You know, people get really hung up on this idea of “authentic” Thai cuisine. Like, if it doesn’t have exactly seventeen specific herbs, half of which you can only find on a Tuesday in a village two hours outside Chiang Mai, then it’s just not legit. It always makes me chuckle, and reminds me of this one time I went down that rabbit hole myself.
A few years back, I had this amazing Tom Kha Gai soup at a little place on holiday. It was mind-blowing. Creamy, tangy, spicy, fragrant – the works. When I got home, I became obsessed. I wasn’t just going to make Tom Kha Gai; I was going to make that Tom Kha Gai. The “authentic” one.
So, the quest began. First, the ingredients. My regular supermarket? Forget it. Lemongrass, okay, maybe. Galangal? “Is that like ginger?” the kid at the store asked. Kaffir lime leaves? Might as well have asked for unicorn tears. I ended up driving to three different specialty Asian markets across town. My car smelled like a very confused herb garden for a week.
I found this recipe online, supposedly from a Thai grandma. It had about 30 steps. Thirty! For soup! I had to toast my own chili flakes, make my own coconut cream from scratch (almost gave up there), and pound things in a mortar and pestle I didn’t even know I owned until I dug it out from the back of a cupboard.
My kitchen looked like a disaster zone. There were bits of coconut everywhere. My eyes were watering from the chilies. I’d spent half a day on this. I was determined. This was going to be authentic.
And then, the moment of truth. I dished it up, full of hope. Took a spoonful. And… it was… okay. It was decent soup. But it wasn’t that soup. It wasn’t the magic I remembered. It was just… my soup. A bit too much of something, not enough of another. Definitely not worth the Herculean effort.
I remember sitting there, looking at this bowl of perfectly okay, but decidedly un-magical, soup, and just feeling a bit silly. All that fuss for “authenticity.” What did that even mean? The grandma whose recipe I used probably had her own tweaks. The lady at the holiday spot probably had hers too, learned from her mom, or just from years of cooking.
It made me think. This whole chase for “authentic” can sometimes take the joy out of things. Maybe the “authentic” part isn’t about some rigid, unchanging formula. Maybe it’s about the spirit of it, the fresh ingredients, the balance of flavors that makes you happy.
Now? When I want Thai food, I still try to get good ingredients, sure. But I don’t sweat the “authenticity” police anymore. I make my Tom Kha Gai a bit quicker. Sometimes I even use store-bought coconut milk, gasp! And you know what? It tastes pretty good. Maybe not “authentic” by some random internet guru’s standards, but it’s good to me. And sometimes, that’s all the authenticity you need. Or, you just find a great local Thai spot and let them do the hard work. Way less washing up too.
