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Though anymore met with disdain at its mere mention, fusion
cuisine is simply an inevitable process, not a conspiracy.
Andrew Hiransomboon takes a look at how things are mixing
in Thailand.
Imagine you’re a sushi chef in, let’s say, California
(Los Angeles most likely). Business is a bit slow; your customers
are bored, you’re bored. So you start playing around
with your maki sushi, filling one with, instead of the traditional
Japanese fillings, sweet dungeness crab and creamy haas avocado.
Radical! Behold: the California roll. On a roll here, if you
will, you stuff another maki sushi with chopped maguro, some
sprouts, and then jazz it up with some zesty Thai sri racha
sauce. Awesome! Voila: the spicy tuna roll. You have now committed
the act of fusion.
Strictly speaking, fusion is the joining of two or more discrete
elements to create something heretofore non-existent. Fusion
food, then, is a blending of ingredients as well as perhaps
techniques from two or more culinary traditions. In Thailand
most of us are pretty comfortable with spaghetti pla khem.
Fast-food chains in particular have embraced the fusion ethic.
Over the past few years the dining public has seen krapao
moo burgers, tom yum pizza, the fried chicken of a certain
Kentucky colonel prepared as a spicy yum salad, and grilled
khao niew taking the place of bread for sandwiches.
In most kitchens, fusion is a dirty word. Mention the f-word
to a Michelin three-star chef and chances are he’ll respond
with a look of chagrin if not contempt. And it’s not
just cooks but critics and connoisseurs who are quick to reject
any culinary canvas that has been painted with this unfortunate
brush. Which is ridiculous, really, because if you look at
what the top chefs are doing, what you’ll see is that
nearly all chefs incorporate ingredients and techniques from
outside their so-called native cuisines, and always have.
It’s just that the smart ones know not to get saddled
with labels. Fusion got a bad rap, and deservedly so, because
too many misguided chefs in the 90s were behaving like mad
scientists, combining foods that had no right being served
on the same table, let alone the same plate. Innovation had
become merely an attempt to be different for its own sake,
as well as a way to get some press and some buzz.
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A predictable backlash ensued. A kind of reactionary, almost
nativistic trend took hold, entailing cuisine said to be “authentic”,
a conceptually loaded term if there ever was one. Preferred
ingredients would include locally sourced items from small-scale
suppl-iers; produce would be in season whenever possible.
That three-star chef may still be dabbling in Thai-French
or Nuevo Latino in Las Vegas and Shanghai but he’ll have
at least one “traditional” restaurant in his fold
that he can point to as proof he’s no fusionist.
In Thailand, refreshingly we’re largely free of the
outside world’s baggage. We missed the fusion follies
and subsequent downfall. Much like the word “trendy”,
fusion doesn’t carry the negative connotations here that
it does elsewhere, which is why restaurant owners have no
qualms about using it in advertisements or in interviews with
journalists. For the most part these restaurateurs are young
urban Thais, more international in outlook than previous generations
and more accustomed to a wide range of ingredients and preparations.
Many have lived abroad, or at least travelled abroad. What
they serve in their restaurants and pubs is simply a reflection
of who they and their customers are. These restaurants’
menus are an unselfconscious blend of Thai and international
(European but also Japanese and Chinese) and feature such
hybrid favourites as spaghetti phad kee mao and chuchee salmon
– dishes that made the cut not because the chef was trying
to make her mark but because they tasted good.
Another, and more controversial, facet of Thailand’s
fusion phenomena has to do with those restaurants often described
as “modern Thai”. These are the purveyors of foie
gras alongside lychees, phad Thai with lobster and lemongrass
panna cotta. These are the flash venues where you’re
likely to drink a bottle or two of (European) wine with your
meal, served Western style, and get presented with a hefty
check at the end. In most cases modern Thai is more about
technique, presentation, and philosophy than merely the use
of non-Thai ingredients such as foie gras. Intrinsic to traditional
Thai cooking is a harmonious blending of ingredients to create
big, bold flavours. The modern-Thai approach is more European
insofar as the goal is to highlight an individual serving
of meat and seafood, in most cases relegating other flavours
to a supporting role. Thus a lamb curry dish might be a rack
of New Zealand lamb divided into bone-in chops grilled or
pan-seared until no more than rare or medium rare (as opposed
to cooking the meat in curry until tender), and served atop
the curry and on a platter, not in a bowl. More a meat entree
than a curry, the dish may be Thai-inspired.
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