Mr. Singh came to Gat Luang's Namdhari Sikh gurdwara from Bangkok and, before that, Punjab. For six years he's been priest and cook at this eighty-year-old center of Namdhari worship in the Gat Luang neighborhood.
When we first visited the gurdwara's kitchen last February, as part of our project to document daily life in this historic neighborhood Mr. Singh was back home in India, and the institution's weekly Friday dinner was prepared instead by a trio of female members. It was good, but there was something about the way our host at the temple spoke of Mr. Singh that made us want to revisit and see him in action.
His kitchen is spotless. Walking into the gurdwara on a Friday afternoon is like being encloaked in swirling fugue of spices, and you expect to encounter a corresponding tumult in the kitchen. Not so. Stainless steel gleams and light bounces off pristine white tiles. On the stove, big pots are arranged in a neat row, each perfectly centered on its burner. Prepared ingredients sit in little bowls set tidily atop a counter. Mr. Singh works alone in the hot space preparing a five-dish meal for sixty, yet white kurta and pajami -- white, as Namdhari tradition dictates -- show no trace of sweat or splotches of curry.
He moves slowly, floating from burner to burner, between sink and refrigerator. He doesn't hurry, yet everything gets! done. H e's dicing his own paneer when we arrive, then deep-fries some cubes and offers us a taste. It's the best I've eaten. Made with milk taken that morning from cows at Chiang Mai University it's buttery and clean. Off the bat Mr. Singh seems remote and unapproachable, even a bit fierce. But when we praise his paneer his eyebrows shoot up and his face crinkles into a smile.
By the sink is a metal pitcher of water and a bowl of amla, Indian gooseberries, a seasonal delicacy enjoyed in northern Thailand with spicy dips. Subtly bitter and astringent, they lend a sweetness to water drunk after they've been eaten. Mr. Singh likes to make them into a chutney. "Next time you come," he smiles.
A Punjabi saying:
Amle Da Khada
Aur
Shyane Da Keha Bad
Vich Acha Lagdahaey
(Roughly translated for me, by our host at the gurdwara:
Just as the gooseberry has little flavor but makes water taste sweet afterwards, so when an elder speaks to you you do not believe, but learn later.)
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