This article was produced by National Geographic Traveller (UK).
It’s the middle of dinner service at Bo.lan restaurant in Bangkok and our table for two is packed with all the dishes that make up a traditional Thai meal: salad, a laab of minced grey mullet that smells like nutty, toasted rice kernels; curry, a Southern-style chicken-and-prawn version made creamy with cashew nuts; a protein dish — stir-fried beef in a sauce thickened with shrimp paste; and much more besides.
I take a bite of stir-fried jícama (a turnip-like root vegetable) and dried prawns, garlanded with coriander leaves — a blast of green tempered with an umami undertone. This is what fresh coriander should be: a hit of brightness that wakes up the taste buds. But Thais don’t just use the leaves — various parts of the plant are in every component of this meal. The stems cut through the fishiness of the mullet, the seeds amplify the chilli paste in the curry, and the roots flavour the broth in an accompanying preserved daikon soup.
When asked if he can make an entire Thai meal without coriander, chef Dylan Eitharong, of Haawm restaurant, shakes his head. “It’s not possible. It’s in everything. I understand some people are genetically predisposed to not like it, which is terrible for them.” Therein lies the rub for coriander. The herb’s odour is said to repel 3% to 21% of the world’s population. Some claim it tastes like soap, or are saddled with a gene that makes them sensitive to its aldehydes (a group of organic compounds). However, to me, it smells like a (delicious) newly mown lawn. Walking through a market as the smell wafts from vendors’ bundles of various varieties — including the stronger-tasting, long-leafed culantro, or sawtooth coriander — is heavenly.
( 7 dishes to try in northeast Thailand .)
Because coriander is so ubiquitous in Thailand today, it’s easy to forget it’s actually from the Mediterranean and Middle East. In Egypt, where it’s considered sacred, researchers have found evidence of its cultivation dating back to 5000 BCE. It was brought to Thailand via the ships of European traders, in the same way chillies arrived here.
And just as chillies are now inextricably linked to Thai cuisine, so too is coriander. “Coriander roots add umami to dishes and bind the flavour in pastes,” says Bo.lan’s chef, Bo Songvisava. “They’re like the building blocks of the paste. The seeds impart a deeper, earthier flavour, while the leaves add fragrance and freshness to salads and soups.” Nor should the stems be ignored. “Keep them and use them in stocks and soups to impart flavour, as they can be cooked for much longer than leaves,” adds Songvisava.
Chef Dylan Eitharong prepares his pork satay with coriander.
Photograph by Pattarapong
Thai fine dining restaurant Bo.Lan believes in the utmost authentic dishes, celebrating the holistic use of coriander.
Photograph by Karn Tantiwitayapitak, Bo.Lan
Coriander has not only wriggled its way into the heart of Thai cooking, it also plays as big a role in Mexican cuisine. At Bangkok Mexican restaurant Delia, chef Gabriela Espinosa uses the leaves in salads and guacamole, as well as the stems, “for texture and bite”. She infuses mezcal with the entire plant. She toasts the seeds to season salsa macha (a spicy condiment made with oil, dried chillies, garlic and salt), as well as for her very own ‘Gabi masala’, made from coriander seeds, pepper, allspice and cloves. Espinosa even occasionally adds the seeds to rice as it’s cooking. “It adds freshness, which is very interesting because it comes from a dried thing. It makes it bright.”
After almost a decade in Thailand, Espinosa has also taken on her adopted country’s love of coriander root, using it for broths. The tetela, a samosa-like pastry that she stuffs with mushrooms and slathers in green mole sauce, is an earthy, fragrant love letter to coriander, featuring every part of the plant. “In Mexico, we rarely use coriander root. I started using it after I worked in a Thai restaurant,” she says.
Yet, even among those who love the herb, it’s not always welcome. “Coriander on massaman curry is a crime against humanity. It just needs to be there when freshness is needed,” says Eitharong. He’s teaching me his take on a Northern Thai coriander salad, mixing the leaves with blanched prawns and a dressing of pounded chillies, fish sauce and lime juice before garnishing with a flourish of shrimp floss (dried, shredded shrimp). The fresh, fragrant greenness of the herbs works perfectly here.
( Deconstructing massaman curry, Thailand’s mellow classic .)
A few days later, I’m cooling down in the calm and cosy Blue Elephant restaurant, where I’m met with a trio of dishes: tom yum goong (spicy lemongrass soup with shrimp), which utilises coriander root; green curry with coriander seeds in its paste; and tamarind-flavoured ribs with a punchy salad of coriander leaves, dill and culantro.
“Thais can’t live without coriander,” says Blue Elephant’s chef, Nooror Somany Steppe. And the quickest way for a Thai person abroad to cure homesickness? Simply pick up a bunch of the fresh stuff, she says. “It’s just a taste of home.”
Published in Issue 27 (spring 2025) of Food by National Geographic Traveller (UK).
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