Thaied and True

Let’s forgive Mai Thai its cringe-inducing name (not to
mention that there’s nary a Mai Tai to be found on premises) and talk
about something different… like, the word “authentic.” Bandied about
by critics (I’m guilty) and eaters alike, it’s used to either promote
or dismiss restaurants of any given ethnic cuisine. Halfway through the
fire of sweet and buttery yellow curry at Mai Thai, I was engulfed in
the slow heat of realization: Describing an eatery as authentic is
complete bullshit.

If you want authentic, buy a plane ticket. Even then, sitting down
to yellow curry with a family in Thailand, the meal would be authentic
only to that moment, unique to the time and place, affected by the
sound of rain or the cook’s mood or smells drifting through the
air.

Screw authenticity. Think more about how food is connected to its
origins. Mai Thai, for instance, has a definite essence of craft and
care. It feels like comfort food in your belly, as if created by the
universal goodness of grandmothers everywhere, but remains firmly
grounded in the flavors of Thailand.

The gorgeous kai-yang, grilled marinated chicken, arrives at
the table in big chunks, deeply brown and glazed. It’s tender and juicy
throughout with flavors of smoke and sweetness trailing delicate hints
of pepper and citrus. Accompanied by sticky rice and two dipping
sauces, the dish could easily feed two for its $10.95 price tag.

This is true for most of the dishes on Mai Thai’s menu. They are
substantial offerings and very affordable. And though they offer a
yellow curry with meat for $8.95, they take incredible care with
presentations. Each dish is beautiful: Carrots are carved in the shape
of jagged-edged flowers or cabbage leaves are cut to look like feathery
tongues of fire. On the table, colors and aromas stand in stark
contrast to the dignified, minimalist dining room with its rich, muted
color palate. The restaurant seems to have been specifically tuned to
help patrons focus completely on a pleasurable meal. The meals are
exceedingly easy to enjoy. Sure, the flavors aren’t kickboxing across
your tongue, but everything from appetizer to entrée tastes like
the essence and weight of spices in every dish have been carefully
considered.

One of my meals included Mai Thai spring rolls—crispy little
cylinders rolled like bite-sized cigarillos, filled at one end with a
burst of robust shrimp. I followed these with the flavorful tom
kha soup. The broth, rich with coconut milk, has pucker-y tang from
lemon grass and lime juice. The mushrooms and tomatoes remain firm and
added chicken stays tender. An insistent heat mingles with creamy
texture and savory bits of chicken and vegetables.

On another visit, the pad se ew was very well prepared. The
wide noodles have a gentle smoky flavor and just a hint of peanut and
lime. There’s a good hit of pepper and the crisp broccoli adds a mellow
greenness to the entire dish.

I can’t say if all this is “authentic” Thai cuisine. But I can say
that it tastes prepared with true reverence for the ingredients and the
culture that combined them. After eating Mai Thai’s lovely yellow
curry, I don’t plan on thinking in terms of authenticity
again—unless to point out that I’m feeling authentically
satisfied.