Food Culture - Saigoneer

This Tết, I'm Finally Learning Our Family Recipe for Candied Coconut 'Flowers'

2024-02-01T10:00:00+07:00

Tết is the perfect occasion of the year to go ham on the sugar.

Forget juices, forget smoothies, forget yogurt bowls — if you love fruits, these healthy renditions do not have a place during Tết. Instead, every lunar new year, your favorite fruits will magically transform into a candied version of themselves in the form of mứt. Pineapple, soursop, kumquat, or even cherry tomato, you name it, there’s probably a candied version of it.

Mứt dừa is my family specialty. My mom has perfected it into an art and finally passed the recipe down to me this year. For the average Joe, any freshly scraped coconut meat can be turned into pearly white strips of unctuous mứt dừa, but not just any coconut meat can cut it in my household, as only young coconuts have the ideal tenderness and moisture content to produce the best mứt dừa in her eyes.

The “original” version without added flavors.

My mom has a guy or lady for everything, so making mứt dừa often begins with a quick reminder to her coconut guy to retain young coconuts after their juice has been drained and sold. She’s been making mứt dừa using his coconuts for over a decade, earning for herself a loyalty discount and first dibs on the best coconut meat this side of Saigon has to offer.

Candying fruits for Tết, as I’ve discovered, is most labor-intensive during the prep stage, when every piece of coconut meat is cleaned and sliced into strips; the cooking phase can be boiled down, quite literally, to waiting for sugar crystals to form. Coconut strips are mixed with sugar and any additional flavor or color in juice form, then brought to a boil before the heat is lowered to allow for crystallization.

Pandan and beetroot juices provide colorful shades.

Pandan is always a crowd favorite in our family. Its uniquely sweet and vegetal aroma infuses well into mứt dừa, and the deep emerald color mellows out into an elegant shade of green evoking that of a warm matcha latte. This year, we decided to experiment with other natural colorants like beetroot and turmeric to unexpectedly vibrant results, but questionable tastes.

While the candied coconut strips are fresh off the stove and pliable, my mom folds them into flowers.

The art of making candied coconut might seem mundane, but it is the neat bow tying together many threads of Vietnamese culture, something that I only noticed this year after actually immersing myself in this family tradition. Every ingredient, from palm sugar, and coconut to pandan, originates from our water, our air, our soil, coming together into a celebration of native herbs and fruits. A sense of community permeates many Tết culinary traditions. The making of mứt dừa encourages the whole family to get together: the dad climbs up tall trees to pick fresh coconuts while the siblings help out with slicing the flesh into strips. Ultimately, it’s also unheard of to make a single portion of mứt dừa, for one of the delights of making New Year treats is giving them away to relatives and neighbors.

Ready to be feasted on in between bầu cua cá cọp matches.

I’ve always been wary of Tết’s eclectic offerings of cloyingly sweet treats, but I can’t say no to mứt dừa. Its conceptualization somehow brings together my favorite tropical flavors in the best package possible — young coconut and pandan — and, as it’s always homemade at the Phạms, I don’t have the heart to say no to such labor of love.

Vignette is a series of tiny essays from our writers, where we reflect, observe, and wax poetic about the tiny things in life.

Sparkling Oysters: Champagne Meets Caviar at Social Club Restaurant

2024-01-03T06:21:00+07:00

Caviar, oysters and Veuve Clicquot champagne are all special on their own, but imagine them combined in one luxurious mouthful.

This extravagant coalescence is exactly what Hôtel des Arts is serving during their weekly Sunday Brunch at the Social Club. Head chef Ivan Barone explained to Saigoneer that the original plan was to delight diners each week with a changing selection of items prepared on a cart navigated through the dining room. However, his first idea, the sparkling oysters, proved so popular it has become a mainstay.

Barone’s recipe supports the theory that a dish can be more delicious than the sum of its ingredients while allowing the chef to indulge creative whims on any given day. Thus, he typically selects imported French Ultime oysters which he describes as meaty but delicate compared to the large Japanese Miyagi he occasionally uses that are strong and crunchy. He then places liberal dollops of colorful roe that he selects based on mood and instinct from a supply of black, orange and green ebiko, wasabi tobiko and smoked kazunoko atop the oyster. Of course, there is always caviar. He adds a dash of citrus and shallots and grapeseed before bathing the entire dish with Veuve Clicquot Champaign.

Pre-scooped for streamlined slurping, the sparkling oyster is an explosion of complimentary flavors and textures. Rich, sweet, and salty, the taste is elevated by the interplay of bursting roe, effervescent champagne and slick oyster. Its arrival on a graceful cart beside fresh bilinies with smoked salmon and accouterments including wasabi espuma accentuates the entire meal's special atmosphere and indulgences.

Sparkling oysters are served at every Sunday brunch, from 11am - 3pm at the Social Club - click here for more information and reservations.

Hôtel des Arts Saigon's website

Hôtel des Arts Saigon's Email

(+84) 02839 898 888

Hôtel des Arts Saigon | 76-78 Nguyen Thi Minh Khai street, D.3, HCMC

Meet the Hội An Family Making Cao Lầu Noodles From Scratch

2023-11-21T15:31:56+07:00

Amid Hội An’s treat-filled culinary landscape, cao lầu emerges as something that’s both simple and one-of-a-kind.

A bowl of cao lầu encapsulates a range of flavors including sour, hot, bitter, tannic and sweet; the savoriness of char siu; and the fragrance of Trà Quế herbs. Cao lầu strands are yellowish in color, with a bite to their texture, and a thickness that surpasses many of its contemporaries. Due to a complex manufacturing process, few cao lầu artisans remain in business in Hội An today — the family of Tạ Ngọc Trái is one of only two households in the area still making fresh cao lầu the traditional way.

Cao lầu strands are light yellow with a chewy texture.

Aware of the intricacies involved in the making of cao lầu, I managed to find the homestead of Trái after asking around in Hội An. “Of all the 365 days of the year, I only have the first day of Tết off. You can just drop by any day at 1am,” he told me. One evening, I found myself plunging into the thickness of the night, on the dirt path leading to the quaint hamlet by the paddy fields of Cẩm Châu Ward. While everybody else was deep in slumber, Trái’s house was still brightly lit like it had always been for the past half a century. The light from inside the kitchen was like a blade slicing the rural darkness in half. The deeper in I ventured, the more intense the heat became; a complete contrast with the dewey climate outside.

The cao lầu workshop at Trái’s home.

The walls in the small kitchen were covered in layers of thick soot. A giant vat of water for blanching the noodles was bubbling above a wood fire. Trái, holding an oversized chopstick in each hand, was hard at work mixing the concoction of viscous dough on the heat.

When I asked why the family had to begin their work day at 1am and not later so they could have more sleep, Trái explained: “To create cao lầu, the flour must be milled several times, in addition to a few rounds of flattening and steaming. Every steaming cycle takes nearly an hour. So the entire process requires four hours. At 5–6am, I deliver the freshly made noodles to the Hội An Market for my daughter to sell, and to distribute to eateries across town. I have no choice but to start at 1am to make it to the market in time.” After sharing, he immediately focused his attention once again on the vat of dough.

When there was a moment to spare, Trái opened the fridge to retrieve one of many prepared glasses of no-sugar black coffee, the indispensable companion to his late nights. “My working hours are very bizarre. I work when people go to bed and sleep when people are starting to get up. I have to stay away from beer and liquor in the afternoon so I don’t accidentally fall asleep,” Trái told me.

Tạ Ngọc Hồng, Trái’s son, in the middle of milling rice into the gruel paste.

Rice dough used to make cao lầu.

Only by witnessing in person the process of how rice grains are transformed into cao lầu noodles could I grasp how arduous and intensive this craft is. To make cao lầu, the variety of rice is carefully selected to ensure consistent sizes, colors, and shapes. The grains are soaked in water before being pulverized into a paste.

In the past, Hội An’s noodle makers collected the ash of a special species of wood on the Chàm Islands and mixed them with water from the Bá Lễ Well, a thousand-year-old well once used by the Chăm community. The noodle makers filtered out the detritus and then used the liquid to drench the rice. Today, it is unclear if these hyper-local ingredients are still required for the water and ash, but the recipe remains unchanged and the drenching process is crucial as the alkalinity of the ash water helps remove acid from the dough, thus increasing the shelf life of the final product.

After soaking, the rice grains are turned into a paste and cooked in a metallic vat until the texture turns more viscous. Trái constantly mixes and molds the mixture so it doesn't burn. The fire mellows out in between occasion flares. Right next to the burner, an electric fan runs at maximum speed to help ward off the unbearable heat. The whole process takes one hour.

Trái molds the dough on the fire.

Working on the noodle dough takes around one hour.

The congealed dough is then rehydrated with some ash water and arranged neatly on trays for steaming. Following the initial preparation, Trái calls out for other family members to take over the steaming phase. While I watched, Tạ Ngọc Hồng, his son, woke up and made his way to the workshop to immediately start distributing the dough across the trays. Hồng probably didn’t have much sleep, but managed to operate with surprisingly alertness. In a small space of just 15 square meters, every member moved at a hastened pace. One hour into steaming, the dough was pulverized into a smooth consistency. “Previously, it was processed with millstones, but after we bought these machines, our workload became much lighter,” Hồng explained. Then, he used a set of tools to flatten the dough and began slicing it into strands.

The dough is pulverized and steamed.

The ambiance of urgency in the workshop.

After steaming, the dough is blended again to achieve a smooth consistency.

The dough is flattened into sheets and then sliced into strips.

Cao lầu strands are cut using a machine to achieve a uniform thickness.

Besides the father-son duo, the workshop also hires locals to help out.

Resulting cao lầu bundles are arranged neatly according to lengths.

The noodles are then steamed once again after being sliced.

Once the hunk of dough makes its way into the slicer, cao lầu noodles start taking shape. A worker uses a knife to make sure the ends of the noodles are equal. The result is thick, squarish, amber-colored, 20-centimeter-long strands arranged neatly on a tray. These bundles a re once again steamed for around one hour. In every round, four trays are stacked on top of one another in the steamer.

Cao lầu trays on the steamer.

It takes on average four hours to go from flour to noodles

After four hours of constant milling, steaming, flattening, and slicing, the moment everyone has been looking forward to arrives: the first batch of fresh cao lầu noodles is done. At just a smidgen past 5am, the sky outside began to feature some bright strips of sunrise. Trái gingerly opened the lid, letting out fluffs of hot moisture. Amid the heat, I noticed a small smile on his face at seeing the product of his four-hour labor luxuriating in the sun. The bamboo trays filled with noodlers were stacked neatly on his bike before making their way to the market. Gradually, all the dough was cut, steamed, and delivered. On average, Trái’s cao lầu workshop produces around 200 kilograms of noodles per workday, which often finishes at 9–10am.

The end product.

Trái belongs to the fourth generation while Hồng is the fifth generation of their family’s cao lầu craft. Even when he was a little boy, Trái reminisced, he was already chipping in when he could with the cao lầu tasks. It has been over 50 years since those days, and now, even as a 60-year-old, he still keeps to the routine of starting a new day at 1am in the workshop. Cao lầu is a treasure of Hội An, one that’s relished by visitors from all over the world, so Trái feels the need to keep the family flavors going even though the work is strenuous. Whenever I hold a bowl of cao lầu in my hands, I always feel as if I can smell a whiff of the rustic wood fire in his kitchen in the middle of the Hội An night.

A Flaky Pâté Chaud That's Been a Saigon Institution Since 1930

2023-11-20T11:00:00+07:00

It took me 37 years to have my first pâté chaud.

Such a delay wasn’t by design. The uniquely Vietnamese-via-French-colonialism pastry item wasn’t served anywhere around where I grew up, and in all my years living in Saigon, I never got around to ordering it. Thankfully, I seemed to have picked an ideal place to enjoy it for the first time last week.

Quán ăn SGC first opened in 1930 and its current proprietor represents the fourth generation of the family operation. During the taping of a special Hẻm Gems video project earlier this year, he shared that it was one of the first restaurants serving pâté chaud, or pa tê sô in Vietnamese, in the city. He claims that many others followed their lead but none could quite match the moist texture of their rendition. An unmistakable sense of old Saigon nostalgia fills the bright, comfortable dining room Tôn Đức Thắng Street. A brick from the first building rests at the wall, complementing the black-and-white photos of earlier venues.

Pâté chaud always seemed to me to be too heavy or oily for breakfast, so I was pleasantly surprised when I took my first bite. While undeniably buttery, the flaky crust was light and thin, like pencil shavings. Nestled within the delicate pastry layers, the minced pork was moist without being greasy. Chopped onions and a dusting of salt and pepper added flavor, however, the lack of MSG as announced on the menu certainly diminished its potential. I’m always disappointed to see restaurants here cave into the west’s xenophobic mistrust of the magical flavor-enhancer, but I take solace in knowing that I can purchase frozen pâté chaud at SGC and enjoy them at home with my own liberal application of the godly particle. Perhaps I will even give in to hooligan peer pressure and try it with mustard as I have been advised.

I need to come back during the weekday lunch rush when local office workers fill tables eating goat noodles, snakehead noodles and hotpot. Or perhaps simply for another pâté chaud to accompany a morning cup of coffee while reflecting on the particular sense of romantic nostalgia one can develop for a time they never existed via carefully curated tastes and décor.

Beautiful Jade Tiger Abalone Arrive at Hotel des Arts Saigon for a Good Cause

2023-10-09T15:11:00+07:00

Jade Tiger Abalone is amongst the world’s most prized kinds of seafood. Requiring several years to grow exclusively in Australia’s frigid, nutrient-rich waters without the use of any hormones, antibiotics or chemicals, the large, meaty mollusks have a rich, briny, sweet flavor that many find to be stronger and more satisfying than oysters. Rarely found on Saigon menus, a particularly unique version of Jade Tiger Abalone is now available at all of Hôtel des Arts Saigon's dining venues for a limited time.

To impart the abalone meat with its strikingly deep pink color, Chef Đức Thịnh cooks them slowly overnight in beet juice. A subtle sourness thus slips in to compliment the inherent sweetness, elevating an already light and complex flavor profile. The cold dish is then embellished with chives, shallots, cucumbers, lemon gel, chili flakes and cubes of beets making it as photogenic as it is delicious.

Finally, the salty, umami notes added by drizzling nước mắm atop the dish ties all the flavors together. It’s a natural starter for a Vietnamese meal, but also compliments Western dishes. While it can be enjoyed any time of the day, it's a particularly suitable accompaniment to a glass of wine or a cocktail as enjoyed with the incredible views of District 1 that shimmer at sunset.

The culinary team selected the pink color for far more than aesthetics, however. October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month and pink is the defacto indicator of efforts to bring attention to the important cause. Five percent of every Jade Tiger Abalone sold at all of Hotel des Arts will be given to the Breast Cancer Network Vietnam (BCNV) along with similar proceeds from a special pink cocktail.

Hôtel des Arts Saigon's website

Hôtel des Arts Saigon's Email

(+84) 02839 898 888

Hôtel des Arts Saigon | 76-78 Nguyen Thi Minh Khai street, D.3, HCMC

Hội An Reports 91 Food Poisoning Cases Linked to Famous Bánh Mì Phượng

2023-09-14T14:36:05+07:00

Bánh Mì Phượng, Hội An’s most famous bánh mì eatery, recently made national headlines again, but for unfortunate reasons.

According to the Quảng Nam Department of Health, reports Tuổi Trẻ, as of September 13, the province has recorded 91 cases of food poisoning with link to Bánh Mì Phượng, 34 of whom are foreign nationals.

The Hội An City Health Center shared with local media that victims started showing up at hospitals and clinics in the ancient town from September 11. It’s estimated that those affected consumed bánh mì at the shop from 8am to 8pm on the same day. The center sold a total of 1,920 bánh mì on September 11 and 1,700 portions on September 12.

Quảng Nam authorities have since suspended operations at Bánh Mì Phượng to conduct an investigation into the shop’s food safety compliance and carry out tests on samples collected during the affected business day.

While the sandwich location serves a range of Vietnamese fare from its menu, the majority of victims bought its famed bánh mì and started exhibiting gastrointestinal symptoms from 2 to 16 hours after eating.

So far, the Vietnam Food Safety Authority was able to verify that the bánh mì store’s vegetables, pickles, chả and mayo came from reputable vendors at Hội An Market. A number of components that were made in-house — such as the pâté and caramelized pork — are being tested for possible contaminants.

It’s unclear at the moment when Bánh Mì Phượng will reopen and what caused the food poisoning cases.

Bánh Mì Phượng has been a time-honored food institution in Hội An for decades, but it was American chef and food personality Anthony Bourdain who elevated the humble street stall to global notoriety. In an episode of Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations, the host and restaurateur Phillipe Lajaunie paid the place a visit to share one of its signature bánh mì — dubbed “a symphony in a sandwich” by Bourdain.

[Photo by Lee Ann via Vietnamnet]

In Massachusetts' Cicada Cafe, a Marriage Between New England and Vietnamese Flavors

2023-08-24T11:00:00+07:00

“I don’t like the term ‘fusion,’” Vinh Lê, the chef of Cicada Coffee Bar, tells me. “You need to adapt. You need to adapt to the new environment, new life, when you move from Vietnam to the US. And to do that, food is one of the important elements.”

Take the example of nước mắm, he says; even if the sauce exists in both Vietnam and the US, its fermentation and curing processes necessarily vary between countries. “You cannot expect that the food in the US is exactly the same as the food in Vietnam, because of different environments,” Vinh explains.

Cicada Coffee Bar is a Vietnamese café by day and restaurant by night that’s been operating in Cambridge, Massachusetts since 2020. Behind the fogged-up windows of its one-room, one-story building, patrons chat over Sai Gon lattes and cured salmon bánh mì; Sea Salt Shaker coffees and phở noodle salads. Vinh Lê and Dương Huỳnh — life partners and co-owners — preside over the bustling operation.

Vinh Lê (right) and Dương Huỳnh (left) are the minds behind Cicada.

Far from a hub of Vietnamese culture, Cambridge is best known for its universities and proximity to Boston. Beneath this New England backdrop, Cicada’s innovative take on Vietnamese dishes could easily be categorized as a kind of “fusion.” How else can you describe sushi-grade salmon nestled in the crackly baguette of a bánh mì?

But Vinh resists the very concept of fusion. To him, it implies a cuisine borne out of discrete and definable parts: there’s a part from Vietnam and a part from New England, and the end result is a mix of the two. But, as he emphasizes, Vietnamese food isn’t a stagnant, bounded entity. It adapts and changes, porous to a bevy of influences while still retaining its core “spirit.” This is, uncoincidentally, much like Vinh himself. He repeats that Cicada is a reflection of his own life trajectory — one that winds through a range of places and careers.

Vinh went to college for architecture, and met Dương when she interned for his firm.

Born and raised in northern Vietnam’s Bắc Ninh Province, Vinh moved to Saigon in 2014 to attend architecture college. “My young [sic] and my youth, it was in Saigon,” he says. “Saigon is the whole world for me.” During this period, he served as a tour guide throughout Vietnam and Cambodia. He met Dương — also a trained architect, with a degree from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) — when she interned at his architecture firm. In 2013, he came to Cambridge to join her. He had never lived in the US before.

Since then, Vinh has cooked at an Asian gastropub in Boston, received his master’s degree in architecture from Columbia University, and worked at several urban design firms in New England. All the while, he’s run a Vietnamese pop-up restaurant, taught cooking classes to Cambridge residents, and even returned to Vietnam for a bit to open a wine bar. All of these experiences led him, finally, to Cicada, a vessel that embodies Vinh’s journey, from its vibe to its menu.

Cicada’s honey mousse espresso is a take on the famous Hanoian egg coffee, made with local honey.

“I cannot define [our food]. I cannot define where it’s from,” Vinh says. The café’s smooth, perfectly sweet Sai Gon latte — which he refers to as his “heart” — is a variation on Saigonese bạc xỉu; the Sea Salt Shaker, meanwhile, is like Hanoi’s cà phê nâu đá, inflected with the saltiness of central Vietnam’s version of cà phê sữa đá.

“It’s me. Can you define me now? No, I don't think you can define me,” he continues. “I grew up in the north, I moved to Saigon, I lived in places. So it's very sophisticated, it's complicated, but also simple. It's me.”

A space to gather

The chirp of cicadas reminds Vinh of summer as a child, when he could walk around outside without thinking about anything at all. That sense of peace and presence is what he hopes to cultivate in the space of the café.

Cicada is intended to be a place of relaxation after work.

He and Dương were among the brave souls to open a business during the COVID-19 pandemic, a time when most businesses were struggling to survive. But to Vinh, the isolating effects of the pandemic heightened the need for sanctuaries like Cicada. “I tried really hard because I knew that the pandemic would be over. I believed it,” says Vinh. “And people still need space to gather, a space to hang out, spend time, or cool down after the long day. Our life is not easy — life is difficult. So Cicada is the space where I want people to calm down, enjoy the drink and food.”

Unlike most cafes in student-heavy Cambridge, Cicada doesn’t have free Wi-Fi and sets limits on when laptops can be used. It nudges customers towards relaxation and connectivity through its carefully curated vibe.

“I grew up in the North, I moved to Saigon, I lived in places. So it's very sophisticated, it's complicated, but also simple. It's me.”

Eclectic furniture, lush potted plants, and a serene backyard garden beckon guests to unplug and stay awhile. During brutal New England winters, the cafe felt like a cozy, caffeinating refuge; during spring and summer, sipping a Sai Gon latte in the garden felt like a celebration of things coming alive again.

“Cicada’s vibe builds up over time. We see people react and enjoy the space, and we put more elements and redesign,” Vinh says. “We love the vintage style. We travel all over New England, collecting chairs and tables because we love something old but stylish, stable, and elegant.”

Indochina meets New England vintage

During college, you could often find me sandwiched in the line that reliably poured out of Cicada on weekends. Even more so than its intimacy, what most drew me to the cafe’s atmosphere was how — despite seamlessly fitting into Cambridge — it was also unmistakably Vietnamese. According to Vinh, these two qualities overlap more than one might think.

Like Cambridge, Bắc Ninh is “a small town, funky and a little bit hippie—a different style,” Vinh says. “So Dương and I have lived here for long enough, so we know the vibe. We want to do something that’s Indochina, but a cross with New England vintage.”

When I first visited Cicada, I was struck by the bureau in the dining area. On it were bottles of a Massachusetts liquor brand, next to a plate of apples and a vase that held a stick of burned incense. This setup was immediately recognizable to me as it's the same altar arrangement that occupied my own home on ancestors’ birthdays, or during Tết. I excitedly took a picture and sent it to my parents. By rendering popular vintage aesthetics in a distinctly Vietnamese style, Cicada was unlike any other Vietnamese restaurant I’d been to.

Vinh and Dương with friends of the cafe during Tết.

This is a strength that Vinh and Dương are well aware of. They know they’ve cultivated an environment that uniquely resonates with young Vietnamese Americans, like me.

“It’s somewhere that [young people] feel confident in and very proud. Like, ‘This is our style,’” says Vinh. “Most Vietnamese restaurants are mom-and-pop[s]. They don't have the time and skill to care about the vibe, decor, style. They sell delicious food, but they don't have the imagination of design. So we’re lucky because we went to design school. And we have huge support from the young Vietnamese generation.”

Introducing a more rounded Vietnam

One night, I dropped into Cicada for dinner alone, celebrating a personal accomplishment with cured salmon phở noodle salad at the bar. It’s my favorite dish there, a refreshing, texturally rich medley of cold noodles, cucumbers, and herbs, flavored with cilantro pesto and nước mắm. I was ending the meal with Vinh’s tangy, homemade yogurt when he asked me if I was Vietnamese. I responded that I was.

“You should’ve told me!” he exclaimed. “I would’ve let you try stuff for free!”

Green papaya salad is one of the few Cicada dishes that can be easily found on the streets of Saigon.

This offer revealed not only Vinh’s generosity, but also a fervent passion for sharing Vietnamese cuisine with his community. While the space of Cicada attempts to distinguish itself from “mom and pop” Vietnamese restaurants, Vinh’s food menu — and, in fact, his very presence in the food industry at all — is driven by a desire to preserve and continue their legacies.

After the American War, the first generation of Vietnamese Americans opened restaurants purely as a means of survival, he says. Now, “We want to carry those lessons, legacy, impact to the new generation. We’re not selling only coffee and food. We’re selling culture.” He believes that Americans homogenize Vietnam, reducing it all to Saigon and the south. “But Vietnam’s very diverse. Vietnam’s big. We have a middle, we have a north, we have different cultures.”

Phở salad with cured salmon, cashew herb pesto, and nước chấm.

Phở noodle salad with roasted eggplants, tofu, cashew pesto and crispy shallots.

For Vinh, the urgency of spreading Vietnam’s varied culture made entering the restaurant industry a simple, intuitive choice. When I ask whether there was a key moment that crystallized his career pivot, he responds by explaining this imperative — which doubles as his food philosophy, of sorts.

“I used to be an urban designer. I loved my job, but at the same time, I love food,” he tells me. “Food and drink is the best way to introduce culture. It's so directly [sic] into the stomach, into the soul. Food and drink is the most significant thing in life. You cannot live without drink and food, you know? It's the foundation of human beings.”

Vietnamese elements with a local twist

Of course, achieving Vinh’s goal of cultural transmission requires the food and drink in question to be good. Luckily, Cicada’s offerings are — so much so that Vinh was a semifinalist for the prestigious James Beard Emerging Chef Award this year. Hailed as the Oscars of the culinary world, the awards recognize industry leaders from across the US.

“We’re not selling only coffee and food. We’re selling culture. Americans homogenize Vietnam, reducing it all to Saigon and the south, but Vietnam’s very diverse. Vietnam’s big. We have a middle, we have a north, we have different cultures.”

At Cicada, every lunchtime dish falls into the category of bánh mì, black rice, or phở noodle salad, with a few variations on each. There’s charred eggplant and tofu phở noodle salad, for example, or baked salmon bánh mì — complete with avocado pate, pickled green papaya, and a baguette from a local Vietnamese-Chinese bakery. If a noodle soup special is on the menu, it’ll probably feature duck; the soothing, almost medicinal bún măng vịt often appears in the rotation.

Cicada’s ever-changing dinner menu has a bit more variation, including spring rolls and papaya salad, but still sticks to the same staple elements of vegetables, duck, and salmon. According to him, Cicada’s small, light menu distinguishes itself by showcasing “high-end Vietnamese cuisine” that features these quality ingredients, namely, duck breast and sushi-grade salmon.

Bánh mì with cured salmon, vegetarian fillings, and chả cá.

Critically, the dishes also manage to be sustainable and affordable, producing little food waste. For Vinh, these are the guiding principles of the menu. After cooking duck confit, the staff extracts the bone and uses it to make a broth; they garnish dishes with cilantro leaves, but use the roots to make cashew pesto for the phở noodle salad. “We will eat a circle,” Vinh says.

Another principle of Cicada’s food is that it listens to the rhythms of the market, shaped by the supply of its particular location. For New England, this means seafood — thus, the centrality of salmon on the menu. “New England people love seafood,” explains Vinh. “Sometimes you cannot make decisions. The market makes decisions for you. You have to make sure you understand, what do people need?”

A litmus test

Ultimately, Vinh designs his food to be healthy and in-tune with Cambridge’s audience yet authentically Vietnamese nonetheless. “The dishes I make here, you cannot find in Vietnam, to be honest,” he admits. He’s right: in Saigon, I’ve yet to encounter anything akin to the café’s pesto-topped phở noodle salad. The option of cured salmon, especially, reflects Vinh’s bend to the supply and tastes of New England. Still, he says, “It’s me, because it’s very authentic, very Vietnamese, but very American.”

One of Cicada’s staple drinks is the Sai Gon Latte, a less intensely sweet version of bạc xỉu that comes with oat milk.

Here, Dương provides a great litmus test for determining what can be categorized as true Vietnamese food. “Feed it to the moms and the grandmas and see what they think,” she says. “The parents and grandparents who come are always like, ‘Wow, that’s so Vietnamese, but I have no clue what this is.’”

In other words, Cicada passes the test with flying colors. The menu goes beyond what is textbook and recognizable, but that doesn’t mean sacrificing what makes it essentially — perhaps intangibly — Vietnamese. “Adaption is the key to make [sic] your business successful,” Vinh says. “Don't say I am the rule keeper, but the rulebreaker. The spirit keeper.”

Cicada Coffee Bar is at 106 Prospect Street, Cambridge, Massachusetts 02139.

Chả Cá Lã Vọng, Now in Burger Form at D2's Latest Burger Joint

2023-08-15T11:00:00+07:00

With its tiled walls, neon signs, and red-and-white color palette, The Smash Saigon appears to emulate the classic aesthetics of American diners. These motifs are so heavily associated with American comfort food — burgers, fries, milkshakes — that, wandering into The Smash, guests might guess at its menu before even seeing it. But they’d only be half right.

The interior of The Smash Saigon takes inspiration from American diners.

While the new Thảo Điền eatery does offer traditional diner fare, its signature items are much more imaginative: burgers based on Vietnamese dishes that have likely never been served between buns, like chả cá Lã Vọng, bò lá lốt, chả ốc, and more.

This vision of Vietnamese-style burgers is driven by the owners’ love for the sandwich. Nguyễn Diệu Hương Trang, who opened The Smash with her friend Nguyễn Minh Đức, explained that one the place's goals is to align burgers with the Vietnamese palette, rendering the distinctly Western dish approachable and familiar. The owners want burgers to be “a daily meal of Vietnamese people,” Trang continued. “Like a bánh mì, but in the form of a burger.”

Still, the notion of The Smash’s Chả Cá Lã Vọng Burger is so far-fetched that it seems like a gimmick. An Instagram post on a Saigon food account piqued my interest, but I was skeptical that it would be something I’d want to eat aside from its novelty. Somehow, though, the food us as inventive as it is delicious. On a recent trip to the restaurant, I tried two of the signature Vietnamese burgers. Each contains tomato, cucumber, and lettuce, along with a soft, fluffy bun — wonderfully un-soggy despite the load of toppings inside.

Removing the Hanoian dish from its usual context of hot stones and vermicelli, the chả cá burger features a fish cake-like patty spiced with turmeric, galangal, and dill. Thanks to the creamy dill mayo and additional layer of fresh dill, the smell clued me into the burger’s central ingredient even before I took a bite. Once I did, the singular flavor of chả cá burst from the patty, herbaceous and slightly smoky. The overall effect was refreshing — a rare adjective for a notoriously indulgent food.

Chả Cá Lã Vọng Burger simply felt like an updated, lighter, and more fragrant fish burger. The fusion occurs seamlessly and the result is unmistakably chả cá Lã Vọng, without straying too far from the platonic ideal of a burger. It strikes a perfect balance between the original and recognizable, creating a dish that I’d happily have for lunch on any normal day.

The Smash Saigon

127 Quốc Hương Street, Thảo Điền Ward, D2, HCMC

Thanks for Your Order, Your Bún Will Arrive by Train in a Few Minutes

2023-08-11T11:00:00+07:00

♫ And the bún mộc on the train goes round and round. Rolling down the track ♫

Lyrics to made-up nursery rhymes would spring to mind whenever the miniature engine, hauling assorted food and drinks as freight, passed by our table. A replica steam locomotive that once ran in North America in the 19^th century, this model train traverses a much more humble distance than its real-life counterpart.

The WW&FRy No.9 is an actual steam locomotive in Maine. This model is one out of four trains that the restaurant uses to deliver food.

Its entire journey circles around a 15-meter track surrounded by dioramas of iconic landmarks and figures from around the world. Here, a colorful St. Peterburg-styled cathedral is a neighbor to a Japanese minka and an American farmhouse.

The track layout.

The little train, naturally, is the star of The Train Restaurant, a quirky railroad-themed bistro situated in the heart of Phú Mỹ Hưng, District 7. The owners, husband-wife duo Maxime Godin-Murphy and Nguyễn Thị Thêu, spent half of their 2022 gallivanting through nine European countries with their kids. The trip was made almost entirely by riding Europe’s extensive railway network.

“We love traveling by train,” Maxime says with a grin. “It's one of the best ways to travel the world because we can see each country’s landscape better than by flight.” It’s a sentiment that Saigoneer wholeheartedly agrees with.

The entirety of the dioramas took three weeks to put together.

Their journey took an unexpected turn when they arrived in Prague. “There was a very beautiful train restaurant,” he recalls, “and it was one of the family activities that we were recommended to do, so we wanted to go see that. We ended up really enjoying our time there with the kid and we decided to bring the concept to Vietnam.”

Two suitcases packed with train models from Paris and three weeks of assembly later, The Train Restaurant was ready to embark on its maiden voyage.

Dishes are placed on train cars and carried directly to the diners using a remote control.

The open-space bistro is inundated in a hodgepodge of railway memorabilia — tables covered with vintage articles, a snapshot of the North-South line trailing by the coast, and an engine-shaped menu that casually dispenses existential wisdom: “Life is a train, get on board.”

P/s: This worksheet is deceptively hard. Please email Saigoneer if you manage to find all the 10 differences.

Small world. Big menu.

While the restaurant’s main attraction is its method of delivery, its food selections are also surprisingly delectable. “The idea is to keep people in a traveling mood,” he explains. The couple had picked out dishes from 10 different countries to represent a culinary passport, sampling casual street food like Korean tteokbokki and German currywurst.

We ordered a bowl of poutine and bún mộc, which were extra special, as they are food that originally hails from the couple’s respective hometown in Québec and Kim Sơn. The saucy, cheesy poutine and warm, brothy bún mộc are a nice reminder to always carry a piece of home even when you’re trotting the globe.

Being soggy might be antithesis to the concept of fries, but gravy-drenched poutine perseveres regardless.

A hearty bún with this much mộc in this economy? We didn't think we would find this at a train restaurant, but we did.

The Train Restaurant is a popular destination for families with young children, but we can't help but be giddy as the train makes laps around our dining scape. There's something about being surrounded by a miniature world, eating fries and coloring worksheets as grown-ups that sparks childlike wonder. So in a world that moves too fast, take a delightful detour from the ordinary, take a bite from a toy train, it might be the trip you never knew you needed.

The Train Restaurant is open everyday from 8am to 10pm at 41 Nội khu Hưng Phước 1 Street, District 7, HCMC.

A Simple Americano Goes a Long Way at Quy Nhơn's Lone Coffee Roaster

2023-07-20T11:00:00+07:00

Saigon is spoiled with cafes. In addition to the street stalls hawking cheap phin coffee, international chains and charming mom-and-pop shops, the last decade has seen a proliferation of third-wave venues that meticulously source organic beans to roast in small batches and prepare with a wide assortment of gizmos and gadgets.

Such cafe variety does not exist in more remote places like Quy Nhơn. In fact, Adiuvat Coffee Roasters may be the coastal cities’ lone place for coffee nerds to hang out that prepares their own beans in-house and even makes a cold brew served on nitro. They opened in 2019, long after I moved away in 2016, back when the coffee landscape was dominated by cafes prioritizing everything but the quality of the coffee itself.

The name Adiuvat is in reference to the phrase “Fortes Fortuna Adiuvat” (fortune favors the bold) which you may recognize from John Wick’s back tattoo. The phrase’s final word is fitting because the shop prefers medium to dark roasts. They explained to Saigoneer that most of the coffee is shipped down from Đắk Lắk and Lâm Đồng, however on a recent visit the barista noted they’d previously featured some grown in Laos as well.

Whenever I return to the city and am invited to coffee by young friends in their early twenties, it’s always Adiuvat. They’ve explained the vibes are just best there. The two-floor minimalist tube house retrofitted by A+H Architects wouldn’t stand out in Saigon, yet in Quy Nhơn, where all the coffee shops are more generic or traditional in design, it’s a startling deviation. Perhaps the concrete and bare wood aesthetics remind people of the busier metropolises they’ve lived or traveled in. The shop admits that they are most popular with domestic and international travelers and have some trouble winning over conservative locals.

My go-to at Adiuvat is a simple Americano so I can enjoy the full flavor of the roast, uncluttered by milk or sugar. The unique element here is the coffee beans, after all. The drink’s buoyant fruit notes are balanced by sweeter chocolate and caramel undertones. For me, a simple cup of arabica represents connoisseur coffee’s bright future in Vietnam’s smaller cities like Quy Nhơn.

Adiuvat Coffee Roasters

57A Nguyễn Huệ, Lê Lợi Ward, Qui Nhơn City, Bình Định Province

A Pilgrimage to Sơn La, Vietnam's National Mận Capital, as a Devoted Fan

2023-07-19T15:00:00+07:00

There’s a kind of sweet, sour, and slightly tannic fruit that never fails to make our mouths water every summer.

The sweltering heat has begun to spread across the atmosphere. Under the fluttering lilac petals of bằng lăng blossoms, I walk amid a sunset awash in crimson and summer showers that peter out as fast as they arrive. That’s how I realize that we’re really in the thick of summer. I listen to the sounds of the season in my surroundings: the chirpings of cicadas and quiet clinks of ice cubes rattling inside refreshing tea glasses on sun-soaked pavements.

Apart from the shifts in natural elements, summer also comes to me in the colorful blocks of fruits that have inundated local markets and mobile vendors who slowly spread the summer spirits all over town. On Hanoi’s fruit-laden bikes, there’s the pinkish red of lychees, the golden yellow of pineapples and melons. However, more popular than most is probably the crimson shade of mận hậu, a treat from the highlands.

Naturally, whenever plum season is here, mận hậu immediately climbs to the top of the list of office workers’ most favorite snacks. It’s hard to rationalize why this humble stone fruit can connect with people’s palates that well. People gather around baskets of red plums to banter cordially while gnawing on fresh, crunchy fruits. Mận hậu is present in rustic wicker trays in the center of the living room or dinner platters.

When the time comes, it’s near impossible to stop snacking on these tiny sour fruits if you’ve been bewitched by their flavors. It’s partly because they can be found at any fruit seller from supermarkets to street corners, but the main factor, I think, is probably because mận hậu is just so damn tasty. Its flesh has a juicy crunch, holding its texture better than other stone fruits. That heady mix of sweet and sour and tannin is so powerful that you might already start salivating just looking at them.

The allure of mận hậu also lies behind the cascade of building anticipation, because it’s only available during the plant’s fruiting season. When I was staying in the south, every time my friends sent down some plums from home, I was overwhelmed with joy. Just a bite with a bit of chili salt makes me happy for the whole day. The presence of mận hậu is the harbinger of the northern summer, just like how green cốm signals the advent of Hanoi autumn. The vast geographical distance it has to travel only serves to amplify my excitement.

There are many cultivars of plums in Vietnam. Mận tam hoa might sport a deep purple coat while mận cơm is perpetually lime green. Mận hậu, on the other hand, looks deep red and glossy on market displays in the summer sun. The more profound the color, the sweeter the fruit is. The mận flesh is yellow and quite sour if not fully ripe and those with specks of green are predominantly tannic.

Mận often goes better with shrimp salt than any other condiment. The combination of juicy sweetness, sourness and the umami spiciness of muối tôm is impossible to resist. A fancier way of consuming these plums involves peeling the skin, dicing the flesh and giving it a thorough shake with salt, chili flakes and sugar.

Mận hậu’s mystifying lure compelled me to visit Sơn La. Just 175 kilometers from Hanoi, the province is widely considered the national capital of stone fruits. Here, mận cultivation is spread across districts like Mộc Châu and Vân Hồ. Thanks to the natural presence of plum trees, for the past 40 years, the livelihood of local farmers has significantly improved.

Originating in China, mận hậu was first grown in Sơn La in the 1980s at the Cờ Đỏ Military Subdivision, in today’s Mộc Châu Farming Town. The history of how plum trees took root in Mộc Châu bears the mark of Lê Văn Lãng. In 1981, Lãng, the then director of the state-run Cờ Đỏ Dairy Cattle Farm, was visiting Lạng Sơn Province in the northern border when he ha the chance to try a delicious local plum. He took some cuttings back to the subdivision and encouraged farmers to experiment with the new tree. Only Nguyễn Tiến Dũng, a local farmer at Pa Khen Subdivision, took the leap to try with some success. Dũng then expanded the plum-growing area and became the first household to own a plum plantation in Pa Khen.

Thankfully, Sơn La’s climate and soil proved to be conducive to the proliferation of mận hậu, which is relatively hardy, can withstand droughts and frosts, and bears ample fruits every year. Many locals started seeing the value in growing plums and asked Dũng to share his cuttings. Gradually, Pa Khen has become a famous plum-growing region today.

Apart from the fruit’s commercial potential, Nà Ka Valley in Mộc Châu has turned into a popular tourist destination thanks to mận hậu. Tourists from all over Vietnam flock to the area every plum season to see blossoms and sample fresh fruits. From those first cuttings 40 years ago, Sơn La today has Vietnam’s largest mận hậu-growing area with over 3,200 hectares. From mid-May to the end of June, Mộc Châu buzzes with activities during plum harvest season. Piles of freshly picked plums dot the town, waiting to be boxed for shipping across northern Vietnam and even down south. Plums dominate streetside stalls and overflow trucks. Of course, nothing is fresher than plums ripening right on the trees, vying for the hands of visiting tourists.

Strolling along the dirt path, I walked by many plum plantations in Tân Lập Commune. True to the moodiness of summer weather, it started raining even though the sun was blasting just minutes prior. After the shower, the atmosphere was cleansed of any dust, replaced by the smell of plants and wet soil. Not as fiery red as lychee or rambutan plantations, mận hậu gardens still looked quite lush and green from afar. Hidden beneath bushes of emerald leaves were bundles of blushing plums covered in a layer of white wax.

When it’s harvesting season, plantations are filled with the bobbling nón lá of farmers. To grow a batch of tasty plums, caretakers must channel a lot of time and effort into the fruit trees. My visit to town included meeting Nguyễn Duy Hận, a resident of Tân Lập, while he was in the process of picking and arranging the plums into a basket.

As he was painstakingly plucking and handling the fruits, Hận told me: “In order to ensure the trees bear lots of fruits, I have to trim frequently and apply organic fertilizers. If I don’t, the plums will still be abundant, but tiny. I also have to monitor them for pests and weeds.”

Bigger and prettier plums will fetch more money, he shared. Thanks to a high level of care, Hận’s fruits were all plump and elegant, some as big as a child’s fist. “A few days ago, a wholesaler came to place an order and my plums measured 20 fruits per kilogram,” Hận couldn’t hide his giddiness to see that his garden was still bountiful despite the year’s fluctuating weather. Each year, their mận hậu trees could bring back hundreds of millions of dong to the family.

After sitting down for a quick chat with me, Hận returned to his task for the day: removing weeds from his garden. I left his cozy garden, left Sơn La with my luggage several kilograms of mận heavier and my lungs filled with the pristine air of the Mộc Châu Plateau.

Opinion: With New Vietnam Guide, Michelin Has Failed Asian Street Food Again

2023-06-19T14:00:00+07:00

Nothing gets Saigon foodies up in arms faster than the ratio of 10 phở restaurants to zero bánh mì place, but this disproportionate phở favoritism is just one of many ways the Michelin Guide has fumbled in its recently published guide to Vietnam.

There is no doubt that Vietnamese love awards. As a nation historically behind the world in many disciplines, from science to arts, due to wartime reasons beyond our control, Vietnam cheerily celebrates when any one of us gets recognized by the international community. When it was announced last year that the prestigious food publication Michelin Guide would unveil its first-ever Vietnam edition, local foodies were buzzing with excitement. Finally, a competitive field that we do well and can confidently surpass many developed nations — cooking and eating good food. After nearly half a year, Michelin dropped its official Vietnam guide during a ceremony in Hanoi last week. A total of 103 establishments in Saigon and Hanoi made the cut, including four single-star restaurants, one in Saigon and three in Hanoi.

A global opportunity for Vietnam’s hospitality and tourism industry

The Michelin guide was started by its titular tire-producing parent company as a free add-on to give motorists tips on how to change tires, where to rest during their trips, and which places on the road serve decent refreshments. In the 1920s, the guide started giving stars to fine-dining restaurants and its reputation started growing gradually over the 20^th century into the well-known culinary institution of today.

A selection of physical Michelin Guide books. Photo via Eater.

Considering its beginning in haute cuisine, I think the majority of Michelin selections on the higher end of the scale are shared by many local food enthusiasts with few exceptions. Still, certain corners of the Vietnamese cybersphere have picked apart the list over issues like consistency, industry seniority, and authenticity, wondering whether some names are deserving of the accolade.

I have to admit to being an outsider in this conversation, for I possess little interest in fine dining and have been to very few of the upscale restaurants in Saigon that were picked. Having experienced a food landscape that was nearly obliterated by the global pandemic and is just starting to rebuild again, however, I have much sympathy for those trying to survive in the F&B scene, no matter which demographic of diners they’re serving. Whether one deserves their place more than the other, everybody needs a little help in this economic climate, which might hopefully come from their newfound Michelin cred.

Dinner crowds at Phở Gà Kỳ Đồng, a recently crowned Bib Gourmand. It's also the only Hẻm Gem featured in the guide! Read our review here.

The guide’s arrival in Vietnam is a good sign that the hard work of Vietnamese chefs and restaurateurs are being acknowledged on the world stage, many of whom are crafting creative and refreshing food using traditional techniques and local produce. Like it or not, Michelin still has deep-rooted influence in the tourism industry, and by putting Vietnam on the map, it’s keeping us in the global conversation and the radar of foreign tourists. The roster of craftily named restaurants in the Michelin Guide sends a signal to diners of the world that Vietnam today is not just rustic noodles on plastic stools, we can sous vide, chiffonade, hibachi, foam, and spherify just as well as as any fashionable food destination out there.

Phở-voritism

As I perused the complete list of Michelin-approved restaurants in Vietnam, which came out a few nights ago to widespread frustration and ridicule by Vietnamese everywhere, a realization dawned on me: I miss my dad. My late father loved phở more than anyone I know, so much so that he could eat phở for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and supper — all on the same day — without any hesitation. A son of Nam Định Province, the alleged birthing ground of Vietnamese phở, he would have loved the abundance of phở picks in the guide. Of the 55 entries based in Saigon, 10 of them serve phở. Phở Hòa Pasteur and Phở Lệ, both newly crowned Bib Gourmands, were some of his favorites in town, alongside Phở Anh, Phở Trang, Phở Thanh Cảnh, Phở Tàu Bay, Phở Dã Tượng, just to name a limited few.

Phở Hòa Pasteur (Bib Gourmand) is one of my dad's favorite phở joints. Photo by Flickr user Akos Kokai.

I don’t share my father’s die-hard devotion for phở, even though some of my most entrenched memories with him took place at phở restaurants. Phở Hòa Pasteur and Phở Tàu Bay are conveniently located outside the Pasteur Institute and the Children’s Hospital I, respectively, so when I was little, a vaccine appointment would usually mean phở for breakfast. I am still traumatized by the hospital visits and have not visited either phở place since.

Today, I eat the beef soup once or twice a month for convenience, but the more my palate ventures across Saigon, the more I realize that, in a city with such a diverse food scene, sticking to one dish day after day is doing both Saigon and your tastebuds a disservice. It’s a sign of trouble, not heart-warming nostalgia, that Michelin’s street food taste mirrors that of my septuagenarian father: obsolete, stubbornly single-minded, and fiercely loyal to established names. As much as Michelin knows its way around fine-dining, its street food coverage, on the contrary, demonstrates a lackluster understanding of Vietnam’s culinary tastes and a non-existent curatorial vision.

Towards better representation

The Bib Gourmand special award was added to the Michelin guide starting in 1997 to recognize eateries that dish out great food at an affordable price, places that, in the guide’s own words, “leave you with a sense of satisfaction, at having eaten so well at such a reasonable price.” Even then, it took until 2015 for the red book to feature street food stalls, in a separate category of the Hong Kong edition. A year later, a chicken rice hawker stall in Singapore became the first street food eatery to get a Michelin star.

Phở Tàu Bay is one of Saigon's oldest phở eateries. Photo via Thanh Niên.

In Saigon, beside the myriads of phở places, the rest of the Bib Gourmands include Ba Ghiền (cơm tấm), Hồng Phát (hủ tiếu), Xôi Bát (xôi), Chay Garden and Hum (vegetarian), Bếp Mẹ Ỉn and Cục Gạch Quán (general Vietnamese), and Dim Tu Tac (Cantonese). Other street food options that made the general guide are Cô Liêng (bò lá lốt) and Ốc Đào (seafood). One only needs a week of eating around Saigon to notice that this is a poor representation of the city’s rich food scene. To be fair, it’s unrealistic to expect the Michelin guide, or anyone for that matter, to be able to highlight every facet of Saigon food, but this collection in particular has missed out on three key pillars of culinary influences that distinguish our home from the rest of Vietnam and other Michelin destinations.

Bún lòng xào nghệ, bún cá cam and bún mắm nêm are Đà Nẵng delicacies that one can also find in Saigon. Regional specialties like these, which are conspicuously absent in the Michelin Guide, make the city a dynamic place for adventurous eaters. Read our Hẻm Gem feature about them here.

For one, the diversity of regional Vietnamese food in Saigon speaks to the city’s unique role as a welcoming home for everyone to settle down and flourish, as showcased by the prevalence of dishes like bún bò Huế, bún cá Châu Đốc, and bánh căn Phan Rang. Second, a significant population of Hoa Vietnamese in Saigon contributes to our wealth of Hakka, Hokkien, Teochew street food stalls. Third, and this might surprise many, Saigon’s Japanese food scene can easily surpass that of many developed metropolises. Thanks to decades of continuous development assistance from the Japanese government and investment from Japanese companies, a sizable population of Japanese immigrants are living and working in Saigon, so much so that we have not one but two Japantowns. The lack of regional dishes, Hoa cuisine, and Japanese eateries is glaring, to say the least.

Xôi khâu nhục is a Cantonese dish, brought to Saigon by a family from Hải Phòng with roots from Guangdong, China. Photos by Alberto Prieto.

It’s also time to address the elephant-size, baguette-shaped void in the room: no bánh mì. Numerous other iconic Saigon dishes failed to make the list — gỏi cuốn, sủi cảo, bún riêu, bánh xèo, chuối nếp nướng, cơm gà xối mỡ, bún mắm, bánh ướt, etc. — but it’s unfathomable to me how one can be tasked with curating a guide of Saigon, but chose to visit at least 10 phở places and couldn’t eat enough bánh mì to even feature one stand. This oversight is not unique to the Vietnam guide either; last year, the Michelin guide’s debut edition for Kuala Lumpur also raised eyebrows for not including nasi lemak, Malaysia’s national dish.

For a category that lionizes establishments serving “good food at reasonable price,” names like Hồng Phát, Hum and Cục Gạch Quán stick out like a sore thumb, for their good food might lighten your wallet significantly — VND120,000 per hủ tiếu bowl at Hồng Phát and an average cost of VND500,000 per person at the latters. A simple nod in the normal roster is perhaps more appropriate. These price tags, however, beg the question of who Michelin is guiding with its international red books.

Chefs at Mutahiro in Lê Thánh Tôn Japantown preparing ramen portions. Japanese cuisine is another under-represented facet of Michelin's Saigon coverage. Photos by Mervin Lee.

The answer is quite obvious: tourists. Restaurants afford travelers a safe, familiar environment to explore exotic local flavors with much of the amenities and dining norms they are used to at home. A VND500,000 meal is hefty for a Saigoneer salary, but to newcomers eager to form new memories, it’s just a small price to pay for a special occasion. From its founding moments, the Michelin Guide has always had travelers in mind, and the way its undercover inspectors operate showcases this ethos. According to Michelin, the team includes reviewers from 20 countries; judging from these results, I wonder if any Vietnamese was hired to work on the Vietnam guide at all, or everybody was parachuted from a helicopter on top of TripAdvisor’s Top 10 phở stalls. All told, one can take comfort in the fact that, in Saigon, even if their favorite phở places are now swamped by new faces lured by Michelin fame, a just-as-good alternative might just be around the hẻm corner.

A Cinnamon Whisky Sour to Pair with a Skyline Sunset

2023-05-30T13:35:00+07:00

With over 30,000 tons produced a year, Vietnam is the world’s third-largest cinnamon supplier. Native to Central and Northern Vietnam, the dried tree bark adds a complex layer of flavor to traditional soups and broths. It is also increasingly popular in Saigon’s cocktail scene. Busy Saigoneers looking to unwind after a hectic day can find a perfect example of the trend paired with a stunning sunset at Sheraton Saigon’s Level 23 Wine Bar.

The cinnamon whisky sour’s life begins three or four days before I even take a sip. The bartender, Anh Lê, cracks long sticks of cinnamon bark and submerges them in Jim Beam bourbon which takes on a deep ruby hue. The process imbues the sweet American whisky with a fiery spice that is contrasted via the standard simple syrup, lime juice and egg whites used to create a whisky sour. Before serving it, she subsumes the glass in voluminous cinnamon smoke, adding a visual brilliance to the sweet, creamy beverage that lingers with a crack of cinnamon sharpness.

While the cocktail would be delicious in any context, it is especially suited for sipping while Saigon’s skyline ignites in neon hues. An ideal destination for sunset enthusiasts, the Sheraton’s 23rd-floor open-air bar provides a tremendous view of notable landmarks including Bitexco, the Saigon River and Nguyễn Huệ walking street. The breezy, tropical atmosphere established via lush plants, bright decor and uptempo music offers a reprieve from chaotic workdays and crammed schedules, making it a magical place to stop into as dusk settles across the city. When doing so, the bright lights that appear on the horizon will match the color of the cinnamon whisky sour in the glass, combining for an energizing transition from work to play.

Sheraton Saigon Hotel and Tower's Facebook Page

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Level 23, Sheraton Saigon Hotel & Towers - 88 Dong Khoi Street, D.1

920k VND Landmark Pho Aims for the Clouds

2023-05-29T15:58:11+07:00

If you lived in Hanoi, is there a breakfast you would fly down to Saigon for the day to enjoy? Le Trung, the Executive Chef at Vinpearl Landmark 81, Autograph Collection told Saigoneer that one family regularly makes that one-day round trip just to enjoy his Landmark Pho.

No one particular facet explains what makes Trung’s version so special. Instead, it's very much the sum of its parts, beginning with the use of only Australian beef bones for the broth. Twice as large as their Vietnamese counterparts, the foreign cows provide much more marrow and meat to flavor the soup along with whole chicken carcasses and feet. Ginger, garlic and onions are cooked on low heat for an hour to provide enough sweetness so Trung doesn’t add any sugar. This along with the nearly 400 grams of Australian wagyu beef, shortribs and oxtail contribute such resonant depths of umami goodness that no MSG is needed to enrich the broth’s flavor.

To source the soup’s noodles, Trung tried twenty to thirty local producers before selecting ones from a family that makes them daily in their home. Delivered every morning they are smooth, silky and soft, allowing them to absorb the flavorful sauce and slip into one’s mouth when slurped up.

Trung notes that his phở cannot be considered specifically Northern or Southern. Its reliance on local herbs and vegetables means it will have certain southern flavors that he balances with a typically northern quẩy.

Vinpearl Landmark 81 - Autograph Collection hotel literally soars into the sky above the city while its namesake phở seeks a metaphorical elevation for the classic dish. Anyone curious about the extremes Vietnam’s most famous soup can reach needs to venture up to the Oriental Pearl on the 66th floor to check it out.

Eat Out with Marriott Bonvoy is back for a 3-month food festival so you can savor special dishes across Vietnam until August 31st. As part of the event, Vinpearl Landmark 81, Autograph Collection is offering The Famous Landmark 81 Pho Choc Troi featuring a combination of traditional flavors with a modern twist, crafted using the finest indigenous and imported ingredients such as Wagyu shavings, US short rib, 48hr Oxtail broth for VND750,000. Advance reservation is required. Not applicable in conjunction with any other discount, voucher, or promotion.

Vinpearl Landmark 81 - Autograph Collection's Facebook

028 3971 8888

720A Điện Biên Phủ, Vinhomes Tân Cảng, Bình Thạnh, TP HCMC

Cà Rem Cây, Kem Chuối and the Frozen Tickets to Our Childhood

2023-05-26T15:12:32+07:00

Sometimes, when I hear the distant sound of a tinkling bell, fond memories of summer days from my wonder years come flooding back to me.

Like many children who grew up in the city, I greeted the summers of my childhood with a sense of dread and boredom. The relentless extension of the urban sprawl had robbed us of the joy of flying kites in a field, or splashing in a cool pond. Instead, we endured the scorching heat in our concrete cocoon, our little bodies drenched in sweat if we dared venture outside to play. When it was high noon, our alleyway fell quiet and deserted, everyone sought refuge indoors to escape the punishing sun.

Kem ốc quế (ice cream cones).

Amidst that stifling atmosphere, the only sound that could break the silence was the gentle, rhythmic ringing of a bell. My eyes, momentarily drooped due to midday drowsiness, would suddenly open wide. My ears would strain to locate the source of the sound and I would quickly slip on my flip-flops and scurry along the sizzling asphalt road to follow the fading echo. Slowing down to a complete stop at a corner of the alley, an old motorbike stood, resting on its seat was a metal freezer box.

"Ice cream...here comes ice cream!" — the driver, a man whom I would later only know as “the ice cream uncle,” belted enthusiastically, bringing out all the children in the neighborhood. In my memory, the ice cream uncle was a hot-season version of Santa Claus — he was not plump, jolly-looking, nor bearded. Rather, the uncle was a scrawny and tan-skinned figure, his complexion darkened from hustling under the sun all day long. But calling him Santa Claus wouldn't be entirely inaccurate, as every time he came, he brought with him joyful and refreshing treats to share with us.

Kem đá bào (Shaved ice with syrup).

From the icebox at the back of his carriage, the uncle scooped out small balls of ice cream, placed them on crumbly waffle cones, and sprinkled some crushed peanuts and Ông Thọ condensed milk on top. There was even a house special, where three ice cream scoops were rolled into a sweet bread roll, priced at only VND2,000–5,000. In the hot Saigon noontime, a bite into these frozen sorbets felt like being transported to a distant oasis, where gentle breezes and calm blue lakes and seas awaited us urban-bound children.

Those were the years when I was in elementary school. I would pocket every bit of loose change around the house just to experience that fleeting moment of coolness and sweetness. On days when I couldn't manage to scrape together any money, I would stand by the door, peering for a long time until the shadow of the vehicle disappeared and the tinkling sound faded away, as if summer had left me behind.

By today's standards, my childhood treat is not considered fancy or even exceptionally delicious. The texture is airy rather than creamy, and as it is mostly made of ice, it melts more quickly than one could have enjoyed. The flavors were simple — strawberry, chocolate, vanilla, and if one was really lucky, taro or coconut. Sometimes, the only difference was in appearance, as they most probably all used the same flavoring agents. Food safety was also not ideal back in the day, so unexpected bowel movements were always a likelihood, a cautionary tale that the media would often warn children about to deter consumption.

Kem ống/kem que (popsicles).

The Vietnamese word for ice cream, kem (or cà rem in the Southern dialect) originated from the French word “crème” as the dish was introduced to Vietnam during the French colonial period. Crème refers to creme fraiche or fresh cream, an essential ingredient for making a true gelato as the west would define it.

Kem ốc quế, the version that I indulged in as a child, however, only constituted powdered milk and sweetener, thus lacking the rich and creamy flavor its western counterpart possessed. It was an adaptation by Vietnamese society in a period of economic hardships after Đổi Mới. Fresh milk and pure cream were still considered luxury items, and their preservation was costly. Thanks to simple, makeshift freezer boxes, children from working or middle-class families like mine could still taste the flavors of summer.

Kem bòn bon (ice pop).

I came to realize that our subsequent summers were filled with many “ice cream-like but not actually ice cream” treats similar to this. They arrived on bicycles and motorcycles, carried by tan-skinned Santas, characterized by the tinkling sound of bells, or even accompanied by a loud pre-recorded announcement from blaring speakers.

A favorite of mine was a dessert called xi rô đá bào. The vendor, with a cloth in hand, would hold a large block of ice and scrape thin ice shavings onto a cup. Colorful syrups and condensed milk were drizzled over the ice to create a sweet and fancy flavor. To add a touch of sourness, slices of fruits like oranges or limes could be sprinkled on top. The syrup, stored in a green glass container without a label, was a good indicator that it was a reliable, authentic xi rô đá bào cart.

Frozen yogurt.

Kem ống emerged as an upgrade from kem ốc quế, featuring a wider variety of flavors like mung bean, black bean, or jackfruit. In a stainless steel container, each ice cream stick was placed in a long, pointed iron tube. The pre-mixed powdered milk was poured into the tubes, which were then shaken, rotated, and sealed. Inside the container were large trays of ice covered with salt to ensure maximum coldness. After a few minutes, the liquid had frozen, and each ice cream stick emitted a plume of smoke when placed in my hand.

Later on, as household appliances became more affordable, even the neighbors in my community could participate in the homemade ice cream industry. I no longer had to wait for the tinkling sound of bells at the end of the alley. I could simply visit the local tạp hóa whenever I craved bòn bon, ya-ua, or kem chuối.

Bòn bon was made with fruit-flavored syrup poured into plastic tubes, while ya-ua was frozen in pouches, and kem chuối was a mixture of coconut milk, condensed milk, and mashed plantains. My joy during summer days revolved around standing in front of the freezer section, feeling lightheaded from the cool air, and carefully selecting the largest ice cream bars or pouches, just like how my mother picked vegetables at the market.

Kem chuối (banana pops).

I have since grown up and ventured far from the old alley. The sound of bells rarely echoes in the city, and I don't know where to find many of the old-fashioned ice cream flavors anymore. Rapid economic development has allowed people to enjoy ice cream made from actual dairy and fruits, of various flavors and origins. On a scorching summer day, I can treat myself to an organic Italian gelato, an avocado frozen treat from Đà Lạt, or a bowl of Korean bingsu. And yet, a taste of childhood lingers in the back of my mind: that powdery, artificial sweetness that made the hot noons less oppressive, enough to make one feel instantly like a child again upon hearing the fleeting sound of bells passing by on a summer day.

Fresh Lobster Served with Salted Egg Cream Sauce

2023-05-22T02:41:00+07:00

Seafood buffets in Saigon are all about the lobster. Anyone who has visited an upscale buffet here knows that the fresh crustaceans are the star attraction and often the first item guests place on their plates. Understanding that, how does one decide which venue to visit to enjoy them? Saigon Café, located on the second floor of the Sheraton Hotel, seeks to set itself apart via freshness and one particularly luxurious sauce.

Lobster’s rich but delicate flavor needs little embellishments and often a simple sauce made with black pepper, mushroom or gravy is all that’s needed to coax out its full meaty brilliance. The Saigon Café offers these condiments for the lobsters that are grilled fresh to order, but they also prepare a special more decadent sauce that doubles down on the shellfish’s succulence.

Steamed egg yolks, butter, salt, sugar and heavy cream: it’s not a complicated recipe, but must be expertly blended and heated to achieve a silky, luscious texture. To the thrill of diners, flames erupt in the open kitchen and engulf the lobsters on the grill. The salted egg cream sauce is then melted atop the plump meat. Brought directly to one’s table it's an exceedingly extravagant take on an already grandiose dish.

In addition to the sauce, the Saigon Café excels thanks to the freshness of each lobster. The buffet’s head chef, Hạnh Nguyên, explained to Saigoneer that they prepare approximately 70kg of fresh lobster flown in directly from Nha Trang each day. Not long after they are pulled from the sea, they are coated in delicious salted egg cream sauce and placed in front of diners while they relax in a peaceful, spacious room with views of Saigon’s charismatic streets in the background.

Eat Out with Marriott Bonvoy is back for a food festival so you can savor special dishes across Vietnam until August 31st. As part of the event, Sheraton Saigon Hotel & Towers has 2 limited edition offerings — an International Buffet Lunch at Saigon Café (Daily) for VND750,000 including free-flow detox drinks, tea and coffee, and a Lavish Seafood Buffet Dinner at Saigon Café (Daily from 6:00pm - 10:00pm) including free flow red wine, white wine, beer, soft drinks, coffee, and tea for VND1,450,000. Advance reservation is required. Not applicable in conjunction with any other discount, voucher, or promotion.

Saigon Café Restaurant's Facebook Page

+84 28 3827 2828

Level 1, Sheraton Saigon Hotel & Towers - 88 Dong Khoi Street, D.1

Just a Love Letter to Saigon's Tropical Fruits

2023-05-15T08:00:00+07:00

How lovely to have taste buds and to have tasty things to eat.

Among the many tasty treats in Saigon, treats of the fruity variety are varied, ample and readily available. When you get into the gratitude mindset, this abundance of nature's candy is one thing you'll notice to feel grateful for. You can find fruits artistically piled in markets, kept sliced and chilled on beds of ice in glass cases, as well as dried, pickled, juiced and blended.

Beyond the delights that Saigon’s fruits bring to your palate, fruit is also an important aspect of the city’s visual pleasures; the diversity of colors, shapes and textures adding significant liveliness to the surroundings.

The vivid pink of sliced guava, muted orange of papaya, spiked and patterned ridges of pineapple, waxy skin of star fruit, smoothly striped watermelon, hulking coconuts, and small hairy rambutans provide optical pleasures aplenty.

To celebrate the fruitery of Saigon, Saigoneer decided to take a photo journey to some hot-spot fruit destinations, in addition to checking out fruit purveyors around our office in District 1.

Let's begin with chợ cũ. Although there have been plans to demolish the Old Market since 2017, it is still present, with pyramids of oranges, watermelons, dragonfruits, apples, rambutans, custard apples, mangos, and lychees making a strong case for variety being the spice of life.

Presentations of cherry tomatoes, sweet potatoes, mangosteen, and the sweet, sour and fragrant tắc are colorful from their resting places in plastic baskets.

The fruit in Bình Thạnh District's Thị Nghè Market doesn't disappoint either, and fruit vendors make a good showing even before entering the market. Crossing Thị Nghè Bridge onto Phan Văn Hân you'll be greeted by large heaps of a much-loved, and equally derided, fruit whose bad rap can be traced back to colonial douchebaggery, the durian.

A little further up the street, stock up on oranges sold from a wire basket on the back of a motorbike. Slices of orange ornament the operation and give the buyer a glance of the hearty dose of juicy Vitamin-C hidden behind the peel.

Walking inside the market, feel yourself taken over by a wash of yellow and green as you glide past stalls that exclusively sell bananas, large green-peeled grapefruits, avocados, and young papayas and coconuts.

If you take a midday stroll through the market, you're likely to find yourself immersed in the market-wide nap time, as many sellers take a snooze in hammocks hung inside their booths.

The fruit scene around District 1

Checking out the fruit scene around our office, we first headed to get some orange juice.

It has been a few months since Nguyễn Thuý Nhật and her brother started a small stall on the corner of Pasteur and Nguyễn Du streets, in front of a 7-Eleven. Every morning, Nhật’s husband brings in a fresh delivery of fruit from a market in Thủ Đức, which she and her brother then transform into a variety of fruity drinks such as orange juice, kumquat tea, or trà tắc, iced tamarind, as well as having fresh coconuts ready for the drinking.

These beverages are especially appreciated when the scorching Saigon sun is beating down on pedestrians and motorbikers, but the recent rainy season has brought on a bit of a lull to Nhật's business. Luckily, she tells us, coconuts and oranges are good year-round, so she is not usually concerned with whether or not her fruits are in season.

Nhật’s establishment is a nice quaint little spot to rest and share a cold drink with friends, or to order some juices and fruit to go. Although a bit shy, it was lovely to have a chat with Nhật and see her pose proudly with her fruits.

Right outside the entrance to Hẻm 158 Pasteur, you can find Phạm Ngọc Diễm’s fruit stall, selling fresh goods, as well as boiled green bananas, sourced from the Mekong Delta. She has been in the business of selling plastic packages of sliced fruits for five years. From her experience, while those in the countryside may decide what fruit to get based on the season, in Saigon, fruits are sold and eaten depending on one’s whims, resulting in no particular type being especially favored by vendors at different times of year.

Personally, however, Diễm’s favorite fruit is mango. Her products come from a market near Ông Lãnh Bridge — or as she calls it, Cầu Muối Market — Salt Bridge Market. The name “Salt Bridge" refers to a long-gone site which dates back to the Nguyễn Dynasty, when Nguyễn Thái Học Street was still a canal. During this time, boats transporting salt from Phan Thiết and Bạc Liêu would dock at this bridge, hence its name.

Diễm is friendly with our gang of fruit enthusiasts, giving us business cards and joking that she will charge to have her picture taken.

Next, we headed up Nguyễn Du towards the Saigon Central Post Office.

We discovered a veteran vendor with an impressive 24 years of experience selling Vinh Long-sourced grapefruits. She sets up shop in front of a mural of a large blue elephant, which makes a great backdrop for her business.

Due to concerns about her stall being shut down, she decided to remain anonymous, but still happily answered our inquiries. According to her experience, summer is the best season for grapefruits. A lot of fruits come into season starting around June; for grapefruit particularly, August is the best time.

Although we found that, for the most part, each shopkeepers' favorite fruits were their main products, our anonymous grapefruit aficionado prefers bananas, because other fruits contain a lot of pesticides. Also, having sold grapefruit for so long, she finds herself quite sick of them.

Heading further up Nguyễn Du, with a view of Notre Dame Cathedral, we meet Phạm Thị Luyến. She boasts a wide variety of fruits, including avocados, nectarines and oranges, among others.

Her fruits originated in the Mekong Delta and made their way to a market in Thủ Đức before ending up in her baskets. Luyến told us that she had been selling fruits for three years, and suggested we buy some of her favorite fruits, nectarines and avocados, which we did.

Whether it's from the nearest fruit seller, or from the bevy of fruits sold in markets, make sure not to miss out on the fruityness of Saigon for your daily dose of nutrients, fiber, minerals, or to satisfy your sweet tooth. You could go for a cup of strawberries blended into an icy baby-pink sinh tố dâu, a crunchy munch of green mango dipped in spicy salt, an uncomplicated peeled banana or simply enjoy catching a luxurious whiff of durian on the breeze.

Fruity, Creamy, Icy: A Bingsu Corner in D7 for Those With a Sweet Tooth

2023-05-12T13:00:00+07:00

As summer draws closer, bringing with it a sweltering sun and drenched T-shirts, one's mind can't help but drift to the incomparable delight of a snowy treat that can ward off the season's heat.

Since mastering fine motor skills, people living in different cultures have found creative ways to carve up and transform ice into their ideal summertime snack. For Koreans, this comes in the form of a snowy sorbet whose origin dated all the way back to the 1300s. Tasked with looking after the royal ice box, government officials with a sweet tooth from the Joseon era would crush up ice into granular mounts, sprinkle fruits up top, and enjoy the refreshment with fellow court colleagues.

As the country's history takes shape, bingsu also evolves to offer more variety and complexity. Frozen cream and milk began to be used alongside ice as the base, while red bean paste and rice cake were introduced as a garnish, quickly becoming what is considered the “OG” bingsu fixture. Though this classic recipe remains a country's favorite, in recent decades, bingsu flavor assortments have become increasingly expansive to accommodate modern tastes, ranging from beans and honey to cornflakes and boba jelly.

Situated in the heart of D7's Phú Mỹ Hưng, Seol Hwa Bingsu offers both traditional and contemporary takes on the dish. As shared by the owner, a serving is made by pouring fresh milk into a quick-freezing machine, adding a copious amount of sauce and garnish of choice, and wrapping everything in sugary hug of condensed milk. The result is a delightful affogato-meet-đá bào mixture with a creamy and refreshing taste. One can also order cheesecake crumbs for the extra saccharine touch.

But just like many other good things in life, bingsu's beauty is fleeting and the ice melts as fast as how the joy of summer flies by. So for a perfectly idle midsummer noon, grab a friend, share a mango or strawberry bingsu, and take advantage of Seol Hwa's shopfront seating to immerse yourself in the immaculate atmosphere of Saigon's Koreatown.

Seol Hwa Bingsu

Sky Garden 1, Phạm Văn Nghị, Tân Phong Ward, D7, HCMC

For the Love of Our Cooling, Affordable and Ubiquitous Trà Đá

2023-05-12T10:00:00+07:00

In Saigon, trà đá vendors don’t exist, simply because every single eatery is in itself a trà đá vendor.

If cà phê sữa đá is an indispensable component of a lazy morning in Saigon, the city’s trà đá pitchers are emblematic of the sheer pleasure of eating. Southern Vietnam’s sweltering climate makes it impossible at times to enjoy meals without something cool to wash down the food. Thus glasses of amber-color iced tea come to the rescue.

Vietnam's food and beverage sector is worth millions, and we’re talking dollars, not Vietnam dong. Yet, I dare say that not one brand of bottled drink could replace the ubiquity and affordability of trà đá in food vendors all over the country. Iced tea goes great with anything: a hearty bowl of phở, plates of cơm trưa with braised pork and omelette, or even seafood skewers during a night outing.

It all started decades ago during the French occupation of Vietnam, when the very first tea cultivation research institutes were established in Phú Hộ in Phú Thọ Province, Bảo Lộc in Lâm Đồng Province, and Pleiku in Gia Lai Province. The French also built a tea production factory and a tea nursery with some 27 different varieties in the plantation in Phú Hộ.

By 1945, Vietnam boasted more than 13,585 hectares of tea fields all over the country with a yearly yield of 6,000 tons of dried tea, black tea, green tea, and scented tea. Despite the effects of the subsequent wars, over the next two decades local tea production increased to 35,000 tons, 13,000 of which were exported. Plantation space grew to 65,000 hectares in total.

Today, Vietnam is one of the world’s top tea exporters. By the end of 2016, the country shipped 118,000 tons, worth US$197 million.

Trà đá is an affordable beverage for endless street chatters. Illustration by Hannah Hoàng.

Up until the early 2000s, trà đá has generally been more popular in southern localities. Hanoians might be seen enjoying an occassional glass of iced tea, but the capital’s older generations have always been more taken with the classier ritual of brewing hot tea. My dad didn’t hail from Hanoi, but his family has roots in northern Vietnam, so he was the most finicky tea-drinker I’ve ever known.

As a self-proclaimed green tea connoisseur, he liked his tea concentrated and bitter. “It’s not proper tea if it’s watered down and not bitter,” he used to say, with a tinge of disdain coloring the way he enunciated “watered down.” Eternally loyal to hot tea, he didn’t particularly care for trà đá and don’t even mention milk tea in front of the man.

It’s easy to see why tea snobs like my dad look down on Saigon’s trà đá: the recipe is literally watered down cheap tea. Brew a pitcher of green jasmine tea and then add in as much water as one’s heart desires, as long as the liquid still retains that light amber hue. The product is a fresh, cooling beverage that’s closer to water than to tea — tea-flavored iced water, if you will.

Old Hanoians prefer sipping on hot tea instead of trà đá. Photo via Zing.

Before 1975, trà đá was still a relatively peculiar concept among Hanoians. Scarcity of refrigeration devices had something to do with it, as well as general unfamiliarity with the concept. But within a few years, Saigon’s favorite drink started to migrate northward as officials made more trips to the country’s southern region.

After visiting Saigon, they brought back home loads of new things: bicycles, radios, and most importantly, fridges. Even then, only families in Hanoi could afford to use these giant ice boxes as some peripheral provinces weren’t connected to the national electrical grid.

Most of Vietnam’s refrigerators at the time were second-hand imports from Japan such as Sanyo or Hitachi, which were mainly used to make ice instead of their common function. At a time when households had to live on state-issued coupons, fridges were rather redundant because there weren't any leftovers to be refrigerated.

By the logic, Hanoi’s beverage vendors stood to benefit the most from refrigeration as they could purchase ice blocks for cheap from families with a fridge to up their tea game. Hanoi’s regional term for tea is “chè,” but saying “chè đá” is confusing as “chè” is also the national word for sweet desserts. Eventually, trà đá became the prevailing term for Vietnam’s most accessible drink.

A free public trà đá cooler on Saigon street. Photo via Bao Moi.

In his essay “Trà đá và cuộc ‘chinh phạt’ đồ uống Sài Gòn,” poet Nguyễn Quang Thiều wrote about his experience being in Saigon for the first time in 1979.

It was a fascinating and really thrilling trip. In a dusty passenger car filled with noises, the stench of sweat and cargo, I was the lucky one who got a seat by the window. Then, I could feast my eyes on the landscapes of our country that I only saw for the first time. On the train platform, I was attracted to southern dishes with their elaborate arrangement and vivid colors. However, there was one thing that took me by surprise. Upon tasting it — especially when you’re journeying on a crammed, stuffy train cabin — all signs of fatigue seemed to disappear: trà đá.

Nowadays, the distinction between trà đá in the two regions of the country has largely been blurred. Trà đá has entered Hanoi’s youth culture in the form of glasses of lime iced tea enjoyed at hangout sessions around the capital’s landmarks like Hoàn Kiếm Lake or the St. Joseph’s Cathedral. Whether these drinks actually contain lime or tea is a different story, but that's a conversation to have later.

While Saigon’s beverage scene has seen an invasion of Taiwanese milk tea parlors, if you take a close enough look, glasses of cool iced tea are still being doled out constantly at cơm tấm stalls, beside hủ tiếu carts or even on the pavements on a daily basis.

Over time, this extremely easy to drink and easy to make beverage has also taken on another role in Saigon as a free beverage, thanks to the altruistic spirit of local Samaritans. In every corner of the city, one might be able to spot a free iced tea dispenser on the street, cool and ready for everyone to quench their thirst on a sweltering Saigon day.

Nem Cuốn Is the Refreshing Rolls We Need in Saigon’s Sweltering Summers

2023-05-12T09:00:00+07:00

Even during the summer, when the sun bares its teeth and snarls at passing clouds, one must eat. But lugging a belly stuffed with hot, heavy soup, rice and meat through days devoid of shade sounds horrible. So I often settle for lighter fare. Fruit, salads, cold noodles. One of my favorite items for supplying nutrients without overburdening the little thermal factory that is my metabolism is rice paper rolls.

Filled with fresh vegetables and served at room temperature, they seem so suited for the season that they are sometimes referred to as “summer rolls” on English-language menus to differentiate them from their deep-fried “spring roll” brethren. Within this category, gỏi cuốn is certainly the most common variety found in Saigon, but the pork belly that they contain isn’t to my liking (I know, I know, save your hate mail), which has led me to seek out alternatives.

Nem cuốn ditches the pork and shrimp for hard-boiled eggs, and sometimes crispy bits of rice cracker are sprinkled in, adding a thrilling texture element to the entire affair. The dish’s namesake nem contributes a pleasant saltiness that seems appropriate for sunny days when every grain of salt in one’s body attempts an escape via one’s sweat glands.

I recently visited Phan Rang Quán in District 7 for a rather indulgent meal of bánh xèo and bánh khọt. Those dishes were good, but what stuck out was the nem cuốn. Each roll is ample without being heavy and balances its contained elements exceedingly well. I was compelled to order what is arguably an appetizer or side dish as a full meal a few days later thanks to the dipping sauce.

Instead of routine nước mắm ngọt or tương đen like in Saigon, Central Vietnam often serves its myriad rolls with a rich peanut sauce. When slathered on the nem cuốn, the umami-succulent concoction makes them hearty enough to be a meal. They are a bit pricey (VND25,000 per roll of 2–3 rolls per serving), but make for a scrumptious lunch that won’t slow you down during the sweltering afternoon ahead.

Phan Rang Quán

091 529 19 29

399 Lê Văn Lương, Tân Phong Ward, D7, HCMC