When it comes to Thai cuisine, I am a narrow-minded intolerant snob, as incapable of accepting nouveau Thai recipes as to hear Mahler's Symphony Of A Thousand played on a kazoo. Accordingly, I have avoided the much-touted Wyndham Street Thai and other restaurants which either soften the peppery edges or excessively beautify a cuisine, which, at its best, is rough-and-ready, attuned more to palm trees than pretence. Elegance in Thai food comes from its people, its natural environment, and its extravagant flavours. That is, Thai food should be very spicy, very sour, very sweet or a mixture of extremes. Unlike Cantonese or French food, where ingredients blend together to produce a refined symmetry, one must really taste - or gag on - the half-dozen different chillies, the coriander, ginger, basil, shrimp paste and lemon grass individually. Thus, I was not anxious to attend Allan Zeman's newest creation in domesticating a wild ethnic food, Thai Lemon Grass. After quaffing a sip of Mekhong whiskey at home (knowing, correctly, that such a luxurious restaurant would not carry this brew), I strolled down to the basement restaurant for dinner with friends. The results were mixed. As expected, the decor is genteel. Along the wall are reproductions of statuary from the old capital of Sukhothai. Some real flora (orchids and palm leaves) are placed around the room. The hand-made celadon plates and mortar-shaped sauce bowls are attractive. The lights are low, almost gloomy, at night. The long corridor sits about 120 guests, but - and this is the main objection - the place looks cramped. Obviously it was inspired by the decor of Bangkok's Sukhothai Hotel Restaurant. But that place opens out to the air and sky. Thai Lemon Grass is below ground, looking and feeling enclosed, almost stifling. Making up for this, though, is the service. The waitresses nearly all come from Thailand's northeast, and they are delightful. Neither giggling nor shy, they are friendly without being overbearing, are knowledgeable enough in English, and amiable. They give the restaurant the elegance its decor ignores. The menu is big: no Thai language (and the English transliterations are misleading), but the descriptions are adequate. Except for Chiangmai (where chef Pairote Nuttham hails from), the place has an eclectic mixture of dishes. From the northeast comes minced pork and peppers (moo laph ), grilled chicken, and green papaya salad. From the south, a variety of tamarind sauces and heavy coconut; from the central plains, the usual spicy salads and curries. And of course the hotels of Bangkok have inspired such un-Thai dishes as marinated spare ribs with barbecue sauce and fried rice inside a pineapple. Mr Pairote admits the food is not made terribly spicy, 'for farang tastes'. But to their credit, they do not do what other ersatz establishments do: make Chinese food with bits of coriander and a side pepper sauce. And one can always give it extra spice with the crushed red peppers or fish sauce on the table. The four of us chose well, with a few exceptions. The 'combination plate' of appetisers included crispy rice cakes dipped into an unusual coconut-and-pork sauce. The vegetable spring rolls were a la Chinoise but had a good plum sauce. The chicken in screwpine leaves - usually too dry - was moist enough, although it fell apart as if marinated too long. The prawn cakes were excellent. And one of Mr Pairote's original dishes was fried quail eggs with a heavy tamarind-garlic-onion sauce. That old standby, tom yam kung, was too watery - but the Vietnamese prawns were chunky and tender. Chicken soup with coconut milk was much too sweet, but that was the way they liked it in the south. Pomelo salad was recommended, but the prawn, crab and coconut took away the sourness of the original. My favourite, green papaya salad, was too mild. For neophytes only. Definitely recommended is the catfish in a light curry sauce. The prawns in green curry have good ingredients and also a gentle sauce. There was a good dessert list - although it did not have a single Thai sweet. The black sticky rice was ruined, though, by Filipino mangoes, which were too mushy and sweet. A creme brulee was heavenly with lemon grass and Thai basil. The bill for four was not cheap: $1,300, not including drinks. When I mentioned that price to friends in Bangkok, they did not need peppers. They gagged. Hong Kong trendies will not be awed, though. To them, Mr Zeman has tamed the wild culinary beast. THAI LEMON GRASS, Basement, California Tower, 30-32 Lan Kwai Fong, Central, Tel: 2905-1688. Open: Noon-2.30pm, 7-11pm (11.30pm Friday and Saturday). Closed Sundays
