To the uninitiated, Som Tam (ส้มตำ), even in its most basic form, might seem like an eccentric concoction: shredded green papaya, tomatoes, snake beans, garlic, chillies, lime, fish sauce, and peanuts, all pounded together in a mortar and pestle with the fervour of a percussionist on a caffeine high. Invariably translated as Papaya Salad, Som Tam is, more than any other essential eat in this series, the most fitting candidate for the idea of Bangkok on a plate. It is unapologetically bold, fiercely complex, and utterly addictive—a culinary product of migration and a masochistic interplay of pleasure and pain. It is also an unreliable narrator of its true significance.

To begin with, the name itself has nothing to do with papaya. Instead, it is a lesson in Thai linguistics: “Som” means “sour,” a descriptor that only scratches the surface of its flavour profile, and “Tam” means “pounded,” a fitting nod to the audibly rhythmic mortar-and-pestle preparation that defines this action-packed dish. Typically, Som Tam involves green papaya, but to pigeonhole it as merely a papaya salad is to miss the forest for the trees. This is epitomised in the near-quotidian ritual of asking someone if they want to eat Som Tam, invariably followed by the question, “How do you like your(s) Tam (pounded)?” The reply can take on near-infinite variations, many of which involve no papaya at all.

Originating from Laos and Thailand’s northeastern region of Isaan, Som Tam migrated to Bangkok along with the throngs seeking work and a better life. The sweat and toil of these migrants built much of this city, and their cuisine has long skewed the city’s flavour compass. Regional variations abound. The central Thai version, Som Tam Thai (ส้มตำไทย), is the most approachable, balancing its heat with the aromatic sweetness of palm sugar and roasted peanuts, making it the ideal gateway ‘Tam’ for new inductees, where no one flavour elbows out the other, and the chillies are not as aggressive. In Isaan, many regard Som Tam Lao (ส้มตำลาว) as the OG of all Som Tams, also known as Som Tam Pu Plaa Raa (ส้มตำปูปลาร้า). It is a fiery, deliciously funky affair, heavy on the fermented fish sauce, and typically includes tiny, dismembered pickled paddy crabs that lend an additional briny punch. Visually, it’s not for the faint of heart or delicate of palate—a pungent mix of flavours that could wake the dead or, at the very least, a drowsy office worker, legions of whom swear by this as their go-to eat, and rightly so.

Speaking of the office, Som Tam is the quintessential shared workday lunch, the dish that brings colleagues together in a frenzied, communal eating experience. Picture this: it’s midday in Bangkok, the heat is oppressive, and the only respite is the prospect of lunch. Workers spill out into the streets, heading for their favourite Som Tam vendors. Often found street-side, these maestros of the mortar are the rock stars of lunchtime, attacking their clay cornucopia-like vessels with long wooden pestles with the finesse of a seasoned barista. Orders fly fast and furious, each one a dizzying combination of preferences: extra chilli, hold the peanuts, double the dried shrimp. Every order is endlessly malleable—a versatile meal pounded into being, accompanied by the signature pitched soundtrack of ‘pok pok’ as wood strikes clay. A good test of your status and recognition as a ‘local’ is when a place knows just how you like it without you even uttering a word.

The flavour profile of Som Tam is a study in balance and contrasts. While sour comprises one half of its name and pounded the other, all Som Tams are an ever-shifting culinary tightrope walk, a constant negotiation between varying degrees of sweet, sour, savoury, salty, spicy, and, in many cases, boundary-defying pungency. When done right, it’s exhilarating, and its piquant nature means that it’s regularly consumed through a haze of sweat and tears. It can often feel like you’re burning as many calories as you consume. While this premise may be backed by more emotion than science, many swear by it. What is certain is that Som Tam is not for the weak-willed or those with delicate constitutions. And yet, that’s part of its charm. It’s a dish that demands your full attention and insists you engage with it.

If you’re seeking to educate yourself on the full spectrum of Som Tam in all its glorious incarnations, then a pilgrimage to Zao Ekkamai is an odyssey your palate will thank you for. Its austere concrete exterior, paired with an interior that dances between rustic-rural-chic and industrial minimalism, couldn’t be more misleading when considering the kaleidoscopic flavours it dishes out daily to its devotees—of whom there are many. This temple to the flavours of Isaan has rightly earned a cult status amongst Bangkok’s discerning foodies. The last time I counted, there were no fewer than 30 distinct types of ‘Tams’ on offer—a fact that practically demands repeat visits and possibly a notepad for meticulous flavour profiling. Zao Ekkamai is a celebration of Isaan culinary heritage, a transplant of Ubon Ratchathani’s gastronomic soul that has nestled itself comfortably into the urbane heart of Bangkok, due in no small part to ‘Eve’ Nutthida Palasak, Zao’s visionary owner.

“If you’re seeking to educate yourself on the full spectrum of Som Tam in all its glorious incarnations, then a pilgrimage to Zao Ekkamai is an odyssey your palate will thank you for.”

Imagine if your grandmother’s recipe for fermented fish sauce was suddenly the height of fashion, eagerly devoured by silk-shirted urbanites who wouldn’t know a paddy field from a parking lot. Palasak has taken the punchy, the fiery, and the unpretentiously authentic and dressed them up using the skills she honed as a one-time fashion designer, now a tastemaker of a very different kind. Her kitchen’s deft touch has made Bangkok’s gastronomes swoon over dishes they might have previously dismissed as mere peasant fare, where humble roots meet high expectations, exiting the runway to rapturous applause. It’s a delicious irony: the flavours of the farm reimagined with the sophistication of a fashion show that has the city’s food critics scrabbling for adjectives.

Amongst the myriad tantalising options at Zao—many of which you’ll be hard-pressed to find elsewhere—the Spicy Fermented Fish Sauce Salad with Pork Jowl (ส้มตำลาวคอหมูย่าง) stands out as my idea of next-level Som Tam. Succulent slices of pork, charred to smoky perfection, mingle with shards of green papaya drenched in fermented fish sauce, incendiary chillies, and lime, all coaxed into an earthy medley of colours and textures. While not unique in concept, its execution here is nothing short of exceptional. And then, there’s the Mangosteen Salad with Shrimp Paste and Fermented Fish Sauce (ตำมังคุดกะปิปลาร้าหอม), a dish that flamboyantly turns the notion of Som Tam on its head, delightfully devoid of any papaya and flaunting its unique identity with unrepentant bravado. Imagine a fruit-forward flavour bomb detonating on your palate with the force of a culinary coup—the succulent sweetness of mangosteen, its pearly segments clashing gloriously with the aggressive pungency of shrimp paste and fermented fish sauce, giving way to the granular crunch of roasted ground rice and the herbaceous lift of mint and sawtooth coriander, all punctuated by flakes of roasted chilli for a slow-burning heat. The mangosteen alone is a visual oddity; paired with these ingredients, it becomes a thing of bizarre beauty.

That’s the thing about Som Tam; a dish that both seduces and bludgeons your palate with the gleeful malice of a seasoned dominatrix. It’s a surefire way to elicit that most emblematic of Thai expressions: saab (แซ่บ). This word reverberates throughout Zao Ekkamai, a litany of rapture and agony echoing from one table to the next as diners find their senses ambushed by a riotous pleasure. It’s the kind of culinary ambush that leaves you weeping, yet irresistibly driven to plunge your fork in for just one more fiery, tear-streaked bite.

Zao Ekkamai (ซาวเอกมัย)

155 ซ. ปรีดี พนมยงค์ 25, Khlong Tan Nuea, Watthana, Bangkok 10110, Thailand

+66 (0)63 246 9545

Read Part Two:

MASSAMAN: A Loving Defence of Brown Food