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Laap gai Chiang Mai, served with chicken, offal and lanna spices. [Joseph Victor Stefanchik/For The Washington Post]

Stop grumbling about the line and follow the lead of some of your comrades outside Little Serow: Multitask while you’re waiting — fingers crossed, rabbit’s foot in hand — for a seat in the Thai treasure chest. The gal in front of me is sitting on a fold-out chair reading a book. The guy behind me is tapping away on a laptop harnessed to his shoulders. Both seem to know that gaining entry to the source of the hot and sour flavors of northeastern Thailand is worth the trouble. Duly noted, I think to myself as I count the number of bodies in front of me, knowing that fewer than 30 of us can be accommodated immediately once the doors open at 5:30 (and never a minute before).


The menu varies from week to week, but among the recurring features are airy shrimp chips with a racy scoop of nam prik at the top of the hour and a cube of jackfruit custard along with the bill. The food is not for the faint. Tiny red chilies and Chinese ginger inflame a galangal soup with ringlets of squid, and shredded catfish stars in an intense salad that’s tackled with cabbage scoops. Nowhere else do toasted peanuts, fried tofu, cilantro root and a garden of herbs make as compelling a tropical salad as they do in this dim underground hideaway. Engaging servers dressed in frocks that channel Laura Ingalls Wilder serve as interpreters throughout the seven- (or so) course meal. “Here’s a little break from the heat,” a guide says as she deposits a bowl of plump oysters, crisp bean sprouts and shredded egg, stirred together at the table with a zippy, house-made “shark sauce.” (Picture an omelet by way of Thailand.) “We’ll bring you as many napkins as you need,” another says after she encourages us to use our fingers to eat pork ribs fueled with Mekhong whiskey and dill. Sorry, the kitchen doesn’t make substitutions or acknowledge food allergies.


Little Serow, from Komi chef Johnny Monis, marches to the beat of its own drum. It’s a beat, and a heat, I don’t mind waiting for.


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