Potong, Bangkok Restaurant Review: No One Should Cook Duck This Well
Potong is Chef Pam’s ode to her family and heritage; skilfully cooked, wrapped in class and served with charm. The storyteller all families would want.
I was invited to Potong as part of a press trip to Bangkok. You can follow Liam Collens on Substack, Instagram, Threads, or Facebook.
Over 120 years ago, where I sit now, this splendid waiting room was a pharmacy dispensing medicine to all who enquired. Over a century later, it answers my call.
Potong, a multi-award-winning restaurant near Bangkok’s throbbing Chinatown, receives us inside an intricate and ornate reception with finely carved, wood-panelled ceilings that curve towards the walls. We sit on solid, wooden furniture—furniture they just do not seem to make anymore—the same slender furniture that I shimmed into with this ever-less-slender frame.
Potong’s pharmaceutical Narnia is a phalanx of glassware: medicinal brown bottles behind oversized glass jars of kombucha-soaked scoobies. It conjures a hazy memory of Old Havana when I once staggered into an antique pharmacy, delirious with fever.
Potong’s Chef Pam, an introduction
Chef Pam Pichaya Soontornyanakiij promises modern Thai-Cantonese cuisine through her storytelling and five elements of cooking philosophy: salt, acid, spice, texture and Maillard reaction. Pam is one of Asia’s most accomplished chefs. In those after-hours, when digestifs appear, we chat about parenthood and balancing life’s demands. She is whip-smart and poised with everyday elegance. Pam subtly exhibits the quiet resolve of someone both entirely aware and in control–a stark contrast and the diametric opposite to Gaggan, who we see the next day.
Now, I met Pam hardly a month before in Dubai, hosted by Ossiano. I did not share my friends’ same fawning, nostalgia-dense enthusiasm then. I also told Pam tonight.
Why does that matter?
Potong, the restaurant, feels sincere and personal. Its methodical storytelling unfolds throughout the 11-course tasting menu. Its heart lies in the story of a family and the culture that weaves through Bangkok and Potong’s building, a Chinese pharmacy compassionately renovated over two and a half years. Jungle and leopard murals lie next to exposed brick and floors of darkest molasses. Immersive experiences do not travel well.
Thailand must raise the Dolly Parton of buxom ducks, practically tipping over breast first as they waddle. These blushingly pink, dry-aged duck breasts–the length of a toddler’s forearm–emerge armoured in lardaceous, glassy skin, deliriously crisp, where the fat melts like candle wax on contact with the tongue.
Even Opium, Potong’s intimate lounge-cum-bar–so named because this is where Pam’s ancestors came to smoke opium each evening and gaze at Chinatown below. You need to be here when you hear that story. That sturdy, slender furniture displayed vintage photos of family members and handwritten letters–revealed like museum pieces–as testimonies of those no longer with us.
Experiential dining does not need to club you over the head with fireworks; it also happens unannounced in those moments of being present and absorbing the world around you.
Potong’s tasting menu
Potong’s menu is delicious and recognisable. Pam’s capable, earnest cooking is intelligently presented, meticulous and unprovocative in its best moments, absent the visible stitches of hocus pocus.
Yet, when the menu arrives at the flag-draped re-interpretation of Pad Thai, I do wonder if my favourite Thai food is less progressive. Do I prefer sitting outside on a spike eating noodles in a broth the colour of dishwater? Maybe I do.
There are one or two moments like Potong’s Pad Thai and a shell of two different crabs where, perhaps, the decision to zag is more interesting than the zag’s output. Potong’s simpler moments are often more enjoyable. Maybe I am the problem. Should I just succumb to the process? The trick of this writing lark is not to project one’s idiosyncrasies too strongly.
And, dear reader, despite that moment of self-indulgence, know this: on returning to Dubai and traveling since then, I told everyone to book a flight to Bangkok. Eat the street food and wander aimlessly. Book lunch in Sühring’s resplendent garden greenhouse (I’m breathless with praise for it), stop into Ms Maria and Mr Singh only if you’re nearby, but definitely book dinner at Potong, because what Pam and that speck of a kitchen can reach triumphant heights.
We are impressed with an early no-waste dish that fully uses bananas in various ways–from skin to fruit to flowers–incorporating chicken liver pate, sticky rice or dried shrimp and a boozy cocktail of banana peel steeped in rum. It is clever without abandoning delicious.
Pam’s famous roast duck likely ruins any future joy in this delicious bird for me. What’s that old saying about comparison being the thief of joy? The duck’s roasted brain served inside the duck’s skull is a creamy balm for the mouth. The legs are roasted; the dark meat is chopped and tossed through stir-fried rice, practically bouncing with richness.
Thailand must raise the Dolly Parton of buxom ducks, practically tipping over breast first as they waddle. These blushingly pink, dry-aged duck breasts–the length of a toddler’s forearm–emerge armoured in lardaceous, glassy skin, deliriously crisp, where the fat melts like candle wax on contact with the tongue. All this life-shorteningly good use of duck is balanced with a phalanx of housemade refreshing pickles. We ordered a second portion of duck. If I am going to die, I want my family to know I did it doing something I loved.
Angie, our lovely waitress, takes away the meagre remains of probably the best duck I’ll ever have. She is professional and engaging, like the rest of the team. I would tell you about the succession of desserts, but the wine pairing’s Moscato d’Asti kicked in at this point, and I was entranced by a frosted geometric cube–more than any one man should be. By the way, Thai Chardonnay, a revelation! Treat yourself.
We retire to Opium Bar, which everyone should do when they come to Potong. Our group disbands. Some slip off into the night for Bangkok’s special brand of exotic. Others, like me, head back to our hotel. Brushing my teeth feels like an act of hostility against the cumulative remains of Potong’s hard work.
Potong, Would I Return?
Absolutely. Potong distils the kind of lightning in a bottle that cannot be captured. It’s quietly clever, with an authenticity and storytelling that I find admirable.
Potong, Who Should Come Here?
Lovers, friends, and spouses. There’s an intimacy and familiarity here that welcomes groups with such relationships. Potong is less corporate and feels cosier than, say, more formal fine dining like the sublime Sühring.
Potong’s tasting menu costs THB5500, Wanderlust Excursion Wine Pairing costs THB3300, and Sommelier Selection pairing costs THB5500. Potong is located at 422 Vanich 1 Road, Samphanthawon, Bangkok, 10100. For reservations and more information, visit Potong’s website or Instagram.
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Curious about the deconstructed Pad Thai not working. Thoughts on why it doesn't stack up to the original?
Nice one - last time I was in Bangkok, I opted for Gaa (fabulous fabulous fabulous), but will defo put this on my list for next time!