The Taste of Pad Thai Noodles

The first time I tasted Pad Thai noodles, I was standing in the hot afternoon sun at a food stall in the middle of Vermont Avenue in Los Angeles. The noodles were served up hot in a oily paper bowl, quickly handed out while the cook furiously dashed together more noodles in a large wok. At the time, I was about ten years old, and that abundant mouthful of greasy, sweet, pungent and tangy rice noodles, slightly burnt and tasting of the pan, fragrant with a mystery of flavors, was a revelation.

My aunt had brought me along to the local neighborhood street fair, as she loved to try the many offerings from various food stalls lining the road that day. She especially loved carne asada tacos from the Mexican vendor. I wasn’t that interested in carne asada, so I meandered over to the Thai stand, following that enticing wok oil smell wafting in the air, luring me closer. I tried samples of crispy sticky-sweet mee krob, skewers of chicken satay, mango sticky rice, melting hot fried bananas. I loved the burnt char, the sweet and savory, the candied tang of tamarind paste and palm sugar mixed with salty brine, vinegar and lime.

After that day, my school lunches of plain American cheese on white bread and Hostess cherry pies weren’t quite what I wanted. I longed for another warm bowl of those Pad Thai noodles.