The best bowl of noodles I ever ate was on a busy street corner in Bangkok’s Chinatown.
The man who made them for me had skin as thin as rice paper, a balding spot on the back of his head surrounded by a ring of dark hair. He had a cool, damp towel wrapped around his neck, the condensation turning the collar of his shirt from yellow to a dark orange, the heat from the steaming stand below him forming beads of sweat on his upper lip.
My noodles were prepared in less than a minute. It had taken me longer to figure out how to ask for “vegetarian” in Thai.
The man motioned to a girl sitting near him, and she stood, wiping her hands on her blue apron before leading me to a squat red table a few feet away. I sat in the wobbly plastic chair, picked up my chopsticks, and squinted at my bowl of noodles. Transparent rice noodles floated in the clear broth, intermingling with crunchy bean sprouts and leafy bok choy and crisp green onions. I tentatively sprinkled on some red chili pepper, careful not to put too much.
“You found the best spot.” I looked up to find an unexpected character seated across from me. She was a Thai woman, perhaps in her mid-50s. Her skin was the color of coffee with milk, her lips painted a vibrant, striking red. Her hair was perfectly arranged, highlighted with streaks of honey and chestnut and sealed into place with enough hairspray to start a gas fire.
She was the most fabulous woman I’d ever seen.
She smiled at me, revealing perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. She slurped up a noodle, then daintily placed her chopsticks on the side of the chipped red and white bowl.
“So how did you find this place?” Her dark eyes were kind, but shielded behind highlighted bangs that swept perfectly across her forehead. My own hair was hurriedly tossed into a tight bun at the back of my neck, a desperate attempt to find any relief from the blazing heat.
“By accident, honestly.” A noodle clumsily dropped from my chopsticks as I attempted to scoop up the slippery pasta. “I was wandering Chinatown and I stumbled upon it.”
She grinned at me, her composed facade fading for a moment as if we were two schoolgirls sharing a secret. She leaned over in her plastic chair, raising the tone of her voice over a car horn honking nearby.
“He’s been here for 50 years!” she shouted over to me. “50 years, can you believe that? And he still makes the best noodle soup I’ve found in all of Bangkok. My husband and I drive across town every week just to eat here!” She elegantly snatched another noodle out of the bowl with her chopsticks, slurping it up with a delicacy that resembled fine art.
It was only then that I noticed the short, burly man seated to her left, furiously shoveling noodles into his mouth at a rate that left his bowl nearly empty in the time we’d been talking. At the mention of ‘her husband’ she’d nudged him slightly with her elbow, and he looked up confusedly, a bean sprout stuck in the corner of his mouth. I nodded in greeting and he quickly returned my nod before furiously returning to the task at hand, ladling the broth from the bowl. Half made it as far as his mouth whereas the other half landed on the front of his crisp navy blue shirt.
“My name is Teresa.” The woman seemed unwavered by her husband’s slurping. “And you? Let me guess, you’re from France?”
“Ginna,” I replied, scooping up my first successful noodle. I tried not to cheer in excitement. “And no, I’m from the USA.”
“USA!” Her face was jubilant. “We have been there! We’ve been to New York City. We’ve been to Los Angeles! We’ve been to Miami!”
She continued on, naming cities and the fabulous things they’d done there. The visits to Disneyworld, the art museums explored, the Michelin meals they’d eaten, her travels were all ones of luxury, romance, and adventure.
“We love to travel,” she said, expertly twisting the noodles around her chopsticks, “but the very best food in the world is right here, on this corner.” She put the noodles in her mouth and chewed slowly, her eyes rolling back in her head for extra effect.
I carefully scooped up a noodle from my bowl, careful not to drop it as it made the journey from my bowl to my mouth. The steam from the broth fogged up my glasses as I took my first bite, and I was immediately captivated by the flavors of the soup. Salty at first as the broth swirled on my tongue, followed by sweet as I chewed the thin-as-paper noodles, and all followed by a satisfying crunch as bean sprouts burst between my teeth. I felt a slight tingle of heat on my lips, and continued to slurp down noodles as the spice gradually increased.
I hadn’t noticed Teresa and her husband finish their bowls, but as I looked up from sipping my broth, I noticed her lovingly pat his stained shirt with a napkin and then pat her own red lips, careful not to smudge the color. She picked up her handbag and pressed a button on her keys, causing the headlights to flash on a shiny white SUV nearby. The rims were spotless and the seats leather, a car intended as a display of wealth and prestige.
“Bye, Ginna!” Teresa called, patting me on the shoulder as she passed by. Her husband followed along at her feet, and they waved in unison before climbing in the car.
I looked back at the stand as the man behind the counter whipped up bowls of noodles for two boys in matching school uniforms. The boys were a stark contrast to Teresa, with skinned knees and close-cut hair, the toes of their brown school shoes scuffed from many games of soccer in the courtyard. They gobbled down their noodles with the same enthusiasm as Teresa and her husband, an enthusiasm I’m sure I displayed myself as I devoured my own bowlful.
Somehow we had all found ourselves on the same street corner, sitting in the same red plastic chairs, eating the same noodles from chipped red and white bowls. The wealthy, the foreign, the young and the local, age and occupation didn’t matter as we enjoyed a simple and delicious meal. Over a bowl of noodles, no one is so different after all.
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Virginia Taylor (Ginna) is a travel writer and photographer exploring the world until her boots wear through. She’s currently on a mission to explore all 32 departments of Colombia, though she formerly called the Middle East home. Want to know more? Visit the About Page.