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A 20-ton royal barge propelled by 50 oarsmen, a lighthouse, a pardon of prisoners. Well, it's the thought that counts. In Thailand this year, they've pulled out all the stops to celebrate the Golden Jubilee of King Bhumibol Adulyadej. But if they really wanted to give him an ego boost, if they really want to make his fiftieth year on the throne a feel-good fest, his subjects ought to steer their monarch to New York, so that he might glimpse the raucous after-work scene at Typhoon Brewery.

The king couldn't help but feel gratified at seeing the throngs of sleek young business types, lined up to sup Thai-style. And His Royal Highness would soon realize that this midtown eatery, opened seven months ago, isn't just another pad Thai mill. Typhoon Brewery is on a mission: its owners want to feed the hungry corporate cogs, and feed them well, but they also want impart lessons about Thai food, to have the crowds learn as they chow. Sure, the place is cashing in on the microbrewery craze by serving up its own beers. But it is the food, a refined, instructively fresh take on Thai, that has really caught fire.

Beset by a yearning for their crunchy satays, we turned up at Typhoon Brewery a few weeks ago without a reservation. A small mob had formed on the stairway leading up to the dining area, a large space done up in brushed steel and earth tones. Rather than wait for a table, we accepted seats an L-shaped counter, facing the open kitchen. Suddenly, we were ringside at the Asian cooking Olympics, watching a pair of wokmeisters tossing and stirring, great plumes of flame erupting from their pans. As we peeked over their shoulders, we couldn't imagine a better place to pick up tips on Thai cooking.

One of the hallmarks of the Thai table is its focus on flavors rather than dishes or courses. At Typhoon Brewery, the menu eschews appetizer and entree categories, its offerings grouped instead into five "flavor sections" that speak directly to the taste buds: salty, sweet, sour, bitter, and spicy. At first, it feels odd to order this way --"one bitter and one sour, please!" But, because everything is served family-style, the divisions help your group assemble a meal with a balance of tastes, which is, in a nutshell, the entire philosophy of Thai dining.

Despite the syrupy renditions you find at strip malls across America, this is a traditionally a light cuisine, a cuisine of condiments, where rice (the sticky variety) plays the starring role, supported by legions of extras: a typical dinner might contain fifty different ingredients and a dozen sauces. From our wokside seats at Typhoon Brewery, we could see the fixings laid out on a long countertop--tiny red chiles, cubes of tofu, various emerald-hued greens, scallions, ground nuts. We could see the makings of the sour dishes -- tamarind, lime juice -- and the sweet -- coconut milk, palm sugar, asian pear. Plates were garnished with delicate sprigs of Thai basil, or a sprinkling of chopped kaffir lime leaves.

The food at Typhoon Brewery tastes so fresh partly because it never languishes under a heat lamp. As in an authentic Thai-style meal, dishes are brought in the order in which they are finished, sometimes one by one, sometimes all in a bunch. It's disconcerting to those accustomed to the stately procession of courses in a Western-style feast, but the Thai style of serving lends a delightful element of surprise -- you never know what's coming next. Another note on authenticity: in Thailand, the native dishes are always eaten with a fork and spoon. Americans who have visited the country know better than to use a meal at their local Siam Kitchen as an opportunity to show off their chopstick maneuvers.

As we grazed -- using fork and spoon, of course -- on exotica such as rice noodles with shrimp and bitter melon (which has the texture of a cucumber and the taste of dandelion leaves), we fell silent, hypnotized by the strange marriages of flavors and the endless ballet of the wok-tenders, our faces bathed in steam. Surely the kitchen of the gold-spired Grand Palace in Bangkok was serving up food with similar variety and freshness. No wonder King Bhumibol has hung around for five decades. We lifted a glass of Typhoon's own pale ale and toasted in his honor.