By Heather Hoch
By Eric Schaefer
By New Times
By Rachel Miller
By Eric Schaefer
By Heather Hoch and Lauren Saria
By Robrt L. Pela
By Heather Hoch
Such icebox treats double as inspiration for the writing process. Even as I tap-tap away at my keyboard, I am nibbling on a deep-fried banana fritter from Line Thai in Sun City. This oblong hunk of 'naner, coated in a golden batter, makes for a superb snack. Served hot at the restaurant, they almost seem too sweet and rich to be the appetizer they're listed as on the menu. Exquisite warm, when cold, they seem more breadlike and less sweet. I'm glad I only have a few left over from din-din. Otherwise, I wouldn't get much typing done, now, would I?
Before I take a break from composing to finish off some remaining pad Thai and pad see-ew from a previous evening at this two-month-old establishment, perhaps I should enlighten you as to its owner, the lovely and charming Rattiyaporn Chaiyasut. Anyone who's frequented that Siamese standby Thai Rama over the years will find Chaiyasut's smiling face a familiar one. Her uncle started the business many moons ago, and even after he sold it, she stayed on as the manager, feeding me so many times that it's amusing to think that she had no idea I was New Times' restaurant maven.
9805 W. Bell Road
Sun City, AZ 85351
Region: Sun City
Pad Thai: $7.95
Tom kha kai: $8.95
Hours: Lunch, 11 a.m. to 2:30 p.m. Monday through Friday; Dinner, 5 to 9 p.m. Monday through Friday; 11 a.m. to 9 p.m. Saturday; 11 a.m. to 8 p.m. Sunday.
Chaiyasut has been meaning to break out on her own for some time now, and she couldn't have picked a place more famished for Thai food than Sun City, not exactly known as the Asian cuisine capital of the country. In Line Thai, Sun City residents are twice blessed. Not only do they get a decent Thai grub preparer in their backyard, they get one that's decorated like a Bangkok art gallery. Chaiyasut has tastefully hung scores of oil paintings by her artist brother Pinnarea throughout the place. They depict everything from the erotic to the religious. Wood carvings and sculptures of elephants, Thai women, and musicians balance out the aesthetic offerings. Why, it's almost worth the journey from central Phoenix to examine the art.
Fortunately, there are no commercial pauses during food columns; otherwise, you'd realize I'd just returned from the kitchen. I totally forgot that I'd polished off the aforementioned pad Thai and pad see-ew during a sleepwalking bout early this morning. Empty cartons testify to the tastiness of each. The pad Thai was pretty standard, but the pad see-ew, with its fat rice noodles, chicken and broccoli stir-fried in soy sauce, was exceptional, one of the better pad see-ews in town. I did leave a Styrofoam container of kaeng phed ped yang unmolested, and one of tom kha kai. These two taste much better warm, so I blasted each dish with a couple of minutes of microwave radiation, before trotting back to my computer desk to have at them.
My Thai is a little rusty (read: nonexistent), but apparently kaeng phed ped yang translates as something akin to roast duck in coconut curry sauce with pineapple, peas, carrots, and tomatoes. Siamese Kitchen (located in a shopping center on the northwest corner of 43rd Avenue and Olive) has a similar duck-curry dish, and Line Thai's duck concoction is by no means superior. However, it's not bad, either the first or the second time around. The curry itself is fine, but I would've preferred more duck and more tomatoes.
The tom kha kai, on the other hand, is in a class by itself. This traditional Thai soup is brought to your table in a flaming pot, and consists of a reddish-brown sweet-and-sour broth filled with chicken, mushrooms, coconut milk, hunks of gingerlike galangal, stalks of lemongrass, basil, and who knows what else. Slurping it as I type, dribbling drops over my keyboard and down the front of my nightshirt (the vestment I normally wear while banging out a notice), I'm in spicy-Thai seventh heaven. Oh, whatever would I do without a dry cleaner nearby?
I'm still rather famished, believe it or not, so I've returned to the cocina for what must be the most potent item remaining: a bowl of pla duk rad phrik; i.e., crispy fillet o' catfish drowned in a thick, burgundy-colored chili paste sauce, with carrots, onions, and red and green peppers. I didn't notice anything while at Line Thai, but overnight in the confines of my air-conditioned steel pantry, the dish has developed a stench so acrid and overwhelming that I at first hesitate to reheat the leavings. But my stomach rumblings prove more powerful than the stench, and I nuke it at full-blast. The finale is much as it had been the preceding eve, wonderfully spicy, and this at the level of "medium." Next time, I'll have to try "hot."