F is for Farong

The word Farong, in Thai, roughly translates to Douchie/Clueless White Person. During my month-long stint in Thailand, I attempted to use this word often-- hoping that my demonstration of "local knowledge" would get me "in" with the locals. More likely, as soon as my back was turned, some smiley person who had witnessed my attempt to trade a handful of baht for delicious pineapple in a plastic bag or watched my brother repeatedly fail to kick-start his rented moped, would utter it under his or her breath in our direction. Rarely do we strive to be Farongs while traveling though sometimes it can't be helped. Even when we aren't traveling it can be difficult to avoid; I find myself feeling like a Farong in San Francisco with fair regularity.

One circumstance that lends itself easily to the momentary transformation into douchie whitehood is a server's response to our ordering off menus in ethnic restaurants. Not so long ago, I was eating at Le Colonial with a friend's family. When it came time to order, my friend's sister began "I'll have the....ker...gla...gai...pra...uh...prik...tom...um...." "The Mahi-mahi?" The waiter offered. I watched her instantaneous transformation from hip San Francisco scenester to Queen Farong. The experience served to reinforce my general rule: unless I'm mighty confident about what a dish is called and when I get the sense I will be silently ridiculed by the server, I usually opt for pointing or ordering by the English description.

Which brings me to last night and a uniquely non-Farong moment that happened in a cozy Cow Hollow hang called Benjarong. I was invited out to dinner by Jamie and her mom, Patrice. Jamie is generally a good source of restaurant knowledge, is good in the kitchen, and has good taste so I'm rarely disappointed when food is involved. She happened upon Benjarong, on an unassuming block of Lombard between Webster and Buchanan, earlier this month and last night was her third time eating there. I took it as a good sign.

I'll be the first to admit that I can be a pain-in-the-ass eater. I attribute this to my vegaquarian lifestyle and my moderate lactose intolerance as well as being a little snobby. Thai food in particular is one of the things I feel holier-than-thou about, stemming from my month with Visra as a tour guide and the cooking classes my brother and I took in Chiang Mai that gave us tips on curries and things. Yet, in a rare moment last night I felt an overwhelming sense of calm as I passed through the door. The walls were a mellow mustard except for one brick red wall in back and the lights cast a rosy glow around the room. It was warm but not to the point of igniting a womblike coma and it smelled faintly delightful without recalling ingredients searing in hot oil. Benajarong's kitchen felt tangibly close but not under my nose.

We didn't have a reservation but were seated promptly at a table in the window nook; water arrived immediately. There were two servers floating about the dining room. I say floating because their presence was almost ethereal. Like the restaurant's atmosphere both the man and woman attending to the floor were calm, soft spoken, low-key. After a few minutes our server came to take our order but we hadn't even glanced at the menu. He asked about drinks, three of us ordered glasses of the same wine and he gently suggested we order a bottle. Smart man. During this interaction Jamie had determined a few of her preferred starters. "We'll have the Keow Wan Roti and Tom Yum to start." No "Stupid Farong" eyes made by the server, or requests that she clarify or repeat the order, simply a gracious and affirming nod. Off floated the server only to re-appear mere moments later with our wine. Love the prompt, understated attention.

The roti arrived first. It came quartered on a simple porcelain plate. Each piece was topped with a single round of grilled eggplant and tomato. Accompanying this was a small dish of green curry. The curry was mild and complimented the flavor of the eggplant and tomato and the light and nearly flaky roti (which can be hard to achieve given that it's fried and often oily). When the last crumb of roti was off our plates, the dishes were whisked away and four perfect soup terrines with little lids were set in front of us. Our Tom Yum was as it should be, tart and sweet, with a hint of spiciness; plump prawns and lemongrass set afloat in an aromatic bath.

We collectively set Jamie to task ordering the rest of the meal since she'd so easily demonstrated her veteran status with the menu. She opted for Penang Curry and Prik-Khing Koong, prawns in a sweet chili sauce with green beans and bell peppers. I was doing an unnaturally good job of keeping quiet until we broached the issue of noodle dishes. The menu, which was noticeably short, only had three options for noodles, none of which were Pad Si Iew, my usual default.*** For most folks Pad Thai is the natural go-to and is the quintessential Farong choice. More importantly, it's actually quite difficult to make well, which means people think they like Thai food and always order Pad Thai but are usually eating a less than perfect permutation. It's not their fault, they just don't know better. I can't remember the last time I ordered Pad Thai and in a moment of doubt, expressed this to Jamie. She deferred to our server. "Would you recommend the Pad Thai?" "Oh yes." Our server's face actually lit up when he answered. And my reaction was that, in spite of his ethereal presence thus far, the word Farong had finally begun coursing through his head.

I can't pretend that during our time in Thailand my brother and I didn't attempt to single-handedly eat the country out of Pad Thai. I can tell you where it was best: two doors down from Master of the Wok (aka The Mole) where Visra took us to get an incomparable version served inside a paper-thin omelet shell. And where it was worst: at midnight in a bus-terminal on the way back from Koh Nang Yuan (although even then it was better than what you find here). When you haven't seen how green the grass can be, you just don't know. And it's not your fault, but it's why the word Farong exists.

Our three main dishes arrived simultaneously, with little lag time from the departure of our clean soup bowls. I eyed the Pad Thai suspiciously; it looked good. Three airy mounds of carrots and cabbage nestled alongside the pile of orange hued noodles, which did not appear oily or gluey. Sure enough it did not disappoint. I realized then that our server's reaction hadn't registered "Farong" on his face, he'd actually expressed sincere and warranted confidence in the dish. Love the guy. All four tenets of flavor represented themselves: sweet, sour, salty, and spicy. I'll admit the spiciness was almost negligible but if anything it was our fault for not specifying. The other two dishes were stand alones as well. The Penang was rich from the peanut sauce but not overbearing and the Prik-Khing was dignified, the green beans cooked perfectly and off-set by the surprise appearance of lightly fried strips of tofu. The portions were very appropriate and four of us were full with just a few leftovers at the end. ("Four? I thought you said it was Jamie and her mom?" It was, but the ever-resplendent Arthur was there too.)

Although we passed on dessert, our check arrived with four Tootsie pops. Patrice commented that the lollipop was a surprisingly refreshing way to end the meal. Perhaps a tribute to the Farong clientele? Perhaps. But more probably because these culinary geniuses determined it was a refreshing way to end the meal.

When I got home last night, I looked up Benjarong on Yelp to see what other folks had to say. An overwhelming majority gave glowing recommendations. Only one review stood out as markedly different. One guy, whose profile picture implied he was in his middle-fifties, was not pleased. He noted that the bathroom wasn't as clean as he wanted and what did that mean about the kitchen. The guy raises an interesting point and yet...I hope he burns in hell.

Benjarong you're in. Whack ass Yelp guy, go Windex your sink.




*** The Pad Si Iew craving is easily satisfied at King of Thai Noodle on 6th and Clement.