INDY'S WEEKLY ALTERNATIVE NEWSPAPER HIGHLIGHTING ARTS, ENTERTAINMENT AND SOCIAL JUSTICE

Paradise in the city

Strip-mall Asian cuisine seems to cleave neatly into two camps. There are the places where you stand at the counter while your order gets barked to someone cooking frantically in the back, the kind of joints where you stop for takeout after work, where you’d rather not dine in. And while some dishes may rise above the mundane, the point is not subtlety of flavors or authenticity of recipes but the way it fills your gut. Then there are those secreted family-run gems steeped in tradition where the regional specialties seem almost sacrosanct and the staff drift into raptures when you ask for recommendations. The places that diners in the know cherish, where each dish is bequeathed to you like a family heirloom or treasure. Thai Taste falls squarely into the latter category, delivering not merely some of the city’s most flavorful Thai food but also an atmosphere that is hardly run-of-the-mill. Stuck just feet from Indy’s busiest intersection, it’s a wonder anything on this corner could be serene or elegant. Inside, the décor mingles Asian iconography with elements of high camp. A dressing screen flocked with plastic lotus blossoms blocks the tiny dining room from the door. Thankfully, however, this is no Bangkok boudoir. Behind the screen, Maneki Neko kitten figurines wave you toward your table, and vibrant fish swim together for a kiss. Above this all float the lush strains of endless orchestral tracks of mid-century classics. “The Girl from Ipanema” plays back-to-back with “Strangers in Paradise,” reminding diners that Thailand is, indeed, in the tropics. Our stylish and enthusiastic pink-clad waitress suggested the crispy mussels, a new addition to the menu, as an appetizer. She didn’t have to work hard to convince us. We paired them with the Thai soft spring rolls, hoping they would balance the heft of the deep-fried mussels. Served on their shells, the mussels were exactly as advertised, plump and lightly crunchy without retaining much grease. They came with two perfectly contrasting sauces, one sweet and sour and one sinus-clearing condiment with plenty of chili oil. The spring rolls trumped any in town. Translucent little bundles of noodles, pork, crisp vegetables and piquant Thai basil, they provided a cool prelude to what was a quite spicy meal. Just as “Killing Me Softly” rose on violins, the waitress brought our soups. All were excellent and unique in flavor. The Tom Yum, besides sporting a fun name, packed a pungent punch, like your mother’s chicken soup on steroids. The silver noodle soup utilized the texture of ground pork well in an earthy stock, and the tofu soup, the lightest of the bunch, wasn’t sapped of its flavor by the chunks of bean curd. By far the best was the Tom Kah, a kind of alchemical brew that coated the palate with a rich coconut milk broth undercut by lime juice, the crunch of lemongrass and an appropriate dusting of cilantro. It’s worth fighting traffic for. Entrees arrived, curiously, one at a time. But what seemed a discourteous serving style turned out to be a blessing: We were getting our dishes just as the chef was preparing them. Our first bites revealed another truth: Each dish, though borrowing ingredients and flavors from the others, was prepared with a very different method. Chicken that turned up tender and steamed in one dish arrived wonderfully browned and chewy in another. No bland repetition emanated from Thai Taste’s kitchen. Pra Ram Long Srong ($8.95) proved less than visually appealing, its crisp mixed vegetables and beef strips obscured in a muddy, curdled-looking peanut sauce. Tossed together on the plate, however, the flavors worked well, and the vegetables cut the sauce nicely. Gaeng Keow Waan ($9.95), green curry, ordered medium, came in a little stone crock steaming with a rich cream sauce. This one was almost too spicy to eat, though the bamboo shoots added a good body alongside chicken that melted on the tongue. The seafood medley ($14.95), another friendly recommendation, offered everything from fresh, fat sea scallops to calamari to generous filets of salmon in a red curry sauce that while quite hot lay under the dish, allowing the diner more discretion with the heat. The litmus test came with the Pud Thai ($8.95). Few other national dishes have engendered so much debate and controversy over culinary authenticity. A wave of sprouts and a shock of carrot shreds approximated a torch at the side of the plate. The glass noodles kept to themselves without clumping together, the sauce was sweet but not cloying, and the sprouts and green onions offered just the right crunch to temper the richness of peanuts and pork. Any country would be proud. Somehow, we managed to devour a slice of warm rum cake and sweet sticky rice with custard. The latter, though comforting, seemed to repeat too many flavors that were merely sweet. As we strolled into the parking lot to “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina,” the sputtering red sign of a sprawling Chinese buffet reminded us of the kind of Asian food we could have had. But we made the right choice.