The first time I tried khao soi, I was living in Toronto.
Stuffed up with a cold on the couch, all I wanted was a hot soup; a tried-and-true remedy to clear my sinuses and soothe my sore throat. And after mindlessly scrolling UberEats, I decided against getting one ordered in the middle of winter; the lukewarm version they serve in styrofoam is never as good as the real thing, anyways. I remembered the Thai spot down the street had a few good options on the menu.
I walked in with the intent of getting my regular; tom yum hot and sour soup, made with a broth simmered with split stalks of earthy lemongrass and nasal-opening chillis.
“Have you been here before?” my waitress asked. “All the time,” I said, and it wasn’t a lie. “I’ve had almost everything, but today I want some kind of soup,” I said, scanning the menu to see if anything new had been added.
“Oh the khao soi is my favourite,” my waitress replied. “So good!”
Confused, I checked the menu again and found the dish, looped into the noodle section. “This one’s a soup?” I asked, inspecting the ingredients a little more closely. After confirming it fit the bill for what I was in for that day, I placed the order.
The khao soi arrived in a giant black bowl, with two bamboo chopsticks submerged in its contents. The first thing that struck me was the overpowering, aromatic smell. The second thing was the colour. A thick, creamy, yellow curry broth lapped at the sides of the bowl, where a heap of fresh, hand-pulled egg noodles were buried in the middle. Pieces of finely chopped green onion, chopped lemongrass stalks, thin red onion and coriander danced by. And then there were the shrimp, perfectly pink, and a stack of crispy fried noodles for some added crunch. A plump lime wedge finished off the dish.
Slurping happily, this was the first of many bowls to come.
When I found myself in Thailand earlier this year, I knew what had to be done. For the first four days of my eight-day trip, I scrutinized every lunch and dinner menu (that’s 16 meals, in case you were wondering) but to no avail—red, yellow and green curries and pad Thai dominated the pages, but khao soi just didn’t seem to exist.
Finally, I caved, and asked my tour guide, Puy, if it was just another made up dish for North Americans.
“Khao soi is really hard to find until you go north,” she explained with a laugh.
My eight-day adventure with group tour operator G Adventures included a few nights in the northern city of Chiang Mai, which I found out is actually the birthplace of the notorious curry noodle soup. Known for providing travellers with authentic community experiences at a local level, my time with G Adventures included a cooking class where I found out I was making—you guessed it—khao soi.
Hair and apron tied, I got to work, first grinding garlic, ginger and shallots using a mortar and pestle to make the base of the curry. I scraped my mixture into a sizzling wok, then added a splash of coconut milk followed by coconut cream and chunks of tilapia fish. Once the protein was thoroughly cooked, the piping hot soup base was poured over a bowl of soft egg noodles, and topped with crispy noodles.
Thai dishes are among my favourites, but until now, I’d never attempted one. But for a dish with such complex flavours, I was surprised at how simple it was to replicate and how easy it all came together.
This story first appeared in the Fall 2024 issue of Culinary Travels. Click here to subscribe to the print issue.