Food Transcends Borders on the Thailand-Malaysia Frontier

Should national borders be determined by culinary preferences, one might envision a line extending north to south along the Sankalakhiri and Titiwangsa mountain ranges. This range serves as the backbone of the Malay Peninsula, stretching from southern Thailand into central Malaysia, effectively dividing the narrow land and its communities. On the western side, vibrant spices and fiery chiles dominate dishes like khao mok gai (chicken and rice) and gaeng som (spicy fish soup). In contrast, the eastern side leans towards sweeter, more fermented flavors found in dishes such as khao yum (herb-rich rice salad) and budu (long-fermented fish sauce).

In stark contrast to the culinary divisions, the political border — drawn in 1909 between Siam and British Malaya — stretches from west to east. This boundary, which navigates various mountains and rivers, fragments interconnected communities into multiple Thai provinces (Satun, Songkhla, Yala, Narathiwat, and Pattani) and Malaysian states (Perlis, Kedah, and Kelantan).

“I hold a Thai passport, as does my mother-in-law, while my husband is a Malaysian citizen. We all require passports to visit each other during the holidays,” shares Dawan Sarin, owner of Dawan Thai Kitchen, a Thai Muslim Mytoury situated on the island of Langkawi, Malaysia, where Thailand is visible even on cloudy days. “I often find myself missing my mother’s cooking,” Sarin reflects nostalgically.

Along the historically fluid border, the lives of people and their staple foods cannot be neatly categorized. Different languages refer to the same dishes, such as the Thai term “khao yum” and the Malay “nasi kerabu” for the same rice salad. In Langkawi, children from Thai families attend Malaysian schools but converse in Thai at home, enjoying spicy homestyle Thai stir-fries like pad prik and phat phet at dinner. Like the predominantly Muslim communities in Malaysia and southern Thailand, Sarin prepares halal dishes, blending Thailand’s favorites like pad kaprao and pad thai with southern Thai specialties such as gaeng som and grilled prawns. Her menu draws a crowd of local border residents, though it may confuse those from Kuala Lumpur or Bangkok.

In the 20th century, as Siam transformed into Thailand and Malaya became Malaysia, both nations leveraged food to craft their modern national identities. Distant from the border, government ministries and urban dwellers began to carve out their culinary cultures, distinguishing themselves from their Southeast Asian neighbors. This led to the emergence of two supposedly distinct culinary identities, each defined by unique national dishes such as pad thai and nasi lemak, despite both countries growing similar produce and sharing pantry staples.

However, in southern Thailand and northern Malaysia, people persist in preparing dishes that challenge neat national definitions, reflecting a broader, ongoing—and at times violent—struggle to preserve their identities along the border.

For an exploration of borderland cuisine, start with the street vendors in southern Thailand. In the morning, they offer khao mok gai, affectionately known as Thai-style chicken biryani by locals. The dish's origins trace back to Arab and Indian traders who arrived on the west coast between the 13th and 17th centuries. Alongside Islam, which they spread throughout Malaysia and southern Thailand, they introduced rich rice dishes like biryani. Like its Indian counterpart, khao mok gai features chicken, rice, and spices such as cumin, coriander, and cinnamon, but local chefs opt for jasmine rice rather than the basmati typical in biryani, and they enhance it with a spicy-tangy dipping sauce made from local bird’s-eye chiles and mint.

Another type of map emerges from budu, a thick, murky fish sauce created by fermenting local anchovies for about a year, resulting in a distinctive salty brine. Traditionally, the Malay community enjoyed budu as a dip for raw vegetables and grilled fish. However, when waves of Chinese migrants arrived on the east coast in the mid-19th century, fleeing turmoil and seeking work, they reimagined budu; dishes like budu bak (stir-fried pork with budu) transformed the fish sauce into a seasoning that adds umami, combining it with pork, which is not consumed by local Muslims.

These culinary traditions have taken root along the border, setting the cooking styles in these communities apart from those found in other regions of both countries. On the west coast, for example, rich, fatty curries dominate, influenced by recipes brought by migrants arriving from what is now Indonesia since the 14th century.

“Many locals here trace their origins back to Sumatra and Java, who migrated to Malaya and later moved north into southern Thailand,” shares Abdul Waris Haji Ahmad, the mayor of Che Bilang, a coastal town just across the border from Langkawi in Thailand’s Satun province. These hearty curries are distinctly different from the lighter, fragrant varieties typically found elsewhere in Thailand today.

Likewise, on the east coast, chef Hisham Abdullah of Kantan in Melbourne, Australia, notes that his family in Terengganu, Malaysia, uses an abundance of palm sugar, torch ginger, lime leaves, lemongrass, and toasted coconut, while other regions in Malaysia focus more on bay leaves, tomatoes, onions, and shallots.

Consider gaeng som. In central Thailand, this soup is typically reddish and sweet-and-sour. However, Sarin’s bold version is a completely different experience: spicy from dried chile paste (influenced by Indonesia), vibrant yellow from turmeric (influenced by Indian traders), and enhanced with fermented shrimp (a nod to Southeast Asian preservation methods). The variation in Malaysia is even more distinct.

“When I bring up gaeng som to friends in Kuala Lumpur, they’re unfamiliar with it,” Hisham shares. “As a child, I thought the Malay community was uniform. I later discovered our differences stem from diverse cultural influences, such as Indonesian or Thai.”

At the dawn of the 20th century, northern Malaysia was essentially a British protectorate, following their arrival in the late 18th century. “Britain and Siam sought clear boundaries,” explains professor Thanet Aphornsuvan, author of Rebellion in Southern Thailand: Contending Histories. “An agreement established that the British would govern Perlis, Kedah, and Kelantan, while Siam's claim over Pattani was acknowledged.” This 1909 treaty lays out the current borders between the countries.

Following Siam's transformation into Thailand in 1939 and Malaysia's independence in 1957, politicians focused on nation-building. Both nations created ministries for culture, arts, and tourism aimed at preserving and showcasing Thai and Malaysian cuisine, particularly to international audiences. Via school curricula, tourism initiatives, culinary origin narratives, and other platforms, the contemporary nations bolstered unique interpretations of their culinary traditions, although local pride also played a role in reinforcing these stories, often ignoring the cultural nuances found along the border.

“In Thailand, your primary identity is Thai. You are no longer identified as Chinese or Malay,” remarks Bernard Keo, a historian at the Geneva Graduate Institute. “National identity encompasses not only who you are but also who you are not.”

This mindset hinders the recognition of dishes from blended border cultures, relegating border cuisine to the status of “regional” food, with little chance of entering the “mainstream.”

“In Thailand, there is no such thing as hyphenated food,” remarks Richard Poole of Tai, a southern Thai restaurant in London. He believes this is unfortunate because influences from Laotian, Malaysian, and other cuisines “illustrate how [Thai cuisine] is open and adaptable to various cultures.” He cites pad see ew, which is derived from Chinese flat noodles but is now firmly recognized as a Thai dish.

“For a dish to be deemed national food, it must appeal to everyone’s palate or be rooted in Bangkok,” professor Aphornsuvan explains. “Media and government backing are essential for popularizing a regional dish.”

In Bangkok, dishes can gain recognition, such as som tum (papaya salad) from the northeastern region of Isan. However, in the south, where many residents are Muslim like the majority in Malaysia, there’s the additional challenge of navigating the religious differences in predominantly Buddhist Thailand. Professor Aphornsuvan notes that over the years, tensions have escalated as Bangkok promotes central Thai culture, establishes Thai as the official language in schools and government, and gradually replaces pondoks (Muslim religious schools) with modern Thai institutions that still include Islamic subjects.

The divide is particularly evident in Pattani on the east coast, which was once an independent state governed by a Malay sultan. Since 1948, Malay Muslim separatist groups have been advocating for independence, and the insurgency has intensified, with over 7,000 lives lost in the conflict since 2004, as separatists carry out attacks and accuse the Thai government of extrajudicial killings.

“[They] view the former Pattani kingdom as their lost Muslim realm,” states anthropology professor Wanni W. Anderson from Brown University. “The establishment of modern Malaysia shifted the political landscape.”

While violent resistance has captured attention, residents in the border region subtly resist Thai dominance. Abdul Waris proudly shares that Che Bilang promotes Malay language in public schools and encourages Malay Muslims to don traditional attire during festive events such as weddings and Eid.

The dynamics of cultural dominance are more nuanced in Malaysia, which prides itself on being a multicultural nation shaped by diverse Asian influences. While the government and locals recognize the historical impacts from distant places like China and India, they tend to downplay influences from nearby Indonesia and Thailand, having spent years trying to differentiate from these close neighbors. In rural areas, residents often view dishes with non-Malay names with suspicion, and even in places that offer nasi kerabu, its Thai counterpart is seldom acknowledged.

This official narrative also extends beyond the local area. Since 2002, the Thai government has actively promoted dishes from the central region surrounding Bangkok.

“Thailand utilized gastro-diplomacy to enhance its image. No matter where you are in the world, you can find a Thai restaurant offering tom yum and pad thai,” Keo remarks. Meanwhile, dishes from other regions and cultures remain absent, and the emphasis on Bangkok impacts even those chefs who appear to operate independently.

“Many Thai chefs in London, particularly from the older generation, were drawn to the U.K. to showcase their culinary skills. The cuisine they promoted was mainly central Thai or popular dishes like pad thai and green curry,” Poole notes.

Leela Punyaratabandhu, a Thai American food writer and cookbook author, has a similar perspective.

“Bangkok attracts the most international tourists, and it’s these same dishes that dominate the menus of hotels, resorts, and upscale restaurants frequented by visitors,” she explains. “Considering the financial risks involved in opening a Thai restaurant abroad, it makes sense that early Thai restaurateurs opted for these ‘safe’ choices rather than more obscure regional dishes.”

In contrast, the Malaysian government takes a more relaxed stance on gastro-tourism, with dishes featuring Indian or Chinese influences—such as roti canai (flaky flatbread with curry) and Nyonya kuih (colorful desserts)—often receiving the spotlight.

Regardless of governmental preferences, locals along the border will continue to enjoy khao mok gai and budu. Most people are indifferent to how their food is showcased beyond their own region.

However, for chefs who have noticed this gap, there are indications that the culture is evolving. Over the past two decades, Punyaratabandhu has observed a growing interest among diaspora customers in exploring lesser-known Thai dishes. Similarly, Hisham has experienced a warm reception for more obscure Malaysian dishes in Australia.

At home, khao yum/nasi kerabu is emerging as a potential breakout dish that transcends its regional roots. Its vibrant blue rice, colored with butterfly pea flowers, has garnered widespread popularity in both Thailand and Malaysia.

“It’s visually striking,” Hisham notes. “Whenever individuals from Kelantan relocate to Kuala Lumpur and open food ventures, they often focus on nasi kerabu, which has now become a signature dish.”

Perhaps dishes like the spicy, yellow gaeng som and the umami-rich budu bak will also gain popularity. However, much of the cuisine from border regions remains intertwined with complex national identities. For these dishes to truly flourish beyond their narrow geographical confines, chefs must have the freedom and opportunity to articulate their culinary narratives without being hindered by language barriers, government narratives, or the arbitrary boundaries imposed by historical colonizers and monarchs.

Alia Ali is a translator, cook, and co-founder of the Malaysian food website Periuk. She resides in Langkawi, Malaysia.Annie Hariharan is a Malaysian Australian feature writer focusing on food, food history, and pop culture. She is based in Melbourne, Australia.Michelle Yip is involved in photography, performing arts, education, and social entrepreneurship. Her photography can be viewed on @mylightchaser.