'For here is pure noodle nirvana': How to make Tom Parker Bowles's favourite Thai soup

It was one of the finest lunches I’ve ever eaten and not a white tablecloth in sight. In fact, there wasn’t even a chair, rather a rickety plastic stool in a makeshift rattan shack on the outskirts of Luang Prabang, Laos. I was here for a bowl of hangover noodle soup and it sure didn’t let me down. First, fresh noodles, briefly blanched in boiling water, then drained and dumped in a brittle melamine bowl, the alabaster tangle drenched in steaming buffalo broth.

As ever with these soups, this was merely the start. There were herbs to pick and tear, familiar mint and coriander and jagged, acerbic leaves that I’d never seen, let alone tasted. Chillies came fresh, powdered and in a pungent paste alongside two pots containing sugar and monosodium glutamate (MSG). Vinegar and fresh lime added their acidic bite. Suitably seasoned, it was then merely a question of bending over one’s bowl, inhaling that gloriously intoxicating scent and getting stuck in.

What a soup it was — the taut bounce of those noodles between the teeth and the profound, bestial depth of that broth, dark and faintly dangerous. The furious whack of chilli, tempered by a kick of citrus and those herbs, fragrant, bitter and verdant. Every element came together to create a thrilling symphony of perfect harmony, the equal, in terms of taste, sensation and texture, of any Michelin-starred feast. All this for little more than a pound.

You’ll find similar all over south-east Asia, where noodle stalls and shops are as ubiquitous as tuk-tuks, touts and those useless paper napkins that disintegrate at the merest mention of moisture. For here is pure noodle nirvana, soupy succour at any time of day or night: Vietnamese phos, Malaysian (and Singaporean) laksas, Filipino pancit mami, Indonesian soto ayam, Burmese ohn no khao swè and Cambodian kuy teav. I haven’t even started with the ramens, sobas and udons of Japan or Chinese mian, shahe fen, mi fen and fensi. Noodles come fresh and dried, made from rice, wheat and buckwheat, egg, mung and soya bean, cut as wide as school rulers and thin as cotton thread. Broths, both limpid and murky, are made from beef and lamb, duck and buffalo, fish, squid, prawn and pig, filled with every part of the finned, furred and flying.

Much of the joy lies in that final — and essential — embellishment, the part where you make the soup very much your own. Chillies, herbs, sugar and vinegars are simply the start. You can have them bland and mellow, sharp and sweet or incandescently hot, like another of my favourite noodle soups (I have a list as long as the Yangtze River), Thai kuay teow reua (‘boat noodles’), traditionally bought from a boat on the Bangkok khlong, but now more usually flogged in a riverside restaurant.

We got lucky. On a typically torpid afternoon, an elegant lady glided alongside our launch, her tiny wooden canoe containing pots of simmering water and broth, alongside tubs filled with pork liver, fish balls and God knows what else. She prepared the soup, passed it over, then waited for us to slurp the contents, pay and pass back the bowl. Searingly, brain-numbingly spicy, it not only fed every yen, but it made me glad to be alive.

The recipe below is simply a starting point.

Go forth and fiddle.

A simple noodle soup

This comes from Kay Plunkett-Hogge’s Baan, one of my favourite Thai cook-books. ‘Guay Teow Nahm is not a dish to sweat over,’ she notes. ‘This is grab-a-seat-at-a-stall-and-it-will-be-in-front-of-you-in-minutes food. So, let’s be frank: what you make at home won’t taste anything like what you buy on the street. Those guys have been making that stock for that soup for generations.’ This is all about what floats your boat.

If you can’t find coriander root, leave it out. If you prefer egg noodles to rice, then go for it. If you have leftover chicken or pork, use that instead. Pile on the chillies or go big on the herbs and fish sauce. You get the gist. Have it your way.

Serves two greedy souls or four daintier appetites

Ingredients

• 90g medium-width dried noodles
• 2 garlic cloves
• 2 coriander roots, roughly chopped
• A pinch of salt
• 1 tbspn vegetable oil
• 750ml good beef or chicken stock
• 1 tbspn light soy sauce, or to taste
• 1 1⁄2 tbspn fish sauce, or to taste
• 200g raw pork or chicken, thinly sliced
• 100g pak choi or young spinach leaves
• A handful of beansprouts

To garnish

• 3 spring onions, trimmed and finely sliced
• Fresh coriander leaves
• Sweet basil leaves (optional)
• Deep-fried garlic (optional)

Method

Prepare the noodles by soaking in a large bowl of very hot water, as per packet instructions. You want a malleable noodle, not a squishy one. Drain, rinse with cold water and set aside.

Pound the garlic and coriander root together in a pestle and mortar with a pinch of salt.

Heat the oil in a saucepan, then add the garlic and coriander-root paste. Cook until fragrant, but not coloured, then add the stock.

Bring it up to boil, add soy and fish sauce, followed by the meat. Simmer for a minute or so, then add the pak choi or spinach. Bring back to the boil for a minute. Taste the broth and adjust seasoning if needed.

Divide the noodles between bowls. Add the beansprouts. Ladle soup over the top and garnish with spring onions et al.