Hanging with a Pop-Up Star
Photos by Linda Campos
When Pao Thampitak sets the table at his home in the heart of Medford, magic happens. The signature tablescape is overtly tropical, a red floral pattern atop a marigold oilcloth. The room is dimly but adequately lit, and his dozens of verdant houseplants give a lush and welcoming feel to the space. The aromas of the multi-course family-style Gaaeng Thai Supper Club waft through the air as I enter the dining room.
I got my “in” by snagging a spot after reading an announcement via an Instagram post. That’s it: a simple DM (direct message) and then the details follow. But the ticket transaction is the only simple part of this multi-layered culinary experience.
I arrive at Episode 12, entitled “Gateway to Lanna,” just a little late to join the nine others who gather this Tuesday evening. By the time I settle in, my fellow supper clubbers have saved me the first course: Aong Pu Na (อ่องปูนา), grilled rice paddy crab fat in a crab shell, and then a carefully arranged Sah Kwai (ส้าควาย), bison carpaccio with 16 spices and thinly sliced chilies. I smile and acknowledge the folks across the table, then the person to my left says hello, passes me some sticky rice, points me to the BYOB drink station—and the evening begins.
Born and raised in Bangkok, Thailand, Thampitak’s passion for cooking is deeply rooted in his family’s culinary heritage. One he initially ignored. His maternal grandmother, aunt and mother peddled curry in the northeast, or Isaan region, a mostly rural area with a strong agricultural history known for its hot climate. His grandmother’s recipe for crab curry is famous among street food vendors in the south of Bangkok. His mother hawked noodles in bamboo baskets yoked over her shoulders throughout the city’s streets for 20 years. It’s not a surprise, then, that the supper club is named gaaeng, which loosely translates to curry in Thai—an homage to his matriarchal lineage of culinarians. Having initially arrived in the United States nine years ago for art school in hopes of pursuing a career as a graphic artist, Thampitak’s life panned out differently. His disappointment with some of the Thai offerings here in Massachusetts, and his love and longing for the Thai cuisine he knew, eventually drew him into the world of cooking, where he found his true calling. Inspired by his upbringing and fueled by his desire to share the authentic (and less sweet) flavors of his Thailand, he embarked on a culinary journey that is truly his and set outside the limits of the traditional restaurant industry.
Thampitak started the pop-up concept initially as a space to share food with friends, and just as a creative outlet. This led him to much admiration and winning accolades in Boston’s dining scene. In early 2020, he was part of the team that worked on the opening menu for Mahaniyom, the acclaimed and self-described “homey” Thai restaurant in Brookline Village. “I truly enjoyed working with the team to conceptualize the menu and bring the vision to reality, yet the constraints of a repetitive menu were not for me,” Thampitak tells me. He arrived at Mahaniyom after stints at various local restaurants where his staff meals garnered the attention of his peers, as his perspective on Thai food drew on his childhood and his curiosity.
“Many people collect mini toys or cars; I collect chili paste,” Thampitak says, as he walks me through the 10 types of chili paste he currently has on rotation. He explains that chili paste is the basis for many of the dishes he prepares, like the mirepoix in French cuisine. Chili pastes are often built on a base of peppers, shrimp or fish paste. “They are regional and the processing methods differ from producer to producer,” he tells me. “Each one is different in flavor, and changes from village to village.”
Through family connections, primarily his father, Thampitak secures key ingredients from Thailand, complementing local finds in Boston. However, sourcing can pose a challenge—many ingredients take time and effort to find. Some days he’s combing through the shelves at Asian grocers in Lowell or Dorchester; other days he’s processing customs forms to collect boxes of spices and other ingredients, procured and shipped to him direct from Thailand. The availability of ingredients is extremely seasonal, so his menus are planned by factoring in shipping times and then adapted based on New England’s seasonality to create thoughtful dining experiences.
As the supper club evening progresses, we make space at the table to receive the star dishes of the evening: Nam Ngiaw (น้ำ˝ˇเงี้ยว), a northern-style beef bone marrow noodle soup with beef blood, dried red cotton tree flower and fermented bean wafer; Gaaeng Hung-lay (แกงฮังเล) with beef tongue, pickled garlic in honey, ginger and hinlay masala. A few exclamations of delight come from diners, and the trio to my left reminisces on their time spent living in Thailand and the nostalgic energy that the hot pot brings back for them. With this the phones emerge, and we serve as lighting directors and producers for one another’s mini photo shoots in an attempt to capture the presentation before we dive into the next course.
Next, his assistant and business partner, Tayapha ‘Meen’ Thainapha, brings out yet another platter, Ab Aong Aw (แอ่บอ่องออ)—grilled pork brain curry in banana leaf packet. At the heart of Thampitak’s culinary creations is a dedication to nose-to-tail dining, where every part of the animals he uses for meat is creatively utilized to craft dishes that challenge and delight his diners’ palates—sometimes met by initial hesitation for some. It’s pig brains, after all. He draws most of his inspiration from 19th-century Thai cookbooks that he brought with him on his journey to the United States and his own inspiration after almost a decade stateside.
But Thampitak’s culinary journey is not just about the food—it’s about the people and partnerships that make it all possible. His work is built on community and collaborations. As a fairly recent immigrant, he has found home in his culinary tribe. I first met him in 2021 when he offered a presentation on rice at Design Studio for Social Intervention’s (DS4SI) Public Kitchen Project in Dorchester, where neighbors gather to dine and learn about a culinary tradition. He has collaborated with Alice Achayo—The Wine Linguist— and called on friends like Sasha Coleman, formerly of Tanám at Bow Market, to serve as his sous chef when needed. He’s had stints at Comfort Kitchen, where you can find him not in the kitchen but in the dining room as a server, sharing his vast knowledge with diners. He has hosted Gaaeng pop-ups at Spoke Wine Bar, The Eaves (also at Bow Market), The Koji Club in Brighton and most recently brought his work up to Crispy Gai in Portland, Maine.
On this night in particular, the diners are a mix of epicures, expats, a couple preparing to travel to Thailand, a few first-generation Thai Americans looking for a taste of their homeland, and me, a curious food enthusiast. As I look around the room, our faces show how enthralled we are by the platter being presented: Kahn Toke (ขันโตก), grilled green pepper stuffed with chiang mai sausages, grilled quail quarters served on a bed of radicchio, julienned carrots, crisp watermelon radishes, sliced fresh cucumbers and a trio of relishes to close out the evening as the final dish before dessert. Some diners, myself included, show signs of being filled, yet Thampitak explains that the quail was delicately tea smoked for 24 hours and that detail was enough for most of us to make more room.
Finally, Thampitak makes his formal debut, thanking us for being in his home as friends, not guests, and walks us through the menu. He fields questions from a curious bunch of satisfied diners. He ultimately shares his vision to serve as an ambassador for his region, his home, to showcase Thai food as he remembers it, as he experienced it, his perspective tapped into his rural and humble lineage.
His culinary perspective is an amalgamation of the first language he learned from his matriarchal line, coupled with his metropolitan Massachusetts experience. Some diners form a tiny queue to chat with Thampitak. “Like I said, I’m trying to be a spokesman for some of the small communities in Thailand that are not well known for their food,” he told me when we first met, and I overhear him sharing similar sentiments with another guest.
To close out the evening, we take our place to have the finale: ice cream kati and corn cake (ไอศครีมกะทิ & ขนมข้าวโพด), a coconut-milk-based homemade ice cream with corn cake steamed in a corn husk packet. It’s a delightful, rich dish, with a full cream mouthfeel, a slightly sweet treat to top off the evening and send us off with a warm hug.
This story appeared in the Fall 2024 issue.
