The Best Little Restaurants in Thailand

It doesn’t much matter where I am on the planet, I crave Thai food.

I want Khao Soi for breakfast, Pad Kra Pao Moo for lunch, and Gaeng Penang for dinner.

I want to snack on satay and spring rolls and fish cakes while I dodge motorbikes in the street.

I want pork on a stick or encased in sausage and grilled over hot coals.

I want curry: red, green, and yellow.

I want seafood pad Thai on the beach and spicy papaya salad on a walking street.

I want to finish it all up with mango sticky rice, piles and piles of mango sticky rice, and a scoop or six of Thai tea ice cream.

You can find Michelin-starred restaurants in Bangkok or pour over encyclopedic menus on a beach-front promenade. And the street food scene is insane.

My favorite spots though, are the little shacks without a sign. The simpler the better. I prefer a place without a sign, a few tables out front, and not a lot of choices. The tables should be plastic, garishly colored, and there should be locals sipping bottles of Chang.

These places aren’t usually on the map. Maybe a few intrepid travelers have uploaded snapshots of the no-frills food. There’s isn’t a website and the hours aren’t set. Most are a one-man, or more often, one-woman show. They often only make one or two things, but the execution is flawless.

Original Duck Noodle is just a 10 minute walk from the tourist madness of Patong Beach. By day, it’s the entrance to a paint supply store, by night, it’s home to one of the best food carts on the island. A single woman works over a cauldron of the rich, mahogany broth. It’s complex, with hints of anise and heat from the chilies. The menu is short and sweet: steamed rice with chicken or duck, noodle soup with chicken or duck, and boiled chicken feet.

Chicken is available, but duck is the way to go. The duck noodle soup is a game changer – tender slivers of duck meat, rice noodles, and that luxurious broth, topped with bean sprouts, chopped cilantro, peanuts and chili paste. I dream about this soup. (Dinner for $2)

Auntie Pranee’s is a regular lunch spot for me on Koh Tao. I’d motored past this little house with a couple tables set up outside and decided to stop in. Auntie Pranee cooks a curry or two in the morning and dishes it out until it’s gone. There’s no menu and she speaks little English. The tables are occupied by local workers on lunch break. I gesture to one of their plates. She nods and smiles.

Her chicken curry is superb: spicy and sweet with lots of coconut milk. She pulls capellini noodles from a large ball and ladles the silky orange curry over the top. In the center of the table is a platter of trimmings to customize your meal. There’s the obligatory basil and mint, but also all manner of unknown shoots and leaves. There are raw green beans and baby eggplant, fennel fronds and bean sprouts, pickled vegetables and hard boiled eggs. Silverware is set in a plastic caddy next to the bottle of fish sauce, and the ubiquitous roll of toilet paper used for napkins. Over on the counter is a water cooler and mugs – help yourself. (Lunch is $2)

My last night on Koh Tao, I discovered Pad Thai & Fried Oysters by Aunty Pa. Aunty Pa works over a hot wok at the helm of the restaurant while a cohort runs all of the food and collects the money. If a dish is in the name of the restaurant, I can’t pass it up. I start with a pile of the mussels: fried golden brown, topped with bean sprouts and served with a sweet chili sauce. And then follow it up with the a plate of chicken Pad Thai. Every bite is spot on. I’m just sad I didn’t find Aunty Pa any earlier. (A feast for $4)

I always compliment the chef, but often times it feels as though I’m stating the obvious. They know it’s good – they do one or two things, and they do them flawlessly.

They also work long and hard. Seven days a week, the man or woman wiping the tables in the morning is the same one locking up at night. Often times, while I’m hunched over a steaming bowl of goodness, their children sit at an empty table nearby, quietly completing their schoolwork.

My two rules of thumb for dining in Southeast Asia:

1. Stay away from any restaurant with a large menu. Any establishment that tries to do too many things doesn’t do any one of them very well.

2. The best food is not located on the best real estate. Get away from the beachfront promenade and wander a bit. Back alley cuisine is always more authentic, delicious, and affordable.