This might be the last time we eat here at Kao Bahn. Before leaving Bangkok. Before the shop closes for good or moves away. Either way, it won’t be the same. Everything is subject to change, whether we approve or not.
Yet this is what tastes like home: a plate of pad krapao moo sap with a single khai dao atop the fluffy white rice. The cook in the kitchen doesn’t bother to tone down the spice level of holy basil stir fry. The minced pork is pungent with fish sauce; I add more, together with the sliced garlic and bird’s eye chillies. The crispy edges of the fried egg, the molten yolk waiting to ooze out when I pierce its centre…
Yes, this tastes like home, a home away from home. And though everything changes, this realisation, this memory, never will.