Thai one on with Aurora’s authentic Asian spice

AURORA |   There are a few things you need to know about Thai cuisine and why you like it so much.

First, don’t order it any spicier than what you really like, because it only ruins the complicated nature of what Thai cooking is all about if all you can taste is the air gushing into your mouth as you pant, uselessly trying to extinguish the nuclear meltdown that was formerly your gob.

Second, Thai people don’t eat with chopsticks. They eat with forks and spoons. More on that later.

But most importantly, Thai food is a complex mixture of flavors, textures and heats that sets it deliciously apart from all other Asian cousin cuisines. Above all, that’s what gives this varied cuisine such wide appeal.

If you live or work in or near Aurora, you’re in luck in finding a Thai restaurant that pleases even the choosiest Thai gourmet.

Aurora-area Thai icons hold the bar high for the entire metro area. Thai Flavor, 1014 S. Peoria St., Dancing Noodle Thai Cuisine, 10841 S. Crossroads in the little town of Parker, Sue of Siam, 106 Del Mar Circle and the legendary Thai Street Food Restaurant, 11650 Montview Blvd. have long been our go-to places for curries that are comforting but not thick and gloppy. Noodle and fried dishes boasting peppery heat that is beguiling but not blistering. These standard bearers produce consistent plates that create new taste sensations built on a host of meats, vegetables and spices trying to elbow their way to the center of your palate. The best Thai food is not overbearing, but it’s certainly not for the gastronomically timid.

And no place in Aurora exemplifies that better than one of the newest additions to Aurora’s Thai cuisine scene: Jay’s Noodles at 1842 Parker Road, just outside city limits going toward Denver. If you’ve been a motivated fan of what sets Thai food apart from other Asian delicacies, you’ve been to Jay’s when it nearly started the local scene on South Federal Boulevard back in the early 1990s. They moved to Aurora a couple of years ago and have been serving up their trademark basil, noodle and rice dishes ever since. Lunch specials alone here are worth the trip from any part of town. A different favorite every day, they’re $6.99 and you pick the level of heat.

If you don’t know what that’s all about, ask for “mild.” “American hot” will knock the socks off of most Midwesterners and pansy Colorado mouths. Think really, really spicy Mexican food, and turn that up a notch. The culprit is an assortment of chili peppers that made their way to Asia from the Portuguese a few centuries ago. But the small, red, vivacious red Thai “Birds Eye” chili pepper is the star. This little devil is actually any one of several varieties, and the Thai have available to them dozens of kinds of chilies. But the burst of fire the second that crunchy larb or rich pad dish his your gob probably comes from this innocuous looking pepper.

First, don’t order it any spicier than what you really like, because it only ruins the complicated nature of what Thai cooking is all about if all you can taste is the air gushing into your mouth as you pant, uselessly trying to extinguish the nuclear meltdown that was formerly your gob.

There are essentially two kinds of Thai “genres” of dishes that affect the heat factor. Creamy, fatty curries mute that initial “fire in the hole” sensation, and build to an “oh-my-god-that’s-spicy-but-I-cant-stop-eating-it” goodness. Dishes without the fat, salads and citrusy noodle or rice dishes, explode with heat immediately, and just when you think, “I’ll never do that again,” the punch on your palate fades pretty fast. You’re then left with an operatic production of salt, sweet, sour, pungency and texture that has you reaching for another bite before you can rethink it.

So don’t think “mild” heat will mean you’ll be asking for salt and pepper as soon as the plate hits the table. Start slow. Work up.

Second, Thai people don’t eat with chopsticks. They eat with forks and spoons. More on that later.

I have a North Denver tolerance for spicy food. If it doesn’t make your eyes moist, bring me something fried and chopped to add. I ordered “Thai Hot” once at the perennial Sloan Lake favorite, U.S. Thai. I had the pad prik khing, an out-of-this-world mixture of fast-fried green beans, basil, usually chicken and a very few assorted personal favorites. The oils, peppers, limes and basil create a sensation in spoonfuls of rice that sets this dish apart from anything on the planet. The heat that came with my order brought tears to my eyes, the top of my head, the skin between my fingers and the knees of the people three tables down. Ghost peppers are for pansies compared to what “Thai Hot” is at U.S. Thai and most Thai restaurants. But I couldn’t stop eating it and drinking endless glass of water. Don’t go there. Get some cooling Thai tea or coffee. A gallon of water with dinner is inconvenient.

The American hot at Jay’s is “fan-your-gob” fiery. The sauces, noodles, fishes and vegetables do an endlessly amusing and changing tap dance inside your mouth. So many flavors that seem at first to want to compete, and then suddenly break into a well-rehearsed number that makes you want to cheer.

But most importantly, Thai food is a complex mixture of flavors, textures and heats that sets it deliciously apart from all other Asian cousin cuisines. Above all, that’s what gives this varied cuisine such wide appeal.

This is where the fork and spoon come in. Noodle dishes can be eaten anyway. Chopsticks, fork, fingers. But the rice dishes require “khluk.” The spoon goes in the right hand, the fork in the left. Use the fork to mix some rice, sauce, oil, vegetable, meats, whatever’s on your plate and push a bite onto the spoon and into your salivating mouth. The final mixing of what the chef has prepared for you is what makes Thai food the go-to cuisine for people who like a giant symphony of flavor, textures and sensations. The fork and spoon are the symphony’s personal equalizer. I like a lot of treble and basil.

We had the Pad Se-Ew, wide noodles with crunchy broccoli ($7.95), and the lunch special of country pad thai with lots of green onions. It came with chicken soup for $6.95. We didn’t want to leave.

All the favorites are at Jay’s, but the homey, deceptively unalarming ebb and flow of the restaurant belies the kitchen’s expertise. Want proof? Order a small cup of soup. Any soup. The broth alone would make a meal. But teased with citrus, basil, something just a little sour, something earthy and almost sweet and something only faintly piquant makes it clear Jay’s still runs the Thai cooking show in the Front Range.