What Should Be Songkran’s Signature Dish?

An exploration of all the varying meals I’ve had for Thai New Year’s.

Thai New Year really needs a specialty dish. Thanksgiving has turkey, Valentine’s Day has fancy chocolates, New Year’s Day has grapes and black eyed peas and noodles (depending on who you ask). Lunar New Year calls for dumplings while mooncakes are a must for Mid-Autumn Festival. So what am I supposed to eat for Songkran?

Songkran, which falls between April 13 and April 15 this year, is a holiday I’ve cherished since childhood. Because Thailand is particularly hot during Songkran, the holiday calls for epic water fights featuring water guns and buckets of all shapes and sizes. While this keeps Thais cool, it also derives from a spiritual belief that water will rinse off the bad luck of the prior year and leave each person renewed for what lies ahead.

“My fondest memories of Songkran involve pumping water guns at unsuspecting passersby at the Thai temple I grew up in in Hollywood — and leaving the day completely soaked with a teeth-chattering grin.”

Kat Thompson at the Songkran festival.

To fuel these water wars, though, I was eating whatever was made available to me: sticky rice with salted beef jerky or moo ping, grilled pork skewers, and a greasy bag of sesame-coated fried bananas. The food was quick, efficient, and portable so I could get back to dueling other children with water guns as fast as possible.

Fast forward to 2015, when I spent six months living in Khon Kaen, Thailand. For Songkran that year, I walked the famed tanon khao niew—or “sticky rice road,” which is known for hosting legendary Songkran festivities. Yes, the water fights were merciless, but there were also aunties patting baby powder on my cheeks to keep cool and vendors selling sticky popsicles at 4 baht a pop. 

As a 21-year-old, the celebrations of Songkran now expanded beyond water fights and included copious amounts of Red Label Johnnie Walker mixed with Singha soda water. This hellish combination—which still makes me grimace—inevitably led to dancing atop the back of flatbed trucks while screaming early 2000s Thai pop songs. 

For food, we ate whatever we could find from street vendors. I remember drunkenly having a meal of pad kra pao, or stir fried minced chicken with Thai basil and chilies served with a scoop of rice crowned with a glistening sunny side up egg. After a night spent clubbing, we ended up at a jok—or congee—vendor to comfort our stomachs with soupy rice streaked with sliced ginger, soft boiled eggs, and bouncy pork meatballs.  

“I’m in my late 20s now and Songkran is a bit more peaceful. It also finally occurred to me, as I began writing more seriously about food, how Songkran lacks a perennial signature dish.”

Pad Thai is too boring and obvious—not to mention it’s something Thais don’t really eat that frequently. I asked my mom what she grew up eating each new year and she shrugged: “It was just about getting together as a family, but I can’t remember eating the same things.”

Wan Yen, Thai shaved ice

She suggests that khao chae, or chilled jasmine-soaked rice soup served alongside small side dishes, would be appropriate due to the hot season Songkran falls in. Khao chae, however, is considered a dish for royalty and was once unavailable to the public. Its exclusivity is a turn-off for me, despite how delicious and refreshing it is.

Perhaps I’ve been thinking too narrowly about only savory foods. Thailand has plenty of cooling desserts and treats for the hot months. Ruam mitr, which translates to friendship togetherness, has both a cute name and enticing flavor. It’s a coconut milk-based dessert that contains a colorful medley of ingredients: thinly sliced jackfruit, shaved coconut, tapioca-coated water chestnuts dyed hot pink, pandan jelly, and sometimes even sago. Throwing ice cubes into a bowl of ruam mitr is traditional and invigorating. 

Shaved ice, or wan yen, would also work. A mountain of fluffy ice is drenched with sala and cream soda-flavored syrups before blanketed in condensed milk. Additional toppings include corn, palm fruit, jackfruit, mung beans, and even sticky rice. 

Still, when I chat with friends, family, and other members of the Thai community, it occurs to me that all of our celebrations are different—including the foods. In Southern Thailand, spicy seafood curry may be the centerpiece of a Songkran meal, whereas Northeastern Thailand will have sour Isaan sausage, fermented fish papaya salad, and bamboo baskets of sticky rice. There are simple foods to be enjoyed, like fried egg omelets, and complex ones, like red cotton flower noodle soup that hails from Northern Thailand.

“There is no one dish that embodies this vast country filled with multiple ethnic identities and varying languages and therefore there is no one dish that can singularly embody Songkran.”

Instead of viewing that as a negative, I’m understanding that Songkran is a delicious opportunity: I can eat as many Thai dishes as I want, from whatever region, without feeling obligated to center on a single thing. One year might be bad whisky and congee while the next is spicy boat noodles. This revelation makes me excited—and hungry—for all future Songkrans.