The Guide to Foraging Ant Eggs in the Forests of Northeastern Thailand: How and Why

Tip 1:

Collect eggs from March to May.

Tip 2:

Be ready for prickly bushes and a swarm of hungry mosquitoes.

Tip 3:

Ants tend to return to the same spots. If a tree has previously provided eggs, it likely will again.

Tip 4:

A few swift, targeted shakes of a branch can shower down handfuls of white 'caviar' resembling pearl barley into a net.

Tip 5:

Be quick! Ants will pursue you when you collect their eggs, and if they catch you, they bite fiercely.

These guidelines are instinctual for chef Weerawat “Num” Triyasenawat and second-generation forager Chimphan “Auntie Noi” Sripha, who often gather ingredients from the forests of Isan in northeastern Thailand. After coating their catch in potato starch to deter ants, they calmly assess their haul and sample a few plump eggs, which burst with a taste reminiscent of fresh milk.

Locals usually incorporate ant eggs into spicy salads or soups. Sripha pairs them with sweet tree leaves and queen ants (which have a mildly hallucinogenic quality) in a fragrant stew that's characteristic of the region. A dedicated forager inspired by French chef Michel Bras, Num features the eggs at Samuay & Sons, his restaurant in Udon Thani, the third largest city in Isan.

“We’ve been consuming insects for centuries,” Num explains. “Foraging is part of our shared wisdom, rooted in our survival instincts.”

A full morning’s effort yields just enough eggs for one dinner service — not a significant return. However, Num emphasizes that this endeavor isn't merely about gathering enough for a menu. It’s about reshaping the culinary perception of Isan. Despite being an agricultural powerhouse, the region is often overlooked and undervalued by city dwellers from Bangkok and Central Thailand, much like the divide between coastal capitals and inland states in the U.S.

“Many believe Isan cuisine is simple, budget-friendly, and inexpensive,” he remarks. “I aim to elevate the perception of Isan food and take it to new heights.”

Num is among a rising group of chefs redefining Thailand's culinary landscape. By harnessing seasonal, traditional ingredients — such as mountain crabs, boba-like mushrooms, sour forest mangoes, and mole crickets — his dishes strike a balance between sophistication and approachability, challenging long-held assumptions.

Regarding the ant eggs, Num swiftly cures them with salt, smokes them using sugarcane, and blends them with caviar from Hua Hin in Southern Thailand to create a unique version of the salad known as sup nor mai. The message is clear: If fish eggs can be a luxury that costs thousands, why shouldn’t Isan’s ant eggs be treated the same?

Num’s ant egg creation bursts with umami, diverging significantly from Isan's typical reputation for spicy, tangy, and salty flavors. While a widely accepted version of the region’s cuisine has gained immense popularity at street food stalls throughout Thailand and in restaurants across the U.S., often reduced to the “holy trinity” of grilled chicken, som tum (green papaya salad), and sticky rice, the food in Udon Thani shares more in common with the deep, umami-rich dishes of Northern Thailand. These meals often feature a subtle bitterness, balanced acidity, zero sugar, mild spice, and pronounced flavors of pla rah, a fish sauce crafted by fermenting freshwater fish with salt for up to a year.

Discussions about Isan often overlook its nuances. As both the most populous and the poorest region in Thailand, it contributes less than 10 percent to the national GDP, primarily through agriculture. Centuries of cultural disparities and economic inequality have created significant divides between the Northeast and the political center in Bangkok. While politicians frequently court Isan voters to secure parliamentary seats, they seldom fulfill promises to aid the region; populist governments supported by Northeasterners rarely last in the capital, leading to the saying: Isan votes governments in, and Bangkok votes them out.

Lacking economic and political power, Isan finds itself in a catch-22: too impoverished to develop sufficient infrastructure to attract tourists, yet not receiving enough tourism revenue to escape poverty.

The rising popularity of Isan cuisine might appear to be a quick fix for some of the region’s challenges, but the proliferation of its food across the country and beyond has not historically created genuine opportunities back home. Deep-rooted stigmas among Central Thai residents regarding their Northeastern counterparts continue to influence perceptions of Isan cuisine.

“How can a region rich in culture, filled with hardworking people, diverse landscapes, and remarkable Thai dishes be so neglected?” questions Aarya Surindhara, a hotelier and restaurateur currently transforming her childhood home in northern Isan into a hotel, Domaine du Mekong.

Surindhara traces the roots of the current stalemate deep into Isan’s history. This region was once part of the Lao Lan Xang kingdom, known as the Land of a Million Elephants, from the 14th to 18th centuries before being taken over by France in 1893 and later ceded to Siam. Many of Isan’s signature dishes, such as som tum, larb, sticky rice, and jaew (a spicy dipping sauce for grilled meats), are adaptations from Lao cuisine. These dishes are particularly favored by Isan’s farm workers due to their simplicity, portability, and the fact that they can be eaten by hand with local leaves and herbs. For example, mok pla combines freshwater fish with a fragrant blend of dill, chiles, makrut lime leaves, garlic, and onions, all wrapped in a banana leaf and steamed.

However, in Bangkok, these Lao influences are not regarded with pride. Residents of the capital often use the term “Lao” derogatorily, implying “country bumpkin” or someone naive and unsophisticated. This rejection extends beyond just the Lao elements of Isan cuisine.

In the aftermath of World War II, many workers from the Northeast moved to the capital, primarily taking on blue-collar roles such as taxi drivers, maids, security guards, and construction workers. Longing for their native cuisine, some migrants began selling som tum, chargrilled meats, and larb from food stalls near Victory Monument. However, locals, often wary of the strong flavor of pla rah, quickly adapted these dishes, resulting in creations like “som tum Thai,” a sour-salty-sweet-spicy blend that incorporates dried shrimp and peanuts, typical of Central Thai cuisine.

“Isan food in Bangkok is vastly different,” Num observes, noting the emergence of a “parallel cuisine” where almost every flavor is amplified compared to what is found back home. “It’s spicier, and when chefs do use pla rah, it’s much more prominent.” He also points out that Bangkok chefs often overuse sugar, a common complaint among culinary experts regarding contemporary Thai cuisine. Num attributes this preference for sweetness to the idea that “sweetness equals wealth.”

In recent decades, immigrants from Myanmar have gradually taken over many of these blue-collar positions. However, economic prospects in Isan remain limited, and many aspiring young individuals still plan to migrate to the capital. This is particularly true for chefs, who follow a familiar path to culinary success: starting from modest beginnings in small towns, creating innovative interpretations of local dishes, earning accolades like the Michelin Bib Gourmand, dominating Bangkok with restaurant chains, expanding internationally, and potentially landing a Netflix special. This narrative, however, often overlooks a crucial final step: reshaping perceptions of regional Thai cuisine.

By rejecting that narrative and choosing to stay in Udon Thani, chef Num has become something of a folk hero. While he has side ventures — such as a Thai restaurant inspired by the 1970s and ’80s set to open in Bangkok and a pop-up in Khao Yai aimed at reforesting the area — he remains dedicated to cooking alongside his brother, chef Voravat “Joe,” at Samuay & Sons, a restaurant named after their mother and influenced by their father, an insurance salesman who was the family’s cook.

His ringtone, Nino Rota’s “Speak Softly, Love” (the theme from The Godfather), reflects his influential position in the local food scene. He frequently receives calls to connect chefs with producers, mentor culinary students, or provide guidance on ingredient choices.

“I don’t do this for my own gain,” Num shares between calls. “I just want to help people earn a decent living.”

In the nearby city of Khon Kaen, chefs Paisarn Cheewinsiriwat and Kanyarat Thanomsang have discovered their own treasures at Kaen, which references both the city and Paisarn’s parents’ timber business (with “kaen” meaning “wood”). The dining area, predictably adorned with wood, features local textiles and plays regional music in the background.

“We have a saying: ‘Gindan kue sinsap,’ which means ‘poverty can yield treasure,’” Paisarn explains. “The herbs that thrive here are packed with flavor because they must be resilient to survive. This land offers so many wonderful things.”

While working as a chef at a high-end wellness resort, Paisarn dreamed of cooking with Iranian caviar, Canadian lobster, and other extravagant ingredients. Now that he has his own restaurant, his understanding of luxury has evolved. “The definition of elegance has transformed,” he remarks.

Kaen’s seasonal menu highlights the ingredients of Khon Kaen, utilizing simple European-inspired techniques. Local wagyu steaks are grilled and paired with charred sugar snap peas and mushrooms. A rustic vegetable stew seasoned with pla rah is elegantly reimagined as minestrone. Bottles of local moonshine, once reserved for village celebrations, are presented as digestifs, served from a trolley as Isan eau-de-vie.

In Ubon Ratchathani, located in southeastern Isan, Sirorat Thowtho, affectionately known as Pa Chef (Auntie Chef), draws from local inspiration without the desire to attract outside customers. She named her restaurant Mok, referencing the farmer’s dish mok while also evoking its other meaning in Thai: “hidden.”

“If someone isn’t actively seeking us out, they won’t find it,” she states. “It’s a hidden gem.”

Those fortunate enough to discover the restaurant are treated to a multicourse Isan omakase, featuring local fish transformed into sausage and served in its broth with dollops of chile paste and osetra caviar, local snails prepared in white wine a la escargot, and grilled dancing shrimp (rather than the live version typically found locally) accompanied by shrimp biscuits and pineapple salsa.

“To outsiders, this land may seem arid,” Thowtho remarks. “But Isan is the source of the finest meat, vegetables, and jasmine rice in the world.”

Chefs can support their communities without exclusively serving local cuisine. Tawara “Earl” Ananthikulchai felt adrift after graduating from college, so he took it upon himself to learn the art of baking.

“Once I decided to stay in my hometown, I had one goal: to bring my knowledge of French pastry back here,” he shares. Ananthikulchai now operates the beloved patisserie Le Bonheur from his childhood home, proudly introducing delights like Black Forest cake, poached pears in red wine, and perfect scones to Udon Thani’s vibrant scene.

These chefs no longer require a flashy venue in Bangkok to showcase their skills and draw in patrons. Despite their differing methods to capture the attention of diners beyond Udon Thani, both Samuay & Sons and Mok received Bib Gourmand honors in Michelin’s inaugural Isan guide in 2023.

“Being a talented chef stuck in some remote Alpine lodge was once a real challenge,” reflects Gavin Vongkusolkit, owner of the Ad Lib hotel in Khon Kaen. He points to social media as a major turning point for food lovers seeking great cuisine. “Now with Michelin and Asia’s 50 Best Restaurants, people travel specifically for unique food experiences.”

International audiences, particularly those involved in awarding bodies and supporting Isan restaurants globally, have been notably receptive to the region’s evolution. However, global recognition has its limits for chefs.

“I envision Samuay & Sons as a dining spot appealing to everyone—locals and visitors alike,” Num states.

During many dinner services, Samuay & Sons serves local patrons who prefer a quick meal from the a la carte menu, which is both faster and more affordable than the tasting menu. They opt for familiar dishes like massaman curry and the chef’s nostalgic favorite, kai pullo—eggs and pork slow-cooked with Chinese five-spice. Ant eggs aren’t on the menu.

“The a la carte menu emphasizes straightforward flavor, while the [tasting menu] focuses on innovation,” he explains. “I hope Michelin appreciates this distinction.” Num views the two menus as complementary, believing he can explore new culinary territories without losing his local clientele. “The idea of authenticity is a Western construct,” he adds.

This inclusive approach has enabled the region’s Mytouries to attract a diverse clientele, as chefs utilize local ingredients across a range of price points. Num’s broader message regarding Isan’s significance appears to resonate with diners.

“Seven years ago, no one understood what I was aiming for,” Num reflects. “But now we can confidently call ourselves pioneers.”

Chawadee Nualkhair is a food writer based in Bangkok.