Bergen: The Thai Curry House

Okay. I'll come clean.

I haven't technically eaten anything Norwegian since I arrived in Bergen.

No lutefiske, no.

No fiskesuppe, either.

No salmon, smoked or otherwise (interesting to note: apparently, here in Norway, fresh smoked just means fresh).

No cod, or as it's known, "beef of the sea."

I tried some Norwegian chocolate. Well, lots. Freia is the most ubiquitous brand, peddling their own take on Kit-Kats which I quite like, as well as the garden variety chocolate in bar form: melkesjokolade (milk chocolate), nut, fruit and nut, and aero. The melkesjokolade is wrapped in alluring gold paper. It came highly recommended by a Scotsman passing through my hostel. It did not disappoint.

I took a massive block of the aero variety on my hike up Mount Fløyen - I think, sometimes, I hike to eat and not the other way around. Each piece is imprinted with a motif composed of different words and images. My favorite motif: the word "Cow! Cow! Cow!" spelled out repeatedly and framing the image of a cow holding a guitar.

I tried Hansa, a cheap Norwegian beer. More pints than I care to remember (more on that later).

That same unfortunate Hansa night, I gave into 4 am munchies and (I'm not proud of this) bought a ham-and-cheese calzone from 7-Eleven. I don't really want to consider the amount of preservatives that I ingested for the sake of a doughy and delicious fix; I'll simply chalk my folly up to the Hansa. Damn that Hansa.

I ate very well at a charming coffee shop/pancake house called "Capello" on Skostredet. The place is decorated with all sorts of old Americana: vinyl record players, signs, postcards, and an antique cash register. I ordered a spinach-feta-and tomato pancake and a strawberry milkshake. The pancake, served with chili-sprinkled sour cream, was a bit thicker than a crêpe and perfectly cooked. The milkshake, so creamy I had to use a spoon to eat most of it.

But the best food I've had wasn't in any guide book I read. I discovered it my first night, wandering around the streets near my hostel, Jacob's Dorms (cheap, clean, and comfortable - I highly recommend).

The Thai Curry House, on Nedre Korskirkeallmenningen near the Torget.

A small place, seating no more than twenty customers at any given moment. The decor is on the kitschy side: bamboo stalks line the main window by the entrance, while the ceiling and walls are crawling with fake green vines. The waitress (yes, there's only one) is a young Asian woman with a mouthful of braces. I assumed she was Thai, but since I don't speak any Thai or Norwegian, it's difficult for me to pinpoint her precise origin. The chef: miraculous.

So far, I've sampled three of their dishes. The red curry, served with tender morsels of chicken, is as rich in flavor as it is in texture and color. The green curry, with veggies, surpasses the red curry only with its welcome addition of spiciness (in its defense, the red curry is not meant to be spicy).

But the best dish is a dish I will dream of for the duration of time I have left before returning to Boston. (St. E. is sorely lacking in non-French food; the only Indian restaurant I've found, so far, has an "indian" mannequin set out front as a promotional tool - a "Native American indian.")

As I wallow in French food, deprived of any ethnic dishes, I will remember that I ate the best Tom Yum soup of my life at the Thai Curry House in Bergen. A fragrant concoction that seamlessly blended the silkiest of broths with red chilis, chicken, oyster mushrooms, aromatic lemongrass, and ginger.

Spice, in Harvard Square, could learn a thing or too from the Thai Curry House.