Behind the perfect bite: A culinary journey with Chef Nuit Regular

In my home, Gaeng Phed Moo goes by a different name: “Birthday Curry.” I learned to make it the same way I learned most dishes—alongside my mother in the kitchen. She worked all day in the rice fields, growing vegetables, and serving her food at markets and cafeterias. She came home tired. As a child, I hated cooking, so much so that I eventually picked a different career path in nursing. But even then, every evening, my little hands helped her anyway. My love for her was so great that I would endure anything.

Birthday Curry was special because it  meant spending the entire day with my mother. We needed coconuts, so I would go out and knock the ones I could reach loose from their trees. Then we’d scour the garden for fresh basil, lemongrass, and chilis. It took hours to grind the coconut into coconut milk, pound the curry paste in our stone mortar, and prepare the meal, but I looked forward to those hours every year.

These days, I make my birthday curry without her. I lost her many years ago. She became ill quite suddenly and slipped away in the blink of an eye before I could fly back to Thailand from my new home in Canada. Now, I make it with my husband, Jeff, and our two beautiful children, Chormarlee and Phai. I cherish these new memories, yet every time I cook this dish—any dish, really—I am back in our village of Phrae, in our small kitchen, looking forward to my birthday ritual.

The pork gets its signature flavor and tenderness from the Nham Mhak
Nua Sud, a simple yet essential meat marinade made of salt, water, oil, and tapioca starch. The curry sauce, a silky orange sunrise, harmonizes the spice of dried red spur chilis, the sweetness of coconut milk and lemongrass, the deep warmth of cumin and coriander, the sharpness of garlic and shallot, the zing of magrud lime.

The flavors are steeped in Northern Thai tradition, one I’ve always taken seriously, even before Jeff and I opened our first Canadian restaurant, Sukhothai, in 2008. That first venture had its growing pains—we began with a hot table setup that relied on hungry customers walking  through the door to snap up our already prepared food. That was the wrong move. Sometimes we had no sales. Food became waste. I faced an impossible choice: pour even more into saving the restaurant or return to the reliable nursing career I had left behind. I chose wisely. I chose to keep going.

Remaining resolute was a challenge. I once lost a $50 order when a customer insisted that my pad Thai was unacceptable—it must be made with ketchup or he wouldn’t buy it. A voice in my head told me, “Just take the money and make it the way he wants.” Another voice, one from my heart, was much stronger. “I will never change my cooking because it’s authentic to me. I will cook the dishes I want to present to my guests.

“To me, this is art. The plate is my canvas, and I fill it with equal care as a painter planning their masterpiece.”

The risk was terrifying. I was supporting my parents back in Thailand while raising two children of my own. But I still smile when I think back because it was also when I decided: if we try our best, if Jeff and I work hard together, we can do this. It’s going to be okay. It was scary, but I know what it means to be strong and believe in myself. In that moment, something shifted. Our life turned around—and I continued cooking the food I loved.

The beautiful thing about my Birthday Curry is no two mouthfuls are the same. Every spoonful offers a different xperience depending on what you happen to pluck from the bowl. A strip of tender pork, a piece of peeled butternut squash, a soft bite of Chinese eggplant, the bright pop of a green Thai basil leaf, it’s a lottery of flavor and texture bathed in a fragrant sauce and served on a steaming bed of jasmine rice.

To me, this is art. The plate is my canvas, and I fill it with equal care as a painter planning their masterpiece. Through a lifetime of practice, I select the best ingredients, hues that mix and become something more. I lovingly and painstakingly add highlights and shadows into the finest details until the result matches precisely what is in my imagination, my heart, and my soul.

“Sharing my creations is the greatest reward of all, whether it’s with my family members, my friends, or my guests.”

It is also joy. Its first jolts flutter even before I fire up the pan when I think about what I’m going to cook, when I chop, when I make curry paste, and when I stir. I remember all the times I’ve made this dish before, with my mother, with my own kids. I still feel the excitement in my belly as though I’m a child waking up on my birthday, only today I get to share that anticipation with the world.

Chef Nuit Regular (left) receiving her 2024
PHOTOGRAPHY: Craig BoykoAGO Top 100 Award from Sherri Stevens (right), in the “Food Industry, presented by Skip” category. PHOTOGRAPHY: Portmanteau Media

Sharing my creations is the greatest reward of all, whether it’s with my family members, my friends, or my guests. Their reactions fuel my passion. A compliment can keep me going even in the darkest days. Even as we opened more restaurants and launched new projects, people continued to tell me how my food made them feel. In a way, I am still a nurse, offering someone comfort and giving them a moment of peace and joy.

You sample my Birthday Curry with your nose first, and then yourtastebuds. And as a smile spreads across your face, I am peeking fromthe kitchen like a curious snake. It’s a habit of mine. I smile, too.

Because what’s on your plate isn’t just a meal. It’s more than the ingredients I selected for you by hand. It’s more than the recipe I toiled over to perfection. It’s more than the time I spent making it for you behind those kitchen doors.

You aren’t just eating a meal.

You’re tasting the story of what made it possible.

I invite you to leaf through my cookbook, Kiin, and try the Gaeng Phed Moo yourself—or enjoy any of my other authentic Thai dishes the next time you’re a guest at my restaurants.