 15th Ave E, 323-4255), a family-owned Capitol Hill favorite, for Thai seafood, curries (try the green curry seafood pot with tender bay scallops), noodle dishes, and other standards. The street-food appeal of fried fish cakes or chicken satay with pickled cucumbers was tempting, but I went with unfamiliar starters. Tom yum (hot and sour soup, $4/$6.95) was a steaming, softly tart tonic simmered with lemon grass, mushrooms, chilies, and lime juice--subtle hints of flavors to come. Spicy squid salad ($6.95) was anything but subtle, thanks to the bold blend of chopped onion, lemon grass, mint, chilies, cilantro, and lime juice tossed ceviche-style with rings of cooked squid, which is strong enough to absorb everything. I liked this a lot because, despite the spicy chilies, I could actually taste each ingredient's clear, bright flavor.
Bathing Rama ($6.95), however, reminded me of why I get so upset with Thai food. In this dish, thin slices of pork are nicely browned, served atop a generous pile of lightly sautéed spinach leaves... and then completely drenched with peanut-chili sauce. The clean taste of spinach and salty succulence of pork are totally obscured by the sugars and peanuts in that sauce. The same sort of thing happened to my deep-fried trout ($8.95), butterflied on a sizzling platter and suffocated with a thick sweet-and-sour chili sauce, fresh basil, and sautéed mushrooms. The overwhelming sauce and overcooked trout made me wistful for the taste of fresh fish.
Friends and readers told me if Thai Thom (4543 University Way NE, 548-9548) couldn't change my mind about Thai, then nothing would. This place is what I imagine eating in Thailand to be like--a dark, narrow storefront, diners sitting at the counter watching guys work silently over a powerful gas stove just inches away.
Here, you can learn a lot about Thai cooking. It's not about the menu--a single sheet of noodle/curry/stir-fry options with beef, chicken, or tofu (nothing over $10)--but about watching your meal being prepared. All the major components of Thai cuisine are here: hot oils and minced garlic, basil and lime leaves, peppers and chilies, bright reds and deep purples, curry pastes and coconut milk, shrimp paste, fish sauce (nahm bplah--the backbone of Thai sauces), turmeric and tamarind, galangal ginger, and dark palm sugar.
Cooks ladle varying portions of sauces, meats, vegetables, and spices--all prepped and waiting in big open containers--into crusty woks, and keep the ingredients dancing frantically on blackened surfaces over tall flames. Preparation methods are inexact, portions are eyeballed--instinct and rhythm and seasoning to taste matter more than measurements and precision.
This is vibrant, macho cooking. Nothing about it is gentle--no simmering or stirring. Ingredients don't spend a lot of time on the fire, so they don't suffer from overkill-spice-absorption and mushiness. (Thai Thom's eggplant curry, for example, is layered with distinct tastes because everything doesn't soak in a curry bath for very long, and the eggplant has a sturdy texture to it.) Dishes are barely started before they're plated up and eaten. The house "special Thai sauce," salty and garlicky and pungent, is poured over shock-seared vegetables and steamed rice with the flick of a wrist. Bean sprouts are tossed for a few seconds with fried garlic and and basil leaves, then dumped onto a plate, glistening and looking slightly stunned--the whole thing is over before those sprouts realize they've been cooked. Perhaps this is the rule of Thai cuisine: speed and alchemy and fresh, strong dishes. I'd sit at that counter and watch for hours if I could, but there's always someone waiting for my seat.
