Restaurant Review - Siamese win

It’s amazing what a psychological difference three city blocks can make. Nan Thai Fine Dining resides on the latent corner of Spring at the 17th Street bridge, queenly in its solitary perch. When Atlantic Station opens this fall, the restaurant will find itself in a maelstrom of tumult and traffic. Right now, though, there’s still an odd, spacious serenity to the intersection.

Nan’s exterior is plain, almost a pre-emptive defense against the forthcoming onslaught of activity. The building certainly houses a treasure worth protecting: The vast room, anchored by gold and crimson columns and open booths, is temple-like in its hallowed beauty. If the prices are steep and the food’s not all that different from other Thai eateries ... well? Sometimes a splurge to luxuriate in stately elegance is worth it.

Down the street, the site of Nan and Charlie Niyomkul’s first Atlanta restaurant, Tamarind, would make a better backdrop for Rent than The King and I. Fourteenth and Spring ain’t pretty. The fumes from the highway, the construction headaches of Midtown, and the ire of impatient drivers all seem to culminate at this one gritty, congested junction.

Yet Tamarind’s band of purple neon projects a calming beacon as you approach. And for the city’s best Thai food, it’s worth braving a little urban crud.

(A word on Tamarind’s parking situation: Did you know you can park across the street at Amoco, or around the corner at the Hampton Inn? I don’t even try to squeeze into that miniscule parking lot anymore. Let the swaggering SUVs duke it out for the few precious spaces.)

I’ve always been delighted by Tamarind’s dining room - part classic Thai restaurant with glassed-in Buddhist statues and jars of esoteric spices, part all-American sports club, a nod to Charlie Niyomkul’s love of golf. This is perhaps the most gracious spot in the city to sit at the bar and watch the Golf Channel on a mounted TV.

Actually, the multicultural duality is part of the innate charm. Tamarind feels much more egalitarian than its otherworldly sibling. Here, you’re comfortable enough to crack puerile jokes with your friends about dishes that sport unintentionally naughty monikers like “gang penang,” “pla lad prik,” and “golden triangle.”

But the service is unmistakably Asian: extremely polite and briskly professional. Sometimes it’s a little too much. At the start of one meal, we had five different servers come in quick succession to ask if we wanted a drink or appetizers. I appreciate the attentiveness, but, um, could you give us a minute to chat and catch our breath first?

That’s a small quibble. These folks know how to pace a meal, and they’re obviously proud of the fine food they bring to the table.

Chef Nan oversees the kitchens of both restaurants, though she’s typically at her namesake in the evening. But she’s trained her staff admirably: Tamarind’s curries are still subtle and exquisitely structured in her absence. I’m particularly dazzled by how the green curry blooms on the palate. First, milky coconut and a hit of citrus from lemongrass and lime reveal themselves. Then, the murkier notes - coriander, a trace of fish sauce. Finally, wham! A chili-fueled halo of heat.

All this unfolds around carefully prepared ingredients. At Tamarind, green curries are paired with seafood, either delicate baked red snapper or hefty shrimp, with thinly sliced eggplant and bamboo shoots as supporting players.

Panang curry, made with peanuts and sweet spices like mace, can often be cloying, but here the sweet edge is tempered. The basic panang curry at Tamarind doesn’t come with any vegetables, but I like the silken contrast of avocado to the pork or chicken, and the kitchen is happy to oblige.

Presentation commands as much of your attention as the flavors. An orchid may dot the landscape of your shredded green papaya salad with lemongrass chicken, and a side of sweet, sticky rice for the chicken comes wrapped in a shimmery banana leaf. Nam tok - Thai steak salad - isn’t as fetching to gaze upon, but the mound of beef is so tender and abuzz with lime and mint that it needs no beauty tips. It’s lovely just the way it is.

I must remember to return to Tamarind in the summer to make a meal exclusively of salads. Roasted duck is a new favorite, a Technicolor carnival of duck medallions with chunks of pineapple, julienned green apple and cashews. Nam sad - pork salad - remains an old friend, a pungent curmudgeon that tempers the sweet nature of its compatriots.

Popular Siam chicken can be spotted at several tables on any given night: It’s served in half a hollowed-out pineapple. I like this dish fine as one component of many shared entrees, but I wouldn’t order it on its own. Its spicy sauce needs more herbal oomph.

I feel the same way about the pad Thai. There’s not a thing wrong with it, but it doesn’t differ remarkably from any other version around town, and it’s a couple bucks more expensive than most. Desserts, too, look mighty familiar, though I’ll happily gobble several morsels of fried banana, interlaced with bites of frosty mango and coconut ice creams.

The coconut custard may startle you. It’s a none-too-subtle shade of green. But it possesses the true, fruit-forward flavor of coconut. I’m apologetic to my friends when I request the restaurant’s third dessert option, the wholly Americanized fried ice cream with raspberry sauce. Then a server brings forth the ice cream and pours flaming rum over it. Poof. It disappears way more quickly than the bananas and custard.

I’ve had two showstopping disappointments at Tamarind. They were both nightly fish specials. One was a batter-fried sea bass in tamarind-laced three flavor sauce, the other whole red snapper with its center filleted, cut into chunks and fried. In both cases, the fish tasted past its prime. I had the sea bass on a weekend and the snapper on a weekday, so I’m not sure what the story is. Nan Niyomkul was apparently out of town during at least one visit; perhaps if she’d been around to check the morning’s fish shipment, the problem would have been avoided. Similar treatments of fish are available at Nan Thai, which I’ve found to be fresh and exquisitely executed.

All in all, though, Tamarind retains its essential advantages. The kitchen knows how to romance the essence of Thai cuisine like no other place in town. And judging from the faithful crowds that keep this place full, most regulars have yet to defect to its more majestic sister. Not bad for a restaurant located on the corner of Shady and East Valhalla.

bill.addison@creativeloafing.com