If you have ever traveled to Thailand, you have likely encountered an unidentified object at least once. At first glance, it looks like a model of colorful fruits and vegetables, about 5 centimeters in size. The variety is diverse: mangoes, oranges, watermelons, bananas, eggplants, chili peppers, grapes, and more. Each piece has a strikingly vivid color, and the surface shines with a glossy polish. When I first saw them at a night market in Bangkok a long time ago, I thought they were refrigerator magnets—shaped from clay and painted, or perhaps miniature soaps.

As I was looking at them with a casual, indifferent attitude, another customer who had arrived earlier picked one up and brought it to their mouth. I instinctively let out a shriek: "Are you crazy, why are you eating that?" It turned out to be a traditional sweet with centuries of pedigree. Its name is Luk Choop (ลูกชุบ). It reportedly made its appearance as far back as the 17th century during the Ayutthaya Kingdom.

Luk Choop is made by thoroughly steaming and mashing mung beans, mixing them generously with coconut milk to create a rich, thick paste, coloring it with food dye, and shaping it into various forms. Instead of being baked or fried, the shaped paste is consumed as-is. To maintain its shape for a long time even in hot and humid climates, it is repeatedly dipped in and pulled out of a thin agar jelly for coating. Thanks to this, Luk Choop stands out anywhere, sparkling with a uniquely brilliant glow under the night market lights. In contrast, its flavor is somewhat subdued and mild, naturally because it is made from mung beans.

However, the origin of Luk Choop is much more fascinating than its taste. Quite unexpectedly, it is a dessert that crossed the sea from Portugal. Starting with the partial occupation of Malacca on the Malay Peninsula in the 16th century, Portugal began establishing diplomatic and economic relations with various regions in Southeast Asia. They even signed a trade treaty with the Ayutthaya Kingdom in Thailand, securing the right to reside and trade freely, which led to the creation of a Portuguese village. Naturally, the mixed-race population increased, and the protagonist of today's story is one of them.

Born in the mid-17th century, Maria Guyomar de Pinha was a woman of Portuguese, Indian, and Japanese descent. She became a royal chef in the Ayutthaya court through her exceptional skills, introducing a wide range of Portuguese traditional dessert techniques. She was even promoted to head chef and served for life, which shows just how extraordinary her talents must have been.

One of the representative dishes she developed is Luk Choop. In Portugal, almond flour is mixed with sugar and egg whites to form a thick paste, which is then shaped into fruits or animals to make a sweet confection. This is called Massapão, better known in Korea as Marzipan. However, since there was no way to get almonds in Thailand at the time, she ingeniously substituted mung beans, added plenty of coconut milk, and coated them in agar jelly. Naturally, the name followed: "Luk" means a small lump, and "Choop" means to envelop or coat the outside. While the original was a soft pastel hue, the addition of Thailand’s unique artistic flair transformed it into intensely vivid, primary colors.

Another ambitious creation by Chef Maria is a bit richer and sweeter than Luk Choop, and to my palate, it is far more delicious. It is called Foi Thong (ฝอยทอง). Foi means thread, and Thong means gold. Its appearance lives up to its name. This deep golden color comes from egg yolks—specifically, duck egg yolks. They have a higher fat content and lower moisture than chicken eggs, making them much stickier, firmer, and deeper in color. However, because they have a slightly strong aroma, many shops make them by mixing chicken and duck eggs.

While Foi Thong is a common snack found even in convenience store refrigerated dessert sections, it tastes several times better when you can watch it being made. For travelers like me who travel for food, I strongly recommend Bangkok's The Old Siam Plaza. It is an atmospheric shopping mall located very close to Chinatown’s Yaowarat district. The entire first floor is packed with traditional Thai snack corners, making it feel like virtually every sweet treat available in the country is gathered inside. The second floor features traditional clothing and accessory shops, making it equally fascinating.

If you spend time watching these wondrous foods being made, you will notice a shop where someone is busily cooking a thin liquid in a large metal pot. That is a Foi Thong specialty shop. They boil a sugar syrup infused with jasmine flower scent, ladle well-beaten and strained egg yolks into a funnel-like tool, and shake it in circular motions with wrist snaps over the syrup pot. Through a tiny hole at the end of the funnel, the yolks stream down like threads, entering the boiling syrup where they cook instantly. The shaking must be continuous so the threads don't snap. After a few seconds, these golden threads are gently gathered with a long metal rod, spread out flat, and left to cool. Foi Thong is complete.

Watching this endless, rhythmic production process is so mesmerizing that you find yourself standing in front of the pot for a long time. Since watching others makes things look easy, the brief illusion creeps in that you could do it too, but with the syrup boiling furiously and the yolks leaking out, anyone other than a seasoned expert would likely end up getting burned.

You are probably curious about the taste. I would answer that if you made a rich, sweet Castella cake loaded with egg yolks and sugar, and then pulled threads out of it, that would be Foi Thong. It is a strange description, but it's hard to express otherwise. It is a flavor you somehow recognize, yet luxurious, rich, sweet, and fragrant. Accompanied by a gentle cup of tea, nibbling and tasting it slowly lets you truly appreciate the charm of Foi Thong. This beautiful golden skein of thread carries wishes for the elderly’s longevity and a couple's lifelong harmony. Foi Thong is a must-have dish on the table for auspicious occasions in Thailand, such as religious rites, weddings, birthdays, housewarmings, and promotion parties.

Once you become familiar with Foi Thong, things you couldn't see before start catching your eye everywhere. Foi Thong is here, Foi Thong is there. It is generously topped on thin baked pastries like Khanom Buang (ขนมเบื้อง) commonly sold at street stalls and night markets, as well as all sorts of cakes and breads. Even global donut chains sell donuts topped with Foi Thong. It is somewhat similar to how red bean paste is put into all kinds of bread and pastries in Korea, like carp-shaped bread (bungeoppang), walnut cakes, and red bean buns.

Foi Thong is also a food influenced by Portugal. Long ago, in Portuguese monasteries, egg whites were applied to freshly laundered clothes to stiffen and press out wrinkles, which naturally left an abundance of unused egg yolks. After brainstorming how to make use of them, they poured in massive amounts of sugar and stirred endlessly to create a bright yellow cream, which they began using generously on breads and pastries. The world-famous sweet and crispy egg tart, Pastel de nata, also started that way.

Chef Maria slightly adapted this egg cream to suit Thailand's circumstances. Using duck egg yolks—which were actually more abundant than chicken eggs at the time—and a sugar syrup infused with the delicate scent of jasmine flowers, she created Foi Thong and various other forms of golden sweets. To make the jasmine syrup, fresh jasmine flowers are soaked in spring water overnight, the petals are strained out, and the water is mixed 1.1 with sugar, simmering gently over low heat without stirring until the sugar dissolves. This is essential for neutralizing the duck egg odor.

For a more vibrant flavor, juice squeezed or crushed from pandan leaves is sometimes added. Pandan is a deep green, elongated, and stiff plant that emits a heavy, sweet aroma, often called the "vanilla of Asia." To be precise, rather than vanilla, it is closer to the savory, toasted scent of burnt rice (nurungji). Pandan finds its way into everything—rice cakes, sweets, breads, ice cream, and drinks. If you find light or deep green desserts in Thailand, Malaysia, or Vietnam, nine times out of ten, they contain pandan, not matcha.

Come to think of it, Thailand and many other Southeast Asian countries possess a distinctive taste and aroma that is fully felt throughout. Flavors unique to Southeast Asia that cannot be found in Korean cuisine, such as jasmine flowers, coconut milk, and pandan leaves, evoke a distinct "Thai taste" when tasted, starting with Chef Maria’s other masterpiece: Sangkaya (สังขยา)—a sweet, smooth cream loaded with eggs, coconut milk, and palm sugar.

To make it, these three ingredients are put into a large bowl and stirred until the palm sugar completely melts. Then, water is boiled in a pot, the bowl is placed on top, and the mixture is gently double-boiled while stirring continuously without a break. This is crucial: if you were to lazily put the bowl directly on the heat, the eggs would cook like scrambled eggs. If you neglect stirring for over 20 minutes, the cream will stick to the bottom and clump up. In the royal kitchen of Ayutthaya back then, I imagine the youngest staff member was probably assigned to Sangkaya duty.

This cream is delicious when paired with soft white bread (ordinary white bread is lightly steamed once more) or fried bread. It is sweet, soft, and savory—similar to the choux cream we know, yet distinct. Basic Sangkaya has a light brown color, but there is also a green version packed with pandan juice, so it is fun to compare them.

However, the most delicious way to eat Sangkaya is to slice open the top of a pumpkin, scrape out the seeds, fill it with uncooked Sangkaya, and steam it gently over low heat for about an hour. This is called Sangkaya Fakthong (สังขยาฟักทอง). Stalls and shops selling mango sticky rice and sweet rice cakes always carry Sangkaya Fakthong as well. The moment you spot it, don't think too deeply—just buy it instantly. The sweet, tender, and moist cooked pumpkin harmonizes with the subtle, fragrant coconut milk, rich eggs, and deep palm sugar flavor to create something truly delicious. It isn't overly sweet, which makes it even better.

Exaggerating a bit, I once bought a massive handball-sized pumpkin Sangkaya Fakthong whole, nibbled on it piece by piece, and ended up finishing it in one sitting while uttering useless self-talk that I should stop eating. Crafted from the blending of Portuguese and Thai food cultures, Chef Maria's masterpieces remain just as sweet and just as beloved centuries later.

[ⓒ Global Economic Times. 무단전재-재배포 금지]