Seasonal Before Exotic
Our menu follows the Northeast growing calendar first, Thailand second. We adapt the dishes we love to what is ripe at the Union Square market this week — not the other way around.
A neighborhood table where Thai recipes travel through the seasons, vegetables lead the plate, and every bowl arrives with the warmth of a home we never quite left.
Myrtle Thai opened its doors in the spring of 2015, in a narrow storefront on Myrtle Avenue where the original dining room held just twenty-two seats. Chef Nattaya Prasertsuk had spent a decade cooking in her family's kitchen in Chiang Mai and in the line of a few of Manhattan's most demanding Thai rooms before deciding to build something slower, smaller, and entirely her own.
What began as a six-dish menu written in chalk above the pass has grown into a deeply seasonal kitchen — but the heart hasn't changed. We still grind our curry pastes by hand each morning, simmer broths for fourteen hours, and treat every herb as a finishing touch rather than a garnish. Ten years on, we are still neighborhood cooks, just with a little more room to spread out.
Cooking is a long conversation. These are the things we keep coming back to, service after service, season after season.
Our menu follows the Northeast growing calendar first, Thailand second. We adapt the dishes we love to what is ripe at the Union Square market this week — not the other way around.
Every curry paste, coconut cream reduction, and chili oil is ground, pressed, or toasted before service. There are no shortcuts in our kitchen — only patience, mortar and pestle, and very good music.
Service, to us, is an old word that still means something. We greet you by name, remember how you take your coffee, and never let a glass go empty. Welcome back, it's good to see you.
A dish is only as honest as what's in it. We source as close to home as the recipe allows, and as far as it takes when nothing closer will do.
Four mornings a week, our sous chefs walk the market for heirloom tomatoes, lemongrass shoots, pea tendrils, and whatever leafy green Chef decides is non-negotiable this week.
From Norwich Meadow Farm and Lani Farms we source pasture-raised chicken, heritage eggs, and the chilies we smoke ourselves for our signature nahm jim.
For the ingredients we cannot grow here — prik kee nuu chilies, kaffir limes, fish sauce from third-generation producers, and our imported jasmine rice — we partner with small importers we visit each year.
Twenty-two seats, a chalkboard menu of six dishes, and a line out the door by week three.
Critics discover the khao soi and the smoked chili nahm jim — both still on the menu today, in slightly different bowls.
We expand into the storefront next door, add a bar program, and plant the windowsill herb garden that supplies most of our garnishes.
A pandemic pivot to family-style takeout feeds the block. We hire back every member of the team the day the city reopens indoor dining.
Chef Nattaya is named a semifinalist for Best Chef: New York State. She credits her line cooks in the acceptance speech. We rewrite the menu anyway.
Myrtle Thai is forty-two people, a lot of mortar and pestle, and one very opinionated playlist. Meet a few of the ones you'll likely meet first.
Born in Chiang Mai, trained in Bangkok and Manhattan. Wrote the original menu in pencil on the back of a takeout menu.
Our resident dessert architect. Responsible for the coconut pandan cream that quietly sells out before 9pm most nights.
Likely your first hello and your last goodbye. Knows every regular by drink, by table, and by the name of their dog.
Built our all-natural wine list and the small-batch Thai spirit program. Will absolutely find you a Riesling to love.
Whether it's your first visit or your hundredth, we'd love to cook for you. Walk in for a quiet bowl of khao soi, or book ahead for the chef's counter on a Friday night.