“Instagram can make a cook despair,” Nigella Lawson once penned in her customary mellifluous prose for The Guardian, a sentiment she expanded into an entire chapter, “A Loving Defence of Brown Food,” in her book Cook, Eat, Repeat. She was, of course, alluding to the omnipresent influence of social media over our collective taste buds, where food is valued not for its flavour but for its photogenic potential. The premise is as unforgiving as it is absurd: cuisine must now be an aesthetic masterpiece to justify its place on our plates, relegating the humble, hearty dishes to the shadows. Once, it sufficed for food to taste good. Now, it must also smile for the camera, possess the allure of a supermodel under perfect lighting, and flaunt a garnish like a hat at Ascot.

This has spawned a vicious cycle, dictating not only what we choose to cook but also where we deign to dine—where the wattage of the Instagram filter has become the most crucial ingredient (and full disclosure, I’m as guilty as the next when it comes to snapping food photos). In Bangkok—a city that might just boast the dubious honour of being the globe’s most photographed food metropolis—one dish has resolutely bucked this trend, standing, or rather stewing, firmly against the superficial tide. Enter Massaman, the dowager queen of Thai brown food, a dish that not only basks in its earthy hue but exalts it; a glorious celebration of brownness, an homage to the shade that food stylists and dieticians dread but that gourmands revere.

The term Massaman (มัสมั่น) is itself a bit of etymological intrigue, a linguistic landmine for historians. Some purists whisper of Persian origins, a subtle nod to “Mussulman,” an archaic term for Muslim, reflecting the dish’s deep roots in Islamic culture. Others, with a scholarly wink, suggest the Malay word “masam,” meaning sour, could have dipped its spoon into this lexical pot. The truth, as with all good myths, is deliciously murky, leaving us to savour the ambiguity along with the curry—and what a curry it is, all the more palatable in a country where the word “curry” isn’t weighed down by any colonial baggage.

Historically, Massaman curry is a culinary confluence, a gastronomic grandchild of spice traders and royal kitchens. It’s the offspring of 17th-century Persian influence and Thai ingenuity, an outcome of cultural intercourse on the high seas of trade and adventure. A dish that journeyed from the Persian Gulf to the ports of Ayutthaya, gathering an eclectic mix of ingredients and an equally diverse fan base along the way. By the time it reached the royal courts of Thailand, it had been pampered, primped, and perfected into the aromatic wonder we indulge in today.

To describe Massaman’s flavour profile as merely “complex” is akin to calling Bangkok “a bit warm”—an understatement of the highest order. At its best, this curry is about balance, a piquant mingling of sweet and savoury notes, punctuated by judicious use of spices that suggest a skilled hand and a heart well acquainted with subtleties.

Monochromatic she may be in all her brownness, but Massaman is far from being a single note when it comes to flavour. The first spoonful hits you with a medley of warm spices—cinnamon, cloves, and cardamom—followed by the luxuriant sweetness of coconut milk that flirts with the tart tamarind, creating a harmony that’s both comforting and electrifying. The curry is grounded by the earthy richness of peanuts and potatoes, giving it a texture that’s as indulgent as a silk sheet and just as sinful. And then, just when you think you’ve pinned it down, there’s a gentle hum of chili heat that lingers like a mischievous afterthought.

Eating Massaman is an act of sheer indulgence. It’s the culinary equivalent of slipping into a cashmere blanket after a bracing day in Bangkok’s unforgiving heat, with the AC on full blast. It envelops you, soothes you, and leaves you with a sense of profound, almost guilty, satisfaction. The process is tactile and immersive—best undertaken with a steamy mound of jasmine rice to sop up the luscious sauce so none of it goes to waste.

Eating Massaman is an act of sheer indulgence. It’s the culinary equivalent of slipping into a cashmere blanket after a bracing day in Bangkok’s unforgiving heat, with the AC on full blast

For a dish this deeply rooted in the past, nothing is quite as contemporarily compelling as the Braised Goat Leg Massaman with Raisin Roti (แกงมัสมั่นขาแพะโรตีลูกเกด) at Charmkrung, a new eatery perched above Bangkok’s Talad Noi—a neighbourhood becoming so hip it practically demands its own hashtag. The entrance is so unassuming you’d likely breeze past it without a second glance. But step into the elevator and ascend to the sixth floor of what appears to be a nearly derelict building, and you’ll find yourself whisked away to a gloriously retro dining den. Here, designer Saran Yen Panya has conjured a space where vintage meets pop art in a confection of kaleidoscopic tiles and 1970s living room nostalgia. Charmkrung exudes an eccentric, stylised charm that’s delightfully kitsch and unpretentious. The only thing missing is a cheeky sign proclaiming, “Sit back, unbuckle your belts.”

“For a dish this deeply rooted in the past, nothing is quite as contemporarily compelling as the Braised Goat Leg Massaman with Raisin Roti (แกงมัสมั่นขาแพะโรตีลูกเกด) at Charmkrung, a new eatery perched above Bangkok’s Talad Noi—a neighbourhood becoming so hip it practically demands its own hashtag.”

At the helm of this nostalgic-meets-now eatery is Chef Jai Aruss Lerlerstkul, a bespectacled talent who honed his chops under the legendary David Thompson at Nahm in London. Thompson, that culinary crusader from down under, brought Thai cuisine to the Michelin-starred masses. Thankfully, Jai eventually swapped Blighty for Bangkok (along with several of his fellow alumni from Thompson’s kitchen), and the dining scene here has been reaping the benefits ever since. Charmkrung is the latest outpost in Jai’s ever-expanding portfolio of punchy dining venues, where traditional recipes are given the respect and reinvention they deserve.

Yet, for all its colour-infused, throwback-diner allure, it’s the unapologetically brown Braised Goat Leg Massaman that steals the show. Bone-in and jutting out like a defiant middle finger to every micro-managed micro-herb, this dish is a visual and olfactory tour de force that sits back in mocking defiance of modern minimalist plating. It’s both humble and arresting—so arresting it could halt a tuk-tuk in its tracks. It’s a striking visual, appealing more to our eyes than a camera lens ever could. Why? Because our eyes are attached to our other senses, like smell. Your eyes tell you this is going to be good. The camera lens doesn’t necessarily agree. But there it is, the unphotogenic pleasure of brown food.

Put your phone away; this is a dish to be savoured, not snapped. The goat leg luxuriates in a pool of Massaman curry that radiates a sumptuous caramel glow. It’s the kind of brown that Nigella Lawson would celebrate as the pinnacle of “brown food”—authentic, unpretentious, and soul-stirringly good.

The goat leg itself is all tender succulence, braised to the point where the meat yields effortlessly to the slightest nudge of a fork, cascading into the luscious curry like an avalanche of edible delight. The Massaman sauce is a heady concoction of coconut milk, cinnamon, cardamom, and star anise, simmered to a velvety richness that envelops the palate in layers of sweet, savoury, and gently spiced comfort. And then there’s the raisin roti—a golden, flaky morsel infused with hints of raisins that offer a cheeky burst of sweetness amidst the spiced opulence of the curry. The roti’s crisp edges and tender insides make it the perfect companion, mopping up every decadent drop of the Massaman with sycophantic eagerness.

This is brown food in its most brilliant incarnation—comforting, complex, and irresistibly moreish. It’s a triumph of tradition over trend and a celebration of food made with love rather than for likes.

Nigella would most certainly approve.

Author’s note: It’s best to call ahead, as the Braised Goat Leg Massaman (มัสมั่นขาแพะตุ๋น) isn’t always on the menu, but fear not—the Braised Beef Cheeks offer an equally glorious experience, minus the leg bone.

Charmkrung (ชามกรุง)

6th floor 839 Charoen Krung Road, Talat Noi, Samphanthawong, Bangkok 10100, Thailand

+66 (0) 979945523

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