Thai restaurants: they’re as American as apple pie–which is to say that they’re
not actually from America at all but Americans seem to love them anyway.
Of course, it’s not unusual that America has Thai restaurants—what’s unusual is
how many of them there are.
To put things into perspective, there are about 300,000 Ethiopians living permanently
in the US, and only about 500 Ethiopian restaurants.
While the US’ Thai population is almost identical, there are more than 10 times as
many Thai restaurants.
If you look at other population-to-restaurant ratios, like Indian or Mexican or Sad Divorced
Men, you see the same pattern: there are way more Thai restaurants in the US than you should
expect.
So, how did this happen?
Well, it turns out, the Thai government has actually been planning it for decades.
This story starts all the way back in 1939, before Thailand was even Thailand.
You see, as World War II kicked off and everyone began picking sides, Thailand wanted to be
the prettiest girl at the ball.
And of course by “ball” I mean “international conflict” and by “prettiest girl” I
mean “country allied with Hitler.”
But World War II was as much about “hard power”—like planes, and bombs, and meth-addled
German teenagers—as it was about “soft power:” the battles fought over culture.
After all, having a strong national identity was essential to keeping up your country’s
morale, and everything from movies to grapefruit juice to Donald Duck got swept up in the war
effort.
Hoping to go toe-to-toe with this level of cartoon duck propaganda, Thailand’s government—under
the order of this guy—decided to do a complete overhaul of their country’s culture.
Some of these efforts were to make Thailand seem more modern and westernized, like encouraging
the use of western-style attire and eating utensils, but others were meant to create
a new, cohesive national identity under the name, “Thai.”
What was once called Siam was now to be Thailand, defined by its Thai people, a single Thai
language, and maybe most importantly, Thai food.
After all, one of the best ways to develop a sense of national pride was to center it
around a national cuisine.
So the government said to the people, “hey, you’re Thai people now, and you love Thai
food.”
And the people said, “what’s Thai food?”
And the government said, “It’s like… noodles and stuff.”
And the people said, “But we don’t eat noodles.”
And the government said, “Yes you do.”
And the people said, “Oh, I guess we do.”
And thus modern Thai cuisine was born, including their new national dish: pad thai.
Now, this relationship between the Thai government and Thai cuisine stayed strong, and it began
to be used as a sort of international diplomacy—strengthening Thailand’s influence abroad by turning foreigners’
stomachs into tiny Thai embassies.
For many years, the government had been training chefs in special facilities to invade countries
around the world, armed to the teeth with work visas and coconut milk.
But in 2002, they decided to kick their unique brand of delicious diplomacy into high gear
and launched their “Global Thai” program, which aimed to establish thousands of Thai
restaurants around the world.
Now, they couldn’t do this entirely on their own, because no one wanted to bring their
date to a chain restaurant called “McGovernment-Sanctioned Thai Restaurant,” so they came up with a
clever solution: the Department of Export Promotion designed broad prototypes for three
different styles of Thai restaurant.
The first was “Elephant Jump,” a fairly cheap, adaptable, and not-super-authentic
restaurant where people would spend 5-10 dollars.
The next was “Cool Basil,” a casual sit-down joint where meals were a little more expensive,
somewhere between 15-25 dollars.
The last was called “Golden Leaf,” which was meant to be more upscale and authentic,
with specific parameters for the types of art and fabrics that should be used in its
decor.
Thai restaurateurs from around the world could then purchase for one of these prototypes
from the government, who would provide the entire restaurant, set up any business meetings,
and even conduct research on local tastes—how much spice the locals could handle, what Thai
ingredients appealed to their palettes, and whether they should just give up and open
a Cracker Barrel.
With the support of this program—and a little extra grease from Thailand’s banks—the
number of foreign Thai restaurants tripled, with one of the biggest jumps happening in
the United States.
If your local Thai restaurant opened sometime in the last 20 years, there’s a good chance
that it’s secretly one of these three government prototypes.
A good way to check is by busting down their door and loudly demanding to know who sent
them and why they’re here.
Given the program’s success—with Thailand seeing over 200% more tourism since it started—their
government is more invested than ever in making sure their food is diplomatically delectable.
In addition to making sure no one is planning on turning Thailand into the world’s largest
saltwater pool, Thai diplomats are tasked with the unique job of taste-testing—monitoring
the quality and authenticity of Thai restaurants across the globe.
And if you thought the job of state-sponsored Thai-food tasting guy was safe from automation,
guess what buddy: you’re wrong.
The Thai government also funded the development of a taste-testing robot to deploy abroad
named e-Delicious—which can detect the authenticity of a dish’s flavor, smell, and presentation,
and then deliver a score, with any dish under 80 being deemed below the government’s standards.
So, the next time you’re served an underwhelming plate of pad thai, don’t just ask for the
manager—ask for the prime minister.
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