Summary

The article discusses the risk of foodborne illness when eating authentic local meals at markets and roadside stalls while traveling, particularly in developing countries, emphasizing the potential for these meals to be the best a traveler might have.

Abstract

The author of the article reflects on the unparalleled culinary experiences that can be found in local markets and bus stations in developing regions of the world. These meals, while potentially risky for the unprepared digestive systems of tourists, are often prepared by skilled cooks who have perfected their family's recipes over generations. The author acknowledges the high likelihood of encountering hygiene practices that could lead to gastrointestinal distress but argues that the taste, atmosphere, and cultural significance of these meals make them worth the risk. The article suggests that the best way to understand a country and its people is through its food markets, where locals engage in daily life and where tourists can immerse themselves in the local culture. The author also points out that despite the risk, many tourists walk away from these meals unscathed, as local vendors are skilled in preparing safe food. The article concludes by encouraging travelers not to be deterred by the fear of illness, as the rewards of trying these authentic dishes far outweigh the risks.

Opinions

The author enjoys and actively seeks out local market meals despite the risk of foodborne illness, viewing the experience as an essential part of traveling.
There is a significant chance of getting sick from these meals due to different bacteria and hygiene standards, but the author finds the odds acceptable for the culinary and cultural experience.
Local markets are seen as a gateway to understanding a country's culture, with the author suggesting they are more authentic than supermarkets and tourist-oriented restaurants.
The author believes that most market stalls are safe due to their reliance on local patronage and the vendors' expertise.
The article expresses that the fear of getting sick should not prevent one from enjoying potentially the best meals of their life.
The author recalls carrying Sangsom, a strong local spirit, to self-medicate against potential stomach bugs while traveling in Thailand, indicating a personal, albeit un

Some Of The Best Meals Will Give You The Shits

And no, that’s not a metaphor

There are some meals that you have when you’re travelling and you know they’re going to come out just as quickly as they went in. All you have to do is look at those open vats of food, the raw meat just chilling in the market, and the limp, almost inconsequential attempt to keep the flies at bay with what amounts to a tiny desk fan when two things become very apparent.

The first is that whatever they’re cooking, it’s probably delicious.

The person cooking it has no doubt made a thousand of that exact dish before, perfecting their technique and a recipe that was handed down from their parents through a market stall that has been with the family for a generation. It’s the kind of food that you just can’t get at home and to eat it is to know, understand, and share in a little bit more of someone’s culture.

The second thing to know is that no matter how delicious the food is or how skilled the cook is, there is about a thirty percent chance you’re going to end up with the shits at the end of it.

I like those odds.

And I roll the dice with them more often than I’d care to admit when I’m travelling in the developing parts of the world. That’s because by and large, these meals that I get from the markets and the Thai bus stations are some of the best meals of my life. The taste, the setting, the atmosphere, and the joy on the face of the person serving you, are the reasons why I travel. To discover new places, experience new flavours, and make new connections.

If you ever want to understand a country, one of the best places to start is a local market. You’ll see locals there just… doing their thing. Living life, buying groceries, maybe stopping off for a cheeky afternoon aguardiente as they talk to the people around them about life, love, and football.

Did these people already know each other before entering the market? Or is the market a place where commerce, conversation, and great food all mix?

It’s hard to say as a cultural outsider. If someone spoke to me in the aisle of a supermarket I’d be horrified. I’d look at them and smile before running in the opposite direction, grabbing my plastic-wrapped meat that no longer resembles anything close to the animal it came from before making a hasty escape.

In these markets, there is none of that. No sterile lighting, no crappy jingles, and meat that actually resembles the animals from which it comes. It’s a visceral place. You can hear cleavers hacking into wooden blocks, hawkers yelling in a language you can’t understand, and the occasional ‘cluck’ from a rather unlucky chicken. There will be smells unlike any you have smelt before and if you follow your nose to one of them, you’ll find just the stall you were looking for.

The floor will be wet for some inexplicable reason. Where the water came from, it’s hard to say, but you’ll sit down and proceed to have one of the most incredible meals of your life. You don’t need to speak the language, you just look at what all the other people are eating and hold up one finger with a word of thanks and it will appear in front of you.

A bowl of something sinister.

You’ll have no idea what’s in it but by that point, you won’t care. You’ll sit shoulder-to-shoulder with locals who will give you knowing nods and vague looks of respect. You’ll inhale the whole damn bowl and all the delicious little ugly bits and pieces that we have removed from our Western diet and say to yourself that whatever happens to your stomach in the next forty-eight hours, it was worth it.

Most of the time, you’ll walk away from these meals without any hint of a stomach bug whatsoever. You don’t stay in business long by poisoning your neighbours and so it stands to reason that most of these market stalls are still there because they’re doing the right things. The problem is that we, as tourists, haven’t been exposed to the same bacteria as the locals have. Our guts are just as much tourists as we are, experiencing all these new, wonderful, and potentially dangerous things for the first time.

One thing that I used to do when I was a younger, dumber man, was carry around a flask of Sangsom with me when I travelled around Thailand. Sangsom is a fabulous drink, one which the Thais call whiskey but is actually rum due to its sugar content. If I ever ate anything nebulous, I’d take a shot of Sangsom as a means to disinfect whatever bacteria was in my stomach.

This stuff can strip paint and so my theory was that it would also strip anything evil out of my gut. During those first few trips to Thailand, I rarely had any stomach bugs. I did, however, have a significant number of hangovers, so the maths checks out.

The thing I love most about these market and roadside meals is that they’re not made by any artist. They’re not in any guides or on any lists, they’re simply there, doing what they’ve always done, which is making damn good food. There are so many places I’ve been to that I’ve wanted to tell the world about but after one look at where the food came from, my words would probably fall on deaf ears.

And that’s okay, really.

Travel is a personal thing. We all have limits on what we will and won’t eat. There is nothing worse than having a two-week holiday and spending half that time glued to the toilet. It’s shit, to be frank, because those days are so precious.

But what I would say is that you’re just as likely to get sick from the Western breakfast at your hotel as you are by eating at that roadside stall. Or maybe it was handling some dirty currency, giving the wrong kid a high-five, or any number of the little things that are par for the course when travelling. You can’t hide from it forever. To do so would be to never step out of your front door. If there is so much that can [and will] make us sick, then it would be a shame to miss out on what could be the best meal of your life in fear of it.