[table for two]

Far East Feast:
Charin Thai is a welcome addition to downtown

By: Rosa Bianca

For someone who eats for a living, I am actually not subject to very many food cravings. It is a rare moment when I think (insert imaginary zombie-voice here), “Must have chocolate” or “Feed me pasta diavolo.” Instead, I’ve cultivated a Zen-like, omnivorous approach to meals—which means I can basically eat anything at any time, within reason.

I still won’t eat steak and sliced tomatoes for breakfast, but I’m not likely to turn down barbecue because all I really want is a hamburger, or say “no, thanks” to fried chicken because I had my heart set on pizza. Mostly, my feeling about food is that it’s all good.

There is one exception, though: Asian anything. I have a deep love for Asian cuisine in all forms. The smell of ginger and lemon immediately makes me hungry. Soy sauce and chili paste could be two of my four food groups. I would actually walk by a pint of Jackson’s Big Oak barbecue to pick up a bowl of soba noodles with peanut sauce.

Where this love of Asian food comes from I’m not sure. Possibly, it stems from the fact that it was the first kind of cooking I learned to do on my own while I was in school. Also, it is quite possible that, since I was a typical destitute college kid, I learned to associate Asian food with being fed. One can quite cheaply survive on a steady diet of Pad Pryhk, and hot and sour soup, if that is the only food affordable. Everyone knows everything tastes better when hungry.

Well, I was always a little hungry in school, and spring rolls and pot stickers were often the only things standing between me and going to bed without any dinner.

Whatever the reason (aside from the obvious fact that it all tastes so good), Asian cuisine is one of the few foods for which I actually crave. Ginger, soy, wasabi and sesame are all tastes I will miss if I don’t have them at least several times a month. And new Asian restaurants always seem to gravitate toward the top of my list when I’m thinking about where to eat out. Which explains why, when Fay and I were downtown one evening and ready to stop somewhere for dinner, I completely and without warning overruled our plans to have a beer and a sandwich at one of the downtown pubs. “Stop!” I insisted suddenly. Fay—who is used to these pre-emptory commands and is supremely unflappable behind the wheel of a car unless you happen to cut her off in traffic—just said, “What?” and found a parking spot.

“Rim Wang has been replaced by a new Thai restaurant.” I said, looking back toward the sign we had passed. “I want to eat there.” Fay knew better than to argue, so a few moments later we found ourselves among the sparse early, early dinner crowd at Charin Thai.
The name comes from Charin Choti, the former chef of Rim Wang.

Choti and his wife bought the restaurant after another Rim Wang partner left to open Jessamine. Does this mean the menu is the same? Well, yes and no. When I went to visit Rim Wang, I had the roasted duck in red curry sauce. That dish is still on the menu. But aside from the usual things one expects to find on the menu of a Thai restaurant (Pad Thai, Pad Pryhk, Satay, Numtuk and curries in various colors), there were many dishes I found unfamiliar; “Larb”—a spicy ground chicken dish with mint—and “Numtuk”—which I didn’t recognize at all but is apparently a grilled sirloin dish with mint—roasted rice powder, chili, onions and lime juice, and a spicy papaya salad (Som Dtam), which I have learned to like not-so spicy but heavy on the chopped peanuts.

It was only late afternoon, and all was quiet in the dining room of the historic Stemmerman’s Inn building. One other table of early diners was finishing up as we were seated. I loved the room we were in, with its fretted upper balcony and rich wood detailing. There was only one small television, hidden discreetly by the bar, and the rest of the room was cool and private—tall church pew-like benches making booths alongside the warm old brick wall, each table lit by small green-shaded lamps.

The bartender came over to take our order and bring us our drinks. He and Fay talked music for a bit while I considered the menu and which of my far-Eastern cravings needed indulging at the moment. I eventually settled on an order of Thai dumplings, a cup of hot and sour soup, and the Yellow Curry Scallop from the list of house specialties. Fay also asked for soup, and Pad Pryhk made with beef, bell peppers, garlic and mushrooms.

It only took about 10 minutes for our soup and appetizer to arrive. The dumplings were still steaming, and the sharp smell of the soup made me sit up. I noticed that Charin does not put soy sauce on the tables and does not offer chopsticks unless patrons request them. (If they do, the waitstaff will bring them a throwaway pair of the type that has to be pulled apart to be used). But I did not feel their absence either. I’m used to adding soy sauce to dishes I think are under-seasoned or over-garlicked. The dumplings, which came with their own dipping sauce, were neither. I did think about asking for the chopsticks but then decided not to bother. I use a fork if the occasion calls for it.

The hot and sour soup was almost too hot for me, which made it perfect for Fay. The broth was thin and sharp in the way of Thai soups, which lack that thick, almost gooey consistency that Chinese soups have. It smelled wonderfully refreshing, very hot, slightly sour and without a trace of any underlying sweetness—something many restaurants add to their soups to make them, shall we say, more palatable to the unadventurous. The small bowl was swimming with pieces of quartered mushroom, white onion and several large shrimp, which Fay was annoyed to discover still had tails. The shrimp were the only items in the bowl that didn’t sear my tongue.

After downing the soup, with many breaks to take a breath and drink some soda (or beer, in Fay’s case), the waiter came back with a medium-sized bowl of steamed white rice and two very large plates with our entrées. Given the heat of the soup, I was glad I had ordered something mild for dinner. The Yellow Curry Scallops were simmered in a rich, mild curry-coconut sauce that was absent of the usual slivers of chili pepper. It was thick, a little on the sweet side, but complex, with hints of cardamom and turmeric. The scallops were large, fresh sea scallops (no skate or tiny bay scallops here), and there was a pile of them. I was barely able to finish my meal; it was like trying to eat a large piece of tuna or shark. There was a lot more food on the plate than first appeared.

Fay’s Pad Pryhk was also delicious, although I only had a couple of bites (for research purposes, of course). I especially liked the sauce. I could taste the Nam Pla (fish-sauce base), which is one of my favorite flavors although one that’s not so readily adopted here in the United States. Fay asked for hot sauce and received a small glass jar of bright red Thai chili-garlic sauce that she used with abandon. I didn’t think the Pad Pryhk needed much in the way of extra spice, but Fay felt the Charin definition of “hot and spicy” was still a little on the mild side for her tastes.

We ate too much, of course. Far more than I would have eaten had we ended up at some pub as we had originally intended. Over the years, the downtown area has developed quite a collection of establishments specializing in Far-Eastern cuisine. Mostly, they seem to center around the art of sushi. Charin Thai is an excellent addition to the list, one with a refreshing approach to Asian cuisine that isn’t limited to what fits into a California roll.