Chiang Mai Night Markets & Hidden Street Food Stalls: A 5-Day Eating Adventure in December

Morning in the Old City comes on softly: filtered light through frangipani trees, the clink of cutlery in quiet courtyards, monks’ chants faint behind the hum of scooters. You ease into it at Garden to Table Chiangmai, where plates arrive like still lifes and herbs still smell of the soil. From there, the Old City becomes your pantry—Wat Phra Singh’s gold catching the late-morning sun, then a slow drift past shuttered shophouses and tiny cafes. Lunch is your first Khao Soi, rich and unapologetic, setting the baseline for every curry you’ll judge this week. Afternoon is about context and digestion: Wat Chedi Luang’s crumbled brick against blue sky, a coffee pause, then a quick reset at a neighborhood cafe before the real show. As the heat eases, the streets begin to change frequency; by the time you hit Chiang Mai Walking Street, the air smells of grilled pork, pandan waffles, and incense all at once. You end the night at Another World, tucked in with a drink as the city’s noise fades to a softer clatter, already plotting how to eat even more tomorrow.

Today has a different texture: less postcard, more practical, the way the city actually eats. Morning starts in Chang Phueak at Baan Mae Café & Restaurant, where the clatter of plates and the smell of garlicky rice make it clear this is as much for locals as for visitors. The light is soft through old windows, and breakfast feels like being invited into someone’s slightly formal family home. From there, you move toward food streets where English menus disappear and the walls do the talking. Lunch is hot pot—steam clouding your glasses, broth bubbling in clay, the table crowded with plates of thinly sliced meat and leafy greens. The afternoon belongs to a guided food tour, the kind that threads you through markets and backstreets while decoding what’s on every grill. By early evening, you’re at Khao Soi Khun Yai before the pots run dry, slurping curry noodles at plastic tables under the trees. The night closes quietly at a riverside resort bar, the Ping sliding past in the dark as you tally the day’s best bites and get ready to push even harder tomorrow.

By day three, your feet know the feel of Chiang Mai’s pavements: the smooth stone near the moat, the slightly cracked concrete of backstreets. The morning starts at The Little Sunday Café, where the atmosphere is as soft as the pancakes and the staff greet you like a regular even if it’s your first time. Caffeine and eggs handled, you walk into the Old City’s quieter corners, letting the temple roofs and crooked alleys guide you. Lunch is at a place literally called Street food for local, which tells you everything you need to know: wall menus in Thai, locals on their lunch breaks, prices that still surprise you. The afternoon is for a more structured binge with A Chef’s Tour, a roving seminar in northern flavors that takes you beyond what you’d order solo. By the time evening hits, the Night Bazaar zone wakes up—Kalare’s food court glowing under its roof, then a drift back to a neighborhood food court where a DJ spins quietly and locals linger over pizza and beer. It’s a different kind of night market energy: less spectacle, more everyday nightlife.

Last night’s curry still lingers faintly when you step out into the cooler December morning. Today begins at Gord Chiangmai Kitchen, a leafy breakfast garden where the light pools on wooden tables and plates arrive bright with herbs and fruit. From there, you trade food for form for a few hours: Wat Pha Lat tucked in the forested hills, where the sound of water and cicadas replaces motorbike hum, and the path stones feel cool under your soles. Back in town, lunch is Khao Soi at a spot that simply calls itself Best Khao Soi Chiang mai, bold but earned. The afternoon is for a slower kind of wandering—through boutique hotel lobbies, past street art, eventually angling toward Nimman, the neighborhood web guides now frame as Chiang Mai’s creative quarter. Dinner at Chada Vegetarian proves you don’t need meat to feel sated, dishes built on local vegetables and tofu with real intent. You end the night at a Nimman hotel bar, watching the neighborhood’s soft neon reflect in your glass, feeling how different this side of the city tastes.

Your final day tastes like a greatest hits remix with a few surprises. Morning begins in a quieter corner at K Maison Lanna, where the hotel’s calm spills into the street and you grab a simple coffee, letting the city’s sounds build slowly around you. Then it’s a last look at Old City streets, a quick hello to a temple or two in passing, and lunch at a place you’ve been saving: a northern Thai restaurant where the dishes feel like an edible index of everything you’ve learned this week. The afternoon is intentionally loose—one more cafe, one more boutique lobby, one more chance to walk a different stretch of moat—before you angle back toward the Night Bazaar orbit. Dinner is at a modern Thai spot that plays with flavors without losing the plot, giving you one last composed meal before the chaos. And then, because you’re not done until the coals cool, you end the night at a tiny hot pot joint that stays open into the small hours, broth bubbling as plastic stools scrape and locals wander in after their own nights out. You go to bed smelling faintly of chili and charcoal, which feels exactly right.