Chiang Mai continues to enamor me. It’s eclectic, charming, and diverse—naive, yet teetering on the edge of losing its innocence.  As I explore more of this city, a Chiang Mai food tour feels like the best way to dive deeper into its flavors and street culture. I can add to my culinary exploits, find a new side dish or two, and learn how to ask for my faves.

Los Angeles, California’s vast food expanse schooled my virgin palate in the ways of the world. Scouting new restaurant openings across the city was one of my top forms of entertainment. Hitting all the hot spots was a father daughter bonding experience as well. Every six months or so, my dad would leave the sticks to check up on me. I’d spend weeks mapping each new trendy venue, ranging from $$$$ to $$, always sneaking in one low-price option so I wouldn’t look bad. Starving actress working in the food industry—how else was a girl supposed to eat?

My hunger for the new, the different, and the downright scrumptious followed me to Austin, Texas. The ever-expanding foodie scene there kept my taste buds sharp and restless.

Until… the dreaded C.

Aside from shutting down the entire world, Covid shut down my tongue. Two months of nonstop coughing, massive medications, and daily inhalants shredded it. A squirt of lemon and I’ve got ceviche. A touch of tomatillo? I’m torched. My beloved bubbly burns like a son of a bitch. Mistaking a red chili pepper for a red non-chili pepper nearly sent me into orbit.

My once exquisitely cultivated, polished lingua can no longer tell the difference between a Michelin star or a Michelin tire. Bland over bold? It bores the hell out of me. Unable to appreciate what used to be one of my favorite cuisines frustrates me to no end. On the road from Bangkok to Chiang Mai, it hit me that Thai food in the US is nothing like Thai food here. Other than Pad Thai, I haven’t found any of my go-to dishes. There is no beef satay, the satay sauce here is thin with just a whisper of peanut, laab from home can’t be found, and no one has even heard of Mee Krob—all California staples.

Almost two months into my stay in the land once called Siam, food options remain a mystery. Putting aside my self-imposed no-human-contact rule, I signed up for the highly rated A Chef’s Tour: Northern Flavors to explore the best of Northern Thailand’s food scene.

Walking the 25 minutes to the meet-up point, I sense rain coming. I’m still wrapping my head around rainy season: one day I had an hour-and-a-half walk home, popping in and out of shopping centers, dodging downpours. Pop out—sunshine. Pop in—rain pummeling rooftops. By the time I got home, not a drop had hit my head.

Moui, our guide, gathers the family of four from Puerto Rico, another gal from Puerto Rico who now lives in China, a Bella from Italy who now lives in Germany, and me—who now lives nowhere. Introductions done, we climb aboard our red trolley. First stop: Chang Phuak Night Market.

What absolutely floors me about these markets is the sheer hustle. Every vendor makes their food at home or elsewhere, then hauls all the equipment—stoves, tents, chairs, tables—sets up the booth, sells all night, and then breaks it down, only to do it again tomorrow.

I’ve catered on and off for most of my life. Let me tell you—nothing about it is easy. Cooking it, loading it, setting it up, serving it, then breaking it down in a 10-hour window is brutal. The stamina required, the physicality, the endless hours on your feet—it’s not a  joke. It built my body, that’s for damn sure. I reveled in it. Not a fan of gyms and definitely not flush with cash for memberships, catering was my gym. Earth’s gym. The best kind.

Our tour hits Chiang Mai’s famous hot spots—those Anthony Bourdain raved about in Parts Unknown—and then some. “Then some” not being part of the title… just places he didn’t get to. I’m not a food critic, and this isn’t a travel blog. Google away for  details.

During our four-hour tour the weather started getting rough, our tiny truck was tossed. If not for the courage of our fearless guide.. we might have ended up marooned at the hotpot stand.

The rain came down, giving me my comeuppance for boasting I haven’t used an umbrella once in seven weeks.Best I stick to my vow of silence.The showers do little to deter the crowds. Moui tells us that very few Thais cook at home. “Why spend time and energy when you can walk out your door and get high-quality, well-priced, homemade meals?” That explains the minimal kitchen setups in every Airbnb. And the never-ending street food.

At one stand, we try a stewed buffalo dish with a rich, hearty curry. Moui grabs a palm-sized portion of sticky rice, rolls it into a ball, scoops up broth and meat, and pops it into her mouth. “Real Northern Thai cuisine is eaten with the hands,” she says. “Even in restaurants and at home, we eat like this. The only time we use chopsticks is for noodles. Then we use a spoon and chopsticks. Only then.”

Now I get the weird looks I’ve been getting. I thought they were giving me utensils because I couldn’t handle chopsticks. I went out of my way to demand them, showing off how I know how to put 2 sticks together. One server frowned and said, “We use a fork and spoon.” HAHA. OMG. What an idiot.  Guess I really impressed her.

We stop at what I’d call an outdoor grocery store—tables stacked with fruit, spices, and ingredients for the intricate dishes these street chefs make. Moui points out Northern Food has little spice.She tells us Chiang Mai royalty would never eat spicy food—they didn’t want to sweat and look bad. That’s why Northern Thai food lacks heat. Another difference between north and south? Only the braised buffalo curry we just ate uses coconut milk.” Probably to mask the taste I think to myself.

Walking through the aisles, I see food I’ve never laid eyes. I wonder who figured out how to put all this stuff in one pot and eat it. Moui grabs a bunch of alien-looking fruits for us to sample. Our seats get moved indoors as the rain continues proving its point. On the table next to the fruit platter is a plate full of crickets and silkworms. We are all chomping at the bit to get our hands on those. Hahahahah that cracks me up. Normally, I’ll jump in where others hesitate, but this time I hang back. That rain comment of mine is still reverberating. Best to just lay low.

By now, the group is loosening up. While waiting for the table switch, Miss Italy suddenly yelps, “A rat just ran over my foot!” We gather, asking “Where? Where?” She points to a small hole. As we look, a swarm of cockroaches charges straight at us. We scream and scatter all over the place. We end up doubled over with laughter, stomachs aching, while the locals just shake their heads. For all I know, a few of those roaches are about to end up as a side dish.

Our group continues daring each other to eat the bugs. Eventually, we all cave. True to my word to Krist, I shove a silkworm onto my battered tongue. Hmmm I’m not getting that yummmm feeling. The cricket edging out the worm but barely. Blame it on the crunch factor.

Next stop is a vegetarian brick-and-mortar joint, popular with Farangs (Western foreigners). Moui explains this place is known for its Shan food. The Shan people, from Myanmar (formerly Burma), fled to Thailand to avoid persecution. Myanmar’s civil war has been raging for over 70 years—the longest in history. The Shan now dominate restaurant kitchens, construction, and cleaning jobs around Chiang Mai. Thais don’t look down on them; they just don’t want those jobs. Moui says the new government wants to send the Shan back, creating tension. Without the Shan who will do all the dirty work. Wait, I’ve heard this song before. Sounds so familiar.. Same tune, different lyrics.

All aboard for dessert: back where we started, at the market where the famous Cowboy Hat Lady sells her pork knuckles. Another one of Mister Bourdain’s fav’s. We trek through the throngs of people, mud caking our shoes to our final stop. We sit at an uneven, dented, rain-spotted table, and I can’t help but chuckle at the image of taking my Dad here. “For real, Dad, these are the highest-rated dishes in Chiang Mai.”

The food? Fantastic. Couldn’t tell you the names of most of the stalls or the dishes, and I sure as hell can’t tell you why Anthony Bourdain jumped off the Living Like I’m Dying tour a few stops too early. But one dish? It shot straight up to number one on my Top Ten Billboard: crispy pork belly cooked in clay pots. The skin is so crisp it could (almost) chip a tooth. Dip it in the sauce, made with some of the food stuffs I’d seen earlier no doubt, and what few nerve endings I have left on my tongue start dancing.

What a relief. Not only did I find a new dish to love, I know exactly how to pronounce it.

Chiang Mai Food Tour: Bugs, Buffalo Curry, and Bourdain’s Ghost

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Best Chiang Mai food tour featuring insects, buffalo curry, and street food legends.