Sato, the Khaen, and My Father’s Drinking Snacks –

When an ordinary man who cooks for his family every day gets invited to be a guest chef at Zao—an Isaan restaurant in the heart of Ekkamai—this is not just a meal. It’s a moment to bring his roots, his pride, and his flavors to the city.

อยากชวนพ่อมาเฮ็ดกับแกล้ม เอื้อยสิจ้างหมอแคนมานำ

พาพ่อมาเบิ่งศักดิ์ศรีคนอีสาน …

 

It all began with something very simple.

That’s how it usually is with Isaan folks—straightforward and without much ceremony. The idea came from a single sentence by P’Eve (Nattida Palasak), who said to me one day,
“I want to invite your dad to make gap glaem (drinking snacks) for the city folks. Tell him I’m serious—I’ll even hire a khaen musician to come play. I want your dad to show what Isaan pride really means.”
At first, I thought she was joking. But no—she meant it.

A Flashback to 2023

I first met P’Eve at the Thai fine-dining restaurant Samrub For Thai during an event where I was invited to serve my drinks. We clicked instantly, and she even gifted me a rice mill to use back home. Since then, we kept in touch.

Then in April 2024, P’Eve, P’Hanif, and the Zao team came to visit us during the peak of a 45°C heatwave. But once we started cooking and sharing drinks together, the heat didn’t matter anymore. My father said to P’Eve, “You have to try my gap glaem someday. I guarantee you’ll love it.”
That was the spark that brought my dad into the city to cook for Zao.

Helping a Farmer Fulfill His Dream

           My dad has done countless jobs over the years—he was once a boxer, a tricycle driver, a fisherman, an electrician, a janitor at the local subdistrict office, and now he sells vegetables with my mom at the fresh market. Every job was simply to earn a living.

But deep down, he always dreamed of becoming a chef.

          Back when he worked part-time as a waiter at a floating restaurant while still driving his tricycle, he’d often bring leftover food home for us. During that time, he watched the kitchen closely. Sometimes he’d help out, slowly picking up cooking skills through observation and practice.
Eventually, he started cooking at home.

          Everyone in my family knows how to cook. The recipes have been passed down from our grandparents. My sister and I helped our parents in the kitchen since we were young. We would take turns preparing meals.
Mom typically cooked kaeng (curries), om, mok, pon, tam, and yum—dishes traditionally made by women.
Dad specialized in meats—larb, koi, boiled dishes, grilled foods, and wild game that required butchering.
We cooked with instinct, using what we had each season. There was no set menu—just whatever nature gave us that day.

          Though Dad is just an ordinary man, his cooking is exceptional. Friends and relatives always say they’ve never tasted food like his anywhere else. We used to joke and call him “Chef,” never imagining that one day he’d actually be invited to be one.

His First Trip to Bangkok in 10 Years

           When P’Eve invited us, we had to discuss seriously how we could make the trip. At home, we have daily responsibilities—caring for the fields, watering the vegetables, feeding the livestock. And we run a market stall that doesn’t take days off, as our regular customers rely on us.

But we couldn’t say no. After all, P’Eve had come to our home and extended such a heartfelt invitation.

            I let P’Eve speak directly to my dad. When he agreed, I immediately booked flights. We packed dried ji-pom (fermented fish wrapped in banana leaf), sun-dried beef, garlic, chili powder, toasted rice powder, and fresh turmeric from our backyard to bring along.

10 Drinking Snacks by Chef Charn Na Nuan Jan

           At Zao in Ekkamai, we were warmly welcomed by P’Eve, P’Hanif, and the team. We planned a list of dishes to serve—originally more than 10, but we narrowed it down so Dad wouldn’t be overwhelmed. Here’s what he made:

1. Glan Gai (Steamed Chicken Under Pressure) – A traditional Isaan dish using local herbs and backyard turmeric, slowly cooked the way we do at home.
2. Om Baang (Meat Stew) – A stew recipe usually made with monitor lizard, but adapted using beef shank.
3. Fried Ji-Pom – Brachytrupes portentosus (Lichtenstein), brought fresh from home, fried with pandan and kaffir lime leaves.
4. Sun-Dried Beef – Homemade beef jerky marinated with sticky rice, then fried crispy.
5. Oxtail Soup – A family favorite. Dad adapted this from a recipe he once tasted and made it his own.
6. Grilled Beef Ribs – Marinated and grilled until juicy, served with homemade jaew dipping sauce in wild betel leaves.
7. Koi Pong (Dry Tartare-Style Beef) – Raw beef mixed with salt and lime, hand-squeezed until dry and fluffy.
8. Drunken Stir-Fry – Beef marinated in rice liquor, stir-fried with eggs, shallots, and kaffir lime leaves. Only a tipsy chef can make this dish right.
9. Suah Gai Baan – A Kalasin-style chicken soup with Vietnamese coriander, perfect for sipping.
10. Fried Sun-Dried Squid – Served with a spicy dipping sauce. Simple and perfect with sato.

Isaan Pride Is Nothing to Hide

Just because it’s Isaan doesn’t mean it has to be cheap.
Why can’t our culture be premium? We have rich traditions, rare ingredients, and dishes filled with care.

            I had read several interviews with P’Eve Natthida Palasak, the stylish and soulful woman from Ubon, across various platforms. And I saw something familiar in her thinking—something that mirrored my own journey. So when she invited my father to cook his food in Bangkok, I couldn’t help but wonder: Would this really work?

            But all doubts faded as the evening unfolded. One by one, the guests who had booked their seats began arriving at the restaurant. They were excited—to taste my father’s traditional gap glaem (drinking snacks), to sip sato from Kalasin, and to hear a live khaen performance from Thao Ma Yuy, a young mor khaen from Sisaket.

           My father and I stood by in the kitchen, nervous and hopeful, waiting to see if anyone would actually order his food. Meanwhile, Thao Ma Yuy was tuning his instrument, preparing to serenade the room. Then the first order came through. The head chef called out:
“Jee Pom Tod” (Fried Burrowing Cricket).

           My father and I looked at each other in disbelief. We’d spent days worrying—Would anyone even order this dish? It’s something almost no one outside our home had tasted. But P’Eve had assured us: “Don’t worry. This is Zao. People come here because they want to try something new.” And she was right.

           Jee Pom, or mole cricket, is a rare insect that lives underground in the rice fields. Their song sounds like a cricket’s, which is why my father calls them “underground singers.” They’re hard to catch. You dig one hole and, if you’re lucky, you’ll get one Jee Pom. If you’re not skilled, you might find none at all.

           They’re seasonal, only appearing between October and January, when the water in the rice fields begins to recede. During this time, they’re plump, rich in flavor and protein, having stored up nutrients for the dry season. We can’t farm them or industrialize them—they only come from nature, when nature is ready.

           We asked our neighbors to help gather them—10 to 20 insects each—then we fed the crickets cassava leaves to cleanse their systems. After cleaning and gutting them, we roasted them before flying them to Bangkok.

           So many of the foods we eat in Isaan are like this—rare, natural, and un-farmable. You can’t raise them in factories. You can’t force them to grow out of season. You just wait, and when the time is right, nature provides.
This way of life—our way—is inseparable from nature.

And this kind of fresh, seasonal, foraged food? You won’t find it in the big city. It is a quiet kind of luxury, one that’s hidden in the soil, in the rhythms of the land.

We, the people of Isaan, should be proud of this luxurious way of life.
It’s time the world sees it for what it truly is.

Come See, Come Feel: The Pride of Isaan People

          As Thao Ma Yui began to breathe life into the khaen, traditional Isaan drinking snacks started flowing from the kitchen. Each dish arrived at the tables where guests sipped sato from delicate wine glasses, their senses immersed in the sound of the khaen and the warm ambiance of an Isaan restaurant filled with familiar textures—woven mats, pickled fish jars, rustic household items—layered with modern touches, all housed in a charming mid-century Thai home. It was beautiful, cozy, and perfectly blended.

          My father, Charn, stepped out of the kitchen to greet the guests, glass in hand. Some came over to take photos, others asked questions or even interviewed him. Some were there because they’d heard of his cooking, others came for the khaen, and many were regulars at Zao, excited to experience a new menu crafted by a guest chef all the way from Kalasin. Everyone was buzzing with anticipation, enjoying the food and entranced by Thao Ma Yuy’s lively khaen melodies.

          As the rhythm picked up, the music, the sato, and the joy in the air stirred the room. It started with Dad—he was the first to get up and dance. I couldn’t resist joining in. Within seconds, the whole restaurant was on their feet, dancing around the space in a spontaneous Isaan-style parade. People from every background—Isaan locals, Bangkokians, folks from across the country, even foreigners—were pulled in by the playful, pulsing energy of the khaen. It took just one mor khaen and his breath to lift everyone to their feet.
That, right there, is the contagious joy of Isaan—it spreads so effortlessly.

            My dad was overwhelmed with happiness. He was speechless watching it all unfold in an Isaan restaurant in the heart of Ekkamai. He never imagined that what he’d been doing all his life could be this powerful—that cooking simple dishes we eat at home could feel so… extraordinary.

After the event, I asked him, “Are you tired?”
He shook his head and smiled.
“Not at all,” he said.
            Even though it was his first time ever cooking in a professional kitchen, he was genuinely happy. He loved every moment of it. He never thought he could do something like this, never thought someone would value it. For a man who’s spent his life following instinct, living on a farm, and never even owned a mobile phone, this was the first time he truly felt seen.

          I’m deeply grateful to Zao Isan, to P’Eve and the entire Zao team, for giving an ordinary man like my dad a chance to stand tall, to make other ordinary villagers feel proud of who they are. And thank you to all the guests who came—it was your presence and your excitement that created such a beautiful memory. I’m sure my dad will be telling this story for decades to come.

           There was a time when being from Isaan meant you had to hide who you were—speak perfect Central Thai, avoid letting anyone know your roots when you entered the city.
But things have changed.

          When a man gets to feel proud of who he is, of what he can do—when he feels valued for his true self—
That is what dignity truly means.
And that is the pride of Isaan.