Although I’m now in my junior year, and I’ve adjusted to the transient twenties, I remember being a freshman and missing home so much. I’m from Fairbanks, Alaska, and while I would say that the restaurant scene is nothing of note and nothing to visit, it holds a special place in the community. Almost all of the restaurants in Fairbanks are Thai restaurants — specifically, really good Thai restaurants. Not fancy, not expensive, but real, hot, authentic, and owned by a large Thai immigrant population that makes up our tiny community under the arctic circle. For birthdays, I’d go to Bahn Thai; for family dinners, I’d go to Lemongrass; for Sunday lunch, I’d go to Thai House, and for a quick snack at work, I’d order egg rolls from Bahn Thai Express, where the restaurant owner knows my name.
A group of about 180 Thai immigrants came to Fairbanks in the 1980s to work in the gold mines, that were sprouting up like daisies. They eventually decided the mines were not for them, and instead opened restaurants, which gave them the freedom to work for themselves and support their families. Additionally, the presence of Thai restaurants increased the demand for more Thai restaurants.
A person in Fairbanks could eat at a different Thai restaurant for dinner every night of the week, and by the last one, they would not only know what exactly to expect in Thailand, but also the final restaurant would be expecting them.What makes Thai food so successful in Fairbanks is that it’s a community knit into the larger one; layers of love and curry in the cold.
So, coming to Northfield was a deep removal from my familiarity. Stav Hall was spiceless, and the average fish-and-chips-and-burgers joint of small town Minnesota wasn’t doing it for me either.
I remember one day in Stav where, in the soup line, they were serving coconut pumpkin curry — no proteins, no red pepper. But coconut milk! And pumpkin spice! I knew that this was something I could work with. I got a piece of grilled chicken, cut it into pieces, and pulled it apart with a fork. Then I got a plate of jasmine rice, and I covered both the rice and the chicken with full red pepper flakes from the pizza line — because sometimes you just have to make do — and on top of it, I poured the curry. Was it as good as I hoped? Did it take me back to Alaska? No, of course not. But it made me chuckle and smile, and it was something — better than nothing. And when I sat down with my friends, I told them about my creation and about the dark winter nights I’d spend with my family at a table where the curry is better.