One of my favorite holiday dinner do’s is Bardo’s. They’re a cozy little bistro on Sathorn Soi 10, and for the first two years before Covid, I had some of the best Christmas fare in my life there. Then the first non-lockdown December after the scamdemic, I couldn’t find time to hit Bardo and so missed 2022. This year, I almost failed again, thanks to a misinformed staffer. Thankfully, the boss reached out via email and I was able to get a table on the 24th. And it was as fantastic as I knew it would be.
I started with a glass of bubbly, plus a 63-degree egg. It’s basically a bowl of egg soup, with Comte cheese and black garlic croutons for a nice, salty crunch. Delicate and unpretentious, it simply celebrated the flavor and texture of an egg—something this uncouth American doesn’t often do. For me, eggs are typically just a vehicle for transporting hot sauce into my face hole.
Course two was truffle ravioli, though not the kind I’m used to. Rather than a soft, ‘noodle’ exterior, the raclette and honey was wrapped in a light pastry crust with truffle shavings on top.
The four courses are meant to take the palate on a journey. It has a start and and end, and once it begins, there’s no going backward. The last sip of prosecco that complemented the egg so well didn’t pair with the ravioli at all. It required a chardonnay instead. Haute Pistes 2022. The wine was pure splendor. Barely-touched by oak, crisp and headstrong with a taste of minerals (‘stony’ was my first thought), toasted nuts, and light citrus.
Then, duck breast and foie gras in a port reduction with orange slices and truffle-sprinkled…I guess the only way to describe it is the French version of shoestring fries: thin, crispy, savory potato shavings. ‘Twas all paired with a glass of enigmatic, perfectly-balanced, old world-style Bordeaux. Just as it threatened to overpower the food, it apexed and relented in a lilting deliciousness of its own.
The duck was transcendent. Sweet, smoky, and succulent with the hint of carnal satisfaction that propels the reason for eating beyond sustenance. The foie gras was pure magic. A coda to a crescendo. This kind of dining rivals love-making, which is why it should be savored, and why too much will kill you. And what is a beautiful meal except, like the touch of a lovely woman, a reminder that you’re still alive. I nearly wept when there was no more duck on the plate.
Then came the cheese course: brie, blue, and pommel de sawat paired with a montepulciano. The beauty of Italian wine is, when you take a sip, you immediately want to eat something—even if you’re already full. And this Italian red is one of the few that can cut through the texture of a soft cheese. And thank Buddha, because the brie and the blue were both super creamy. I thought for a second that I’d mis-ordered and should’ve gone with a sparkling, but the red based by palate like a Jackson Pollack. A denial of form. A satyr’s tune. Like a siren’s song, tempting me toward the end. A culinary climax, leading to a dessert-related denouement. Bardo is the best brothel in Bangkok, thought they don’t sell flesh…at least, not the human kind. They serve up the synchronic liaison of food and wine. The sin of sating the senses.
By the time dessert arrived, the place was rammed with hi-so idiots who showed up in Porsches, wearing too much cologne. I plugged my nose and wolfed down the truffles, madeleine, panna cotta, and dark chocolate mousse. And let me tell you—once you’ve had dark chocolate mousse, you’ll never want that pussified regular chocolate mousse ever again. And as the ending of a good story circles back to the beginning, I polished off another glass of prosecco to pair with the sweets.
I walked away from Bardo reluctantly, wishing I could have dinner all over again, knowing it’d be a year before I could get my hands on their next fantastic Christmas fare.
Excellent review, and i had forgotten your last one on Bardo's...so i missed out. I'm putting it in my diary for next year. Thanks for your content over 2023.