Thailand Food Quotes

Thinking about anything interesting?” I shrug and force my brain to stay with safer topics. “I didn’t know you could feed a baby Thai food.” Babydoll shovels a handful of shredded food into her mouth and swings her legs happily. She talks with her mouth full and half falls out. “Ah-da-da-da-da-da.” There’s a noodle in her hair, and Kristin reaches out to pull it free. Geoff scoops some coconut rice onto his plate and tops it with a third serving of beef. “What do you think they feed babies in Thailand?” I aim a chopstick in his direction. “Point.” Rev smiles. “Some kid in Bangkok is probably watching his mom tear up a hamburger, saying ‘I didn’t know you could feed a baby American food.’” “Well,” says Geoff. “Culturally—” “It was a joke

The monkey liked most humans. They left food cans outside their homes for his family to rummage through in the morning sun. Some yelled and threw sticks, but were slow and didn’t bite. Humans were mostly harmless.

I no longer have a bucket list. I have love in my life. This is far greater than seeing the Pyramids, climbing mountains, eating Thai food in Thailand, or any other physical activity that might be fun to experience. I am loved and I have loved. My bucket list is complete.

Claudia Roden, and Paula Wolfert (Mediterranean), Diana Kennedy and Maricel Presilla (Mexico), Andy Ricker and David Thompson (Thailand), Andrea Nguyen and Charles Phan (Vietnam). For general cooking: James Beard, April Bloomfield, Marion Cunningham, Suzanne Goin, Edna Lewis, Deborah Madison, Cal Peternell, David Tanis, Alice Waters, The Canal House, and The Joy of Cooking. For inspiring writing about food and cooking: Tamar Adler, Elizabeth David, MFK Fisher, Patience Gray, Jane Grigson, and Nigel Slater. For baking: Josey Baker, Flo Braker, Dorie Greenspan, David Lebovitz, Alice Medrich, Elisabeth Prueitt, Claire Ptak, Chad Robertson, and Lindsey Shere.

The more we enjoy our food, the more efficiently our bodies make use of its nutrients. In a now-classic experiment done in the 1970s, researchers in Thailand and Sweden fed volunteers from each country identical spicy Thai meals, then measured how much iron each volunteer had absorbed from the meal. The Thai volunteers absorbed 50 percent more iron from the meal than the Swedes; the researchers hypothesized that being familiar with the food served, and liking it, helped the Thai women digest it more effectively. In the next phase of the study, researchers took the same meal, mushed it into paste, and fed it to the volunteers again. This time the Thai women absorbed a lot less of the iron than they had before, presumably because mush is not quite as appetizing as real food.14

Diana talked about visits to Tokyo and Rome. Daisy listened, wistfully recalling her own grand plans. When Beatrice no longer needed bottles or sippie cups or an endless supply of chicken nuggets, Daisy had wanted to travel, and Hal had been perfectly amenable. The problem was that his idea of a perfect vacation was not Europe but, instead, a resort with a golf course that could be reached by a direct flight from Philadelphia International Airport, while Daisy wanted to eat hand-pulled noodles in Singapore and margherita pizza in Rome and warm pain au chocolat in Paris; she wanted to eat in a sushi bar in Tokyo and a trattoria in Tuscany; to eat paella in Madrid and green papaya salad in Thailand; shaved ice in Hawaii and French toast in Hong Kong; she wanted to encourage, in Beatrice, a love of food, of taste, of all the good things in the world. And she'd ended up married to a man who'd once told her that his idea of hell was a nine-course tasting menu.

Use food and drink to blur an unpleasant message. Aini told me, “If I have to provide criticism to someone on my staff, I am not going to call them into my office. If I do, I know that they are going to be listening to my message with all of their senses—and any message I provide will be greatly amplified in their minds. Instead, I might invite them out to lunch. Once we are relaxed, this is a good time to give feedback. We don’t make reference to it in the office the next day or the next week, but the feedback has been passed and the receiver is now able to take action without humiliation or breaking the harmony between the two parties. In Japan, Thailand, Korea, China, or Indonesia, the same strategy applies.

In November 2015, Nestle admitted that they used slave labor from Thailand in the production of their Fancy Feast cat food brand.

Go beyond tourist zones for the fun midnight eating adventure. Cruise along streets via Tuk Tuk to visit Bangkokian’s favorite places to eat and to discover the side of Bangkok wholly unknown to visitors.

2012 Andy’s Message   Young, I have clear memories of Amsterdam. Last year, I returned to the canal city for a vacation. ‘The District’ in 1968 was very different compared to 2011. This area is now a well-organized vicinity with numerous cafes, eateries and new editions to the vibrant landscape. The ban on brothels was lifted in 2000. The De Wallen activities are now actively regulated and controlled by the Dutch authorities.               Do you remember the prostitutes were predominantly Dutch, German, French and Belgian back then? Now, there are numerous Latinas, Blacks and Asians (mainly from the Philippines, the Golden Triangle and Thailand) working in the vicinity. They’re now liable for taxes.               Many coffee shops had also sprung up. Though food, alcohol, and tobacco are generally consumed outside the cafes, these establishments are licensed to sell cannabis and soft drugs.               You remember those narrow alleyways that Jabril took us down, where the sex workers sat elegantly in windows that resembled living rooms? These are now one-room cabins that prostitutes rent to offer their sexual services from behind a window or glass door; often illuminated by red lights - better known as “kamers.” ‘The District’ is now a tourist attraction…

HAVING NEVER taken a decent holiday before, I decided on a trip to Thailand, booked a flight and flew out the following week. Mate, I loved it. The friendly people, the food, the females!

This point was driven home for me for the first time when I was traveling in Asia in 1978 on a trip to a forest monastery in northeastern Thailand, Wat Ba Pong, on the Thai-Lao border. I was taken there by my meditation teacher, Jack Kornfield, who was escorting a group of us to meet the monk under whom he had studied at that forest hermitage. This man, Achaan Chaa, described himself as a “simple forest monk,” and he ran a hundred-acre forest monastery that was simple and old-fashioned, with one notable exception. Unlike most contemporary Buddhist monasteries in Thailand, where the practice of meditation as the Buddha had taught had all but died out, Achaan Chaa’s demanded intensive meditation practice and a slow, deliberate, mindful attention to the mundane details of everyday life. He had developed a reputation as a meditation master of the first order. My own first impressions of this serene environment were redolent of the newly extinguished Vietnam War, scenes of which were imprinted in my memory from years of media attention. The whole place looked extraordinarily fragile to me. On my first day, I was awakened before dawn to accompany the monks on their early morning alms rounds through the countryside. Clad in saffron robes, clutching black begging bowls, they wove single file through the green and brown rice paddies, mist rising, birds singing, as women and children knelt with heads bowed along the paths and held out offerings of sticky rice or fruits. The houses along the way were wooden structures, often perched on stilts, with thatched roofs. Despite the children running back and forth laughing at the odd collection of Westerners trailing the monks, the whole early morning seemed caught in a hush. After breakfasting on the collected food, we were ushered into an audience with Achaan Chaa. A severe-looking man with a kindly twinkle in his eyes, he sat patiently waiting for us to articulate the question that had brought us to him from such a distance. Finally, we made an attempt: “What are you really talking about? What do you mean by ‘eradicating craving’?” Achaan Chaa looked down and smiled faintly. He picked up the glass of drinking water to his left. Holding it up to us, he spoke in the chirpy Lao dialect that was his native tongue: “You see this goblet? For me, this glass is already broken. I enjoy it; I drink out of it. It holds my water admirably, sometimes even reflecting the sun in beautiful patterns. If I should tap it, it has a lovely ring to it. But when I put this glass on a shelf and the wind knocks it over or my elbow brushes it off the table and it falls to the ground and shatters, I say, ‘Of course.’ But when I understand that this glass is already broken, every moment with it is precious.”5 Achaan Chaa was not just talking about the glass, of course, nor was he speaking merely of the phenomenal world, the forest monastery, the body, or the inevitability of death. He was also speaking to each of us about the self. This self that you take to be so real, he was saying, is already broken.

As he's commandeering the mussels, I race around wildly to gather the ingredients: kaffir leaves and limes, coconut milk, coconut sugar, galanga, lemongrass, spicy red peppers, straw mushrooms, garlic, green onions, ginger, and coriander. When he returns, he clears his throat and his hand snakes over the ingredients. "I know what you're up to. I spent a lot of time in Thailand, having lived there. Your recipe is based off of tom kha gai, but instead of chicken you're using mussels

After Charles rinses and scrubs the mussels, side by side, we prepare the meal. While I slice the galanga, Charles braises the shallots, ginger, and fennel, adding in the lemongrass. I'm in a trance, now in Thailand. With him. We're floating in a pond filled with lotus flowers, the water warm, and I'm getting ready for a spiritual awakening--- "The galanga," says Charles, and our hands touch as I pass it over. He adds it to the pan and a moment later, after adding in the coconut milk and squeezing the lime juice, he holds out a spoon. "Taste this." The flavor is warm, with a little heat and sweetness, infused with the citrusy lemongrass, ginger, and garlic. I let out a soft moan. "What do you think?" "I think you're incredible," I say, quickly recovering. "Um, this sauce is heaven on my tongue. My palate is awake." I will my legs to stop quivering.

I'd wanted to travel through Asia most of my life, sample all the incredible street food in Thailand and Vietnam, tour Japan's famous convenience stores that sold food as good as their restaurants, slurp cumin lamb hand-torn noodles in China.

Even, sometimes, top-down fiat: see the strange case of pad Thai, a Chinese-origin noodle dish (like ramen) that got “Thaified” with tamarind and palm sugar and decreed the national street food by the 1930s dictator Phibun—part of his campaign that included renaming Siam as Thailand, banning minority languages, and pushing Chinese vendors off the streets.

Thinking about Thailand tends to make me angry, and until I started writing this book, I tried not to do it. I preferred it to stay tucked away in the back of my mind. But I do think about Thailand sometimes. Usually late at night, when I've been awake long enough to see the curtain patterns through the darkness and the shapes of the books on my shelves. At those times I make an effort to remember sitting in the glade with the shadow of the clock-hand branch lying across the ferns, smoking my cigarette. I choose this moment because it was the last time I could pinpoint that I was me being myself. Being normal, with nothing much going through my head apart from how pretty the island was, and how quiet. It isn't that from then on every second in Thailand was bad. Good things happened. Loads of good things. And mundane things, too: washing my face in the morning, swimming, fixing some food, whatever. But in retrospect, all those instances are colored by what was going on around them. Sometimes it feels to me that I walked into the glade and lit the cigarette, and someone else came along and finished it. Finished it, stubbed it out, flicked it into the bushes, then went to find Etienne and Françoise. It's a cop-out, because it's another thing that distances me from what happened, but that's how it feels. This other person did things I wouldn't do. It wasn't just our morals that were at odds, there were little character differences, too. The cigarette butt - the other guy flicked it into the bushes. I'd have done something else. Buried it maybe. I hate littering, let alone littering in a protected Marine park. It's hard to explain. I don't believe in possession or the supernatural. I know that in real terms it was me who flicked the cigarette butt. Fuck it. I've been relying on an idea that these things would become clear to me as I wrote them down, but it isn't turning out that way.

Page 81: The prejudices that exist are social and cultural [not racial], and of these there is no lack in either group. The Thai consider the Chinese uncouth because they are often loud and raucous in public, because they are noisy eaters, and have other food habits which the Thai deem very undesirable. They regard the Chinese as a dirty people who don’t bathe often, who neglect their personal appearance and befoul the areas in which they reside. To them, the Chinese are grasping, excessively materialistic, interested only in making money.

In the mountains, the white Hmong and the green Hmong had lived in separate enclaves. They had each spoken their own dialects and eaten their own foods of choice. Though friendly, they had hardly intermingled. Out of the mountains and into Thailand, they would all live together, sleep together, be comforted and scared together. In this camp, they found themselves listening carefully so they could understand each other; they felt they were all just Hmong—people without a history, rooted in the same past. There was long-ago China and despairing Laos—and the tones of a tongue, one lyrically smooth, the other stark and simple, both born in an experience of being Hmong. The difference was their own. They had learned from their years in the jungle that when no other peoples would help, Hmong people could help Hmong people. They had found that it was not necessary to have a country to stand together as one people. They found that without a country, finding a place to sleep was difficult.

Diabetes seemed very much to be a disease of civilization, absent in isolated populations eating their traditional diets and comparatively common among the privileged classes in those nations in which the rich ate European diets: Sri Lanka (then Ceylon), Thailand, Tunisia, and the Portuguese island of Madeira, among others.* 29 In China, diabetes was reportedly absent among the poor, but “the rich ones, who eat European food and drink sweet wine, suffer from it fairly often.

On the Road to Perfection: Driving Through India’s Best Highway Infrastructure A Journey to Remember Not all roads are created equal. Some you forget as soon as the journey ends, and some leave a mark—smooth, scenic, and satisfying. The Agra-Etawah Toll Road is one such route that stayed with me long after the engine was off. Having driven across several Indian highways, I can say with confidence: this one defines India’s Best Highway Infrastructure. The First Impression Leaving behind the historical charm of Agra, I cruised onto the toll road expecting a typical highway. But what I experienced was something entirely different—silky blacktop, disciplined lanes, no sudden jerks or potholes, and the kind of organized traffic that’s rare in India. This wasn't just a road—it was an experience. #India'sBestHighwayInfrastructure Speed, Safety, and Satisfaction What really amazed me was the consistent speed I could maintain without worrying about surprise speed breakers, stray cattle, or sharp turns. The road is beautifully engineered with guardrails, reflectors, service lanes, and clear signage. And with help centers and emergency services every few kilometers, you feel well taken care of throughout. #BestHighwayInfrastructure Infrastructure That Works I stopped at a clean rest area midway—complete with food joints, washrooms, and even a tyre repair facility. It felt like the road understood a traveler’s needs. It’s more than just a way to get from Agra to Etawah—it’s a well-thought-out highway ecosystem, built for modern India and its growing traffic demands. #ModernRoadMakers Driving Through India’s Potential This drive made me realize how road infrastructure isn’t just about connectivity—it’s about boosting local economies, improving tourism, and making everyday travel faster and safer. The Agra–Etawah Toll Road is a prime example of how far India has come and where it's headed. Final Reflections I’ve driven on highways in Thailand and UAE, but this Indian road matched them in quality—and surpassed many in character. If you love driving or are planning a road trip in Uttar Pradesh, do yourself a favor and take this route. You’ll not only save time but also enjoy a ride on what I truly believe is India’s Best Highway Infrastructure. #India'sBestHighwayInfrastructure #ModernRoadMakers

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