Like cheese. Like wine.

Back in the day, my father would drive through seaside neighborhoods asking for Plakem recommendations. Families made it at home. It was sun-dried on tall racks. You could walk past rows of it and only sense a faint scent in the air.

But the good ones?

You could tell.

Lower-quality Plakem would smell… well… not so good.

The fine Plakem was always fried outside, never inside. Thai open-air kitchens exist for a reason. I remember my grandfather frying beautiful pieces in pork oil — the aroma drifting across the property, pulling me from one house to another.

Ralph didn’t meet my grandfather.

They would have gotten along.

During our thirteen years in Thailand, Ralph embraced Thai food culture fully. Family-style dining. Ordering multiple dishes. Eating whenever and wherever we felt like it.

And at almost every restaurant, he ordered one thing: