Saigon Hẻm Gems - Saigoneer

Hẻm Gems: Sip on Mugwort Lattes, Make Ceramics, and Unwind at Haru Cottage

2024-05-03T14:00:00+07:00

“I’m basically Demi Moore from Ghost,” this intrusive thought plagued my mind occasionally during our visit to Haru Cottage to participate in the cafe’s ceramic class.

The sensuous, supernatural romcom was the highest-grossing film of 1990 and single-handedly catapulted pottery wheels into one of the hottest intimacy devices of the 1990s. Moore plays a ceramist and the romantic scene involving her, a shirtless Patrick Swayze, and a spinning wet vase is forever entrenched as the most memorable pottery sequence in cinematic history.

Haru Cottage's outdoor studio space.

Our class at Haru Cottage didn’t feature any pottery wheel, took place to the soundtrack of soft Korean indie tunes instead of ‘Unchained Melody,’ and taught us to make adorable clay brooches in lieu of phallic vases. I’ve come to realize that there’s an inherent intimacy to pottery that might elude other art forms. Of course, with the right person and chemistry, one could seek to replicate the kind of sensual experience à la Demi and Patrick, but even working on cutesy things with friends can afford us a sense of quiet intimacy that can only come from being in touch, quite literally, with art.

Based in a modernist house in Bình Thạnh, the cafe focuses on a rustic vibe.

Opened just a few months ago before the rainy season, Haru Cottage is the newest location from the team behind Haru Cafe, the charming cafe nestled inside the old apartment at 14 Tôn Thất Đạm. Cottage checks all the boxes that have endeared us to Haru Cafe — i.e. coziness, good drinks, and a fluffy ginger cat — and expands into providing on-site pottery sessions that one can attend while sipping on their favorite drinks. Despite the name, the cafe is not based in a cottage on a meadow somewhere, but a sleepy modernist house deep inside a hẻm in Bình Thạnh. It does, however, embody the calming spirits and easy-going personalities of a rustic house in the countryside.

Haru Cottage is awash in shades of green. A pastel mugwort-colored gate welcomes visitors into its front yard, where a spacious table and a shelf full of ceramic knick-knacks await in the Cottage’s open-air studio space. There’s an indoor studio room for those who want to hide from the summer heat as well. Just a few steps more from the gate, one is greeted by the front door, tinted in bright green and casting an emerald hue onto the interior. And of course, plant pots dot the many tables and shelves across the dining area. If you’re lucky, you might be graced with a few playful meows and zoomies from Cottage’s resident cat, a recently adopted creamsicle gremlin named Gona — after Dalgona, the famous Korean candy and now foamy coffee drink.

Kim Ha-kyung, nicknamed Haru, studied Ceramics in college before moving to Saigon with her family. She first rented a small space in District 7 to make art.

While the ceramic studio might seem like a new amenity for some customers, for Haru, the South Korean founder of the place, it was the first spark that brought everything into motion. Haru is the nickname of Kim Ha-kyung, the creator of Haru Cafe and main artist behind most of the place’s ceramic products. She gave herself the name, meaning “one day” in Korean, as a simple word so everybody from Japanese to Vietnamese can pronounce it.

When Haru first moved to Saigon, she worked as a graphic designer for a Korean cosmetic brand. As a ceramics major in college, she has always been passionate about the creative world, especially drawing and making pottery. So, following her mom’s suggestion, Haru rented a location in District 7 to establish a small studio as a sanctuary for herself to create art. To her complete surprise, the presence of the studio caught the eyes of a few young Saigoneers who visited the place and offered to help around, and even a South Korean art teacher who wanted to collaborate with Haru to organize ceramic classes.

At Haru Cottage, one can relish their beverages alongside a friend, a good book, or even during a session at the studio making their own ceramic tchotchkes.

The cafe element would come into the picture later, as a space for more local customers to use and enjoy handmade ceramic products, from mugs to tiny little spoons. Patrons can pick a favorite mug to go with their drink of choice, from the cafe’s range of classics like cà phê sữa or a Haru signature like apple cinnamon tea. Apple slices are simmered in a sugar syrup with cinnamon, to be enjoyed with black tea or soda for a glimpse of Korean autumn. Another unique flavor at Haru’s is the vegetal taste of mugwort (ngải cứu), a herb that northern Vietnamese and Korean cuisines share. If Hanoians are fond of fresh mugwort in their omelets, Koreans powderize the leaves and use it in desserts the way one would employ matcha. The cafe integrates mugwort powder in a fluffy cream on lattes to create an unfamiliar but surprisingly pleasant drink.

Latte with mugwort cream is a signature drink.

At Haru Cottage, one can relish their beverages alongside a friend, a good book, or even during a session at the studio making their own ceramic tchotchkes. The most affordable and easier class for absolute beginners like me entails the making of five clay brooches, so that was exactly what we did. From a small ball of wet clay that fits perfectly in the palm of my hand, I managed to sketch, roll out, shape, and paint a watermelon slice, a pig, a cat, an avocado, and a bum gun into existence. As my Saigoneer colleagues and I hulked over our own little clay brooches, I felt the coolness or the wet clay seep into my fingertips, soothing my mental state and reminding me of the importance of touch in the human experience.

The indoor ceramic studio.

This revelatory connection with tactile art was probably what Haru felt too when she first encountered clay. “When I was young, I really loved to draw, so I wanted to be a fine artist, like a painter,” she recalled. Fine art, however, was too competitive a university program for her when it came time to enroll. “My mom wanted me to have a passion for ceramics, so she let me try out for one month in a ceramic studio. I was really stressed, but I went there, made ceramics and felt really relaxed, so I changed my mind. I realized later that it’s a really good match for me.”

My brooches slowly taking shape and colors.

Sitting at Haru Cottage amidst the energetic cat, cordial murmurs and the occasional hum of beverage machines, it’s obvious that fondness for drawing is still very much alive. Many sketches and paintings on the walls, and even the quirky menu, were created by the owner herself. There’s also a dedicated space upstairs equipped with paper sheets and crayons for guests to try their hands at a little art therapy. Overall, that sense of coziness often found in Korean coffee shops is present across the drinks, activities, and decorations of Haru as well. It’s a little ironic that for such a stressful society, Korean-style cafes are often known abroad for being adorable little… cottages. Perhaps it’s to make up for the cutthroat pace of life and unnerving societal expectations out there.

Desserts and snacks are also available, such that this portion of mayak toast (egg and bacon).

It was precisely these aspects of living in urban South Korea that Haru couldn’t adapt to due to her family history of living abroad from a young age. Her father is in the clothing manufacturing sector, so when she was a little girl, the family moved to Qingdao, China where the factories were. For 10 years, she studied at Chinese schools in huge classes with 70 students and two Korean nationals. Her parents later resettled in Saigon, and she joined them after graduating from college.

To Haru, the owner, opening a ceramic studio in Saigon is a happy development in her life.

“Seoul is not easy, that’s why I think I want to live with my family, that’s why I wanted to move to Saigon,” Haru explained to me. “In Korea, there are many guidelines, you have to do that, you have to wear that — I’m not good at that. Living in Seoul is very stressful, you wake up early, go to the subway, go to work. Qingdao is like Saigon. I really enjoy living here.”

Two weeks after our session at Haru Cottage, just as I was starting to forget about them, my clay brooches arrived in a paper bag, all sturdily baked and covered in a shiny glaze. They are imperfect and might not compare to whatever Demi Moore was making as foreplay with Patrick Swayze in ‘Ghost,’ but they serve as the perfect reminder of a time in my life when the stillness and intimacy of quiet moments triumphed over the weights of living.

Haru Cottage is open from 9am to 10pm. Ceramic classes need to be booked in advance.

This featured article was originally published in 2023.

To sum up:

Taste: 5/5
Price: 4/5
Atmosphere: 5/5
Friendliness: 5/5
Location: 3/5

Khôi loves tamarind, is a raging millennial and will write for food.

Haru Cottage

15/10 Nguyễn Huy Tưởng, Ward 6, Bình Thạnh District, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: At D7's Tía Tô, Home-Cooked Korean Comfort Food for the World-Weary

2024-04-25T10:00:00+07:00

Growing up in South Korea's extremely competitive and high-stress education system, combined with strict Asian parenting, my relationship with my parents has never been easy.

Like a lot of children with similar backgrounds, I couldn’t help but ask myself constantly whether I was worthy of my parents’ love, and pushed myself to meet their standards of a perfect daughter. My relationship with my mom was especially challenging, as she was more involved in my education and daily life. One thing that has never changed in our complicated relationship, however, is my mom’s endless effort to keep me healthy. Coming up with carefully thought-out, nutritious homemade meals and lunchboxes was her way of showing her unconditional support and love for me.

Among her staples are a soup and side dish using shiraegi (시래기), dried radish greens. Shiraegi is known to be low in calories, high in fiber and also filled with calcium, vitamin A and vitamin C. My mom appreciated these qualities as she wanted me to have enough energy to study hard all day, but was also worried that I would gain weight from sitting for hours on end.

Quirky posters on the wall of the dining area.

In the past, people ate shiraegi during times of struggle, especially in the winter when few fresh vegetables were available. As shiraegi was easy to find and could be stored for a long time, it was an obvious go-to ingredient. Modern-day Korea has a comparative abundance of fresh ingredients so shiraegi is less often stored at homes for trying times. Still, the humble vegetable has recently gotten more and more recognition as people find out about its high nutrition values and health benefits.

Left: A dolsot rice bowl with chwinamul leaves. Right: Perilla seeds shiraegi soup.

Because it’s such a niche Korean dish, I was very surprised to find Perilla Seeds Shiraegi, a shiraegi-dedicated restaurant here in Saigon. Located in the heart of District 7, during lunchtime the restaurant is usually packed with customers. The majority of them are Korean, though there are Vietnamese patrons here and there.

The menu is quite expansive, from shiraegi specialties to other Korean traditional dishes as well. Normally, I have a hard time putting my trust fully in restaurants with a wide variety of dishes, as most of them end up being rather mediocre, but here I could see a lot of effort and consideration in the selection and preparation of their food, as they show consistency in the theme of slow-cooked, healthy fare.

The variety of fruits and vegetables undergoing traditional processing techniques to give the food its special flavor.

The perilla seeds shiraegi soup, one of their specialties, is served in a boiling-hot bowl, full of soybean paste and perilla seeds aroma, together with a bowl of rice. This is not surprising for a Korean restaurant, but the special thing about their rice is that every bowl arrives in a dolsot (돌솥), or hot stone pot. To people who are unfamiliar with the concept, dolsot is a sizzling stone pot for hot rice dishes to keep them warm while serving and throughout the meal.

Besides this advantage, there is another beauty to having rice served in a dolsot: on the bottom of the bowl, a thin crust of scorched rice will form after a while. This golden layer of crunchy rice is a crucial part of sungnyung (숭늉), a traditional after-meal infusion made by pouring hot water or tea into crispy rice. The result is a "porridge" to be savored as a special treat at the end of the meal.

Fresh and colorful plates of banchan.

As soon as we ordered, the waiter brought out a banquet of of banchan — complimentary side dishes that are served with the main dish in Korean meals — which were very nicely coordinated, complementing one another nicely in both taste and colors. The traditional brassware adds to the neat and traditional ambiance. All of Perilla's banchan dishes are pretty impressive, but the sauce in the dubujorim (braised tofu) and bibimguksu (spicy mixed noodles) is extraordinary.

It's clear to me that the dishes aren’t readily made in large scale, but more of something my grandma would handpick and cook for family dinners. After our meal, I talked to Perilla Seeds Shiraegi's owner, Mr. Kang, and discovered that the mysterious jars decorating the staircase are the secret to this hearty feeling.

According to him, his utmost priority in running the restaurant is to recreate wholesome, home-cooked meals that many modern-day urban dwellers lack in their life. Therefore, he experimented with a lot of natural ingredients to substitute processed spices and refined sugar. He uses a variety of different fruits and vegetables to make an organic enzyme sauce that creates a sweet flavor in a healthier way. Besides, when he moved to Vietnam, he realized that local ingredients like passion fruit, bananas, oranges and red peppers work really well with Korean flavors; and has since made them staples in his cooking.

Left: A set of samgyupsal. Right: Grilled Spanish mackerel.

As we were gawking over the variety and abundance of banchan (you can even ask for more if you want), the main dishes arrived: perilla seeds shiraegi soup, a samgyupsal set (stir fried pork belly), and grilled mackerel. The signature soup did not let me down, as it tasted surprisingly similar to how my mom used to make it, flavorful and wholesome. A word of caution though: to people not used to this type of healthy cooking, the soup could taste a bit bland and flat. It takes time to get used to this flavor and develop a palate sensitive enough to appreciate its deep aroma.

The samgyupsal set is a classic K-BBQ plate, albeit somewhat more neat and healthier than those you get elsewhere. The dish is put together delicately with bean sprouts, mushrooms and pineapple pieces. The accompanying items include green lettuce leaves and ssamjang (seasoned soybean paste) for ssams, a leaf wrap with meat pieces and vegetables.

Last but not least, the grilled samchi (Spanish mackerel) dish is a new addition to the menu. It's subtly seasoned, not too subtle to go unnoticed, but not too strong to overshadow the natural flavors of the grilled fish. Again I was surprised by how similar it is to the meals my mom used to cook for me.

At the end of the meal, diners are given portions of sujeonggwa — cold cinnamon punch — as dessert.

As more and more Korean people and businesses make their way into Vietnam, it’s getting increasingly easier to get Korean food, desserts, or services in Saigon that were previously thought to be available only in Korea. A lot of them are very well-managed and efficiently organized, almost like well-functioning wheels in a factory, making Korean people’s lives here incredibly convenient.

To me, however, one thing that’s extremely hard to replicate in such a well-organized system is the sense of home, the warm feeling of family — the kind of feeling that only a meal cooked at home with warm intention would be able to deliver. This hẻm gem was established with the aim to recreate that essence.

All told, the food objectively tastes great to me, but my experience at this restaurant also has a deeper layer than that: something more personal and emotional, evoking my own memories of visiting my grandma’s house on a weekend with my mom, watching them cook things without any rush while listening to the stories behind the preparation of each dish, their minds filled with thoughts on how to serve the heartiest, most nutritious meals to loved ones.

Being there in my grandma's kitchen, it was the only time my mom and I could put aside concerns about my academic performance to just bond solely and deeply as mother and daughter through the medium of food. “Watch and learn,” she would say with a mischievous smile. “It’s going to take a lot to raise a daughter like you.”

This Hẻm Gems was originally published in 2020.

To sum up:

Taste: 5/5
Price: 4/5 — Very reasonably priced compared to other Korean eateries, but might be on the expensive side for some.
Atmosphere: 4.5/5
Friendliness: 5/5
Location: 5/5

Jae’s soul feeds on coconuts; she will dance her heart out after being fed the right type of food.

Tía Tô / Perilla / 들깨시래기

161 Tôn Dật Tiên, Tân Phong Ward, D7

Hẻm Gems: Tokyo Moon Cafe Introduces Homey Korean Flavors to Japan Town

2024-04-24T15:00:00+07:00

Stepping into Tokyo Moon is like venturing into a world of wonders, neatly packed within a mere 35-square-meter space.

Tucked inside Saigon’s Japan Town on Lê Thánh Tôn Street, Tokyo Moon is run by an older Korean couple who has been serving tea and sweet treats for more than six years. The cozy cafe has been a time-honored Saigoneer favorite ever since we featured it back in 2018. About a year ago, a new Tokyo Moon location opened nearby, so we decided to go and check it out.

Tokyo Moon II is unfortunately closed.

Unfortunately, upon arriving at the new location, we found out that it had closed, seemingly permanently. We lingered there awkwardly for a while and captured some snapshots of the shop’s elegant pastel-pink facade. Then, we took a short walk to the original Tokyo Moon in the maze of alleys on Thái Văn Lung to see if it too had closed. Luckily, the OG cafe is open.

The tiny corner of Tokyo Moon in Japan Town.

Once inside, I immediately felt the snug and cozy atmosphere for which Tokyo Moon is renowned. Our group of three was just enough to occupy the largest table in the shop. Classical music was playing in the background, and from time to time, the owners would let out the common Korean expression “Uwaaa!” in delight whenever familiar Korean patrons entered the store.

Our drinks came with mismatched cutleries and glasses.

We picked an array of options from the menu, mostly tea-based beverages. After a brief wait, our order arrived. Alongside our drink was an additional ginger tea presented in an odd-looking ceramic teapot that piqued my curiosity. A Google Search informed me that the unique vessle was a “Yokode kyusu” teapot. The Japanese teapot with a distinctive cylinder-shaped handle is quite different from the usual pots I've seen.

The ssanghwacha comes with an egg yolk.

According to one of the owners, Madame Moon, the Tokyo Moon tea was steeped with various Chinese herbal medicines. The brew had a brownish hue, with tiny jujube slices and pumpkin seeds sprinkled on top. As I slowly sipped the hot tea, a warm, lightly sweet, gingery taste lingered in my throat — a comfortable feeling indeed. The cup of Tokyo Moon tea also came with a small spoon to scoop up the garnishes and have a nibble.

I also chose to try yulmucha, mainly because of its name. A type of Korean tea made from powdered adlay millets (hạt ý dĩ in Vietnamese), yulmucha fit well in Tokyo Moon’s roster of healthy beverages. What surprised me about this drink was that, while originating in Korea, yulmucha felt so familiar. As soon as the cup was brought to my table, the tea’s aroma reminded me of the of the instant nutritious cereals I used to have as a kid. After having a taste, I realized that the liquid had a thicker consistency than a regular drink; its nutty flavor and creamy texture reminded me of chè mè đen. The inclusion of jujube slices and pumpkin seeds meant this tea could be both a drink and a warm, light snack for the afternoon.

Knick-knacks and keepsakes fill the space at Tokyo Moon.

But tingling your taste buds with healthy tea beverages is not all that there is at Tokyo Moon, because you can also immerse in the cafe’s vivid decorations. We sat beside a wall-mounted shelf full of books, vintage film cameras, ceramic figurines of kittens, etc. Even on our table, there was a tray that contained colorful chocolate candies, and a notebook with the owners’ handwritten menu and adorable pencil sketches.

Mr. and Mrs. Moon behind the counter.

“Many of the decorations here are gifts from our customers, even things like the coasters and cups are handmade by the customers too,” Madame Moon shares with us. When we first walked into the cafe, we were greeted with a wall full of polaroids of the shop’s past visitors, and it seems like one of the factors that make this place look so charming is you get to see small traces of patrons who had enjoyed their stay in Tokyo Moon through the years.

The wall of Poraloid shots preserving generations of customer visits.

Other than the perceivable things that adorn the cafe, the sounds also contributed to the soothing atmosphere at Tokyo Moon. The playlist is handpicked by Mr. and Mrs. Moon, and their preference for classical music is because “back then, Mr. Moon’s dream was being a maestro in an orchestra.”

Due to the small space, Tokyo Moon discourages laptop use and limits visits to 1.5 hours.

Madame Moon let us in on some of their plans for the future, telling us they recently opened a new cafe in South Korea. And just like how Tokyo Moon was named in honor of their family name and Mr. Moon’s Japanese roots, they combined personal identities to come up with the name Ssanghwacha & Cafe Saigon. They are hoping to introduce some Vietnamese beverages to South Koreans, “something like ‘cà phê muối’ for example,” Madame Moon explained of the planned menu. We also got an explanation behind why the new Tokyo Moon was permanently closed: it was simply too overwhelming for the couple to run three cafes at the same time.

Many decorations here were gifts from past patrons.

Before going to Tokyo Moon, I came across an online review commenting that Tokyo Moon carries a very Studio Ghibli vibe, and I wholeheartedly agree. Enjoying a cup of tea in the middle of many whimsical, appealing decorations and velvety classical music makes it a calm and relaxing space to forget about the worries of the world for a few hours, just like watching a Studio Ghibli film. I got so lost in the atmosphere that when was time to leave, I forgot to take my bag with me. Luckily, Madame Moon was quick to notice and brought it to me when I was about to hop on my bike. It was a small but funny moment to cap off a day full of good tea, charming sights and memorable interactions.

Tokyo Moon opens from 10am to 10pm every day.

To sum up:

Taste: 5/5
Price: 3.5/5
Atmosphere: 5/5
Friendliness: 5/5
Location: 5/5

Tokyo Moon

8A/1C2 Thái Văn Lung, Bến Nghé Ward, D1, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: Flan by the Canal, a Cute, Affordable Date in the Age of Inflation

2024-04-05T12:00:00+07:00

Skip the formal attire, a bit of loose change is all you need for a waterfront rendezvous in Saigon.

Photo by Alberto Prieto. Graphic by Tiên Ngô.

Bánh flan Thái Thủy is not made to be a typical dating spot. It's not listed on any guide for couples or featured in romantic roundups. If you happen to stroll by, it might not catch your eye; its facade can pass for any of the myriads of street food stalls across Saigon. But should you come by yourself and experience it firsthand, you'll realize that this little place has all the ingredients for a perfect date.

Ingredient No. 1: A prime location

Nestled on the curvy sidewalk of Hoàng Sa Street, Thái Thủy offers simplicity at its finest. Its humble setup includes a few plastic seats and a stainless-steel cart, yet it boasts a pristine view of the verdant Thị Nghè Canal. Wherever you sit, you're treated to vibrant green grass and the constant flow of traffic under the canopies of golden oak and plumeria trees.

Ingredient No. 2: Inflation-proof desserts

The menu is concise, with just four options that the owners have perfected over 14 years — flan, longan jelly, cheese-filled coconut jelly, and flan-filled coconut jelly. Each dish is freshly made daily by Thái, the owner, and his wife, Thủy, starting from 9am.

This humble setup has been the family's main livelihood ever since this neighborhood was a working-class area, before the canal renovation project. Originally a bike repairman, Thái learned the flan recipe from a friend and tinkered with it. “It was fate, you know. Hard to explain! Back then, no one sold snacks here, so I gave it a shot. Luckily, people supported it, and I've been selling ever since,” Thái explains.

Thái's flan stands out with its velvety texture, a perfect blend of creamy egg and a touch of bitter coffee to cut through the milk's sweetness. The jellies, with their firm bite and gentle sweetness, complemented by the light coconut milk, offer a refreshing respite from the tropical heat.

On sunny days, Thái can sell up to 1,000 servings, providing a steady income for his family despite the long hours. Grateful for the support of Saigon's flan lovers, Thái has kept his prices between VND7,000 and 8,000 over the years, even as expenses climb. “With fuel prices rising, everything gets more expensive. I trim my profits a bit to keep our quality consistent,” he says with a smile.

Ingredient No. 3: Free whimsy

Though the stall opens late, the best time for a date is between 5 and 6pm when the golden-hour sun wraps everything in a beautiful yellow glow.

From your seat, you can see pastel pink, orange, and purple hues dance across the expansive sky as dusk falls. It's the perfect backdrop for a film photo, a deep conversation, or simply holding hands and appreciating nature's free poetry.

The ever-moving scene of city life also offers its own delights. Watch adorable dogs strut as if on a catwalk (or should we say, dogwalk?); guess the songs blaring from the speakers of middle-aged women doing aerobics; or play silly counting games: red bikes vs. blue bikes, Grab vs. Gojek, people walking against the flow vs. people walking with it. The loser pays for the flan, but the winner? They get to enjoy the best desserts, witness the most beautiful sunset, and indulge in the silliest games next to their favorite person.

Bánh flan Thái Thủy is open from 4pm to 9pm.

To sum up:

Taste: 4/5
Price: 4/5
Atmosphere: 5/5
Friendliness: 5/5
Location: 5/5

Bánh flan Thái Thủy

893 Hoàng Sa, Ward 11, D3, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: In a D3 Hẻm, 40 Years of Bún Ốc and Other Northern Treats

2024-03-21T15:00:00+07:00

As a resident of Saigon, I’m well-acquainted with the city's vibrant food scene, which features cuisines from various regions of Vietnam, and how these dishes blend local recipes with flavors that resonate with Saigon locals. But Bún Ốc Thanh Hải is quite the opposite. Its dishes, snacks, drinks, and even atmosphere carry a distinct northern identity, so much so that upon visiting the place, I felt as if I was on a culinary adventure within my own city.

The eatery is located inside the alleys off the Nhiêu Lộc Canal in District 3. It’s quite easy to find; just wander through the narrow lanes between Trường Sa, Trần Quốc Thảo, and Kỳ Đồng streets, and the small roads will lead you into a spacious oasis, where Bún Ốc Thanh Hải awaits.

Thanh Hải moved from the Kỳ Đồng pavements into an alley years ago due to tightening rules.

I arrived at Thanh Hải during lunchtime. The scene was lively with sounds of customers chatting while enjoying their noodles, and the clinking of utensils coming from the kitchen. A waitress guided me to my seat and promptly took my order. Surprisingly, only a minute later, a hot bowl of bún ốc riêu cua was already placed on my table.

Seafood essence in a bowl.

“You should try putting some mắm tôm into it,” she told me right after serving my meal. While I rarely add shrimp paste into my food, afraid that my breath will inherit its pungent aroma, the lady adds that “a little bit of the paste won’t hurt anyone.” Intrigued by her enthusiasm, I decided to give it a try. In turn, I got to have a quick chat with her to learn more about this place.

The interior of Thanh Hải is very typical of a storied street restaurant in Saigon.

Bún Ốc Thanh Hải is ran by a family from Thái Bình. They moved to Saigon and introduced their hometown dishes to the city locals in the 1980s. Back then, they operated a small food cart on Kỳ Đồng Street. However, as sidewalk regulations became stricter, they relocated further into the narrow alleys of Kỳ Đồng and eventually set up their establishment.

For more than 40 years, Thanh Hải is mostly known for their signature northern-style bún ốc in which the toppings consist of snails, crab paste, some slices of tomatoes and green onions. And of course, the addition of shrimp paste into the mix is also a part of this traditional style. “That’s how we do it in our hometown,” the waitress said to me.

Chewy chunks of snail and soft crab paste are the star toppings of bún riêu here.

After stirring up the broth to let the shrimp paste dissolve into it, I had my first taste of the broth and the noodle. At first, I don’t notice any clear difference. But much later on, when I was casually going through the dish, the broth started having a tangy flavor that was stronger than the regular bún ốc that I’ve tried in the past.

The main highlights of the bún ốc were its seafood toppings. The snails are sliced into small pieces, spotting a crunchy texture when chewed on. My portion had chunks of melt-in-your-mouth crab paste, and its sweet flavors really came out when combined with the broth.

A portion of bún riêu cua (left) and bún ốc riêu cua đặc biệt (right).

Aside from the signature dish,the menu features a variety of options ranging from main courses to side dishes. If you’re not in the mood for another bún riêu variant, there is northern-style bún ốc chuối đậu. Various snail-based side dishes like ốc bươu nhồi thịt, ốc xào chuối xanh are available for your chewing pleasure. The tangy taste of bún ốc broth mixed with shrimp paste might leave you feeling thirsty, and the place offers multiple types of refreshing drinks like apricot juice.

Bún ốc chuối đậu is among a handful of northern dishes on offer here too.

The spaciousness of the establishment gave me a chance to walk around and explore the place. Right at the entrance of the shop, a counter hosted an array of northern delicacies and snacks such as Thái Nguyên tea leaves, peanut brittle candy, and bánh cáy — it felt like a mini market filled with northern goodies.

Eating here, patrons can also brush up on their ethics lessons.

The distinctively northern setting and heaps of regional snacks at Bún Ốc Thanh Hải made me feel like a tourist, as it reminded me of the rest stops where my family and I would hang out during trips; the only difference is that the Thanh Hải “pit stop” is conveniently a three-minute drive away from my workplace.

A northern specialty corner in the middle of District 3.

Overall, my experience with Bún Ốc Thanh Hải was a delight. As I savored the flavors of their signature northern-style bún ốc riêu cua and couldn’t help but enjoy the lively and inviting atmosphere. I appreciate how the Thái Bình family gives me a taste of their hometown. Throughout my stay, the eatery welcomed throngs of patrons: some lingered at the local specialties counter, and some brought their whole families, casually chatting with the waitress like they’d known one another for a long time. It was as if Bún Ốc Thanh Hải could provide northern-born residents of Saigon a taste of their roots.

Bún Ốc Thanh Hải is open from 7am to 8:30pm.

To sum up:

Taste: 5/5
Price: 4/5
Atmosphere: 5/5
Friendliness: 5/5
Location: 5/5

Bún Ốc Thanh Hải

14/12 Kỳ Đồng, Ward 9, D3, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: While the Day Away Under the Green Canopy of Cỏ Cafe

2024-03-19T11:00:00+07:00

Under a thick canopy of verdant vines and minuscule pink flowers, it’s easy to indulge in the cooling comfort of a glass of iced tamarind juice and while the day away.

Nguyễn Hữu Cảnh Bridge connects two of Saigon’s most orderly riverbanks. On one side, tube houses of a sleepy Bình Thạnh neighborhood tower over the Nhiêu Lộc–Thị Nghè Canal; on the other side, luxuriant foliage fills the space as part of the Saigon Zoo. Standing on the pavement in front of Cỏ Café, one can make out the shape and the languid rotation of the zoo’s new Ferris wheel.

"Cỏ" means grass in Vietnamese, but there’s no grass to be found at the corner coffee shop. Instead, patrons are greeted with a blanket of willowy sử quân tử vines, growing thick and enveloping the entire café in the shade. I have never been as envious of anyone in Saigon as I was of the residents living in the vicinity of Cỏ Café.

Ward 19 of Bình Thạnh is a relatively new area: save for the set of apartment towers making up Chung Cư Phạm Việt Chánh, the rest of the streets used to be filled with single-room homes. Now, concrete multi-story service apartments, convenience stores and specialty Japanese restaurants make for an interesting mix of characters in the community. At a glance, Cỏ Café’s clientele seems eclectic — office workers getting their daily caffeine fix, shutterbugs cooing over the latest gear, and bespectacled freelancers typing furiously on their laptop.

The interior of the café is decidedly 90s both in its décor and unabashed penchant for the art of memory hoarding. Every corner of the space is filled with personal knick-knacks (ceramic elephants, homemade sculptures, even scrap wood), tattered books in various languages, and a slew of makeshift plant pots. I order a serving of kumquat lemongrass tea, a refreshing choice judging by the swirling heat deluging the street outside. Mind you, it feels cool and pleasant inside Cỏ Café thanks to ample fans, shade and the vines.

It becomes apparent to me that after an hour working in the space the owner is especially fond of lemongrass. The citrusy herb is in beverages as an infusion, in pots and vases positioned on various shelves as plant, and in bundles hung on the wall of the bathroom as natural deodorant. Not that I'm complaining, because the space smells fresh and well-ventilated, which is sometimes not the case for other Saigon coffee shops bearing the same vintage theme.

For the first hour or so of our stay, Cỏ Café plays Lisa Ono’s Latin bossa nova on repeat. So for the entire ride home, I have her jazzy rendition of ‘Bésame Mucho’ stuck in my head, a sweet reminder of time spent under the shade of vines watching traffic zoom past the Nguyễn Hữu Cảnh Bridge.

Cỏ Café is open from 7am to 10:30pm.

To sum up:

Taste: 3/5
Price: 5/5
Atmosphere: 5/5
Friendliness: 5/5
Location: 5/5

Khoi loves tamarind, is a raging millennial and will write for food.

Cỏ Cafe

12C Mê Linh, Bình Thạnh, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: Come up, We're Watching Old Movies on the Neighbor's Wall

2024-03-13T16:08:33+07:00

“Thank you for contacting Khôngtrung.bar. Our business hours are 6pm to 1am, Monday to Sunday. Open doors. Cocktails, craft beer, outdoor screening — Thursday and Sunday. Thank you and we hope to bump into you in Không!”

During an earlier visit to my friend’s office, I was introduced to a hidden bar on top of the building, where we can hang out, sip beer, and watch movies together. The bar uses a projector to screen films a few times a week on the empty wall of the neighboring building. I was intrigued by what I could find out about this special place online and by the cryptic greeting note, so I decided to book myself a seat on Thursday.

The wall doubles as a screen.

In the middle of the air — không trung means in midair — a movies scenes are caste on the white wall. In midair, on the third floor, in a narrow alley, film enthusiasts lounge around in silence, their eyes transfixed by the moving pictures. Occasionally, someone would slurp their beer and exchange whispers with their screen pal.

“This place was born of [my] love for cinema and habit of observing the city through the window. Both contain their own stories. Be it through the screen or the window, we’re always curious about and hope to learn more about humanity and the experiences we’ve yet to live through. At times, I also exist through a frame via somebody else’s eyes. So, in the frames live the lessons, and opening Khôngtrung means reaching new horizons. To live my life and gain an understanding of others’ lives,” the founder told me when asked about the meaning behind the bar’s name.

Khôngtrung only has about 20 seats. The open space is well-ventilated, tranquil and peaceful. There’s no sign boards or instructions, as if the place is purposely challenging newcomers to see who’s lucky enough to reach the treasure. Khôngtrung does not run online ads either, so most patrons are here due to a happy accident or via introductions (like me).

The furniture is mostly secondhand, brought in by staff members from “everywhere” as they believe that “objects should also have a chance to live a full life.” Some special items, like an embroidered omelet-themed tablecloth, were handmade. Run by a group of plant lovers, the rooftop is populated by flora residents that the staff hand-selected.

Movie screenings are the main courses here at the cozy hangout space. Around 7:30pm on Thursdays and Sundays, the films start. The wall of the next-door building is flat, windowless and sans decorations — very suitable for screening. The sound comes from two speakers in strategic positions so that everybody can hear the dialogue.

Most titles that have made the wall have been Asian features as they share many parallels in culture, setting, and people with Vietnamese culture. Khôngtrung tends to select films based on intuition or in accordance with seasonal changes and current affairs. “June begins with International Children’s Day, so we would choose films for kids, or young-at-heart adults. July is often very rainy, so the theme shifts to solitude, as you can’t go anywhere with your friends.”

Following a period of trials and errors, Khôngtrung fixed the screening schedule to every Thursday and Sunday. Outside of that timetable, Saigoneers can still come to drink, chat and listen to music. Should you feel the need to organize a screening on your own, you can make a request and pay a fee of VND60,000 per participant. Occasionally, the place itself also becomes the setting of independent film productions.

During my first time at Khôngtrung, Tsai Ming-liang’s Days was the film du jour. It depicted a ruthless sense of aloneness with long, still shots that barely had any dialogue. Admittedly, it wasn’t an easy-to-watch feature. The Khôngtrung member who curated it agreed with me, but they still insisted on experimenting and gathering feedback to improve their curation.

The drink menu comprises several classic cocktails and craft beer, in addition to non-alcoholic options — whose creations borrowed inspirations from cinematic works and directors. On a particularly despondent day, you can try a glass of Comrades: Almost a Love Story (dir. Peter Chan) or a sip of As Tears Go By (dir. Wong Kar-wai).

My visits to Khôngtrung yielded a refreshing peach-flavored non-alcoholic beverage and an Early Summer, both with sourness as the predominant note just how I like it. During their downtime, the bartenders here like to play with ingredients to create new recipes. Those who feel peckish during their watching experience could try a few snacks on offer here too.

On a listless evening, if you’re in the mood for a vintage feature in a similarly rustic space, follow my lead and head to 26/16 Nguyễn Bỉnh Khiêm, Đakao Ward of District 1. And remember, don’t bother looking around for a sign that says “Không trung Drink & Screen,” there isn’t any.

To sum up:

Taste: 4/5
Price: 5/5
Atmosphere: 5/5
Friendliness: 5/5
Location: 4/5

Khôngtrung drink & screen

26/16 Nguyễn Bỉnh Khiêm, phường Đakao, quận 1, TP. HCM

Hẻm Gems: Hủ Tíu Mực Ông Già's Squid Game Is to Die For

2023-12-10T19:00:00+07:00

It’s safe to say that one of the most authentic culinary experiences one could have in Vietnam is to sit on a stool, in an eatery that feels very much like someone’s house, and slurp on a bowl of piping hot noodles. The noodles here can be any dishes from the plethora of noodle dishes so dominant in Vietnamese cuisine, and this hủ tiếu mực, or squid vermicelli, establishment has got all of the above to offer.

As a local who has spent all her life in Saigon, I always took pride in the unique culture of this city and how well-versed I am in it. So when I was introduced to Hủ Tíu Mực Ông Già by a Korean person, who had then only been in the city for months, my ego certainly took a hit. But that goes to show how Saigon can surprise you at any turn.

Walking under the signage of the Hủ Tiếu Mỹ Tho stall into the alley, one is greeted with the yellow sign of the squid noodle place.

Located in a narrow alleyway adjacent to one of the busiest most bustling boulevards of Saigon, Nguyễn Huệ Boulevard, the eatery is surrounded by bars, pubs, fancy restaurants and luxury department stores. The area is the last place anyone would expect to find such a street eatery. The entrance to the alley is so inconspicuous that one might just walk past it without having a second look. Normally, with such hidden locations, business owners will place colorful signs or sandwich boards to signify their existence, but besides a sign one would only see half way through the alley, there are none at the entrance. Another hủ tiếu spot — a long-enduring hủ tiếu Mỹ Tho that was our first-ever Hẻm Gems review — also operates at the opening to the alley, but only during morning time and serves a different kind of hủ tiếu. I wonder how many people have been there looking for hủ tiếu mực only to mistake the eatery out front for it.

Hủ Tíu Mực Ông Già has been opened for decades.

The joy of discovery is often about how it changes our assumption or enlightens us on a particular matter or sheds light on something we never even thought about. The glamor of the downtown ambience adds a certain delight to learning there's a place that would otherwise only be found in very local residential neighborhoods. Amidst the heap of meticulously organized high-end restaurants, where people would often dress to the nines and be on their best demeanor to dine at, the place is reminiscent of what I call a “bình dân” atmosphere. A bình dân eatery is where people would go for food even in their pajamas; no dressing up is needed and the whole place is probably not Instagrammable. There’s a looseness and comfort one would feel here. While I was walking along the alley and as the eatery eventually revealed itself before my eyes for the first time, I couldn’t help but be in awe. The same reaction was evoked from people that I later on introduced to the place. Finding out the place feels like unlocking a gem in a game, and it gives rise to an inarticulable sense of achievement.

The casual vibe of the place will immediately put one at ease, even though it might be hot during summer.

Upon arrival, one will see that the eatery is split into two consecutive spaces. Decor-wise, there’s nothing outstanding about it. The one on the right is basically someone’s living room, with an altar right above your head. Stainless steel stools and tables fill the space. Originally, this was the only space available for dine-in customers. As a regular here, I’ve frequented the place many times ever since it first opened. And on a visit here after two years, I noticed the expansion on the left, with wooden stools and tables, the two spaces don’t really match, one might even say that the two somehow clash with each other. However, the space is clean, with utensils and sauce bottles neatly placed at the corner of each table. For many Vietnamese, including myself, a clean and neat space suffices to enjoy a meal. Though the space is somewhat limited, it is quite standard for a Vietnamese eatery.

Dry and broth options.

Hủ Tíu Mực Ông Già specializes in seafood hủ tiếu dishes, with hủ tiếu as the carb base of every dish, a variety of seafood is available for customers to choose from. It goes without saying that squid is the star among the seafood options here, but eaters can also opt for shrimps and oysters or even pork ribs. As with any other noodle eateries, dishes can come in a broth or a dry variation, but the dry version here really sets the place apart from others. Usually, sauces that go with dry hủ tiếu will be a mixture of soy and oyster sauces, with some other types of condiments or seasonings. But the owner of this eatery went the extra mile to concoct a more distinctive kind of sauce, a tomato-based one with other ingredients such as minced pork and aromatics. The thick consistency of the sauce lends a silky mouthfeel to the noodles, adding a layer of complexity to the dish. As tomatoes are packed with naturally occuring MSG, the sauce brings out the umami flavor of tomatoes very well without the sourness.

A dry portion of hủ tiếu mực comes with a bowl of noodles drenched in tomato-based gravy, and a bowl of broth with morsels of protein.

Unlike other types of dry noodle, where the accompanying broth is always too meager for a broth-lover such as myself, a generous bowl of soup is always served along with the dry noodles here. With it comes fresh and chewy squids, soft meatballs and poached quail eggs, garnished with fried shallots and of course, chopped green scallions. An interesting combination of textures is present in the bowl of broth, the chewy and somewhat crunchy pieces of squids, the melt-in-your-mouth softness of the meatballs and quail eggs all come together in harmony. The quail eggs are poached slightly so that the yoke is still runny, adding a bit of richness to the taste without overpowering other ingredients. In classic Vietnamese fashion, greens are served with each portion, a mix of poached tần ô and bean sprouts. The fried shallots also add a fragrant smell to the broth. Add some chili oil for a touch of spiciness to your dish, and try dipping the toppings in the spicy green sauce for extra heat.

Time to dive in!

To maintain the freshness of the seafood, the owner explained in an interview that he calculated the average amount of seafood sold every day and placed orders accordingly. This helps to avoid storing food overnight, and that everything can be made fresh and sold within a day.

The price is generally reasonable for its location, dishes range from VND50,000 to 60,000 with a complimentary iced tea.

Hủ Tíu Mực Ông Già is open from 6am to 9pm every day.

To sum up:

Location: 4/5
Food: 4/5
Atmosphere: 3.5/5
Price: 4/5
Friendliness: 4/5

Hủ Tíu Mực Ông Già

62/3 Tôn Thất Thiệp, Bến Nghé Ward, D1, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: Reading Cabin Sells Stationery, Serves Drinks, and Builds Friendships

2023-12-02T19:46:06+07:00

If I had to describe Reading Cabin in one phrase, it would be “every cafe in Saigon all at once.”

The first time I heard of Reading Cabin, I realized immediately that it shares a not-so-narrow hẻm with my childhood home. Besides serving drinks, Reading Cabin is also a mini collective attracting the city’s creative youths from all disciplines, including music, design, writing and cinema.

Similar to any other coffee shop in Saigon, one can bump into hordes of office workers chasing deadlines at Reading Cabin. But sometimes, curious middle-aged neighbors in the hẻm pay a visit too. At times, gaggles of children aged 5–6 hang out on the ground floor to toy with the figurines on display, or the miniature bánh mì carts on the wall showcasing Vietnamese culture.

Each section of Reading Cabin is dedicated to a different area of creativity: the entire ground floor highlights local products, from stationery, upcycled backpacks, and mechanical pencils to fascinating reference books for those with a penchant for design.

The stationery space is divided in two, each leading to an upstairs area via a staircase. One is slightly more secluded, outfitted with a bookshelf for your browsing pleasures. The other section has mats so customers can sit on the floor, while the al fresco area is sometimes transformed into an outdoor cinema for movie nights.

True to its name, there are purposeful amenities dedicated to the reading experience, while the “cabin” quality is reflected in the space’s intimate seating areas and the friendly faces that, after a few visits, feel like long-time friends, at least to me.

According to the manager of Reading Cabin, the store-slash-reading-space has been around for four years. After four years in existence, does Reading Cabin identify as a coffee shop, a stationery store, or a library? The answer is all of the above.

“Our starting point was just somewhere for everybody, especially those who share a fondness for stationery and reading, to chill. So right from the beginning, Cabin has set up a space to sell our favorite stationery items, alongside a small library, where people can hide to read books all day.”

“Gradually, some patrons started making drinks to enjoy while reading, we thought it was a brilliant idea — sharing a space to drink, to read, to journal. That was why we decided to establish Cabin in 2021, just as a way to spread our small joy to everyone.”

Reading Cabin features a small bar area to serve customers, making drinks with quirky names like “cà phê bê đê” (queer coffee) — which is cafe sữa đá with a layer of macchiato cream — and alcoholic drinks in the evening.

“Cà phê bê đê can also be known as AsianGayFriend Coffee. The name refers to its creator, a true-blue queer friend of ours. You have to shake your hips vigorously in order to produce a delicious glass of cà phê bê đê. Just try it out if you don’t believe us.”

“There’s also Sai Lầm Mơ Muội Món, a drink with a wide range of tastes from sweet, sour to tannic. If you happen to add too much of something, it’s alright, because we’re all daydreamers.”

The cordial ambiance at Reading Cabin comes from the music playlist, which includes many musical influences from 1990s dream pop and shoegaze, to 1980s new wave, and even 2000s V-pop hits. During one visit, Reading Cabin will take you on a journey through different shades of emotions. While jotting down this review, I was sitting at a table the first floor amid the lingering notes of ‘Venus in Furs’ by The Velvet Underground.

“Our soundtrack is often curated based on the personal taste of each barista. Everybody has their own favorites and playlists. Sometimes there are overlaps because we’re from the same group, but the kiosk’s music is quite diverse. Besides, we put aside specific tracklists for rainy days, sunny days, days with a certain prevailing mood. If you happen to drop by on a day when there’s no music, that’s probably when the barista wants to enjoy a bit of natural ambient sounds, or just simply at a loss of what to listen to.”

Those who have been to Cù Rú Bar, a beloved Hẻm Gem based in Đà Lạt featuring a unique way of interior decoration, attracting a cult following amongst local creatives, would find Reading Cabin very familiar: there’s a tinge of nostalgia, but with a healthy dose of open-mindedness to welcome new values and ways of thinking.

Reading Cabin, to me, is an intersection representing a very Gen Z subculture — somewhere you can turn to when you are toiling with difficult life problems any time of the day from morning to dusk. If you’re struggling to find a new hangout for your friend group, keep Reading Cabin in mind.

Reading Cabin is open from 8am to 10pm.

Reading Cabin

Hẻm 18A/33, Nguyễn Thị Minh Khai, Đa Kao, D1, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: It's Impossible to Resist Bún Riêu Cô Yến's Crispy Fried Tofu

2023-11-03T14:00:00+07:00

A few years ago, my family’s Christmas Eve tradition of making gỏi cuốn was swapped out for a special competition, one that would decisively end a longstanding rivalry: who, out of the aunts and uncles, could make the best bún riêu?

For reasons still unknown, the entirety of my mom’s side worshiped at the altar of the tomatoey, crabby soup. We were scattered from Sacramento to Pomona to New York City. But in every Dao household, the adults made bún riếu, and the children loved it. Bún riêu was one of the few dishes that united us all.

The 2014 bún rieu battle, then, was as much a cut-throat determination of skill as it was an homage to our favorite dish — an excuse to eat four versions of bún riêu in one sitting. The kitchen transformed into a crowded bún riêu laboratory. We blindly sampled, then discussed the virtues of each: which broth had the deepest flavor, perfectly harmonizing the crab and tomato? Was No. 3 too tomatoey? No. 1 too light? Which crab-egg mixture was the meatiest?

After a blind vote, my aunt’s rendition emerged victorious. I still think my mom’s should have won.

The corner where Bún Riêu Cô Yến calls home.

This summer, armed with my credentials as a veritable bún riêu critic, I ventured to as many of Saigon’s bún riêu eateries as I could. I was looking for a bowl that, per my set of personal criteria, rivaled those that I’d grown up eating. I found that many joints serve the crab-egg riêu cua in the form of a single patty; otherwise, the mixture is likely found in barely existent wisps, taking a backseat to the broth. However, the school of thought that I subscribe to dictates that the crab-egg mixture is soft and abundant — not so soft that it lacks structural integrity, but soft enough for pieces of it to disperse throughout the bowl. For me, this has always been the best part of the dish.

An open kitchen greets customers the moment they hop off their scooters.

The bún riêu at Bún Riêu Cô Yến not only aligns with my vision, but exceeds and expands it. Across from the canal in Tân Bình, one can find an outdoor theater of food prep: a bubbling vat of broth filled with crab-egg mixture, colanders of bún, bowls of tomatoes and greens, people bustling around to assemble dishes from it all. A man sat on a ledge of the eatery cutting fried tofu, which surrounded him in several heaping bowls. This family-run business has been here for 15 years.

The range of toppings and noodle choices.

The menu contains a few other options, like bánh đa, but I’ve gotten the titular crab paste vermicelli soup every time. When the bowl arrives, I add some rau sống, ớt, and mắm tôm, before mixing everything together. Along with the crab-egg mixture and tomatoes, it’s also topped with a pork blood cube, green onions, sausage, and fried tofu.

Bún riêu cua and bánh đa cua.

Upon crafting my first bite, I noticed the pale orange hue of the bún — a unique feature that hints at the richness of the broth. The flavor of tomato, and especially of crab, is so deep that I’d believe the broth functions as a dye for the noodles. It’s salty, wonderfully pungent and tastes like it’s been stewing for days.

It's slurpin' time!

But while the crab-egg mixture is similarly well-done, I was surprised that another element of the dish had managed to nudge its way into the spotlight: the fried tofu, an ingredient that’s never entered my family's recipes. Crisp on the outside and silky on the inside, it’s the ideal textural counterpart to bún riêu’s prevailing softness. I’ve rarely, if ever, had tofu that can maintain its crispiness so well within a broth; it would even be a delicious snack on its own. When I visited the place later with the Saigoneer crew, we were so obsessed with the tofu that we ordered an additional portion.

It's impossible not to fall in love with the fried tofu here.

I still love bún riêu for its islands of crab-egg mixture floating in broth — but a joy of eating, and of loving eating, is discovering new possibilities within old favorites. Cô Yến introduced me to a twist on bún riêu that stays true to my favorite parts of the dish.

Bún Riêu Cô Yến is open from 5:40am to 6pm.

Bún Riêu Cô Yến

1346 Trường Sa, Ward 3, Tân Bình District, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: Wake up Early, We're Getting Hủ Tiếu Cá for Breakfast

2023-10-25T10:00:00+07:00

When I used to live in Hanoi, I always knew that if an eatery only opens for half a day, the food is probably certified, at least by the locals, to be not only good, but excellent. There is something written in the local traditions that specific dishes should be served at particular times of the day.

For example, in every Hanoian’s consciousness, cháo sườn is strictly quà chiều, a cozy snack for the afternoon, although guests still come at any time of the day whenever their hearts desire. In some cases, perhaps the restaurant's reputation has built up so well over the years that the turnout is so consistently immense that they simply run out of stock in half a day. Therefore, you always have to put a certain amount of effort into scheduling, almost as if the meal itself is a special occasion.

Waking up late runs the risk of having no fish for your noodle bowl at Anh Mai.

Now, to a person whose concept of hủ tiếu cá was completely foreign until last Sunday, I do not know if this is a dish for which certain temporal rules apply. I have only discovered recently that a hundred ingredients could be combined with the chewy noodles — pork, shrimp, squid, satay, beef meatballs, even bones, and the list goes on including either with-broth or dry variations. However, there was something about a plain and earthy bowl of fish hủ tiếu that piqued my interest. Hủ Tiếu Cá Anh Mai, which served this dish specifically, came highly recommended online.

The Sunday breakfast crowd.

Online reviews specify that the store would close at around 12pm, so I was determined to pick myself out of bed and get there by 10am, hoping it would not be unbearably crowded. Anh Mai is located on Lê Thị Riêng, one of those rare streets in District 1 that is neither riddled with traffic nor high-rise buildings. Every table was filled, but the great thing was that the owners never seemed particularly frazzled during our visit. Like every good restaurant that has been in operation for over ten years, Anh Mai has their regulars. The woman in Table 4, for example, briefly mentioned to the smiling owner how she was running late that morning and did not have the time to drop by earlier. It was a familiar sight: families with small kids, office workers, and teenagers came in and out every 40 minutes or so.

A big portion (VND75,000) gets you a substantial amount of fish fillet.

After a short wait, our order of three hủ tiếu cá with broth and one dry hủ tiếu were served to Table 0 where we sat. With a generous amount of flaky white snakehead meat, garnished with scallion, pickled radish chopped into minuscule speckles, some bean sprouts, and a splash of soy sauce, my hủ tiếu bowl held the piping-hot soup within like a secret. Upon the very first bite, the fish let me know that it was the star of the dish — firm and moderately sweet in a tenderly seasoned broth.

Dry versus broth versions.

I learned from locals that this snakehead’s freshness was almost unparalleled across Saigon. As my chopsticks sank beneath, ample noodle layers were unveiled. The chewy texture of hủ tiếu seemed to take a step back to let other ingredients shine. No sooner had I thought that was the extent of the experience than a jolt of saltiness touched my palate in the most pleasant way imaginable. Was it from the pepper? I am still not quite sure, but the hide-and-seek game of flavor persisted until the last bite.

For your slurping pleasures.

We finished our meal at 11am and nodded our heads in contentment, even with the VND75,000 per person bill. It was simply worth it. As new customers started to flood in, we quickly parted ways so as not to overstay our welcome. Like every good meal, hủ tiếu at Anh Mai requires one to take their time — waiting, enjoying, and collecting themselves from that enjoyment. It's thus a good thing we waited until Sunday instead of going on Friday like the original plan. While there’s more for me to learn about the customs of eating hủ tiếu from Saigoneers, hú tiếu cá is now for me, perpetually, without debate, a Sunday dish.

Hủ Tiếu Mì Cá Anh Mai is open from 6am to 12pm (or whenever stock runs out).

Hủ Tiếu Mì Cá Anh Mai

99B Lê Thị Riêng, Phạm Ngũ Lão Ward, D1, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: On Falling Head Over Heels (Literally) for Dũng Ký's Mì Xào Giòn

2023-10-24T16:00:00+07:00

When Saigoneer’s office relocated from District 1’s downtown to District 3 earlier this year, one of the instantly noticeable changes was the increase in affordable eating options.

As much as we enjoyed our daily view of the Notre Dame Cathedral, it was great comfort going from being surrounded by upscale and gimmicky restaurants to the fundamentals of Saigon’s street food scene — a meal sold straight from a cart where the chef often triples as the cashier and the janitor.

Upon arriving on Nguyễn Thông Street, we gleefully left our lunchboxes at home to make space for the gastronomical possibilities that might arise by exploring our new neighborhood. Among the local eateries, there was certainly no shortage of bún bò and cơm phần, as well as a Michelin-approved Hẻm Gems that has been running for 40 years.

Dũng Ký is just a short walk away from Saigoneer's base.

What I found most delectable, though, was the sight of Dũng Ký’s shopfront. In Saigon’s hectic noontime, lunching is a fairly unanimated affair where the vendors vend and the diners dine in still silence, half of their energy already spent bearing the scorching sun. Dũng Ký, where heat and entropy are in full swing, begs to differ. Its kitchen extends onto the pavement and diffuses spice-laced aromas and cacophonous metal-on-metal clinks into the air. Guests chatter rowdily as the staff uses all of their strength to vocally relay each order to the cooks. The scene is as lively as it is greasy.

Alexa, play 'Burning Up' by the Jonas Brother.

The humble eatery primarily serves Cantonese-style cuisine comprising a variety of dishes. The recipes are somewhat similar: a carbohydrate base such as noodles or rice, a side of protein, and a whole lot of oily goodness to mix it all together — stir-fry galore, in short. Though Cantonese dishes like these aren’t hard to find in Saigon, they are less common to come by in areas farther away from the Chinese communes of Chợ Lớn’s districts. As an admirer of unapologetically calorie-dense food, I have been taking advantage of this outpost of Chinese cuisine on days where I need an extra power boost. And its best dish? Hands down, mì xào giòn.

Dũng Ký does not go lightly on the toppings.

Mì xào giòn, or crispy fried noodle, is believed to have originated from the region of Guangdong in Southern China. The noodles, made out of wheat flour, is flash-fried until they turn lightly golden-brown, then bunched together like a nest to make an excellent bed for the other ingredients. Though one can theoretically throw anything into the mix, seafood is traditionally used as “toppings.” Leafy greens, like bok choy, are added to keep a healthy balance to an otherwise heavy dish. And as with many other great noodles, the secret is in the sauce. A combination of light and dark soy sauce, oyster sauce, garlic, and other seasonings creates a savory sauce that delivers a satisfying gloss enveloping the noodles.

At Dũng Ký, mì xào giòn is serious business. First-timers might be taken by surprise by how behemoth the serving is, especially if they go in expecting a typical lunch-sized meal like I did. Adorned with heaps of fish maw, fish balls, beef, prawns, and liver slices, a plate of mì xào giòn special can easily feed two adults. One can dive in immediately if they prefer a crispier bite, as the sauce hasn’t set in and the noodle still retains its original form, or leave it to drench a little in the sauce for a softer touch. Any chopstick-full of mì will introduce a concoction of umami flavor from the groovy sauce. Each ingredient’s texture competes for your palate’s attention: the squid fresh and chewy, the cabbage, onion, and cauliflower crunchy, and the noodles, if properly soaked, will melt right in your mouth.

Crispy noodle + thick sauce = simply groovy.

According to Dũng, the owner of Dũng Ký, this mì xào giòn adheres exactly to the recipe that was passed down through generations of his Cantonese lineage. He had previously helped with his siblings’ restaurants elsewhere before opening up his own here two years ago. “There are so many shops in District 5 already, so I chose this location because it's more ideal. It offers good visibility, lots of foot traffic, and fewer competing restaurants,” he explains. Dũng Ký is very much a family business, with Dũng overseeing the day-to-day preparation and operation of the shop, while his nephew and cousin take charge of the kitchen, where we could see them putting on a visual feast of flames and smoke combining the ingredients.

Dũng also reveals that the secret to his hearty noodles is not just in the sauce, it’s also in the cookware, and the noodle itself. “Heat control is crucial, if it's slightly too hot, or not hot enough, it won't taste good. That’s why I had to order this wok from China. Vietnamese woks are too thin and won’t be able to reach the right temperature.” He continues by pointing to a batch of unused noodles: “You know how other places’ noodle gets soggy on the outside and but they stay tough on the inside? Ours isn’t like that, it’s fluffy, like prawn crackers, and when drenched, it all melts away instead of retaining a hardened core. We have to make a special order at a store in Chợ Lớn to get this specific type of noodle.”

Hủ tiếu mềm + thick sauce = good in theory, not so much in practice.

One can substitute the crispy version with hủ tiếu mềm, which will significantly alter your experience with the dish — the noodle picks up more sauce, but lacks the interesting mouthfeel, and takes up the space of other toppings on chopsticks — and for that, I consider it an unworthy alternative. Instead, mì xào giòn’s biggest contender for the title of Dũng Ký’s best dish is cơm chiên sụn gà nước mắm, or fried rice with chicken cartilage in fish sauce. “Instead of using frozen rice, we use newly cooked rice that is made from a special type of grain. It doesn’t stick together and has a fluffy texture,” Dũng shares. According to him, the dish is one of the best-selling items and is a new, non-Cantonese creation that he has incorporated into the restaurant’s menu to keep up with local taste.

Dũng Ký's best-selling item is non-Cantonese, but delicious regardless.

While Dũng Ký’s other offerings are no less delightful, their mì xào giòn holds a special place in my heart, not only because of its taste, but also because the one incident that forever binds me to Nguyễn Thông’s street lore, and Saigoneer’s hall of humiliating experience. The story goes like this:

“Once upon a time at a small, bustling diner named Dũng Ký, Uyên found herself on a mission to satisfy her cravings for some mouthwatering mì xào giòn. The scent of sizzling onions wafted through the air, making her stomach grumble with anticipation. But, as luck would have it, just as she skipped away with her mì xào giòn in hand, she felt a sudden, unexpected slip under her foot. In a split second, she was airborne, flailing her arms in an attempt to regain balance. She crashed onto the hard ground. A collective gasp of surprise and concern swept through the diner, all eyes turned in her direction. She tripped over a puddle of grease that had spilled from the wok, similar to how blood was spilling from her left knee. Her quest for food had turned into an example for kitchen safety booklets of what not to do. The very next day, the staff put up a slippage hazard sign as a cautionary tale for prospective patrons to not suffer the same horrible fate. Despite her injury, Uyên still finished her mì xào giòn and it somehow tasted even better after the mishap. Perhaps it’s because she knew she went down doing what she loved the most: getting food, and falling for it, over and over again.”

This puddle of grease is not a paid actor.

Dũng Ký is open from 10am to 10pm.

Uyên is an editor and kumquat tea addict based in Saigon. For a career, she writes to fuel her eating and eats to fuel her writing.

To sum up:

Taste: 4.5/5
Price: 4/5
Atmosphere: 4/5
Friendliness: 4/5
Location: 4/5

Dũng Ký

60 Nguyễn Thông, Ward 9, D3, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: From Cà Mau, Cô Xíu Brings Bánh Tầm Cà Ri Cay to Bình Thạnh

2023-10-23T13:00:00+07:00

Recently, I’ve had the Mekong Delta on the mind. This month I made two trips down to research various elements of the watery region, and also spent time reading author Khải Đơn’s tremendous delta-focused book of poetry Drowning Dragon Slips by Burning Plain; read my review of the book here. And while I haven’t actually seen the movie adaptation Đất Rừng Phương Nam, it’s been impossible to avoid the promos that feature a stereotypical wooden boat easing along a narrow delta channel, while white herons rise and farmers trudge into the field wearing colorful clothing with black khăn rằn.

The scent of rich alluvium, rank lục bình and ripe jackfruit blending with the acrid fumes stuttering out boat motors; dusk settling on flooded rice paddies, the amber sunlight granting the suggestion of a sheer nightgown; accents that seem to ensconce syllables in melted coconut candy, so words slowly slip out lips, sweet and sticky — each time I visit, I find something new to appreciate. This, of course, includes the cuisine: bubbling pots of balanced, refreshing canh chua, fried cá tai tượng and grilled cá lóc, juicy countryside chicken and shredded banana leaf salad and enormous bánh xèo made with creamy coconut milk.

Roaming chickens add to the bánh tầm place's pastoral ambiance.

While the Mekong’s food certainly deserves its reputation of being particularly sweet (I will never forget the time I bought a can of sugar-free Coke in Hậu Giang and was given a satchel of sugar on the side), meals across the region have won me over thanks to the humble, home-cooked ethos that succeeds thanks to attentive preparation methods passed down through generations and incredible fertile soil and waters.

In all my many jaunts to the delta, I have yet to explore Cà Mau. Therefore, I have had little exposure to its food, or culture in general, which I am frequently told differs from much of the region thanks to its coastal location. I was thus quite excited to learn of a restaurant in Saigon selling bánh tầm cay cà ri. A Cà Mau specialty, the city has numerous shops and stalls selling it, with most locals able to point out their preferred spot. In Saigon, it's much harder to find.

Hailing from Cà Mau, cô Xíu opened a place selling Cà Mau specialties in Bình Thạnh.

Bánh Tầm Cà Ri Cay Cô Xíu is located on an unnoteworthy hẻm in Bình Thạnh, not far from the Bông Bridge. A new sign reading Kika Quán hung above the tube house that Google Maps had led us to, and we quickly confirmed with the young man who greeted us that we were in the right place. While bright menus are painted on the wall and familiar metal tables with stools set up, the unmistakable arrangement of a family home including the open kitchen complete with cupboards and microwave, remains. As we settled down to the seats with the best natural light, chickens curfuffled in the alley beyond the doorway, reminding me of the ducks in Nguyễn Ngọc Tư’s Cánh đồng bất tận.

Trần Thị Xíu, a 50-year-old Cà Mau native and proprietor of a well-known restaurant in her hometown opened this Saigon location at the start of this summer. She has since returned to the delta and left her son in charge of the operations. The bánh tầm noodles with cà ri sauce here come with chicken wings, drumsticks, xíu mại, or a combination of the three. We ordered a little bit of everything, eager to experience yet another noodle as part of our special Saigoneer noodle chapter that had already filled us with quite a few varieties of not only noodle types but preparation methods, broths and accompaniments.

Bánh tầm with meatballs and a chicken wing.

When the plates arrived, peeking out below a generous ladling of burnt-orange sauce, the noodles appeared like standard, blasé bún. However, after enrolling in an unaccredited crash course in Vietnamese noodles I knew that a key difference is that bánh tầm is not fermented and each hand-rolled strand thus consists of nothing but unadulterated rice flour. We conjectured that this difference made them of weaker constitution, causing them to break apart when picked up with chopsticks. By the end of the meal, my plate was filled with tiny tips, nibs and noodle nubs soaking in sauce. A transition to spoon ensured I could gather each severed strand without dropping any onto my pants in the process.

While the xíu mại is moist and flavorful, the chicken is quite rubbery.

The sauce might be the greatest determinant of any diner’s opinion on the dish here. Vietnamese curry originates in the Delta, due to the area’s confluence of cultures including Khmer, but there is no standard recipe. It’s impossible to tell exactly what is in the mixture here, though we could visibly identify vivifying pepper kernels and taste five-spice while its color suggested it lacked any curry powder itself. The Saigoneer team are not hot pepper maniacs, nor are we loblolly boys with tissue paper tongues. After a few bites, we deemed it not at all spicy — a “one out of five spice.” But as the meal progressed, the heat lingered and accumulated and by the end we found it overwhelmed the flavor. Perhaps this means the spice level is perfect for everyone and no one?

Bánh tầm noodles are a rare treat in Saigon and must be imported from the delta.

If the sauce doesn’t convince you to return to the restaurant, the chicken certainly won’t. A crisp and moderately greasy piece of fried chicken would be a perfect pairing for the sauce and noodles. Alas, the chicken appeared to be boiled, resulting in pallid, rubbery pieces that neither absorbed sauce nor added a satisfying crunch. Truthfully, they went uneaten. The meatballs, however, were much better. Moist and complex, they sopped up the liquid without disintegrating and gave the dish a heartiness ideal for a soggy afternoon or break before a busy day.

Ultimately, Bánh Tầm Cà Ri Cay Cô Xíu is a somewhat slapdash experience. Personally, I find the unmistakably family affair exemplified by the incomplete transformation from home to restaurant charming. And the food reminds me of something a close friend fond of cooking would make — a bit provincial, and perhaps in need of some further refinement, but made with a true desire to please oneself and one’s loved ones. Much like the delta as a whole, the place is friendly, and genuine and earnest. Perhaps it’s a bit flawed and faded around the edges, but I’ll take that over fancy and artificial any day.

Kika Quán is open from 9am to 8:30pm.

To sum up:

Taste: 3/5
Price: 4/5
Atmosphere: 4/5
Friendliness: 3/5
Location: 4/5

Kika Quán - Bánh Tầm Cay Cà Mau

128/5 Lê Văn Duyệt, Ward 3, Bình Thạnh, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: Bánh Đa Cua Hải Phòng, a Rare Northern Treat in D10

2023-10-22T20:00:00+07:00

On the way to Phú Thọ Indoor Sports Stadium in District 11, make a turn off 666/74 Ba Tháng Hai, go all the way to the far corner, and you’ll discover Triển Chiêu Quán’s bright yellow sign. Park underneath the canopy, walk up the ramp, and you’ll notice something stands out, but you might not know why — bunches of caramel-colored noodles in the kitchen area waiting to be enjoyed.

Dried, flattened, and blanched in boiling water, the chewy, brownish bánh đa noodle hails from Hải Phòng. In an ideal world, at some point in life, you will find yourself in the major northern port city, upstream from the mouth of the Cấm River, sitting under those royal poinciana flowers and hovering over a steamy bowl of bánh đa cua Hải Phòng, the city’s most famous delicacy.

Red phượng blossoms are a common symbol of Hải Phòng.

“One day,” I told myself, looking at the picture of this scene hanging on the wall at Triển Chiêu Quán in District 10. But, the line of sight to my imagined escape was broken and auspiciously brightened. Bluish skies and reddish flowers were replaced by bluish bowls and reddish noodles being carried toward me. A colorful concoction of flavor headed my way:

Purplish brown mushrooms.

Orange-and-pink crab and shrimp.

Red chili peppers, tomatoes and fermented chili sauce.

Brown fried shallots, fried fish, and fish cake.

Light green chives, chopped onions, and cilantro.

And dark green morning glory and betel leaf-wrapped sausages.

The swirl of colors fills my first bowl of bánh đa cua Hải Phòng, the first of many to come.

Trays of toppings.

Molasses is the ingredient that makes bánh đa stand out amongst bins of bún and miến, creating that signature brown color. That, and compared to bún, miến, and other noodles I’ve at least tried, bánh đa left me feeling noticeably more filled afterward. It’s more like eating fettuccine than spaghetti, except instead of dousing your plate with butter and cheese, bánh đa is engulfed in a seafood-based broth.

Bánh đa cá comes with heaps of dill.

One item in all our bowls left us perplexed to the point of asking the owner for clarification: the betel leaf-wrapped pork and mushroom sausages that we originally presumed to be bò lá lốt.

Bánh đa thập cẩm.

At Triển Chiêu Quán, I ordered the bánh đa thập cẩm (VND55,000), while my colleagues went with dry bánh đa trộn (VND65,000) and bánh đa cua (VND45,000). In between bites, I drank trà đá, while our editor went for nước sấu Hà Nội, a northern classic. The owner of the shop told us her mother pickled the sấu fruit herself and flew it down to Saigon, seemingly bringing together north and south in food and drink.

The homemade nước sấu at Triển Chiêu Quán.

To date, I have yet to make the journey to Hải Phòng to indulge in their local specialty, so for now, I’ll settle for reveling in the next best option: returning again and again to Triển Chiêu Quán to enjoy a delightful bowl of bánh đa cua Hải Phòng while I daydream, gaze at the photo on the wall and plan my future escape to its source.

The rustic shopfront of the eatery.

Triển Chiêu Quán is open from 6:30am to 8:30pm.

Triển Chiêu Quán

666/74 3 Tháng 2, Ward 14, D10, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: Bánh Canh Hẹ Is Phú Yên's Homage to Chives and the Sea

2023-10-21T20:32:23+07:00

Ever since I was a kid, I have had a general dislike towards vegetables, but green onion has always been an exception. I regard green onion as a garnish that can lighten up the whole dish, and it seems like whenever it’s absent from my cơm tấm or xôi mặn, I will instantly lose my enthusiasm to eat. But during my teenage years, my affection for scallion was challenged for the first time, when I encountered a photo of Phú Yên’s bánh canh hẹ online.

I was taken aback by the bold presentation of the dish, the dizzying amount of greenery was too much for me. From time to time, I would come across photos of bánh canh hẹ on the internet, and the weirdness of the dish made me think it was just a gimmick, so I never thought about trying it.

Chopped chives and Phú Yên-style bánh canh are two main components of bánh canh hẹ.

Fast forward many years later, bánh canh hẹ came up once again during a discussion meeting for Saigoneer’s two-week noodle content chapter, where I learned that Phú Yên’s bánh canh hẹ is a popular Central Vietnam delicacy with a humble beginning. It is made of cheap and accessible ingredients from the region. The noodle is made of Phú Yên’s local rice, the broth is stewed from fish in the province’s coastal areas. The green color of bánh canh hẹ comes from Phú Yên’s local hẹ, a thinner version of green onion that emits a lighter and distinctive aroma. According to locals, the excessive amount of chopped chives is used as an alternative for other vegetables and also to ease out the broth’s fishy smell.

The menu at Bánh Bèo Cô Mai hasn't changed even after the family relocated from the central coast to Saigon.

After learning more about the dish, I realized that I was unfairly judgmental towards it, missing out on a unique regional specialty. So I thought it would be a good idea for me to try it out to see what it’s all about. An eatery named Bánh Bèo Cô Mai Phú Yên was recommended due to its popularity among Saigoneers.

Bánh Bèo Cô Mai is located on Hoa Sứ Street near the Phan Xích Long food heaven. We arrive at lunchtime and it is already quite crowded. Luckily, we still get the chance to have a quick chat with the waiter to find out about the place’s history.

Home to chives and bánh bèo.

According to him, Cô Mai is run by a Phú Yên-born family, and it was first opened in Saigon about seven years ago, but before that, the family ran an eatery at the foot of Nhạn Mountain in Tuy Hòa, the capital city of Phú Yên. The menu at Cô Mai, identical to that of the old place, consists of three Phú Yên specialties: bánh canh hẹ, bánh bèo and bánh hỏi.

When asked about the cooking style of the dishes, he tells me about the family’s efforts to keep the tradition going. “We cook in the exact same way as we did in our hometown. There is no change at all.”

Bánh canh hẹ is an easy-to-eat but flavorful snack suitable for any time of the day.

When able to observe bánh canh hẹ at close range for the first time in my life, I was amazed by its unique visual and surprised by its simplicity. The copious amount of chopped chives creates a layer of vibrant greenery on top of the broth, below, there are fried fishcake patties, boiled quail eggs and a slice of black mackerel — all very familiar toppings. Add in some chili slices and we have a simple, yet colorful and distinctive-looking, Phú Yên specialty.

Taste-wise, the unique flavor of bánh canh hẹ is mainly due to the broth. It has a very subtle fishy aroma that doesn’t affect the overall taste. Combined with the delicate scent of Phú Yên’s local chives, the mackerel slice and the fish patties, the soup offers up a pleasantly light and sweet flavor that makes me feel like I am dining near the ocean.

Cá thu fillet is one of the toppings.

The main starch is a type of rice flour noodle that is thinner and less chewy than that in regular Saigon bánh canh dishes such as bánh canh cua. Upon tasting, I am treated with Cô Mai’s well-cooked noodles with a soft and supple texture that’s enjoyable to chew and makes you want to keep slurping.

The seafood toppings present me with two polar opposite qualities. The mackerel chunks have a tender and fatty texture. In contrast, the fried fish cake chunks are chewy with a sweet aftertaste. Dipping these toppings in the store’s provided fish sauce mixed with minced chili can enhance the overall dish's oceanic feel.

Even though we come here for bánh canh, both its bánh bèo and bánh hỏi are equally delightful.

The bánh bèo and bánh hỏi are side dishes. One order of bánh bèo is served in 10 small bowls, likely meant to be shared among many people. The starches of bánh bèo and bánh hỏi are sprinkled with chives oil, pork floss, fried bread crumbs and fried shallots. The highlight of these two courses is the accompanying sweet-and-sour fish sauce.

A surprise dessert: đậu xanh sương sáo.

Overall, my first experience with Phú Yên’s bánh canh hẹ was a success. Cô Mai’s cooking is so good that I even came back a couple more times, and what I notice from my revisits is that the store seems crowded around the clock, which is an indirect statement of the eatery's food quality. So, if you’re craving a light noodle dish that evokes the essence of the sea, you can’t go wrong with Cô Mai’s bánh canh hẹ, made just the way locals like it.

Bánh Bèo Cô Mai opens from 7am to 10pm. One bowl of bánh canh hẹ costs VND45,000, while the bánh bèo and bánh hỏi are VND40,000 each.

To sum up:

Taste: 5/5
Price: 4/5
Atmosphere: 4/5
Friendliness: 5/5
Location: 5/5

Bánh Bèo Cô Mai Phú Yên

54 Hoa Sứ, Ward 7, Phú Nhuận, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: The Best Cao Lầu Outside of Hội An Is in Tân Bình

2023-10-19T09:00:00+07:00

Years ago, the first time I ate cao lầu, I committed a cardinal sin. As I gazed upon my freshly assembled bowl of noodles, without much thought, I asked the waitress for more sauce.

She was cleaning the nearby table when she heard the request. After pausing for half a second, she smiled and said that she would be back with more sauce. The exchange seemed to have tickled my eating companion, a friend who’s a self-proclaimed mì Quảng and cao lầu fanatic and who has made it his latest side quest to educate me on the delicacies of his home turf.

“What?” I raised my eyebrow at his smirk. “Nothing. Just that cao lầu is not a soup, so don’t ask for more sauce next time,” he explained while deftly maneuvering acrobatic moves with his chopsticks to make sure the noodles and herbs are well-mixed. As southerners, we are big and proud eaters. And I mean big not just in the physical sense, though we do have our fair share of grandiose ốc feasts and upsized phở, but also in our eating personality. More broth to heartily slurp to our heart’s content, more beer towers to oil conversations all through the night, more beef slices in our bowl of phở just because we can. So when I see a bowl of noodles with half-full broth, I ask for more.

As it turns out, central Vietnamese cuisine has little patience for southern hearty and gluttonous antics, and people up there like their cao lầu just so — with moderately warm sauce that barely submerges the bed of noodles. One might think: this dish has four main ingredients, how fastidious can it be? The answer is very fastidious. Legend has it that to make the noodles, one has to soak them in ash water made from burning a tree indigenous to the Chàm Islands near Hội An. The rice flour must be mixed with fresh water from Bá Lễ, a decades-old well in town. Fresh herbs to garnish the dish, on the other hand, have to come from Trà Quế Village.

On the left is cao lầu noodles while mì Quảng is on the right.

Rationally, I understand the specificity: each ingredient has its own chemical makeup that’s unique to the soil, air and water of Hoi An — all of which give the dish a special taste that transcends its rather rustic appearance. Still, that’s an impossible standard to live up to for cooks everywhere who aspire to replicate the elusive cao lầu at home. The mythology of cao lầu, moreover, has turned me off trying to find it elsewhere, because why bother when the attempt might turn out subpar anyway, even when I know that Saigon has a sizable community of residents who hail from central Vietnam who might do the dish justice. Which is why I’m grateful to have taken a leap of faith to try out the cao lầu rendition at Mì Quảng Trí Hội An.

This particular neighborhood in Tân Bình District, as I’ve come to learn, is a treasure trove of central Vietnam fare. It could be confusing for first-timers as there are up to eight streets all named Bàu Cát, all in the proximity of Bà Hoa Market, which itself houses scores of eateries doling out heaps of bánh bèo, mì Quảng, shrimp paste, rice crackers, etc. Mì Quảng Trí Hội An is a nondescript residential house on Bàu Cát 2, an otherwise quaint street sheltered by rows of luxuriant trees.

Mì Quảng Trí Hội An is smack-dab in the middle of a sleepy residential street.

According to an intern who led us to its doors, the restaurant has been a favorite spot of her parents, who are true-blue Đà Nẵngers, for decades. It only offers two main dishes, mì Quảng in several permutations, and cao lầu, along with some bean desserts that we were also very excited to sink our teeth in. True to its name, the restaurant is run by a former Hội An resident who settled in Saigon a long time ago, so I have utter faith in its recreation of the highly acclaimed cao lầu.

Refreshing chè đậu ván with rich, velvety chunks of soft hyacinth beans.

It’s impossible to render on paper the range of feelings that were swelling in me the moment our portion of cao lầu materialized on the table. Over the years, like a beloved relative who has long passed away, the idea of cao lầu has faded into an abstraction of itself in me. I remember how it made me feel, but its impressions on my senses have become a postcard lodged deep inside the distant drawers of my mind, its details obscured by shadows. So to see it in the flesh evoked a host of visceral reactions.

Slabs of browned pork that emit a gentle waft of five spice; bits of fluffy, crunchy crackers; a bundle of fresh herbs and beansprouts awash in a glistening sheen of sauce. And underneath, the most important components of all: thick strands of noodles marinating in a pool of mahogany, translucent sauce.

Have you ever seen something so breathtaking?

Perhaps the closest cousin to cao lầu noodles is Japan’s udon, albeit only in shape and texture. Cao lầu noodles have an incredible bite that doesn’t go away even after being soaked in the soy sauce. Its taste is also “cleaner” than udon, which has a doughy tang due to its wheat flour component. These slices of marinated pork will be the best you taste this month, or even year, as they’re perfectly cooked with just the right amount of fat still attached. Its flavor is a call back to cao lầu’s Chinese origins — full of spice, soy, a subtle sweetness and a punch of umami that brings to mind char siu.

At VND35,000, a bowl of cao lầu at Mì Quảng Trí Hội An is such a steal that I’m sad they’re not located closer to me, so I can pay them a visit more often. Moreover, what makes this place special is that their price hasn’t changed through the years despite Saigon’s recurring rounds of inflation.

A huge portion of mì Quảng thập cẩm (VND55,000) with braised shrimps, short ribs, quail eggs, crab meat and rice crackers.

Apart from a superb cao lầu, Trí Hội An’s mì Quảng is also a solid bowl of noodles, though it didn’t inspire such emotions in me the way the cao lầu did, perhaps because mì Quảng is relatively well-represented in Saigon’s food map. Wash down your noodles with a glass of refreshing iced trà đậu ván, an herbal tea made from roasted hyacinth bean, a taste that can only be described as gangster pandan meets smokiness.

As I polished off my bowl of cao lầu, one question remained — is this the best cao lầu in Saigon? To be honest, I don’t know, but it’s close enough that I will physically fight anyone who says otherwise.

Mì Quảng Trí Hội An is open from 7am to 1pm and 5pm to 9pm.

To sum up:

Taste: 6/5
Price: 5/5
Atmosphere: 4/5
Friendliness: 4/5
Location: 4/5

Khôi loves tamarind, is a raging millennial and will write for food.

Mì Quảng Trí Hội An

138 Bàu Cát 2, Ward 12, Tân Bình

Hẻm Gems: What Bún Cua Gia Lai Taught Me About Vietnam's Bond With Bún

2023-10-18T16:00:00+07:00

Not being a picky eater was somewhat of a personal point of pride for me growing up. I have my family to thank for this, as their immense patience and open-mindedness have encouraged me to explore as many eclectic delicacies and novel ingredients as possible during my formative years. So whenever a wild new dish comes along that challenges my palate so much I struggle to finish even one portion, I can’t help but consider it a personal blunder. Much apologies to bún cua Gia Lai, I have failed you.

Loving bún is as easy as breathing. It’s versatile, it’s forgiving, it’s light and refreshing. After rice, bún — which, I might argue, is just rice in a fun costume — is perhaps the most widely enjoyed form of carbohydrate in Vietnamese cuisine. During the making of bún strands, the rice paste is lightly fermented and then pushed through a mesh straight into boiling water to cook, so freshly made bún often retains a touch of tanginess that makes the noodle especially compatible with rolls and seafood. Bún cá, bún riêu, bún ốc nguội, bún măng vịt: these are all sour broth-based bún dishes that have captured the heart and soul of centuries of eaters. Then comes bún cua Gia Lai.

Măm Măm Gia Lai is a treasure trove of Central Highlands food in Bình Thạnh.

Gia Lai cuisine: same same, but different

Bún cua Gia Lai is a curious Central Highlands specialty that popped up during our brainstorming session for Saigoneer’s noodles-centric chapter, and quickly evoked visceral reactions. A cursory search on the internet shows that wincing appears to be a typical response among netizens in features and videos introducing bún cua Gia Lai. The signature component of this noodle dish is a shimmering black sauce made of pulverized freshwater crab, shells and innards included, left overnight at room temperature to encourage light fermentation. The resulting juice, called mắm cua, is filtered out and boiled with spices and aromatics into a sauce to be eaten with bún.

This sauce will be the most crustacean thing you'll eat in your life.

The sparkling onyx-colored broth is admittedly not too inviting as far as palette goes, but it left me intrigued and eager to find out more. There’s a certain allure behind trying adventurous foods that others struggle to fathom, like vanquishing a legendary beast in folklore or finishing a particularly grueling race. Tasting bún cua Gia Lai and ending up liking it would be my ultimate triathlon medal. I get along just fine with bún riêu cua, and can down a few bowls of canh cua rau đay with relative ease — how difficult could this be?

Our designer brought forth Măm Măm Gia Lai, a casual eatery in the Nguyễn Gia Trí area, Bình Thạnh’s snack heaven, as a must-visit destination for bún cua in Saigon. Her Gia Lai-born classmate confirms that the food is at least 80% close to what he enjoys back home, so one Friday afternoon, we made a trek to Hàng Xanh to sink our teeth into some Central Highlands munchies. Măm Măm Gia Lai is rustic and sparsely decorated with just a few sets of tables in the dining space, but within the span of 15 minutes after we sat down, numerous shippers came and went, ferrying away giant portions of takeaways, so I had high hopes for what we were about to feast on.

There are only a handful of tables at the eatery, but shippers come and go often, carrying big bags of takeaway.

In addition to the infamous bún cua Gia Lai, the menu also features a wide variety of dishes — including bánh canh, bún riêu, phở khô, bánh khọt, and bánh cuốn — all with a fascinating Gia Lai twist. Before delving into the main attraction, we had a jolly time going through each and every item in awe and appreciation, because they are all well-prepared and interesting. Here, bánh canh noodles are made of wheat flour instead of just the usual tapioca flour; bánh khọt is eaten with a punchy sauce of pickled baby eggplant, pineapple, and mắm nêm; and the surprising winner of the evening turned out to be rolls of bánh cuốn, which, despite the name, is actually gỏi cuốn accompanied by a moreish peanut dipping sauce. Meals like these made me grateful to live in Saigon, because the city continues to astound me every day with its bottomless mother lode of new gems to discover.

Bánh cuốn Gia Lai

Bánh canh

Bánh khọt mắm cà

Bún thịt nướng

One can already smell bún cua Gia Lai even before it lands on the table, because the dining room is perfumed with an unmistakable aroma of crustacean. A portion of bún cua comes with a bundle of bún, a few ladles of black broth just enough to fill half the bowl, bamboo shoots, and a grey-tinted boiled egg that also spent time marinating in the mắm cua sauce.

Bún cua Gia Lai 101

Bún cua Gia Lai has surprising roots in Bình Định.

Unlike time-honored classics like phở and gỏi cuốn whose origin story might never be fully discovered, the tale behind bún cua Gia Lai’s manifestation is rooted in surprisingly contemporary history. According to elders in Pleiku, the capital city of the province and also the noodle dish’s birthplace, bún cua came to the Central Highlands in the 1950s alongside Bình Định immigrants who moved to the hilly province for blue-collar work. The dish was popular first as a breakfast food because the savory, salty crab sauce made carb-loading much easier, especially during a time of austerity when a bún cua bowl only comprised bún, mắm cua, and scavenged wild greens.

Freshwater crabs, known as cua đồng or “field crabs,” are a perennial friend of the Vietnamese people, because they’re abundant and easy to catch with little effort. Their diminutive size makes picking apart their flesh a fool’s errand, so it’s often much more efficient to just remove the carapace and blend them into a paste, which is boiled and served as is, or mixed with minced meat and egg into a crab custard, or chả cua. Most bún riêu cua in Saigon opt for the latter presentation, because bún riêu is a gentle noodle dish that cares about your feelings. Bún riêu understands that some eaters might find the earthiness of crab hard to enjoy at first, so it puts on the little training wheels in the form of meat and egg, so they can ease into it. Not bún cua Gia Lai.

Despite its humble setting, Măm Măm Gia Lai's service is very attentive and accommodating.

Bún cua Gia Lai has little patience for precious little wusses. You’re here for crab noodles? Well, this black sauce will be the most dizzyingly crab-tastic thing you’ll ever eat in your life. You can run, but you can’t hide. You might be tempted to mask the intensity by squeezing in lime, peppering your bowl with chili, smothering the provided fresh herbs in the sauce, downing refreshing trà đá in between slurps, but you won’t be able to get away. This pungent crab essence will hunt you down. It coats the noodles, hugs the vegetables, and lingers on your palate, filling your senses with a deep sense of umami, funk, and intoxication. You either find it strangely delicious or recoil in resignation.

It's not you, it's me.

I recoiled in resignation, sunk into myself, dejected and shamed, bested by bún. Rationally, I understand the purpose of this unique crab juice: fermentation introduces an umami, funky quality to the sauce that fresh crabs might lack. Supported by a range of textures like crispy fried shallot and crunchy greens, bún cua seems like a harmonious meal — in theory, that is. In practice, I was overwhelmed by both the intense taste and fragrance of the mắm cua and had to abandon the dish midway.

Art is often subjective, and while daily meals might not qualify as artworks, they are nonetheless also labors of love that can educate, delight, and contribute to the wondrous quality of the human experience. Even though I’ve learned the hard way that bún cua might not be the dish for me, I discovered an intriguing episode in the history of regional cuisines, and a whole world of other Central Highlands treats that are fulfilling to the tummy and the mind. The stinky, the spicy, the sweet and the crunchy — these are what we stay alive for.

Măm Măm Gia Lai is open from 11am to 10pm.

To sum up:

Taste: Unrated
Price: 5/5
Atmosphere: 4/5
Friendliness: 5/5
Location: 4/5

Khôi loves noodles, is a raging millennial and will write for food.

Măm Măm Gia Lai

57/3 D5 Street, Ward 25, Bình Thạnh, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: From Nghệ An, a Turmeric-Tinged Miến Lươn Feast in D7

2023-10-17T08:00:00+07:00

Once upon a time, deep in the distant kingdom of District 7, there was a miến lươn place.

The enduring tavern.

Its noodles were delicious, its eels fresh, and its barkeep amicable. The rustic tavern quickly gained the favor of the local hoi polloi and started attracting even pilgrims from nearby hamlets lining up to relish its well-crafted seafood broth. Alas, the eatery’s growing eminence also stirred the green-eyed monster living in the heart of its neighbors, who deigned to establish their own taverns dishing out miến lươn right next door to the original. The three rival noodle lodges coexisted in relative peace, until one fateful year, a treacherous plague swept through the realm, sickening many and rendered the populace destitute. Not many had the coins to frequent eel establishments anymore, and so, with dwindling patronship, the middle eel tavern had to shutter, while the original powered through and remained a beloved place of gathering for new footmen and regulars of yore alike.

The open kitchen.

This might or might not be Miến Lươn Phạm Gia’s origin story, but the COVID-19 pandemic did force one of three miến lươn places on No. 79 Street to close. Phạm Gia is based deep inside a residential enclave in Tân Quy Ward of District 7, where one wouldn’t know to look unless they call this place home, like Saigoneer’s resident photographer. A few months ago, his recommendation for a bánh cuốn Hải Phòng Hẻm Gems was a veritable treat, so we placed utmost trust in his approval of Phạm Gia, apparently yet another long-enduring family favorite that has stood the test of time — and worldwide pandemic.

The humble dining area of Phạm Gia.

Miến Lươn Phạm Gia looks just like any casual restaurant one would come across anywhere in the country: black plastic stools, bottles of half-congealed chili sauce, a giant menu with patched-up numeral decals showing the effects of inflation, and an open kitchen where every single activity from dish-washing to pepper-sprinkling is there for your gawking pleasures. Here, the eel comes in two main styles: deep-fried or tenderly stir-fried. One can opt to have their eel cuts with noodles and broth, stir-fried noodles, porridge, or with bánh mì and broth. Each standard portion costs VND70,000, which might be steep for just one meal, but for miến lươn, it’s comfortably below average in Saigon.

The menu that has been through several rounds of price revisions because of inflation.

Freshly chopped onion and herbs.

I am no expert in the cooking of miến lươn, but I’d fancy myself a veteran in the consumption of miến lươn. It’s essentially a northern dish, for the region is where these elusive freshwater eels call home. Few experiences can be as soul-soothing as sipping warm miến lươn broth on a cold morning in Hanoi, letting the herbs, the umami, the crispiness permeate your being until you’re thrumming with satiation. Our family’s go-to miến place in District 1 has gradually increased their prices to the point of no return, and I have been on the lookout for a replacement for a while. Will Miến Lươn Phạm Gia’s offering suffice?

A bountiful plate of fried eel is provided. I only added a few pieces into the bowl for the photo.

Our photographer colleague and his spicy palate. It's unreal.

My bowl of crispy eel and noodle broth arrived with a faint whiff of sesame oil and a thin layer of turmeric-tinged oil on the surface. Deep-fried chunks of eel were thoughtfully provided on a separate plate to keep the water from softening them. Strands of spring onion and bits of rau răm contributed to the greenery of the bowl’s ecosystem. In talking with the lady who handled our order, I found out that the family hailed from Nghệ An, and this golden-hued miến lươn is a style they brought from their hometown, in contrast to the clear broth I’ve had in Hanoi. But I am overjoyed to report that Miến Lươn Phạm Gia’s version is no less enjoyable. Dip the eel quickly in nước lèo, make a swirl of miến on your spoon, scoop up a sip of broth and everything comes together like a harmonious embrace.

Stir-frying noodles for a quick sear.

Soft chunks of eels being fried.

My colleague’s stir-fried vermicelli with julienned carrots and herbs had a nice bite and subtle flavors to me, but judging by the way he had to quite literally flood the plate with chili sauce, it was either grossly under-seasoned or he is a spice-crazed maniac. I’m leaning towards the latter. Another lunch companion got the version with broth and a bánh mì to dip and munch, but this proved to be the least ideal way to enjoy deep-fried eel: the dryness of the bread and the fried lươn compounded into a textural monotony that didn’t exist in the noodle versions.

The platonic ideal of a bowl of miến lươn.

In Vietnam’s pantheon of noodle dishes, miến lươn is especially easy to love. Vermicelli strands have just the right amount of chewiness, unlike phở which can get soggy fast or egg noodles’ dogmatic spring despite ample soaking time. Miến’s flat cross-section makes chopsticks maneuvering a breeze, compared to bánh canh’s slippery rotundity. And finally, for those Vietnamese like me whose bone-handling skills leave much to be desired, the deep-fried, boneless lươn with no fishy aftertaste is a godsend. This also makes miến lươn one of Vietnam’s most child-friendly seafood breakfast options there are.

To sum up:

Taste: 5/5
Price: 4/5
Atmosphere: 3/5
Friendliness: 3/5
Location: 4/5

Khôi loves curry, is a raging millennial and will write for food.

Phạm Gia - Miến Lươn Nghệ An

110-112 No. 79 Street, Tân Quy Ward, D7, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: A Trip to Bàn Cờ for Lạng Sơn’s Sweet and Sour Dry Phở

2023-10-16T10:00:00+07:00

There’s not much you can say about phở that hasn't already been said. From its complicated origin to its deliciousness to its ubiquity on Saigon’s streets, the subject has been covered ad nauseam. However, phở chua Lạng Sơn — mixed dry phở with sweet and sour sauce — is uncharted territory.

There’s just something about Saigon’s alleys that makes them the perfect site for both opening a food stall and relishing a good meal. Perhaps it could be the bustling traffic and throngs of passersby or the sense of community brought about by the closeness of Saigon’s standard tube houses. This week’s Hẻm Gem is tucked away in one such community, shielded by residential abodes and hidden under a bevy of stark, white neighborhood lamps.

The humble hẻm house where this delicious phở chua comes from.

A few months ago, I was introduced to the magic of phở chua by a friend who happens to live in the area. District 3’s Bàn Cờ neighborhood is a veritable maze. Made up of myriad quaint streets and hẻms in grid formation (bàn cờ means chessboard in Vietnamese), the area is notoriously easy to get lost in. Thankfully, I was with a local who was much more well-versed in navigating Bàn Cờ’s bewildering web of streets.

Phở noodles eaten with a range of protein and a sweet-and-sour sauce.

After thoroughly consulting Google Maps for the exact location of the phở stall, my colleague Brandon and I make a trek to the eatery at 4pm in a quest to avoid Saigon’s sporadic rain. As a photographer, Brandon wishes to catch the best lighting in order to showcase the dish’s true beauty, while I simply pray that I can enjoy my phở chua as it is — dry and sans rainwater.

Lady luck is apparently on our side because we manage to find the stall without any trouble despite District 3’s labyrinth of hẻms. The stall is still as homey as I remember because it’s literally in somebody’s home. The front of the house opens into an especially spacious alley, a rare find in Saigon. The owner has set up a few metallic tables along with a simple glass display housing a range of prepared ingredients: shredded strands of rau muống (morning glory), huge slabs of boiled xá xíu (pork shoulder) and chicken innards.

Thành, the owner, has been selling phở chua here for decades.

The team behind the stall consists of three ladies who work the cooking station as if they’re preparing for someone’s wedding lunch in the countryside: bantering away with the occasional teasing and hot gossip. According to the owner, a Lạng Son native who migrated to Saigon decades ago, the stall has been in business since the 1950s. Her parents both hail from the northern province but moved to Saigon in hopes of finding a better way to earn a living.

We sit down at a table located a stone’s throw from the main cooking station and in front of somebody else’s home. A few years ago, I would have been worried that somebody may come out and shoo us away, but after months of eating my way through Saigon’s eclectic spectrum of eateries, things like this don’t faze me anymore.

Five sets of phở ready for being stuffed into hungry faces.

The rambunctious server — who also doubles as parking attendant and cashier — receives our order and comes back five minutes later with two glorious bowls of phở chua: a bed of dry phở noodles slathered with viscous brown sauce, topped with slices of xá xíu, shredded chicken meat, diced chicken innards, a crispy shrimp chip, and last but not least, a dash of chili sauce for that extra kick.

Phở chua is closer to bún thịt nướng than actual phở, making it a refreshing dish to have on a hot day.

The accompanying vegetables include diced húng quế (Thai basil) and pickled young papaya. You could start mixing the ingredients in the bowl as it is and would still get a solid phở experience, but I recommend adding a generous helping of chili tóp mỡ (deep fried pork fat) to the serving. It is provided free of charge in a bowl on the table so theoretically you could chuck the whole thing in if you wished. Some might find this decadent topping greasy and hard to chew, but personally I think the whole experience would be incomplete without it.

The brown sauce is the star of phở chua Lạng Sơn the same way the broth makes a traditional bowl of phở. Soothingly sweet with a subtle hint of sourness, the sauce ties everything together in a tamarind extravaganza that leaves you wanting more. After the delicious meal, I attempt to cozy up to the owner hoping that she will divulge the secret behind that vivifying sauce but she just blurts out “tamarind” and shrugs.

Bánh giò is a snack here too. It's surprisingly jiggly.

A bowl of phở chua will set you back VND60,000 while the stall also serves a mean cháo sườn (short ribs porridge) at VND30,000 a portion. At the end of the day, phở chua seems to share more similar traits with bún thịt nướng than traditional phở, apart from the use of phở noodles. The combination of fresh herbs, pickled papaya and light tamarind sauce evokes a summery vibe similar to that of bún thịt nướng, but incongruous with its original breeding ground of Lang Son province, where the temperature usually hovers around 20^oC.

Phở Chua Thành is open from 10:30am to 9pm.

To sum up:

Taste: 5/5
Price: 4/5
Atmosphere: 4/5
Friendliness: 5/5
Location: 5/5

Khoi loves tamarind, is a raging millennial and will write for food.

Phở Chua Thành

242/101 Nguyen Thien Thuat, Ward 3, D3

Hẻm Gems: Trứng's Divine Flan Is What Happens When Saigon Dreams of Japanese Desserts

2023-09-17T12:00:00+07:00

My slight obsession with Japanese-style flan started in Tokyo, but it’s taken on a new life here in Saigon.

It all began as I was scrolling through my Instagram’s Explore page. There were fewer than 72 hours remaining in my Tokyo vacation when I came across a photo taken at a café not far from Ueno Park. It captured a dessert I thought I would only ever see in fever dreams: flan topped with a large dollop of whipped cream. I came to Tokyo ready to partake in convenience store flan — referred to as purin/pudding in Japanese culture, crème caramel in French, and bánh flan in Vietnamese — but it became essential that I try this marriage of two of my favorite things: custard and cream. When I did, I made a mental note in the file “Reasons to Believe in Destiny.”

Imagine my elation, then, when planning for my move to Saigon, I came across another photo of a cream-topped flan. Outside of all the practical preparations I had been making for an international move, I was also creating lists on Google Maps almost wholly devoted to restaurants — lists that have now become a regularly updated section of my own Substack where I share my culinary adventures in Saigon. Japanese restaurants comprised one list, and it was through related searches and rabbit holes that I came across the pudding of Trứng – Cafe & Dessert. My eyes widened and my breath quickened just like when I was in Tokyo. But this time, my heart skipped a bigger beat because I knew that this pudding was going to be available whenever I wanted it. A visit to Trứng was prioritized for my first week in Vietnam.

Now located in Bình Thạnh, my introduction to Trứng occurred at its initial location in Đa Kao. When I looked at the menu, I was perplexed when I saw that there were two pudding choices: soft and regular. Soft? What is this, now, I wondered. Obviously, I ordered it.

Trứng’s soft pudding is possibly the creamiest flan I have ever had. When tapped lightly with a spoon, it won’t wobble in the same way a regular pudding might (flansters like me can spend endless amounts of time watching TikToks of those wobbles). It’s dangerous to do that tap, in fact. The reduced firmness threatens the position of the crowning cloud of cream with every spoonful. But, if it falls into the puddle of dark caramel below, so be it. As I learned from Trứng owner and chef Lê Anh, the softness comes from excluding egg whites and upping the amount of heavy cream.

Arriving at a softer, richer pudding that she felt good about putting on her menu was a process that took many trials for Anh. The catalyst was hearing from customers that they found her regular pudding a bit too firm. A self-taught baker, Anh researched and tested until the new offering was up to her standard. The fact that customers such as myself now flock to the soft pudding is more latent benefit than ultimate reward. While she has intently listened to customer feedback and suggestions since Trứng opened in March 2020, Anh cannot serve anything that doesn’t agree with her tastes and standards. “If I like it, I will sell it. If I don’t, I won’t put it on the menu,” she asserts.

Anh at work in her kitchen.

This personal perfectionism appears at odds with the origin story of the café. As Anh tells it, she and a high school friend simply wanted to open a small place together and pursue a creative project outside of their regular jobs. Her friend was actually the one who was to do all the baking, and Anh would take on the PR. The initial menu only contained coffee and three food items, but they managed to stay afloat in those fateful early-pandemic months through luck and ingenuity as lockdowns and delivery apps kept the hospitality industry in business and in flux.

Within six months, however, now 29-year-old Anh had lost her partner. Health issues prevented her friend from spending long hours in the kitchen. Despite having another full-time job, Anh continued with Trứng because it was steadily finding a captive audience, and word began to spread. Anh’s fascination and experience with the types of desserts on offer in cafés in Japan and Taiwan began shaping what appeared on Trứng’s menu, and it spurred positive responses from customers — notably, a couple of influential Japanese bloggers who live in Saigon.

“Trứng’s soft pudding is possibly the creamiest flan I have ever had. When tapped lightly with a spoon, it won’t wobble in the same way a regular pudding might. It’s dangerous to do that tap, in fact.”

Encouraging comments from customers who knew the flavors and textures of the Japanese-inspired items Anh was making was part of what fuelled her confidence to keep going. But you will never hear her promote Trứng as a Japanese café: “I think it’s better for people to know first that we use good ingredients. Style is then personal preference. I don’t want to take the risk of saying that we only sell Japanese desserts.”

Relatedly, she is quick to point out that she is not out to create facsimiles. Because she simply cannot. For example, in Japan, it is possible to buy whipping cream with an almost incredible 42% milk fat, giving texture and structure that the 33% or 36% cream found here could never achieve. But she has been able to acquire Japanese sugar, which she has found does have an impact on creating a more just-like-home taste for customers.

Using the highest quality ingredients she can source is what Anh would like customers to know is her guiding ethos. Her menu items might be inspired by originals from elsewhere, and she may ask those bloggers for their opinions about Japanese recipes she’s exploring — what she did with her chestnut and rum raisin treats — but Anh makes her dessert dreams a reality by finding the best ingredients and tools she can.

The proof is literally in the pudding. Every item I’ve tried from Trứng tastes of what it is, but then amplified to an only-in-my-dreams level. For instance, the rich chocolate terrine is like a slab of the most decadent chocolate truffle filling. Or when you have a spoonful from the strawberry cake cup, you can’t help but close your eyes in bliss and wonder why other cultures haven’t picked up on Japan’s lead of eating a light, creamy, and fragrant dessert at Christmas time.

Think inspiration not imitation. “I want to attract Japanese customers and will research what’s trendy, but my tastes are changing. I want to make something both that I like and that others will, too,” she shares. Her kitchen stocks French butter, Korean canelé molds, and Đà Lạt strawberries because that is what Anh has found, after multiple trials and errors, produces what she considers the most delicious results.

The she is, again, important, though not always obvious. Late last year, her landlord decided not to renew her lease unless she agreed to a hefty increase. Trứng’s lights would not be on if Anh didn’t keep her other job to stay afloat, so she was forced to decide: close or move?

There were arguments for both. While delivery has helped immensely, Anh still struggles to find a solid, consistent customer base. Vietnamese social media influencers tend to be younger and more drawn to the power of a beautiful photo than an extraordinary taste. Anh knows her desserts cannot compete visually with the pastry shops in Saigon that are based more strongly on complicated French techniques and style. And while she regularly asks her Vietnamese staff for their thoughts on recipes she's testing, she’s received comments from local customers that her desserts aren’t sweet or rich enough.

But her fans in the Japanese community motivated her to keep going, and although almost painfully shy, Anh’s ambitious curiosity is evident. She couldn’t give up now; she hadn't finished her baking explorations and creating connections with her customers. When she asked me about my own baking, the interest that came through had the feel of someone who has dozens of dreams to achive for personal accomplishment rather than professional success.

She would have liked to have remained close to her old location by finding a new space in either Đa Kao or Tân Định, but she’s now just off Nguyễn Cửu Vân. The new spot opened this past spring and is larger than the previous one, but it still has the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it presence of all Hẻm Gems. She knew that many of her customers lived in District 2 or Bình Thạnh, so this new address is more accessible for them, especially with its proximity to the transportation artery of Điện Biên Phủ. Accessibility has not been seamless when it comes to bike parking, however. Customers have not been keen on the price and conditions of the closest on offer, and she hopes the annoyance will not become a deterrent.

Anh admits that customer service is her biggest weakness as a café owner. Her shyness, lack of prior hospitality experience, and time obligations toward her other job all play a role in her insecurities. But she is conscious of them and trying to improve, adjust, and find opportunities to empower her employees to take on more responsibilities in this area.

“Every item I’ve tried from Trứng tastes of what it is, but then amplified to an only-in-my-dreams level.”

The café in Tokyo that changed my custard-loving life was called Egg Baby; another mental note about Destiny is that it would lead me to a place called Trứng (egg) to keep my love alive. In future conversations, however, I can see myself mistakenly calling it “Anh’s.” While the café has steadily created fondness in the hearts of Saigoneers for its many nods to Japan — from the pudding to the shokupan sandos to the manga available to read — my time talking to Anh makes it feel like a coincidence. While you may feel like someone is trying to transport you to a quiet Tokyo side street, she’s actually just sharing her personal interests.

The number of times in my life (and many others’, I’m sure) I’ve daydreamed about what it would be like to open a small spot to serve the things I love to make is too numerous to count. That’s exactly what Anh did. Her “loves to make” just fortuitously dovetails with what many of us love to eat, some of which we have yet to be introduced to. Her aspirations encompass new ingredients (lemon specials appeared in July), dishes (she’s pondering parfaits), and events (June saw one devoted to matcha from Kyoto).

I suggested that Anh’s curiosity is why she’s not finished with Trứng. I think it’s more apt to say it’s why she’s only just gotten started.

To sum up:

Taste: 6/5
Price: 5/5
Atmosphere: 4/5
Friendliness: 4/5
Location: 4/5

Rhianna loves to eat fridge-cold bánh chuối nướng with canned whipped cream, would choose a boule of sourdough and a block of French butter for her death row meal, and often daydreams about going for an ice cream stroll with Larry David.

Trứng – Cafe & Dessert

125/13 Nguyễn Cửu Vân, Ward 17, Bình Thạnh, HCMC