Every visit to Pen is like taking a trip back in time. Wall-hangings made with mirrored glass in different colors and gold leaf, mirrored walls, heavy teak chairs and tables, plastic flowers—it’s as though this unhip restaurant on uphip Chan Road stopped aging in the 1970s (although it’s been around for much longer). The VIP clientele hasn’t changed—it’s the same wealthy Thai-Chinese patrons, politicians and captains of industry, though the hairlines and idealism might have faded a bit. But obviously no one goes there for the décor or the chance to dine next to the former head of a major political party only days after it was disbanded. Most importantly, what hasn’t changed at Pen is its commitment to sourcing the best ingredients—seafood, in particular—and cooking in a manner that brings out the true flavors of those ingredients. Unlike other decades-old “institutions,” at Pen they do take kindly to strangers, which includes the occasional tourist couple. The waiflike dek naew waiters, who seem out of place with their modish looks, are capable but not all that knowledgeable; if he’s around ask the “uncle” for help. Everything is wonderful here, but he’ll steer you away from tom yum and rightly toward the beef soup, a dark slightly spicy herbal brew yielding chunks of tender shank. “The sea asparagus is especially good today,” and you realize he was just being modest; it’s spectacular. And so it goes. Poo op wun sen (crab baked in glass noodles) comes in the biggest op wun sen pot we’ve ever seen; the reason is apparent once the monstrous crab is revealed. Their interpretation of this dish is much more subtle than what you’re served these days—the herb-and-sauce-soaked noodles serve as supporting cast to the sweet, moist crab instead of the other way around. You can’t go wrong with a whole steamed fish at Pen, but another item to try is the fried fillets of parrotfish. The huge fillets suggest an enormous fish (certainly bigger than anything we’ve ever seen on our snorkeling trips), and they are expertly fried—crisp on the outside, with not a trace of superfluous oil, and juicy on the inside. The succulent white meat is served on a huge platter with mango, shallots, cashews, chilies and two sauces—one jaew-like and the other the green seafood naam jim. Portions are generous here, so only if you have space should you opt for ripe mango and sticky rice for dessert; otherwise the sesame dumplings in ginger syrup are, like everything else at Pen, dependably delicious. No corkage.
