Report from Bangkok Post dated 3 April 2012 :-
When we last dined together at Baan Suan restaurant in Mae Rim, we ordered this dish. The flavour of its slightly bitter/astringent spiced broth awakened memories long dormant in me of an elderly lady for whom gaeng khee lek was a tranquilizer that she took regularly to smooth out the rough edges of her life. Her story, which seems both tragic and romantic in retrospect, was told to me by a childhood friend.
The leading beauty in her hometown, this lady went on to win a nationwide beauty contest. There were suitors, one in particular whom she loved. He was a strikingly handsome soldier with a silver tongue, but no fortune. Her family pressed for a match with a wealthy man, whom she eventually married. He built her a house by the river as a wedding gift. She insisted that a species of tree indigenous to these parts called khee lek _ Cassia siamea (Lank.) is the botanical name _ be planted by the side of the house. It was a young tree, not much older than the newly-weds' new home.
Her marriage turned out to be a loveless union which produced no heir, but the tree, lovingly cared for, thrived. She would pluck the young shoots and buds during the monsoon season, then boil and preserve them by bottling them in brine. She passed many an evening by tucking into a meal of herbal gaeng (curry) made with tender khee lek shoots and buds and chunks of grilled beef, spiced and laced with coconut cream. The dish seemed to soothe her heartache and promised a night of peaceful sleep.
Her husband eventually passed on, leaving her alone in a big house filled with memorabilia of her brief but dazzling period in the limelight. Pictures of a young woman with a heart-shaped face framed by short curly hair, posing in the latest fashions of that period, ageless and forever smiling, adorned the walls of every room.
Her first love, the impecunious young soldier, went on to become an influential general. He eventually married and started a family of his own, but he never forgot her. They maintained a friendship, which flourished as they aged, remaining as steady as her khee lek tree. His goodwill towards the widow spread to his relations, who embraced her as one of their own. A member of this clan, a nephew of the general, is a friend of mine _ the person who shared this story with me.
He and I went to the widow's home where my friend was putting together a grand feast, a benefit for the university at which he was teaching. He introduced me to the a petite, elegant lady of the house as his "aunt".
As he and I stood on an upper balcony, surveying the lawn next to the river where the dinner was to be served, I noticed that it was blanketed with yellow pedals from a nearby tree with was covered with glorious blooms. Its giant branches had reached out and wrapped thick, sinewy "fingers" around the railing of the balcony, found purchase on the wall and kept growing. Glancing up I noticed that a few of the heavy boughs were actually resting on the tiles of the roof.
Soft, golden afternoon light peeked through the tightly woven lattice of branches and leaves, casting imprints of embroidered lace upon the wooden balcony.
No sooner had a young servant gathered up the fallen pedals than the wind stirred again, scattering another wave of yellow petals across the freshly swept floor.
My friend's aunt stepped onto the balcony to join us. She made a dismissive gesture, indicating that the servant should ignore the new deposit of khee lek blossoms. I felt a little frisson when I heard the name of the flower and exclaimed that it was one of my favourite ingredients for a gaeng. A gentle smile radiated across her face as she confessed that it was a particular favourite of hers, too.
As a matter of fact, she went on, she'd been expecting people to be bustling about the house all day so she had risen early to pick a basketful of these blooms. The cook had already made them into a gaeng, using grilled fish instead of beef, a preference she'd acquired as she grew older. It was to be her main dish for dinner that evening, she added.
My friend voiced his disappointment, pleading with her to join the party at the tables being set up on the lawn.
She did come down briefly, later on, staying just long enough to greet the guests. I can still see her, dressed in an antique sarong of green silk interwoven with purple and silver threads, her grey hair pulled back into a tight bun adorned with a cluster of khee lek flowers.
That evening, as the moon rose high into the sky, splashing the river below with its glittering light, and sweet music from the party filled the air, I glanced up towards the balcony and could just make out the faint outline of a figure sitting in an easy chair with a table set in front of her. I imagined her spooning a good helping of gaeng khee lek over her rice, stirring it gently and then relishing the first mouthful.
I imagined that the familiar and expected pleasure of the bitter, salty and spicy flavours would warm her heart, as she dined on the pleasingly soft textures of the khee lek leaves and buds.
I hoped that sleep would come easily to her that night, despite the revelries in the garden below, and that the soothing khee lek potion would envelop her in a curtain of darkness, giving her calm and contentment until dawn.
- Making the spice paste
Put the salt and garlic into a pestle and mortar and reduce to a paste. One by one, in sequence, add the remaining ingredients and continue pounding until they are all incorporated into a smooth paste.
- Ingredients for the curry
PREPARATION:
- Bring water to the boil in a large saucepan. Add one tablespoon of salt and the khee lek leaves, shoots and buds. Stir, lower the heat to medium and cook for 30 minutes to one hour, or until soft. Strain off the cooking water then rinse the greens in several changes of cool water. Pat dry. Set aside.
- In a saucepan, combine one cup of coconut cream with the spice paste over a medium-low heat. Stir continuously to blend until the oil separates out, taking on the colour of the chilli. Increase the heat to medium-high, and add the khee lek and coconut milk/cream mixture. Stir well and once it comes to a boil, lower the heat to medium and cook for at least 30 minutes or until the khee lek is very tender. Add the filleted fish and season with the remaining one teaspoon of salt and the fish sauce. Taste to ensure there's a balance between spiciness and saltiness.
- Warm the remaining half cup of coconut cream in a saucepan and ladle it over the gaeng just before serving. Best eaten with organic hand-polished rice.
Arboreal astringent with staying power
My friend, Khun Mom, calls it an old-fashioned dish. Perhaps because only the older generations of Thai people, who grew up eating bitter-tasting food, crave it. And perhaps he's right since gaeng khee lek is rarely found on menus in Thai restaurants nowadays.
When we last dined together at Baan Suan restaurant in Mae Rim, we ordered this dish. The flavour of its slightly bitter/astringent spiced broth awakened memories long dormant in me of an elderly lady for whom gaeng khee lek was a tranquilizer that she took regularly to smooth out the rough edges of her life. Her story, which seems both tragic and romantic in retrospect, was told to me by a childhood friend.
The leading beauty in her hometown, this lady went on to win a nationwide beauty contest. There were suitors, one in particular whom she loved. He was a strikingly handsome soldier with a silver tongue, but no fortune. Her family pressed for a match with a wealthy man, whom she eventually married. He built her a house by the river as a wedding gift. She insisted that a species of tree indigenous to these parts called khee lek _ Cassia siamea (Lank.) is the botanical name _ be planted by the side of the house. It was a young tree, not much older than the newly-weds' new home.
Her marriage turned out to be a loveless union which produced no heir, but the tree, lovingly cared for, thrived. She would pluck the young shoots and buds during the monsoon season, then boil and preserve them by bottling them in brine. She passed many an evening by tucking into a meal of herbal gaeng (curry) made with tender khee lek shoots and buds and chunks of grilled beef, spiced and laced with coconut cream. The dish seemed to soothe her heartache and promised a night of peaceful sleep.
Her husband eventually passed on, leaving her alone in a big house filled with memorabilia of her brief but dazzling period in the limelight. Pictures of a young woman with a heart-shaped face framed by short curly hair, posing in the latest fashions of that period, ageless and forever smiling, adorned the walls of every room.
Her first love, the impecunious young soldier, went on to become an influential general. He eventually married and started a family of his own, but he never forgot her. They maintained a friendship, which flourished as they aged, remaining as steady as her khee lek tree. His goodwill towards the widow spread to his relations, who embraced her as one of their own. A member of this clan, a nephew of the general, is a friend of mine _ the person who shared this story with me.
He and I went to the widow's home where my friend was putting together a grand feast, a benefit for the university at which he was teaching. He introduced me to the a petite, elegant lady of the house as his "aunt".
As he and I stood on an upper balcony, surveying the lawn next to the river where the dinner was to be served, I noticed that it was blanketed with yellow pedals from a nearby tree with was covered with glorious blooms. Its giant branches had reached out and wrapped thick, sinewy "fingers" around the railing of the balcony, found purchase on the wall and kept growing. Glancing up I noticed that a few of the heavy boughs were actually resting on the tiles of the roof.
Soft, golden afternoon light peeked through the tightly woven lattice of branches and leaves, casting imprints of embroidered lace upon the wooden balcony.
No sooner had a young servant gathered up the fallen pedals than the wind stirred again, scattering another wave of yellow petals across the freshly swept floor.
My friend's aunt stepped onto the balcony to join us. She made a dismissive gesture, indicating that the servant should ignore the new deposit of khee lek blossoms. I felt a little frisson when I heard the name of the flower and exclaimed that it was one of my favourite ingredients for a gaeng. A gentle smile radiated across her face as she confessed that it was a particular favourite of hers, too.
As a matter of fact, she went on, she'd been expecting people to be bustling about the house all day so she had risen early to pick a basketful of these blooms. The cook had already made them into a gaeng, using grilled fish instead of beef, a preference she'd acquired as she grew older. It was to be her main dish for dinner that evening, she added.
My friend voiced his disappointment, pleading with her to join the party at the tables being set up on the lawn.
She did come down briefly, later on, staying just long enough to greet the guests. I can still see her, dressed in an antique sarong of green silk interwoven with purple and silver threads, her grey hair pulled back into a tight bun adorned with a cluster of khee lek flowers.
That evening, as the moon rose high into the sky, splashing the river below with its glittering light, and sweet music from the party filled the air, I glanced up towards the balcony and could just make out the faint outline of a figure sitting in an easy chair with a table set in front of her. I imagined her spooning a good helping of gaeng khee lek over her rice, stirring it gently and then relishing the first mouthful.
I imagined that the familiar and expected pleasure of the bitter, salty and spicy flavours would warm her heart, as she dined on the pleasingly soft textures of the khee lek leaves and buds.
I hoped that sleep would come easily to her that night, despite the revelries in the garden below, and that the soothing khee lek potion would envelop her in a curtain of darkness, giving her calm and contentment until dawn.
GAENG KHEE LEK
INGREDIENTS:- Making the spice paste
Put the salt and garlic into a pestle and mortar and reduce to a paste. One by one, in sequence, add the remaining ingredients and continue pounding until they are all incorporated into a smooth paste.
- Ingredients for the curry
PREPARATION:
- Bring water to the boil in a large saucepan. Add one tablespoon of salt and the khee lek leaves, shoots and buds. Stir, lower the heat to medium and cook for 30 minutes to one hour, or until soft. Strain off the cooking water then rinse the greens in several changes of cool water. Pat dry. Set aside.
- In a saucepan, combine one cup of coconut cream with the spice paste over a medium-low heat. Stir continuously to blend until the oil separates out, taking on the colour of the chilli. Increase the heat to medium-high, and add the khee lek and coconut milk/cream mixture. Stir well and once it comes to a boil, lower the heat to medium and cook for at least 30 minutes or until the khee lek is very tender. Add the filleted fish and season with the remaining one teaspoon of salt and the fish sauce. Taste to ensure there's a balance between spiciness and saltiness.
- Warm the remaining half cup of coconut cream in a saucepan and ladle it over the gaeng just before serving. Best eaten with organic hand-polished rice.