I have an innate distrust against Asian restaurants where the chefs are not Asian. Of course, this includes those establishments, which purport to be Japanese but are actually linked at the back to the same kitchen as the next-door Chinese takeout; although for all purposes, we might as well treat the Japanese restaurants in the U.S. as either New Chinese-Korean or fusion, with very minor exceptions. This is not about xenophobia, but authenticity, and simply, good cooking. However, what is authenticity? Is the use of tomato in Italian cooking authentic, if tomato only arrived five hundred years ago? What about the good old America then? In a land populated by generations of immigrants, how can any recipe be truly
American? Roasted turkey, yes; apple pie, not exactly because the Dutch and the British were already baking them before leaving for the free country. Furthermore, is authentic food
superior to fusion? This is a veritably a hard question to answer; not because we do not have the answer - we do, in an empirical form – but because it is hard to prove the answer (like those constipated mathematical proofs in junior high) objectively.
Starting with the empirical evidence, fusion restaurants are bad,
generally (emphasis added in red, metaphorically): e.g. Nobu, bad; Megu, worse; Morimoto; worst. There are simply countless fusion restaurants, ranging from ridiculous, despicable to shameful (should I start on Buddakan? Maybe not). Does it mean that culinary talent is somehow inexorably and unforgivingly decided by the genetic makeup so that only Chinese can cook Chinese? No, I do not think so. On the other hand, is it similar to a foreign language that can only be acquired and mastered when the mind and taste buds are still nimble? Perhaps. We tend to like foods that we have grown up with – think of “comfort food” (what a hateful term, but adequate for this purpose): For example, it is extremely rare that foreigners’ palates are sufficiently acclimatized to appreciate natto (Japanese fermented soybeans). It is little surprise then that if you grow up in Thailand, you would be more likely than others to be able to cook good Thai food because you know what it is supposed to taste like. Just like language ability, the learning curve for foreign cuisine does seem to get steeper the older one gets. Nevertheless, just like anything in life, the learning curve is not the same for everyone; some are more endowed in life than others.
Isaan cuisine, I do not know; but good food, I do. And for good food, where else do you need to look for but Zabb Elee, whose name means “really delicious” (แซ่บอิหลี)* in the North-Eastern dialect of Isaan, instead of being merely “delicious” (zabb)? 
