(Note: I don’t usually get into these types of discussions because I think it’s a waste of time, but I am spelling “larb” this way instead of laap, laab, lhap, laebpt or whatever other way you feel is correct, because this is the spelling most often seen on romanized restaurant menus. This is also why I spell it “pad Thai” instead of phãatd Taï. “Debates” on how something should be properly spelled in a different language and alphabet from the original are, in my opinion, attempts at gatekeeping, much like how “street food experts” debate buildings and walls instead of food and culture. Periodt.)
I was reminded what the ’80s were like — truly like, not like in “Stranger Things” where everyone suddenly has stellar music taste and no one has ever heard of Taylor Dayne — when I came across a social media post “celebrating” (I guess?) the release of Poison’s “Look What the Cat Dragged In” 40 (?!) years ago. Out of all the things to have not really made it past the ’80s, like Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam, Nu Shooz, Shannon, and Donnie Iris, the genre known as “hair metal” is one of the most surprising, simply because it was so pervasive during its time. Prettier than Def Leppard, poppier than Van Halen, more glam than Bon Jovi, far less intimidating than Guns ‘N Roses, these guys were “metal” in name only, all surface. Arguably the most famous of these bands was Poison.
If you were to see these guys around today — shiny lip gloss, generous lashings of mascara and eyeliner, stripey pageant queen blush, flowing long locks — you would see an accompanying tornado of online furor over “trans influence” and the “death of masculinity”, fanned by people who most likely listened to bands like Poison in their formative years. For some reason there is no cognitive dissonance from these very same “alpha” males about their own childhood influences. David Bowie is classic rock, Twisted Sister and Kiss are tough macho men, and Axel Rose’s falsetto squawk is so manly that Donald Trump plays it at his rallies. Go figure. I wonder what these guys all have in common?
Anyway, because everything is political and a reflection of our times, I figured I could help macho men relight their flames of masculinity in another way, separate from music. Of course I’m talking about food. And what is the most manly-man, alpha type of Thai food out there? It’s larb, the Northern and Northeastern Thai answer to the “great American” steakhouse, traditionally made by men for men who want to be manly (the bloodier, the better).
Don’t confuse it with the larb you get at your typical Isan restaurant: this larb is way stickier and more pungent, made of beef or buffalo or (if you’re brave) pork, frequently served raw and seasoned with lots of blood and a mix of spices that either includes cinnamon and nutmeg (Northern) or lime leaves and roasted rice kernels (Northeastern), alongside leaves and herbs that are grown right where the animals feed.
There are, I’m sure, versions of this type of restaurant in Bangkok, though I have yet to go into one. Where I do like to go is in Isan, where larb joints are a dime a dozen, and in Chiang Mai, where there is a super famous larb place right near my parents’ home. Called Larb Ton Koi, it specializes in buffalo meat, collected fresh from the slaughterhouse and either served raw or lightly blanched and hand-minced into a larb or sliced raw or lightly blanched into a saa. So famous that it regularly commands 3-hour lines, the shop is sold out by 2:30, so we usually order to go. But if we were to stay, we would be able to watch the artistry of Chef Surat, who minces, slices, pounds and flavors every dish a la minute, with a single knife and his proprietary blend of spices while his wife makes the accompaniments, including gang om. Of course, the bulk of the clientele is male, although Chef Rat hasn’t really thought about why that is. “Men like larb,” he reasons. “Women like gang om.”
Like Larb Ton Koi, Udon Thani’s Larb Tha Suk is built along similar lines, with raw and cooked larb and saa and a single chef slaving away over a block of wood with a butcher’s knife. The usual accompaniments are also there: a big plate of fresh greens, raw garlic cloves, sticky rice, and two dipping sauces of jaew and another flavored with nam dee, or bitter bile.
These restaurants seem busiest at lunchtime, where groups of people — yes, usually men — meet to talk about their mornings over bottles of Saeng Som, even if it’s a weekday. It’s a callback to the past, when village celebrations involved the slaughter of a cow or buffalo, after which the butcher (always male) would make up plates of larb, saa and whatever else they could rustle up at that moment, honoring the animal by using up every bit of it (even the partially digested food!)
So when you rock up to your local larb joint with bottle of Mekong in hand, know that you are simply honoring Thai traditions, pairing your larb with the spirits needed to wash out your mouth and whet your appetite. And if you are a woman, know that you’re in a primarily male space, so you’ll have to eat twice as much.
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