Soul cooking in the jungles of Thailand
I have been going around Thailand in search of food that goes beyond the Thai food we think we know. Not the familiar dishes of pandan chicken, green curry, and pad thai, but the deeper, lesser-known expressions that give a different perspective of their culture and people. I have been doing this in the company of Hnoi Latthiham, a chef and culinary traveler whose life, much like the cuisine she carries, refuses to be contained.
Together, we have moved through a contrast of dining experiences, from rivers and fine restaurants to sidewalk eateries, markets, mountains—and now, this jungle.
In fact, I am writing this piece afloat a raft on the River Kwai.
Food that holds the true flavors of its people
Each place revealed a different layer of what Thai food truly is. Or perhaps more accurately, what it has always been—but I’ve remained unaware of. Food that holds the true flavors, the heart, and the soul of its people.
The Thailand most of the world knows is rooted in the central plains—refined, composed, often touched by what is considered royal cuisine. It is a cuisine of balance and elegance, where coconut milk softens, palm sugar sweetens, and dishes arrive carefully plated and deliberate in their beauty.
But here in the jungle, it is something else entirely. No coconut milk. No excess. No attempt at refinement.
Only what is available.
Freshwater fish pulled from the river. Wild herbs gathered within reach. Pastes pounded by hand—chilies, lemongrass, lime, roots—nothing seems measured yet through instinct, it comes together. Some dishes are prepared quickly—fresh ingredients need little work. Others take longer, simmered low and slow to soften meats and build flavor.
The curries were some of the most complex and hearty I’ve tried. Alongside them, a simple sour soup made from roselle leaves, and fish cooked with roselle. This is food shaped by movement—by the Mon people, among the earliest settlers of mainland Southeast Asia, whose presence spans Myanmar and western Thailand. Their cuisine carries memory and adaptation.
And perhaps that is what makes it feel so alive.
A life that took her somewhere else
Our conversations moved from Thai cuisine to Latthiham’s own evolution. It turns out, her life story is no different. She left home at 23 with $400 and a one-way ticket to the United States. No return, no safety net—only the belief that if she worked hard enough, she could build a life that allowed her to travel.
She worked wherever she could—restaurants, hotels, bakeries. Learned to cook not because she planned to but because she had to. Opened a Thai restaurant in Portland. Lost it. Went to Mexico for what was meant to be six months—and stayed 16 years. Became a tour guide. Drove buses. Ran events. Moved across countries and kitchens, never quite settling.
At some point, I asked her what was next. She smiles and says, quite simply, “Planning is pointless.” Because every time she planned, life took her somewhere else. And every time she followed, it gave her more than she expected.
In a world where structure defines one’s path, her way of moving would be viewed as radical. But as we sat down to eat, our mix of jungle dishes lay before us—her journey, like our meal, began to make sense.
Because jungle cuisine is exactly that. It does not follow a fixed path. It adjusts. It makes the most of what is available. Like the river, it flows—adapting and turning what is there, into something nourishing.
Not of luxury, but of stories
Chef Latthiham, like all of us, is shaped by her beginnings. At one point, I asked about her mother. They were a family of eight, but never felt lacking. Though resources were scarce, her mother cooked well. They ate well and were cared for.
Because her mother’s cooking—simple as it may have been—carried depth and meaning. “My mother’s cooking is soulful,” she says. “It reaches my soul.”
And just like that, it all came together. Chef Latthiham. The river. The jungle. The movement. The life without plans.
As I watch the river flow freely… I’ve come to affirm what I’ve long believed—that food is not defined by luxury, technique, or even geography—but by the stories behind it and how it makes you feel.
I came to Thailand looking for food beyond what we know. What I found was not just another cuisine but another way of living, of seeing, and of knowing that the most meaningful food is often the least constructed.
Because some of the most interesting lives are often unplanned, and sometimes, the fullest experience comes when you allow yourself, as chef Latthiham does—to surrender to life and what it brings.
Chef Hnoi Latthiham’s tom yum goong
Chef Latthiham believes that tom yum is one of the dishes that best captures the flavor and spirit of their cuisine. A good tom yum experience should begin with aroma, then a hint of sour, salty, and heat, with a herbaceous finish.
Ingredients
500g shrimp, shell-on, heads on
4 to 5 cups water
Shrimp shells (for stock)
2 stalks lemongrass, smashed & cut
4 to 5 kaffir lime leaves, torn
1 thumb-size galangal, sliced
150 to 200g straw mushrooms (preferably) or button mushrooms, halved or quartered
6 to 10 Thai bird’s eye chilies, crushed
2 to 3 Tbsp fish sauce
1 to 2 Tbsp lime juice
1 tsp chili oil (optional)
½ cup cilantro (or sawtooth coriander for a jungle-style feel)
Procedure
- Prepare the shrimp. Clean and devein. Reserve shells (and heads, if any) for stock.
- Build the broth. In a pot, add water, shrimp shells, lemongrass, kaffir lime leaves, and galangal. Simmer gently over medium-low heat for 10 to 15 minutes to extract flavor. Strain (optional but cleaner).
- Remove shells and herbs for a clearer broth, or leave some for a more rustic, jungle-style soup. Bring to a boil. Turn the heat to high and bring the broth back to a boil.
- Add mushrooms and chilies. Let them cook briefly, then add shrimp. Cook just until almost done, for about 1 to 2 minutes. Turn off the heat immediately.
- Season at the end. Add fish sauce, lime juice, crushed chilies, and chili oil if using. Garnish with cilantro.
- Taste and adjust. Balance should be salty, sour, and spicy—adjust as needed.
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