In a Sea of Portland Food Carts, Nong’s Khao Man Gai Exhausts All Superlatives

I have a crush on a woman named Nong and, while my wife isn’t particularly amused, can she really blame me? What’s not to like about a gorgeous Thai woman with an irresistibly spunky demeanor, seductive tattoos and a penchant for flashing the Hawaiian “hang loose” shaka? Oh yeah… then there’s the little detail that she happens to be the visionary force behind one of Portland’s most beloved food carts. Nong Poonsukwattana’s Khao Man Gai has single-handedly transformed chicken and rice into a sexy, unforgettable combination to be lusted after.

A Crash Course in Portland’s Food Cart Bonanza

Arriving in the City of Roses last October, I heard about this food cart phenomenon but couldn’t quite wrap my head around it. Like most people, the extent of my first-hand understanding of mobile food vending was mostly limited to Mexican “roach coaches” parked in sketchy gas stations and grease merchants claiming monopolies at carnivals or festivals. The moment I stepped off the trolley my first week in Portland, the sight that greeted me had an effect akin to an orphan let loose at FAO Schwarz.

Wrapping around nearly two city blocks, over 40 independent stations awaited like a mall food court fabricated in an elaborate fantasy. Strolling down the sidewalk, the olfactory potpourri was practically visible as my eyes glazed over and Pavlovian Response kicked in. This wasn’t just a bunch of run-of-the-mill gyros, tacos and stir fries. These were all basically miniature kitchens, holding semi-permanent real estate in a desirable, downtown location. In this oasis of ethnic cuisine, a disproportionate number crowded into the Thai niche, but then you had out-of-the-box options like Hawaiian, Cuban, Korean and even a nondescript cart cooking up Bosnian delights. At the time, I didn’t fully realize that similar scenes were playing out in several such areas around town.

Considering the intense competition, mouthwatering fare isn’t necessarily enough on its own. Some, like the big, yellow Dump Truck - which dolls out dumplings with unconventional fillings - come to the party with aesthetic appeal in spades. Not so surprising given Portland’s health-conscious paradigm, many defy the caloric expectations of typical street food. Savor Soup House boasted a flight of three farm-fresh, non-dairy soups with four-star nuances. The choice was difficult, but after a lap around the perimeter, I opted for a spicy chicken burrito from Korean Twist which had little more than its shape in common with the Mexican standard. Exotic spices flooded my palate and coral-hued sauce oozed down my arm, as the textures of tender chicken, crunchy cabbage, bean sprouts and kim chi united in harmony.

Next door to Korean Twist, a colorful cart called Nong’s Khao Man Gai stood out amidst the pack. Alongside the service window, several prominent articles were displayed from both local and national press. There was no doubt that whatever Nong was peddling had earned her quite a reputation. Most of the carts tend to be ultra specialized with menus ranging from four to maybe a dozen items. Nong’s only has one – Khao Man Gai (i.e. chicken and rice done up Thai street food style). My tastes lied elsewhere at the time but I knew my date with Nong was imminent. It wasn’t until my third visit to that pod (as the food cart clusters are called) on Southwest Alder Street that I finally experienced the magic of this simple, yet profound meal.

A Tired Favorite Elevated to Otherworldly Dimension

Every time I’ve been to Nong’s (maybe about a half-dozen by now) there’s never been much of a line. I must have excellent timing because, according to her tweets, she runs out of food practically every day. People would wait for a long time if they had to, but the khao man gai is almost always ready. You could slip out of the office, grab one to go and be back in a flash. It’s such a dreamy lunch, if I worked or lived nearby, little would stop me from being there several times a week. My heart skips a beat when that white paper pouch is passed across the counter along with a small cup of chicken broth. The rich, seaweed-filled broth is so nourishing, people would still come if that was all she sold. It could probably bring a sick person back from the brink of death.

Counting all the times we’ve enjoyed the classic combination of chicken and rice in our lifetimes, chances are it has never approached this rarefied realm. Unwrapping the package of paradise, I imagine a radiant glow emerging like the briefcase in Pulp Fiction. The celestial music from Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure begins playing on cue. Staring up at me, a small mound of rice is draped with pillowy chicken chunks and accented with a strand of cilantro a few cucumber slices. Nestled on the side is a plastic container; the contents of which could very well change a person’s life. Well, at least make their day. Pouring the ginger-chili sauce over the chicken and rice, I prepare for lift-off.

Feasting on this glorious creation with a metal fork just wouldn’t make sense. The spontaneity and humble origins of khao man gai suit it far better to eating on a curb than sitting in a dining room. As the plastic fork plunges down, my heart rate accelerates, pupils dilate and taste buds brace for impact. It’s one of those rare dishes which achieves unwavering perfection every time. The chicken – an organic bird from Draper Farms poached in a special brew – is so pure in appearance; it’s almost like another species all together. Joining the rice - which sings with the subtle tone of Nong’s home-fermented soy sauce - the pair pirouettes on the palate like Baryshnikov in his prime. Then the pungent sauce swaggers into the equation with panache so daring and delightful; I find myself spiraling into an out-of-body experience.

The First Dish to Mandate its Own 12-Step Program?

The term “more than the sum of its parts” was seemingly invented for Nong’s Khao Man Gai. Each element could stand on its own, but together the trio transcends the bounds of culinary science. While far from necessary, spending an extra buck for an additional serving of sauce is never a bad idea. Adventurous eaters can complement their meal with chicken livers or skin. One rainy Saturday, I experienced the horror of walking up to the window to be greeted by a wrinkled, cardboard “Sold Out” sign. Relegated to average Vietnamese lemongrass chicken and rice noodles, I had an epiphany and scampered back to Nong’s for some sauce which instantly saved the day.

The problem with my Nong’s infatuation is that there are hundreds of other food carts in Portland I still have yet to try. The intention is there, but once that craving emerges, resistance is futile. Plus, the fact that it’s healthy, filling and only six bucks to boot allows for little argument. Even if I didn’t have a crush on Nong, I would still go just as often, but seeing her certainly makes each visit that much sweeter. The last time I went a couple weeks ago, I approached the counter and there she was. Straining for a second to remember my name, she plucked it from the reaches of her mind. I’m a newcomer to town and she caters to hundreds of people on a weekly basis, but somehow she remembered my name. Clearly pleased with herself, she slapped me a triumphant high-five. I think I might have blushed.