Have you ever eaten a Thai dish and wondered how so many flavours can have been crammed into it? All those layers of intricate nuances that gently tickle or tackle your olfactory senses, and sometimes hardly any fat to carry or bind it at all. But still the flavours linger.

Fresh aromatics such as lemongrass, galangal, garlic, shallots, chillies, peppers and coriander plus a multitude of soft herbs and makrut lime leaves are the answer. They form a synergistic relationship that is the basis of many signature Thai flavours.

If the Italians have carrot, celery, onion and garlic to form their sofrito, the Thais have garlic, coriander root and chilli (in all its guises: dried, fresh, long, small, red, green, orange etc). The Italians use soft herbs such as parsley, oregano or Genovese basil to garnish, while Thais have coriander leaves and makrut lime leaves to lift a dish.

These ingredients distinguish Thai food from most other south-east Asian cuisines, despite being in very close geographic proximity.

The processes people use to extract the most flavours out of ingredients – whether by pounding, roasting, drying or preserving – really are similar the world over.

The conceptsof “Cucina Povera” or “Ahaarn Baan baan” both display the sentiments of rustic home cuisine emerging from subsistence eating. People used to grow food themselves and had to make do with what they had access to seasonally and locally.

We are all connected by this. We feel most comforted and satisfied when eating these foods not because they are merely familiar but because through this kind of cooking we feel a deep rooting to our ancestry, no matter who you are or where you come from. I’m talking about cooking that emerges from real whole foods, whole flavours that require some crazy women or men to spend the hours, days, if not years preparing it.

Makrut lime leaves are a testament to this dedication. You might know them as kaffir lime leaves, but when you learn why that term is out of favour, you’ll adapt. Makrut is fine by me as this is actually how Thais refer to it anyway!

It takes years, days, hours for a farmer to grow, pick, process then slice (thinner than a strand of hair) those delicate slivers of makrut lime that get sprinkled on to curry, only for many diners to push it aside.

Sometimes when a dish comes back into the kitchen and the bowl is close to being licked clean but all the makrut lime leaves are left on the side, I swear it guts me.

There’s a reason why makrut lime leaves are $120/kg wholesale. There are fewer growers, and even fewer people, who want to pick them. I know, because I’m doing it myself.

It’s taken us four years from planting a tube stock to get our first meagre harvest. It took me five hours to pick my first kilogram, and my hands were completely shredded bloody by the thorns.

I’ve learned since and have started to grow the grafted thornless variety.

A sign that a makrut tree is starting to mature, and you can safely start picking off the leaves without stunting it, is when it has started to develop fruit.

And what a weird and wonderful citrus this is.

The makrut lime is a knobbly, warty thing; the rind is such a pleasantly strong aromat that once it is removed to be used in curry pastes we often put the peeled fruit into the bathrooms to deodorise the toilet.

The juice is so sharply sour and bitter it’s never advisable to substitute for lime – unless you are cooking something where all the other ingredients are of equal strength so it can harmonise rather than dominate.

That is why only the leaves and rind are commonly used. They offer a more delicate version of the fruit, without the sharpness and bitterness.

There are occasions, though, when it is entirely appropriate, like in one of my favourite curries, Gaeng Tae Po. Here it is the star ingredient, alongside water spinach.

This curry speaks to all my inner ancestral selves, especially as I lick my bowl clean – leaves, fruit and all.

Gaeng Tae Po – curry of pork belly, makrut limes and water spinach

Gaeng Tae Po is moreish red paste based, coconut milk curry with pork belly and tamarind. The final flourish that makes the curry sing is freshly halved makrut lime, juice squeezed into the curry then dropped entirely into the pot to infuse.

To make the curry paste

10 dry long red chilli, soaked in water for 20 minutes, sliced

5 red birds eye chilli

1 tsp salt

3 pieces galangal, cut into 3cm discs lightly pounded but kept intact

2 stalks of lemongrass, cut into 1cm pieces

3 red shallots

10 cloves garlic

1 tbs shrimp paste

2 coriander root chopped roughly

10 whole white pepper

1 makrut lime rind with pith

To make the curry

300g washed pastured pork belly, cut into cubes

250ml organic coconut cream

250ml organic coconut milk

1 lge bunch water spinach cut into 1-inch lengths

1 makrut lime fruit, halved and deseeded

7 makrut lime leaves very finely julienned

2tbs fish sauce

125ml palm sugar

125ml tamarind pulp concentrate

1L home-made chicken stock



In a mortar and pestle pound the rehydrated long red chillis, red birds eye chilli and salt until smooth, then incorporate all the other ingredients – except the shrimp paste – and pound until smooth, then add the shrimp paste and pound until well incorporated. Refrigerate to rest.

The reason the ingredients go into the paste in this order is to ensure the end product is a vibrant red, and not a dull brownish red.

On low heat set a medium soup pot with coconut cream and the fresh curry paste, stirring constantly to keep from burning until the mixture looks like it is “curdling” – the fat from the coconut cream will start to separate. This usually takes 10 minutes.

Add the pork belly and keep stirring until the mixture covers the pork completely and the pork has caramelised slightly on the outside, then add the coconut milk. Bring up the heat to a soft rolling boil until the curry is slightly reduced, which will take about 10 minutes. Check to make sure the pork is thoroughly cooked through.

Season with fish sauce, tamarind, palm sugar, squeeze juice of the makrut lime fruit and then pop the halves into the pot.

Add the julienned makrut lime leaves and water spinach. Stir the water spinach in thoroughly until fully immersed, turn off the heat. The greens should still be a lovely vibrant green but have a nice soft bite to them, which will contrast beautifully with the tender pork belly.

Serve immediately.

