THAILAND’S recent political history has been, to put it mildly, volatile. In 1997 a democratic constitution supposedly ended several decades of flirting with generals. Four years later Thaksin Shinawatra, a corrupt but competent telecoms tycoon, was elected. In 2006 he was forced out in a bloodless army coup, and skipped the country. The next year a new election brought in the burly, boisterous figure of Samak Sundaravej.
Mr Samak, once Mr Thaksin’s sworn enemy, was now an opportunistic proxy for him. A cartoon of the time showed him as a fat puppet dragon—or possibly a cat, since he was a famous felinophile—with Mr Thaksin pulling the strings. But the thing to notice was the dragon’s long forked tongue. A dangerous beast, this.
Mr Samak’s tongue got him into constant trouble. He loved to rage from the hard-right lane of Thai politics, where authoritarian rule was best and communists were devils. On his Saturday evening talk show, and everywhere else, he said what he thought abrasively, defiantly, sometimes obscenely. “You hit me, I hit back,” he told the press. “There is no written document that says...that the prime minister should be a good guy, should talk soft.”
His tongue roared; and it also sipped and sampled. For seven years, cheerfully overflowing his ample apron, he hosted a TV cookery show called Chim Pai Bon Pai, “Tasting and Ranting”. He did plenty of both. His most famous recipe, “Pork Legs in Coca-Cola”, began with the straightforward instruction: “Place five pig legs in a large pot. Pour over four bottles of Coca-Cola.” His all-purpose paste, “Thai MSG” as he called it, ground from coriander seed, white pepper, garlic and fish sauce, gave a mule-kick to any soup. And he became prime minister, for eight eventful months in 2008, less for his political competence than because he could cook a mean salmon tom kha, spiced up with galangal and lemongrass.
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He had won 233 seats, enough to govern in coalition, but life was always going to be difficult. The anti-Thaksin crowd, mobilised as the People’s Alliance for Democracy (PAD) was hostile. At least by Thai standards Mr Samak seemed fairly clean himself, except insofar as he put Mr Thaksin’s friends and their relations into his cabinet. And as a TV chef he made a more convincing populist, offering not only cheap health care and low-cost loans for the poor, as Mr Thaksin had, but also a nourishing recipe for chicken-bone soup.
Before he became prime minister, acquiring a white bemedalled uniform that made his girth even more impressive, Mr Samak’s main claim to fame was his stint as governor of Bangkok. After 21 years as a local MP from his own Thai Citizens party, he was a well-known face around the city. No Sunday morning market was complete without Mr Samak cruising the fish and vegetable stalls, finger ready to prod and lick or to wag as he berated someone. (In childhood, he had toured the market with the family cook; despite his boorishness, his background was aristocratic, and his father an officer at court.) When he ran for governor in 2000 he won 1m votes, the highest total ever. That made a useful number to spit in critics’ eyes.
Cooking for the troops
He spent four years as governor doing nothing much for Bangkok, though he insisted this was not his fault. Since all the city’s funding came from central government, he was left to cope with traffic and rubbish. When the streets flooded, he was blamed for not helping to push cars. He railed that this was not his job. In any case, politics was a bore, he once confided, compared with cooking.
Some Thais called him “Uncle”, and so he seemed with wok in hand or a cat in his arms. But his tongue had got him into darker trouble. He was not just an ardent monarchist—more or less required in Thailand—but also a flagwaver for army rule and a minister in right-wing regimes. When pro-democracy demonstrations broke out after a coup in 1976, Mr Samak, in full spate on an army radio station, called the protesters communists and whipped up mobs to besiege Thammasat University, the centre of unrest. Forty-six people were lynched or burned alive (“I deny the whole thing,” said Mr Samak). Thousands were arrested when, shortly afterwards, he became interior minister.
In 1992, as deputy prime minister, he denounced another mass protest against General Suchinda, who had come to power in yet another coup. These were “troublemakers”, and the government had every right to use force. Several dozen were killed. In August 2008, when the yellow-shirted hordes of PAD tormented him, he tried to get the army on his side by cooking a vast chicken curry (see above) for troops on the Cambodian border. But the soldiers declined to intervene to save him.
He was forced from power last September, by a court judgment, on the constitutional technicality that he had continued to host his cookery programme. Mr Samak hit back, of course, especially pointing out that he had been paid a mere 80,000 baht ($2,400) for doing four shows. His protests were dismissed. Much of his career had been built on hell-raising, wounding remarks. But he was deposed for saying “Add coconut milk,” and “Simmer for at least three hours.”
Mr Samak, once Mr Thaksin’s sworn enemy, was now an opportunistic proxy for him. A cartoon of the time showed him as a fat puppet dragon—or possibly a cat, since he was a famous felinophile—with Mr Thaksin pulling the strings. But the thing to notice was the dragon’s long forked tongue. A dangerous beast, this.
Mr Samak’s tongue got him into constant trouble. He loved to rage from the hard-right lane of Thai politics, where authoritarian rule was best and communists were devils. On his Saturday evening talk show, and everywhere else, he said what he thought abrasively, defiantly, sometimes obscenely. “You hit me, I hit back,” he told the press. “There is no written document that says...that the prime minister should be a good guy, should talk soft.”
His tongue roared; and it also sipped and sampled. For seven years, cheerfully overflowing his ample apron, he hosted a TV cookery show called Chim Pai Bon Pai, “Tasting and Ranting”. He did plenty of both. His most famous recipe, “Pork Legs in Coca-Cola”, began with the straightforward instruction: “Place five pig legs in a large pot. Pour over four bottles of Coca-Cola.” His all-purpose paste, “Thai MSG” as he called it, ground from coriander seed, white pepper, garlic and fish sauce, gave a mule-kick to any soup. And he became prime minister, for eight eventful months in 2008, less for his political competence than because he could cook a mean salmon tom kha, spiced up with galangal and lemongrass.
Click here
He had won 233 seats, enough to govern in coalition, but life was always going to be difficult. The anti-Thaksin crowd, mobilised as the People’s Alliance for Democracy (PAD) was hostile. At least by Thai standards Mr Samak seemed fairly clean himself, except insofar as he put Mr Thaksin’s friends and their relations into his cabinet. And as a TV chef he made a more convincing populist, offering not only cheap health care and low-cost loans for the poor, as Mr Thaksin had, but also a nourishing recipe for chicken-bone soup.
Before he became prime minister, acquiring a white bemedalled uniform that made his girth even more impressive, Mr Samak’s main claim to fame was his stint as governor of Bangkok. After 21 years as a local MP from his own Thai Citizens party, he was a well-known face around the city. No Sunday morning market was complete without Mr Samak cruising the fish and vegetable stalls, finger ready to prod and lick or to wag as he berated someone. (In childhood, he had toured the market with the family cook; despite his boorishness, his background was aristocratic, and his father an officer at court.) When he ran for governor in 2000 he won 1m votes, the highest total ever. That made a useful number to spit in critics’ eyes.
Cooking for the troops
He spent four years as governor doing nothing much for Bangkok, though he insisted this was not his fault. Since all the city’s funding came from central government, he was left to cope with traffic and rubbish. When the streets flooded, he was blamed for not helping to push cars. He railed that this was not his job. In any case, politics was a bore, he once confided, compared with cooking.
Some Thais called him “Uncle”, and so he seemed with wok in hand or a cat in his arms. But his tongue had got him into darker trouble. He was not just an ardent monarchist—more or less required in Thailand—but also a flagwaver for army rule and a minister in right-wing regimes. When pro-democracy demonstrations broke out after a coup in 1976, Mr Samak, in full spate on an army radio station, called the protesters communists and whipped up mobs to besiege Thammasat University, the centre of unrest. Forty-six people were lynched or burned alive (“I deny the whole thing,” said Mr Samak). Thousands were arrested when, shortly afterwards, he became interior minister.
In 1992, as deputy prime minister, he denounced another mass protest against General Suchinda, who had come to power in yet another coup. These were “troublemakers”, and the government had every right to use force. Several dozen were killed. In August 2008, when the yellow-shirted hordes of PAD tormented him, he tried to get the army on his side by cooking a vast chicken curry (see above) for troops on the Cambodian border. But the soldiers declined to intervene to save him.
He was forced from power last September, by a court judgment, on the constitutional technicality that he had continued to host his cookery programme. Mr Samak hit back, of course, especially pointing out that he had been paid a mere 80,000 baht ($2,400) for doing four shows. His protests were dismissed. Much of his career had been built on hell-raising, wounding remarks. But he was deposed for saying “Add coconut milk,” and “Simmer for at least three hours.”