It's Not All Laab or Crying Tiger, for That Matter
Homemade Koi Pork Belly
Recently, TikTok started showing me videos about Lao cuisine. I noticed a recurring pattern: people often mislabel dishes like Laab, Koi, and Nam Tok (the holy trinity of Lao dishes in Thailand). Everything gets called Laab, and Crying Tiger seems to be used as a name for any steak served with Nam Jim Jaew (a spicy Lao dipping sauce). This confusion is more than just semantics. It reflects a broader issue of misunderstanding and, at times, cultural erasure.
A big part of the confusion likely comes from within Thailand itself. Many Thai people outside of the Northeast (Isan) don’t have a clear understanding of Lao dishes. These misunderstandings get passed on to international audiences, where Thai voices are often treated as monolithic experts. However, Thailand is a country of diverse cultures. Dishes I grew up with, like Nam Kao Tod, Tom Sen, or Khao Piek, are unfamiliar to friends from Bangkok or the South. Likewise, when I cooked for a Bangkok-based Thai client, she requested many central Thai dishes I had never heard of.
For context, I was born and raised in Khon Kaen, a city in Northeastern Thailand (Isan). As someone of Teochew descent, I grew up eating a mix of Lao, Vietnamese, and Teochew/Cantonese dishes, with only occasional exposure to other regional Thai cuisines and global food.
Before we begin, I want to clarify that I speak from an Isan perspective, not as a representative of the Lao PDR. Since 1893, Isan has been separated from other Lao-speaking regions. Some of our food traditions may differ, and I don’t claim to speak for people in the Lao PDR. I’m writing this based on my own experience, and these two articles (1, 2) that support my understanding.
Now, let’s break down the differences between Laab, Koi, and Nam Tok. These dishes do share ingredients in the making of Jaew (Lao seasoning):
Common Spices and Seasonings:
Roasted sticky rice powder
Dried chili flakes
Salt and MSG
Optional: fish sauce, lime juice, fermented fish (pla ra/pla daek), fresh blood, or dee (cow’s gallbladder liquid), pia (soft green stool in cow intestine)
Common Herbs:
Culantro
Mint
Green onions
Optional: shallots, lemongrass, kaffir lime leaves
What differentiates them is how the protein is prepared:
Laab means "to mince." Any dish made with minced or ground protein, whether raw or cooked, is Laab.
Koi is made with sliced protein or small ingredients that retain their shape, like shrimp or ant eggs. Like Laab, it can be raw or cooked. So, if you shred rotisserie chicken and mix it with Jaew, you're actually making Koi, not Laab.
Nam Tok means "waterfall," referring to the juices (often blood) that drip from grilled meat. It involves grilling the meat first, then slicing it. One can say Nam Tok is a type of Koi that involves grilling.
A common misconception in Thailand is that Laab is cooked and Koi is raw. This is not accurate. Both can be prepared either way. The key difference lies in the cut and preparation of the protein, not whether it’s raw or cooked. There are also Soi and Sae, which are not commonly known overseas. Soi is thinly sliced raw meat served with bitter Jaew on the side, while Sae is thinly sliced meat soaked in fresh blood. Personally, I have never had Soi, Sae, or any of the raw variety, despite growing up in Isan.
From left to right: Laab Moo (pork), Koi Moo Sam Chan (pork belly), New york strip Nam Tok
| Dish Category | How to Prepare Protein | Dib (raw) | Ruan* (boil) | Kua** (dry roasting) | Yang (Grill) |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Laab | Minced | Laab Dib | Laab Sook or just Laab | Laab Kua | - |
| Koi | Thinly sliced or small item | Koi Dib | Koi Sook or just Koi | Koi Kua | - |
| Nam Tok | Steak cut | - | - | - | Nam Tok |
*Ruan is a cooking method in which just enough water is used to cook meat. It is almost like stir-frying with boiling water. Keep changing/adding water until the water is clear and the meat cooks through.
** When making the typical Laab or Koi, seasoning is added to the cooked meat, while for Kua, the protein is dry-roasted (specifically sautéed in a pot or pan without oil or water) with the seasoning
Now, let’s talk about Crying Tiger. It’s a catchy name, exotic enough to grab attention, which is probably why it became so widespread online. But nearly every Crying Tiger recipe I’ve seen online uses the wrong cut of meat. The true Crying Tiger refers to a specific beef cut: brisket. Most people simply make Nam Tok or a generic grilled steak served with Nam Jim Jaew.
I called a friend from Bangkok to ask her what Crying Tiger meant to her. She described it as grilled steak, sliced and served with Nam Jim Jaew. That’s when I realized that knowing what ‘Crying Tiger’ means may not be that common.
This likely stems from a lack of familiarity with traditional Lao naming conventions for beef cuts. Historically, Central Thais didn’t eat much beef to begin with. So when someone says "Nam Tok coconut ball," most Thais would imagine a grilled coconut, not realizing that 'coconut ball' refers to a specific beef cut, not an actual coconut.
Crying Tiger brisket is a prized part of the cow, often reserved by restaurants before the animal is slaughtered. It’s hard to find and even harder to grill properly. Because of this, many vendors substitute it with other cuts while still calling it Crying Tiger. That’s how the name drifted from its original meaning. You can imagine this gets even worse overseas.
Some may argue that it’s not that serious. After all, it’s easier to say you’re making Laab or Crying Tiger than to explain the nuances of Koi or beef cuts. But I believe it matters. These naming errors come from a long-standing disregard for Lao culture within Thailand. When even people who speak the same language continue to misrepresent these dishes, it reflects a lack of respect.
Lao food deserves that respect. While I prefer the Thai food definition, which includes regional food like Lao food in Isan, I think it should be understood and respected, not absorbed or erased from its identity. Misunderstandings are one thing, but turning Lao dishes into trendy buzzwords without proper context is something else.
I hope this article clarifies some of these nuances and raises awareness of what these dishes represent. Names matter. They carry history, culture, and identity. Taking the time to get them right honors the people and traditions behind the food. Or even if you don’t care about respect and traditions, knowing the correct names opens doors to more creativity and innovation you can do with these dishes. And please, let’s stop calling everything Laab.