It takes some doing but I have finally found my favourite krapao place. My all-time favourite still remains Auntie Pin’s, of course, with that surprising flash-fried liver.
But Auntie Pin’s house is all the way in Saraburi, two hours away from Bangkok. Part of the indelibly sublime taste of her krapao comes from the fact that my friend Ice had taken us there; it was where he would go for krapao growing up in his hometown.
But now I have discovered a magnificent krapao shop closer to our condominium in Bangkok. Not far from Aribica where I get my morning cuppa and nestled inside the A-One Ari food court, in between a tom yum noodle shop and one that makes som tum, is Kod Krapao.
There is a logo featuring a kindly matriarch above the shop, Thai Chinese from the appearance of her attire. Which makes sense since pad krapao employs the Chinese culinary technique of stir-frying (pàt refers to a stir-fry whilst gràprao is Thai for holy basil).
The menu has dozens of krapao variations, from pad krapao tub moo (with pork liver) to pad krapao moo krob (with crispy pork belly), promising choice and volume.
Fans of seafood might enjoy the krapao goong (shrimp) or krapao pla muek (squid). Vegetarians can opt for the krapao het which features toothsome eryngii mushrooms. There is even a krapao with century eggs!
Every order is cooked on the spot, hot from the wok and fiery in every sense. That is, unless you admit to a sensitive palate and beg for no chillies…
I’m too proud to say mâi pèt (“not spicy”), of course (not to mention that renders krapao somewhat tasteless; some heat is essential). Instead, I usually ask for pèt bpaan-glaang (“moderately spicy”) or if I’m feeling particularly timid that day, pèt nít-nòi (“a little spicy”).
The cook writes down my selections on a chit of rough paper; he has so many orders it’s easy to get confused. His assistant is missing, taking her break perhaps now that the lunch time rush is over. I have learned it’s best to come in the mid-afternoon, after the office workers have returned to the shiny buildings but before the shop closes.
Delivery riders in their colourful jackets – the green of Lineman and the yellow-purples of Robinhood – play with their phones while waiting for their numbers to be called.
Over time, we settle into a routine order: two krapao gai tod with rice, the fried chicken still crispy and slick with glaze, and one bigger krapao moo sap with no rice (most of the minced pork will be frozen for future quick meals).
No krapao is complete without an egg as a topping, at least it feels that way for us. We inevitably opt for the fried duck egg (khai ped tod) and duck egg omelette (khai ped jiao) over conventional chicken eggs for the former is far richer, with an intensely orange yolk.
There is a joy in people watching while waiting and wait you must during rush hour. This is when I decide it is a grand idea to get a latae yen (iced latte) from the Coffee No. 9 shop at the entrance of A-One. The owner/manager is a friendly Thai-Japanese lady and the drinks are very wallet-friendly.
On the more sweltering days, I’d order an Orangano (iced OJ and espresso) or Sparkling Yuzu (sparkling water, yuzu syrup, ice and espresso – always espresso). The watercolour illustrations of the beverages just makes one aspire to try every item on their menu.
There are other shops too, from a bakery offering petite cakes to a newly opened men’s barbershop. It does feel like a community. Whenever I happen to pass by in the morning, I observe a queue at the porridge stall with a small army of workers; their commander overseeing from the rear.
Soon, the cook or his assistant will call for me. Usually it’s just a look. I pay, thank them and head home, hoping I have some cold milk to rescue me if the cook misheard my spice rating as pèt mâak mâak or pèt sùt sùt.
My tongue and my belly might burn, but that has never stopped me from returning for more.