I still remember vividly the anticipation running through my veins, when I saw a waiter bringing me a glass of sữa đậu nành, every time my family took me to one of the many Vietnamese restaurants of the 13th arrondissement of Paris, the city’s renowned Chinatown. It was a neighborhood I was bound to get dragged to as a French kid with a Vietnamese parent, whether I wanted to or not. For me, this glass represented the quintessence of typical Vietnamese drinks during a good meal: one of the rare glimpses into the daily customs of my ancestor’s culture.
The dishes in those restaurants were good, but I was used to eating them at home, cooked by my grandmother. They were already part of the usual experiences of my senses, and as such, didn’t evoke in me the special feeling of Vietnamese authenticity, not like the way sữa đậu nành could. I can recall restaurants’ over-the-top decorations, and customers shouting, one louder than another. In the midst of it, I only focused on my drink: it tasted mild, but with a slight earthy note that kept me wanting more. More than anything, the coldness shielded me from the heat of the meal, which I couldn't wait to devour.
A Vietnamese restaurant in Paris with al fresco seats. Photo via Noodlies.
Soy milk isn't the only drink offered there, but strangely enough, there are versions of it everywhere. From cans bought from the store around the corner to homemade soy milk, the quality might differ depending on the restaurant, but it’s always on the menu. This is why I was sure that soy milk was the go-to drink for any Vietnamese person when eating out: the real taste of Vietnam.
Imagine my surprise when I arrived in Saigon to discover that the first restaurant I went to didn’t offer sữa đậu nành. Was there a shortage at the moment? Did I stumble upon the only restaurant without soy milk? I quickly understood the reality of the matter: the ubiquity of soy milk was an imagination of my own. Baffled by this realization, I was looking around to see what everybody else was really drinking when the server approached me: “Is trà đá ok?” Everywhere I went, tea was the natural drink to go along with Vietnamese food, and soy milk was nowhere to be found. Trà đá's role here is what I thought sữa đậu nành would be.
Hot soy milk, among other flavored milks like mung bean and corn, is a beloved beverage in Đà Lạt. Photo via Vinpearl.
Since then, I’ve had opportunities to get my hands on soy milk, be it in higher-end restaurants or special soy milk stalls in Đà Lạt style, a city I have yet to visit. However the taste is always different from the ones I drank before setting foot in Vietnam. I was eager to find the representation of a country that only existed in my mind, just to realize what I sipped tasted like… soy milk. It was good, but the distinctive taste of getting closer to Vietnam was nowhere to be found.
Maybe soy milk was just a me-fantasy, not even an experience all French kids with Vietnamese background would have. What I have come to accept now is that this mythical “Vietnamese taste” I longed for is not locally present: if I go to Paris now and order one of these glasses I’ve had so many of, I know I won’t feel it anymore. It was never about milk, nor was it about Vietnam: the Vietnamese daily life I thought I could peek through the bottom of those sữa đậu nành glasses lit an interest in a side of my heritage that had felt far away.
