#Draingang
By Eli Pearl
11/28/22
There’s nothing like the crackling excitement of a prospective foodventure. Stepping into the unknown, the prospect of a great meal looming on the other side. You’re plunging yourself into the darkness of uncertainty, the chasm of doubt. You don’t know what’s coming. You could die. Or you could eat coconut curry. We chose option #2.
Jesse Nevins, Hudson Brown, my Cousin Yort (not his real name, he requested anonymity on this story), and I rendezvoused at the Nevins’ abode. We participated in ritual slapassery, piled into Jesse’s RAV4, and were off. The plan was Jitlada, the self-described world famous Thai Town institution. Turns out their self-evaluation was correct. We arrived to see a gaggle of people waiting outside. So we pivoted to Plan B. But Plan B was closed. So then: Plan C. After a bit of surfing InfatuationLA, we found Northern Thai Food Club. 8.5/10. Good enough.
Approaching the restaurant from the empty parking lot outside, I was thoroughly unimpressed. A small establishment jammed in the corner of a mini-mall (as many great LA restaurants are), Northern Thai Food Club seated about eleven at those fake wood tables that are somehow always sticky. And it was nearly empty. But, right as we were about to splat into Plan D (Hardee’s?), I noticed #37. Northern Thai Food Club was #37 in the LA TIMES food rankings, famously pioneered by Jonathan Gold. That’s when I knew we were in for a treat.
Jonathan Gold was gold. Like his name (sorry). The former LA Times food reviewer would cruise through LA in his signature suspenders, finding the best restaurants in the neighborhoods ignored by the food-reviewing establishment. Gold’s 101 Best Restaurants list was an eclectic array of Tacos and Terrine; Kimchi and Koobideh. Gold, like the late, great Anthony Bourdain (currently reading “A Cook’s Tour” by him, highly recommend), held no pretense towards his food. The bodhisattva of the LA food scene, Gold would find nirvana and ensure that the mere mortals around him also got a slice of the grub-sowed bliss. And Gold never missed.
With a second wind from the endorsement of the man himself, we entered the flavor chamber. And were promptly hit by the smell. Notes of cumin. Welcoming lemongrass. Briney fish sauce. Hell yeah. We took our seats, and after ritually insulting Yort because he’s a vegetarian, perused the poorly laminated menu. Jackfruit salad. Spicy pork sausage. Tomato curry vermicelli noodles. Too many choices. We were daunted by the spectre of our own free will. But after much deliberation, we narrowed down our options: Laab Moo Kua (pork larb), Moo Sam Chan Tod (crispy pork cracklins), Tum Pla Ra (papaya salad), Gaeng Hae Lae (pork curry), and the always-obligatory sticky rice. A pleasurable assortment. But just as the waitress was collecting our menus, something caught my eye: Khao Soi (chicken and coconut noodles). I quickly audibled. Requested a bit of the coconut goodness. And it was the best thing I’ve ever done since I put wonderbread in the turkey meatballs (you had to be there).
The paper plates came out first. The Thai tea followed. An agreeable little taste-bud baptism. Subtle. After waiting about 24.5 seconds, our food started to come out. The Moo Sam Chan Tod was the appetizer. Damn good. Coming with a side of chili oil, the fried exterior snapped, crackled, and popped upon first contact with the mouth. Then the onslaught began. Gaeng Hae Lae. Whiffs of cardamom effused out of the copper-colored curry. First bite was a hydraulic press of flavor. Heavy in the best way. The Gaeng Hae Lae was a recently aggrieved Jadaveon Clowney, and I was a poor, unsuspecting Michigan running back. I needed to be put in concussion protocol. But luckily, I was provided with a respite from the blitz. Turning to the papaya salad, I found subtlety, rather than intensity. Light as a feather. Moved like a ballerina. Citrussy, with accents of lime. Refreshing. Ginger-esque, in that it reset the palate. A perfect alley-oop for the slam dunk that was the Khao Soi. I don’t know if I’ve had a better dish. The coconut cream provided a sense of addictive sweetness. But the melange of spices added so much nuance. Turmeric. Coriander. Lime. Lovely. The hodgepodge of joy was perfectly complemented by the glass noodles, which added a necessary bit of texture to the curry. And the dainty little bits of chicken completed the dish, making it savory, sweet, and slightly emotional. Easily a top-16 dish.
But as we were gleefully filling our faces, I caught something interesting from the table beside us. First, I need to take a step back. When I entered the restaurant, I noticed the only other people there were two Rick Owens-clad millennials. I caught a glimpse of the person on the left, and thought to myself, “wow, that person sure looks like internationally-acclaimed Swedish rapper and member of the Drain Gang Ecco2k!” But then I thought to myself, “What would a Stockholm legend be doing in a 7-seater Thai restaurant in LA?” I put the thought on the backburner, and went back to my smorgasbord of sumptuous sustenance. That was until I heard the aforementioned table behind me speaking Swedish (still not convinced that Sweden isn’t just an elaborate money-laundering ploy for IKEA). I raised an eyebrow, and whispered to my friends: “I think acclaimed Swedish rapper and member of Drain Gang Ecco2k is behind us at Northern Thai Food Club!”
We spent the rest of the meal in hushed silence, eavesdropping for confirmation of Swedendom. At some point, after we’d bated our breath for far too long (Yort fainted due to asphyxiation, his vegetarianism having weakened his constitution), I turned around and asked the table “what language are you speaking?” The auxiliary Rick-Owenite turned to us, laughed, and said “Swedish!” And as this was being said, Maybe2k turned towards us, and I got my confirmation. It was Ecco2k. In the flesh. Drainer. Pioneer of Cloud Rap. Creator of the best song titled “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.” Legend to pretentious teenagers everywhere.
Then the second internal debate started: do I say hi to Ecco2k? Obviously, I’m familiar with the LA celebrity etiquette: celebrities are normal people that don’t want to be bothered. But when’s the next time I’ll be in IKEA? After waffling for a while, I decided that I would kick myself if I didn’t say hi. But I also didn’t want to interrupt their meal. So I waited until they paid, and as they left the restaurant, I awkwardly said “I’m a big fan.” Ecco2k paused, looked around, stared straight at me, and broke out laughing. Now I can tell my kids that I had a long, meaningful conversation with a member of the greatest Swedish music group of all time.
Chuffed by running into Ecco2k, the rest of the night was a success. We drove around the hills of LA listening to the Chinatown soundtrack, pretending to be grizzled private eyes with failing marriages. From there, we soldiered on to a Buñuel movie (Belle Du Jour) on 35mm; a film I was both disturbed by and also positively did not understand. After being pleasantly troubled, we returned to Jesse’s house, and said adieu. A highly successful night, mainly due to a highly successful meal. I’d return to the Northern Thai Food Club under any context. And recommend it under any context. If anyone sees Bladee there let me know.
Food: 9.57/10
Drink: 8.39/10
Price: 9.12/10
Service: 9.34/10
Ecco2k interaction: 4.82/10 (I was awkward, totally my fault)
The Final Verdict: Best place for dining on Khao Sui and communicating with niche internet microcelebrities: 9.68/10
Thank you for reading! I apologize for the couple month break there, but the first half of senior year is pretty busy. But now that college apps are (practically) finished, I plan on getting back into writing articles. If you have any questions, concerns, or general queries, you can reach me at @_eli.pearl or @elieats__ on instagram. Furthermore, if you have any restaurant recommendations, please send them my way! Thanks! -Eli
