Chasing Massaman
Text and Photos by John McMahon
Massaman can be served thick as curd or thin as broth. The protein used also changes according to regional preferences.
Massaman, a curry made by my beloved, is fragrant of cumin and strong spices.
Any man who has swallowed the curry is bound to long for her.
This is a stanza from the poem “Kap He Chom Khrueang Khao Wan,” which translates somewhat dryly as “procession poem admiring savory and sweet dishes.” King of Siam Rama II wrote it in 1800 referring to his favorite concubine and cousin Princess Bunrot. He compares her love to the spices of massaman, singling out its exotic ingredients.
Today, outlets like CNN routinely list massaman as one of the most popular Thai dishes around the world. The rich but mild curry dish might include chicken, beef or fish. In the 17th century, when it was first presented to the royal court at Ayutthaya—which was international in both its outlook and make-up—the recipe used unfamiliar spices like cumin, cloves, bay leaf, star of anise and called for sultanas and nuts. It was much drier, more like a biryani than what you’re likely to be served today. As time went on, massaman absorbed quintessential Thai ingredients like coconut milk, tamarind for its sour tang, shrimp paste for the funk, chiles for spice and orange juice for sweetness.
Today, it’s available everywhere in restaurants and even off the shelf in supermarkets; canned, in packets, and dehydrated forms. I’ve seen massaman spaghetti, burgers and pizza. Tourists in need of a respite from the fiery foods offered up in the land of smiles may seek it out, but its origins lay far from Thailand.
“Many of my foreign customers like to order massaman as an option to more traditional Thai food,” says Tong Kanchanapreipet, chef and owner of Bell’s Restaurant in Kanchanaburi, Thailand. “Mine is different from most. I adapted some European techniques from my 16 years of living in Switzerland. The basics are still there though, the richness of the curry with the infused taste of roasted peanuts, a little bit sour from the tamarind leading to sweet, tender bits of meat and vegetable almost falling apart. This is what makes massaman.”
The exact history of Massaman has been obscured by time, interlaced with royal intrigue, national politics and the identity of Thai Muslims. At its essence, though it remains a Muslim food, foreign, and much less popular at home than it is internationally.
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In the 17th century, the recipe for massaman used unfamiliar spices like cumin, cloves, bay leaf, star of anise and called for sultanas and nuts.
The name massaman is derived from the transliteration of the Thai pronunciation of Islam (Isalam). It has also been spelled as mosselmen or musslemen as was common in the 19th century. The first recorded written recipe in English was published in 1889 by Kuhn Ying Plean Passakornrawong, who spelled it “Chicken matsaman with bitter orange juice.”
However it’s spelled, the name refers to the curry’s Persian origins. It’s widely thought to have traveled up from the majority Islamic tip of Malaysia, like its culinary cousin laksa, or just as often mistakenly labeled as a curry with Indian influence.
Massaman, however, came straight from Persia to the capital city. Persia had a powerful presence in the royal city, and so did Japan and Portugal. France, Russia, Holland, Britain and China were all represented at the court when massaman was first introduced.
According to scholar Santi Sawetwimon and chef David Thompson, Sheikh Ahmed Qomi presented the recipe to the royal court during his audience as merchant and ambassador. The recipe found favor and became popular both at court and throughout the sizable Persian population of Ayutthaya.
Then, the capital city was sacked and razed by the Burmese army in 1767, essentially decimating the royal family and putting an end to its court. Most of the Persian and Muslim families relocated to the present Thonburi area of Bangkok, but others moved on farther and took the massaman recipe with them.
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Wan Pen sells curries in a mon market.
As the dish spread throughout Thailand, people adapted the recipe to their local tastes with their traditional ingredients. When traveling the country, I seek out a good massalamen spot not only as comfort food, but to find out what regional tweaks have been made.
I’ve had the curry served thick as curd and thin as broth. I’ve had a dark, goat massaman almost the density of molasses filled with raisins, nuts and ginger in the far northwest province of Mae Hong Son, just on the border with Myanmar. I’ve also had a version in the beach town of Prachuap Kiri Khan where the potatoes, carrots and onion were puréed into the curry, wherein floated delicate chunks of soft-shell crab.
The protein used in massaman changes around the country to fit regional preferences. Chicken is most common. In the south, where there’s a sizeable Muslim population, there tends to be more beef. Along either coast, it’s likely to have seafood and fish. In the north, where there are historic Brahmin influences, the consumption of beef is still frowned upon by some, and so sometimes pork will take its place.
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Around 90% of Thailand’s population is Buddhist. There is no official religion in the country, but Buddhism is integral to its culture.
“There is a problem in Thailand that many Buddhist Thais don’t believe a Muslim can really be Thai,” says a professor and advocate for the rights of Muslim minorities in Thailand who has asked to be named only as Ben. “This is an idea the government quietly supports. The situation in the south is used as propaganda to show that Muslims are violent and want to be separate. Most people don’t know that Muslims have been here for hundreds of years, That some of the most prominent families in the country immigrated here from Iran 500 years ago or that we have mosques in Bangkok that are older than the city itself.”
What Ben is referring to is a history of violent clashes in the southernmost three provinces of Thailand, where the population is around 90% Muslim.
The region, formerly the Pattani Kingdom, was assimilated in 1909 without much change. In the late 1930s, however, political chaos led to a fascistic dictatorship modeled on Mussolini’s Italy. The prime minister at the time, Songkran Phibul, put unification of the newly formed Thailand at the top of his agenda, demanding all citizens adhere to his ideal of “Thai-ness” at a time when the country was a patchwork of former kingdoms and empires. Becoming Thai included, among a long list of mandated behaviors, speaking Thai and eating Thai food (this led to the creation of pad Thai as the national food, but that’s a whole other story).
The enforcement of these mandates led to long-standing conflict in the south, which has had a military presence in the streets now for almost two decades.
Despite the ongoing Covid lockdown across Thailand, the center of Bangkok is occupied day and night with protesters demanding systemic change from a government that took power in a military coup seven years ago and shows no signs of giving into change. Protests and coups are part of a cycle in Thailand that goes back to Phibul and the founding of the country. It’s also a process that keeps the concept of Thai-ness at the forefront of the government’s message to its people.
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By the time Ramma II penned his love poem to the curry a hundred years had passed since massaman was introduced. Now, more than 200 more years have gone by, and the curry continues to evolve and be enjoyed by an ever-growing audience of eaters.
Food, perhaps like no other cultural aspect, shows us that our lineage, ethnic or cultural, is less a line from A to B than a web that touches far-flung places around the globe and links us to its people.
