We had been to Australia, Bali, Singapore and Bangkok by the time we reached the Datai four weeks into our six-week Southeast Asia odyssey. I had been poisoned and near death at least once and had developed a new appreciation for life in general and eating again in particular.
So my husband explained to the waiter at the Pavilion the night we arrived that it was a special celebration of sorts. Amazingly, perhaps because of the late hour after a day of travel, there was no one else in the open-air restaurant set high in the rainforest canopy of the resort in an open-air thatched pavilion. Having the place to ourselves in the stillness of the jungle we had the feeling that this was our own private paradise with many a man, Friday.
Soon, the chef was at our table asking questions. We professed a bit of adventurism in our dining habits (how do you think I got so sick?) and after being assured that the preparations and ingredients used at this stellar hotel would never reintroduce the dreaded bacterium, we agreed to the chef’s proposal. He would make us a dinner of his favorite preparations. He snatched the menu out of our hands and hurried to the kitchen.
True to Thai dining tradition a series of simple appetizers were produced one at a time building in impact; starting out mild and slightly sweet and ending with Thai-chili tangy, sinus-clearing, endorphin stimulating hot. Textures and detail of presentation are as important to Thai cuisine as the interplay of spices and contrast of flavors. Those presented to us that night reflected a consummate dedication to this particular culinary style.
Three or four entrees followed, meant for tasting and sharing, one with pork, and two with seafood, assuring us the chef meant what he said about using locally fresh ingredients. The star of the show was the banana leaf baked snapper seasoned with sweetened curry and accented by coconut and yam. Never before or since have I tasted a Thai dish so memorable.
The dinner ended up lasting three hours and included the chef’s own selection of wines to accompany the specialties he was preparing. For the entire time we never had to think, never had to wonder, never had to ask, or do anything but enjoy the magical night of being served like royalty gazing at the stars over the ocean while listening to the soothing sounds of the gecko’s rainforest chorus and sinking into a deeper and deeper bliss.
All I needed after that was perhaps a rickshaw carried by golden cloaked warriers to move me down the path to my treetop villa so as not to disturb my reverie. But I walked, instead, my head on my husband's shoulder.