Saigon Hẻm Gems - Saigoneer

Hẻm Gems: Chè Lâm Vinh Mậu Anchors the Last Remaining Hoa Vestiges of D1

2025-07-09T15:00:00+07:00

Whenever I come back to Vietnam, it is a personal ritual of mine to visit locales of the past. As clichéd as it sounds, as I have been abroad in Singapore for six years, returning to Vietnam is almost synonymous with returning to places that once shaped my past selves, whose presence has been fading in my mind.

As I walk along Nguyễn Thái Bình Street of Saigon in the evening, the rain and the yellow lights of bistros I never remember existed bundle up my nostalgia with warmth. Catching sight of the Parish Church of The Lady of Peace, as humble and still as its bilingual signage, I know I have reached Chè Lâm Vinh Mậu, the Hẻm Gems for this week, across the street.

Chè Lâm Vinh Mậu has a handful of counter spaces and a few extra chairs.

It is just the same as I remember amidst the city’s changing landscape. Fluorescent tube lights illuminate a single wooden cart, typically seen at Hoa Vietnamese mobile stalls, complete with fitted reverse glass paintings featuring the name Lâm Vinh Mậu and illustrations of episodes from Chinese literary classics. Below, its built-in sections are filled with various chè soup bases and glass bowls displaying add-on ingredients. Apart from myself, there are only two other customers, who nonetheless are about to leave. Sitting down on one of the few tall plastic stools, I order my favorites. This time, chú Sơn mans the stall. He shares how, for the past few decades, he and his brother have been taking turns running the business, setting up the cart right in front of their shophouse. They took up the business after their uncle Lâm Vinh Mậu decided to settle abroad. Mậu was also the cart's namesake, though he recently passed away.

Colorful tranh kiếng works, a traditional Chinese art form, line the upper portion of the cart.

The stall serves a wide variety of chè, from classics such as sâm bổ lượng or chè đậu đỏ, but there are two particular dishes I’d always come back to. First is the chè hạnh nhân, whose central ingredient is almond tofu. A dish served cold with chopped ice, it comprises a clear sweet soup base, with morsels of soft white almond tofu. Against the sweet soup’s canvas, the tofu’s creamy and herbal notes shimmer with a subtle delicacy.

From top to bottom, clockwise: sâm bổ lượng, almond tofu, tea egg, and egg soup with sago.

The other dish is chè trứng bột báng, an egg dessert with sago. From its appearance, one is easily forgiven for thinking it is anything but chè, particularly because the hard-boiled egg and wispy beaten yolks included inside are more evocative of egg drop soup. Yet, despite being a strange combination, the egg ingredients and soup base make for a fascinating taste combination. The viscous chè filled with sago balls provides a textured sweetness to the savory hard-boiled egg. I split the egg open with a two-pronged fork and notice the yolk crumbles into yellow powder swirling within the clear soup. Eating the two chè dishes again from their little porcelain cups after such a long hiatus, I am comforted by the fact that they taste no different from how I remember them six-odd years ago, when I ate at the stall before I left for Singapore.

Apart from special dishes like tea egg, most toppings are eaten with a jasmine sweet syrup.

I give my compliments regarding the chè to Sơn as he wipes off condensed rings of water on the bumpy metallic table with his rag. The night air remains damp, and there are only two of us at the stall. We thus have a brief chat, and he asks me about my university academic journey, and whether I was on vacation. After I tell him of my return to Vietnam for a long break from Singapore, he shares how his son was also a media and communications graduate, and Singapore was also the first country he traveled to with his family overseas back in the 2010s. “Universal Studios [Singapore] was fun,” he recalls, handing me a shot glass of chopped ice and light tea, a palate cleanser.

As I sip the tea, I ask him about his business and regular clientele. According to Sơn, most of them are returning customers, many of whom are also overseas Vietnamese revisiting Saigon. He also bemoans the dwindling Hoa Vietnamese customer base and community in the neighborhood. “Most of them have already migrated abroad. A lot of them have family members who sponsored them,” he says. “Many current residents come from other regions of the country.” He reverts back to talking about Singapore, sharing how his son visited there recently for Lady Gaga’s “Lion City Mayhem” concert.

Simmered fruits and nuts make up most of the chè toppings.

Rain rustling on the corrugated iron roof fills the empty silence. Uncle Sơn stares out at the rain. Apart from the Parish Church of The Lady of Peace from across the street, there is also Khai Minh Secondary School, the vestige of a former Chinese guild-established school; and various communal housing blocks where small food businesses operated by Hoa uncles and aunties within the neighbourhood. As much as they are at risk of disappearing as the Hoa population in District 1 gets older, they are the little gems, tucked away within this corner of the city, waiting to be discovered.

Lâm Vinh Mậu was the name of the original owner, the late uncle of the brothers who currently run the stall.

I don’t think our brief interactions were enough for me to know much about the uncle, let alone the Nguyễn Thái Bình Neighborhood, his home turf, or the complexities behind the Hoa Vietnamese community in Saigon. Nevertheless, the encounter reminds me of a concern plaguing contemporary urban spaces, to which this city is no exception. The concept of a palimpsest has been used to describe the layered nature of a city’s history, whereby traces of the past are left behind or hidden beneath modern establishments.

Stainless steel sections divide the cart.

There are trade-offs to be made, and there are tensions between urbanization and heritage preservation in Saigon that need to be resolved. There is something bittersweet about this whole ordeal: with the continuous migration of people to and away from the city, the presence of heritage — whether it's a chè bowl or the presence of the Cantonese language — becomes as ephemeral as its people who once thought they would make a home there.

Most patrons are regulars, though the Hoa community in the neighborhood is dwindling every year.

As I savor those sweet, carefully curated bowls of Chè Lâm Vinh Mậu, I think about the knife slicing through the almond tofu block, the delicate ladle lifting, the sugary water seeping through its holes, and that rag at rest after a rough run across the table’s rim. I think about chú Sơn’s hands. A crumbly old shophouse with its peeling walls is never just a lifeless building when the hands that cook those morsels have been the scaffolds that keep it standing, but so are the customers, old and new, coming to relish its food. Representatives of our intangible cultural heritage, like cuisines are often inextricably linked to tangible spaces, and the people inhabiting them both. Perhaps people’s nostalgic memories and the desire to rediscover their roots are the greatest catalysts that will ultimately keep these delicious artifacts alive.

To sum up

Opening time: 7pm–11pm
Parking: By the stall (bike only)
Average cost per person: $ (Under VND100,000)
Payment: Cash
Delivery App: None

Chè Lâm Vinh Mậu

31 Nguyễn Thái Bình, Bến Thành Ward, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: Cleopatra Restaurant Adds Egyptian Flairs to Saigon's Dynamic Food Scene

2025-05-26T16:57:56+07:00

As of 2024, Saigon remains Vietnam’s most densely populated metropolis, playing host to 9.5 million residents. In the quality of life discourse, this crowdedness is often singled out as a weakness deterring many from living their best life in the city. While this is absolutely a valid concern, as someone who grew up in Saigon and has adapted to urban denseness, I would be the first to point out that this population is also a strength, for without it and a sense of southern generosity, Saigon’s cultural diversity would not be the same.

Apart from attracting migrant workers from every other province in the country, Saigon is also an inviting land for people from outside our borders to visit, fall in love, and maybe settle down if they feel welcome and safe enough. And sometimes, if we’re lucky, they happen to be excellent cooks as well, blessing Saigon and our tastebuds with a smorgasbord of novel and exciting food from their homes. Over the years of running our food series Hẻm Gems, we’ve encountered so many incredible eateries and dishes in the city that started out this way, including Ethiopian doro wot, Japanese curry, or even Nigerian jollof rice.

Cleopatra is located on Trương Quyền Street between residential tube houses.

Ammar, the owner of Egyptian restaurant Cleopatra, also shares this affection for Saigon, which prompted him to eventually settle down in town after having visited numerous times before. At first, he had another job, but his journey with food was kick-started by nothing other than the COVID-19 lockdown, he shared in an interview. Stuck at home without a job, Ammar began cooking, initially as a way to save money. He also sent meals to friends, who instantly recognized his talent in the kitchen.

These friendship meals introduced him to the first catering gig, and one thing led to another; he was soon renting a small kitchen space in District 1 just to cater food for Saigon’s Middle Eastern communities and anyone else who had a hankering for home-cooked meals. After saving enough money from catering, Ammar became an official restaurateur with the opening of Cleopatra Restaurant last year, this week’s Hẻm Gems feature.

Hummus and pita

It’s hard to imagine that a quiet street like Trương Quyền exists right in central Saigon. Just a short stretch that links Điện Biên Phủ and Võ Thị Sáu streets, this quaint street that could pass for a hẻm is where Cleopatra lives — not the Ptolemaic Egyptian queen, but the restaurant. And if you’re too busy basking in the serene neighborhood vibes here, there’s a high chance you’ll miss the entrance altogether, just like I did both times I was here.

The place’s dining area is rather small and sparsely decorated. At one corner, a TV plays soothing spa music on loop while here and there on the wall, some artworks depicting Cleopatra and quotes in Arabic hang in between ornate tiles. There are two tables that can fit a couple each, and one four-seat table for bigger groups. All told, everything is clean and comfy, and matters much less when the food more than makes up for any shortcomings in terms of interior design.

Beef shawarma

Arabic salad

Cleopatra’s menu has fewer than 10 items, and depending on your luck on any given visit, some might run out. Ammar acknowledged that he didn’t come from a professional culinary background, so whatever’s on offer are signature dishes that he’s confident in doing justice. One should not arrive here expecting an expertly curated Egyptian food experience, just home-cooked meals done exceptionally well. Even though Egypt is technically an African country, its unique position as the geographical meeting point of the Mediterranean Sea, North Africa, and the Middle East means that the cuisine is influenced by many other cultures, not just African.

Anyone looking for a halal meal in Saigon will be happy here, and those who have sampled Middle Eastern food in the past will feel right at home with Cleopatra’s offers like hummus, falafel, and shawarma. The chicken and beef shawarmas are quite tasty and convenient for a quick lunch, and the hummus is fresh and creamy. I especially enjoyed the soft and fluffy pita given to scoop up hummus. Still, the falafels here are a standout treat: light, nutty, golden brown on the outside and verdant green on the inside. It’s hard to imagine that something as humble and readily available as beans could turn into something this addicting.

Falafel

The must-order item on the menu, to me, is the rice with chicken plate, which pleases me to no end as a chicken rice connoisseur. Have you realized that, across Asia, nearly every culture has at least one chicken and rice dish that is a well-loved comfort food? In Vietnam, it’s cơm gà xối mỡ; it’s Hainanese chicken rice for Singapore; India has chicken biryani; and Thailand has kao mok gai. The yellow flavored rice and juicy chicken combo has really conquered our hearts.

A plate of mandi chicken (VND150,000) with salsa and toum sauce.

At Cleopatra, this combo manifests in the form of a whole leg of mandi chicken, served on a big bed of rich basmati rice, and eaten with a zesty tomato salsa. The chicken is grilled to produce crispy skin, though the meat is fall-off-the-bone tender, retaining an envious level of juiciness. Even though forks are provided, you probably don't need them. The rice has absorbed all of the stock, spices and chicken fat, becoming plump separate grains of decadence, which is why the acid in the tomato salsa is such a thoughtful addition to the dish that I had to ask for a second helping. All in all, at VND75,000, this chicken rice is generous, well-cooked, and altogether a harmonious meal that balances aspects of texture and flavors well.

Every dish in the menu comes out with a generous portion, pushing us dangerously close to a food coma.

I had added Cleopatra to my to-visit list on Google Maps for a few months and completely forgot about it until another Saigoneer writer suggested that we should pay it a visit. Having now sampled the food here, I regret not visiting it sooner. This was also the story between me and The Lunch Lady’s eatery; and now that she’s passed away, it’s made it all the more bittersweet. If I’ve learnt one thing about Saigon’s dynamic food scene after years of writing about it, it’s that everything is impermanent. So even if, in most cases, your next favorite food vendor probably won’t pass away before you’ve had a chance to visit them, people move, people have a change of career, a landlord might turn evil, or a pandemic might hit the globe. Visit that place you’ve been saving for a special occasion now, before it’s too late.

To sum up

Opening time: 11am–10pm
Parking: Across the restaurant (bike only)
Contact: 0372618581
Average cost per person: $ (Under VND100,000)
Payment: Cash, Transfer
Delivery App: None

Cleopatra Halal Restaurant

34 Trương Quyền, Võ Thị Sáu Ward, D3, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: The Unbearable Lightness of Eating Bò Lá Lốt Alone

2025-05-06T12:00:00+07:00

There are certain activities that are best not undertaken alone: karaoke, barbeque, watching football and feasting on ốc. The consensus, however, is still out on bò nướng lá lốt mỡ chài, so I decided to take one for the team and venture into Saigon’s thriving bò lá lốt scene as a lone wolf.

Vietnam has an unwritten rule about grilled dishes: these smoky dishes are wonderful nhậu snacks and no drinking session is fun without a friend or two. The rising popularity of grill-it-yourself joints further drives home this association between grilled food and group hangouts, as few bonds are stronger than those made while putting morsels of meat on a bed of charcoal together. As deliciously charred meat sausages, bò nướng lá lốt falls under this purview. While most grilled beef places spare you the ordeal of grilling them yourself, the interactive art of making bò lá lốt rolls still serves as wonderful ice-breaker for all participants; which begs the question: eating bò lá lốt alone, genius or sad?

As a proud introvert, I’ve long made peace with my propensity for solitary enjoyment. The introversion movement has made great strides in recent years in making going to the cinema alone socially acceptable. In fact, in my personal experience, this is even preferable. The theater is not designed for casual banter or dishing out witticisms; films should be a personal journey to allow ample room for undisturbed reflection. Elsewhere in the culinary world, solo-dining ramen eateries are popping up everywhere from Tokyo to New York, featuring “dining cubicles” that curtail human interactions. Yum. Vietnam is not immune to the movement either: a simple Google search for “lẩu một người” — one-person hotpot — yields a staggering 14.8 million hits, though I resent headlines that juxtapose this revolutionary invention with the derogatory term FA, short for “forever alone,” as if there’s anything shameful about slurping on hot broth without company.

The cutlery and crockery at Bò Lá Lốt Phương have seen better times.

Empowered by the trend, I make a beeline for Bò Lá Lốt Phương Cô Giang, regarded by many as the best spot in town, to wolf down some grilled beef sausages by myself. As the name suggests, Bò Lá Lốt Phương used to stand on Cô Giang Street in District 1, but resettled in District 4 not long ago, right in a neighborhood teeming with street food places. Xóm Chiếu lives up to its name as the district’s food enclave, but calling it a street is a rather generous statement. The narrow and cluttered thoroughfare has no pavement whatsoever and can barely fit two small cars on a good day. It doesn’t help that an army of stores selling everything from grilled seafood, noodles, phá lấu to bánh tráng nướng line its sides with stalls, tables and other crazy cooking contraptions.

My nose recognizes the presence of bò lá lốt even before my eyes could locate the restaurant, which features a cart and a grill in the shopfront. The dining area is modest, fitting three rows of plastic tables and stools. It’s clear that Bò Lá Lốt Phương is a family business, with members of the household staying right above the dining space. The grill is small, manned by a young staff who falls into a nimble rhythm of brushing, flipping, fanning and collecting the skewers of beef sausages. Despite the exhaust hood directly above, the wonderful fragrance of freshly cooked bò lá lốt still fills me with a palpable sense of anticipation.

Grilling bò lá lốt is an art.

It’s 4:30pm in the afternoon and drizzling, so I am the only customer at Bò Lá Lốt Phương, though every now and then, a deliveryman shows up to ferry away orders. My bò lá lốt and bò mỡ chài arrive quickly, neatly arranged on a tray complete with all the accouterments one needs for a fulfilling solo session of feasting. The set of bò lá lốt is extremely cheap at VND25,000 and includes a handful of bò lá lốt sausages, a plate of bánh hỏi (a form of rice noodle sheet), a stack of bánh tráng, a small bowl of water for dabbing on rice paper and heaps of herbs. Rolling your own bò lá lốt is an art that few get right, but luckily, it’s a skill one can get the hang of in one sitting — the secret lies in moderation: not too much water and not too much filling.

To start, put a bánh tráng in your palm. It’s also important to choose one that’s intact so it will not tear during rolling. Add one piece of lettuce, then a piece of bánh hỏi while making sure that they lie flatly on the rice paper sheet. A single roll of bò lá lốt or bò mỡ chài rests on the bánh hỏi, surrounded by other herbs and sliced vegetables, such as bean sprouts, cucumber, green banana, starfruit, húng quế and diếp cá. Wet the tips of your fingers in the provided bowl and dab the further end of the sheet. Finally, slowly roll the bundle away from you on the palm, ending with the wet edge, which should be sticky enough by now to seal the filling into a neat roll.

A tray of bò lá lốt comes with a wide array of fresh herbs and vegetables.

You now cradle in your hand one of the most magical tools to soak up as much dipping sauce as possible. It may hold itself together with grace and uniform weight. It may be slightly clumsy, bursting at the seams from the generous sprinkling of bean sprouts inside. It might be perfect, or not. But the point is: it is your creation, and because you made the decision to plunge into this new endeavor alone, there’s no one around to critique your work. Now, proudly dip that baby into the bowl of mắm nêm, and take the first bite into a world of umami, spiciness and herbaceous freshness.

Inside the puny sausages, each no longer than a child’s thumb, is a mixture of minced beef, tendon, lemongrass and spices. Of course, there’s a reason behind the two types of wrappings: bò lá lốt is covered by lá lốt, a type of betel leaf; bò mỡ chài is instead enveloped in a decadent layer of caul fat. Both are there by design to help the meat inside retain its juiciness. I’ve always believed that this ingenuity was yet another proof of Vietnamese’s resourcefulness, but the more I delve into the history behind the dish, the more evidence emerges to suggest that bò nướng lá lốt was instead our ancestors’ way to adapt foreign techniques to local taste and ingredient availability.

Mỡ chài refers to a thin layer of caul fat lining the guts of cows, pigs and sheep. Its elasticity makes it desirable as the wrapping for sausages, roulades and other meat dishes. The technique is popular in many European dishes, such as French crépinette (pan-fried sausages) or the unfortunately named British faggot (meatballs baked in the oven). Most remarkably, sheftalia, a popular skewer dish in Greece and Cyprus, involves seasoned minced meat wrapped in caul fat and grilled on charcoal. Sound familiar? The most probable, but rather lazy, theory speculates that Vietnam’s bò nướng mỡ chài might be an adaptation of French crépinette, arising during colonial time.

A roll with bò mỡ chài inside.

If bò mỡ chài may have originated in Europe, bò lá lốt descends from a long line of Asian leaf-wrapped delicacies. According to The Oxford Companion to Food, Vietnam learned how to use leaf wrap from Indians, specifically Bengalis, who adapted the technique from Middle Eastern traders. Middle Eastern cuisines employ grape leaves in stuffed dishes called dolma — minced meat, rice, spices, potato and other veggies wrapped in a grape leaf and then steamed or boiled.

Nestled at the apex of the Bay of Bengal, Bengal is the easternmost region of India and has been an important trading link between the Middle East and Southeast Asia for centuries. It was here where the Pala Empire was founded in 750 CE and became the dominant power by the 9^th century, with a focus on trade and cultural exchange, which brought in new ideas and techniques like Islam and dolma. The latter became a unique creation of Bengali cuisine.

From Bengal, the art of making dolma traveled further eastwards with merchants to mainland Southeast Asia, particularly Vietnam. However, the tropical climate in the country proved inhospitable to grape vines, so locals improvised by replacing grape leaves with lá lốt, a leaf indigenous to Southeast Asia that shares the same heart shape — perfect for wrapping. Though lá lốt is commonly translated as "betel leaf," they are in fact two different species in the same family, which also comprises black pepper and kava. Lá lốt (Piper sarmentosum), has a much milder taste than betel leaf (Piper betle), making it more suitable for use in cooking.

The use of leaves in wrapping food is not unique to Vietnam.

Half an hour after sitting down, I finish my tray of bò lá lốt, taking my own sweet time to perfect every roll as much as I can and scraping the bowl of dipping sauce clean. The owner's family has set up their own dinner on a plastic table nearby are happily munching away on a feast of fried fish and rice. I feel dumb for expecting them to hunker over trays of bò lá lốt; they must be sick of the dish by now. All told, Bò Lá Lốt Phương Cô Giang’s food was excellent, albeit nothing unique that could justify making a trek all the way to District 4 for more. I suspect the eatery’s reputation was built entirely on its extremely affordable price rather than the morsels of perfectly charred but forgettable bò lá lốt. Still, if you happen to be in the neighborhood or live nearby, it's a perfect destination for a casual dinner with friends, or alone.

Bò Lá Lốt Phương Cô Giang is open from 3pm to 11pm.

This article was originally published in 2019.

To sum up

Taste: 3.5/5
Price: 6/5
Atmosphere: 4/5
Friendliness: 5/5
Location: 3/5

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

Bò Lá Lốt Phương Cô Giang

228A Xóm Chiếu, Ward 15, D4, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: At Mão A Chai, Masala Chai and Thái Nguyên Tea for the Soul

2025-04-22T11:00:00+07:00

I used to be an international student living in Minnesota, where winter comes early and overstays its welcome. In those long months of snow and silence, I relied heavily on coffee, my go-to companion during late-night study sessions and early morning lectures. This changed one day when my host mom introduced me to something unexpected: Indian chai.

The first sip of masala chai was a revelation: warm, spicy, earthy, and somehow deeply comforting. It quickly became a ritual: every time the heating failed or the snow piled too high, she would brew a fresh pot for the whole family. Chai, for me, became more than a drink. It was home away from home.

Perched atop the fourth floor of an old apartment building in District 1, Mão A Chai has great views of downtown Saigon.

Years later, back in Vietnam, I tried to find that taste again. But every cup I encountered felt off: too sweet, too trendy, too far removed from the chai that once warmed my hands in a Midwestern kitchen. I had nearly given up the search when a college friend mentioned a little tea shop hidden on the fourth floor of an old building in Saigon: Mão A Chai.

The store is filled with earthy materials and colors.

From the moment I stepped through the wooden door, something felt different. The scent of spices hit me first — cinnamon, clove, cardamom, and more — followed by the gentle hum of a quiet room filled with natural textures: bamboo lamps, wooden stools, clay cups. There were no neon signs, no crowds posing for photos. Just calmness.

Many items were brought here from the travels of the owners.

The drink I ordered that day, cinnamon chai, brought me back immediately. It tasted exactly like what I remembered: balanced, warm, and tender.

Hiếu, one of Mão A Chai's co-founders. Photo by Tô Thụy Hoàng Mai.

On a return visit, I met Hiếu, one of the co-founders of Mão A Chai. He used to study and work in IT, but left the field after realizing he wasn’t suited for the corporate lifestyle typical of the industry. “I didn’t enjoy the corporate life in IT, but I had already committed,” he told me. “So I feared where it would lead, that made me anxious.”

During university, Hiếu discovered a passion for creative work while working at a design-focused company. That passion eventually led him to meet Hà — his business partner and now life partner — and together, they created Mão A Chai not as a business, but as an extension of who they are.

Hà has lived and worked in over 50 countries, including India. But this wasn’t backpacking or tourism. She lived like a local, learning to make masala chai from friends, neighbors, and even her Indian housekeeper. That lived experience shows.

Guests will share the space with two resident felines.

“We only serve what we truly understand,” Hiếu said. That includes not only Indian chai but also Vietnamese green tea, especially Thái Nguyên green tea, a simple, unpretentious tea deeply rooted in northern Vietnamese culture.

Their approach extends beyond the menu. Every item in the shop is carefully chosen: bamboo lamps from craft villages near Hanoi, reclaimed furniture from homes in the Central Highlands, even a small ceramic bird named Thật Thà (Honesty) perched by the window.

“We didn’t just buy things from a catalog,” Hiếu explained. “We gathered them through journeys, knowing where to get what. Like how you collect herbs for a good pot of tea.”

Thật Thà the ceramic bird in its natural habitat.

It shows. The space doesn’t feel curated, it feels lived in, like a home that was slowly built over time, not styled for a photoshoot. There’s no loud branding, no Wi-Fi password on the wall, no call to action. Just quiet and warmth.

Watching the barista make chai, I realized how much care goes into each cup. First, spices are gently roasted until fragrant. Then comes black tea, brewed low and slow to soften the bitterness. Plant-based milk is added, not because of trends, but for health. A bit of sugar rounds it out. The entire process is deliberate, like a rhythm.

Making masala chai is not a quick process, it takes a certain level of attention and care.

“Chai,” Hiếu said, “is not a recipe. It’s a conversation between ingredients, between heat and time.” Toward the end of our conversation, I asked him, “What would you recommend to someone visiting Mão for the first time?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Always two drinks,” he said. “Thái Nguyên green tea is a must-try if you’re curious about traditional Vietnamese tea. It’s our cultural heritage. And Indian chai — freshly brewed, gently spiced — hits the sweet spot for young people.”

Masala chai and a cookie.

I now return to Mão whenever I need a pause, not just from work, but from the weight of noise, of deadlines, of the need to always be doing something. I sit by the window, sip my chai, and breathe.

We all need a third place: not home, not work, but somewhere in between. A place to return to without explanation. For me, Mão A Chai is that place. And perhaps, if you let it, it could be that place for you too.

Mão A Chai is open from 7:30am to 9:30pm.

Mão A Chai

4th Floor, 26 Lý Tự Trọng, Bến Nghé Ward, D1, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: A Humble Bún Riêu That Reminds a Child of the Mekong of Home

2025-04-20T15:11:06+07:00

As a little boy, there were nights when I would burst into tears upon waking up suddenly and not seeing mom around, because I missed her and needed her. One night, I even crawled under the bed and threw a tantrum, demanding her to be by my side immediately. My dad and brother told me that she was off selling bún riêu and would be back later. In the mind of a four-year-old, it didn’t matter what kind of noodles and where she was selling them, he only cared about when she would return. At the time, I don’t recall ever trying her bún riêu.

Among the myriads of noodle dishes that she fed me during the 17 years I spent at home, I always refused bún riêu. I thought that the anemic orange hue of the broth and the gargantuan pork knuckle smack-dab in the bowl were too much, so my appetite was often gone when face with bún riêu.

I left my hometown for Saigon to attend university. Only by exploring the tiny streets near campus did I come across a humble cart named Thắm — after the owner, no doubt — on Nguyễn Thị Thập Street, District 7. It reminds me of the Mekong Delta, of the quaint neighborhood where I was born and grew up in, of the hometown flavors that I now struggle to find again.

In the Saigon twilight every day, from 5pm to 7pm, the bún riêu cart was nestled in a nearby hẻm, wedged into one side to leave enough room for bikes to drive past. Eaters, too, enjoy their noodles alongside the length of the alley. Then, from around 7pm to 8pm, when the household appliance store next door shuttered, leaving its spacious frontyard empty, the cart took over the space, unfurling its tables and stools and forming an open-air dining area for anyone hankering for a steaming bowl of bún.

After 1–2 months since my last bún riêu, I paid the noodle cart a visit. It was 7pm so the store was still open, and thus the cart was supposedly chilling “backstage.” Yet, I discovered that Bún riêu Thắm was no longer hidden in the hẻm, but now serving meals out of their own storefront, albeit a small and humble one. During the afternoon, the cart serves out of this location, less than 100 meters from its night habitat. This was where we enjoyed our bona fide bowls of bún riêu.

I ordered a full-topping portion except for the pork knuckle, though anyone who relishes this addition can still ask for it. Guests will be able to detect the harmony and moderation in how the food presents itself right way. Strands of white noodles peak out under the layers of generous toppings that leave little space for the orangey broth.

Across the bowl, slices of pork, chả gân, crab cake, and fried tofu pile up, awash in the distinctive reddish shade of the bún riêu stock. The greenness of morning glory stands out as an accent. Last but not least, it’s impossible to miss the big hunk of crab meatloaf in a corner, the pièce de résistance for many bún riêu lovers. Diners can mix some shrimp paste, sugar or kumquat juice to make a dipping sauce for their toppings.

It seems that Mekong dwellers are often quite generous in their flavorings, as evidenced by the range and amount of seasonings used on a daily basis. It creates complex, soothing flavor combinations that are unique to local cuisines, from braised and fried dishes to soups. Thắm’s bún riêu version no doubt was influenced by the same flavoring philosophy, crafting her own flavor profile compared to northern-style bún riêu.

One can sense the umami in the broth, be it from bones or additional MSG. You’ll enjoy the suppleness of the rice noodles, the texture of the pork, the crunch of crab cakes, and the tender cubes of tofu soaking up all that flavorful broth. Above all, biting into the crab meatloaf, you’ll immediately sense the richness and meaty flavor from field crabs and eggs, blended into a soft block. In a bowl of Mekong-style bún riêu, the standout flavors are sweetness and saltiness, though one can squeeze in their own citrusy sourness should they feel enticed by the kumquats.

Thắm’s version of bún riêu resonates strongly with the Mekong region’s flavor palates, so even though I’ve never eaten bún riêu throughout my 17 years at home, I could still feel a sense of familiarity in my first bowl of bún riêu in Saigon. It feels a little bit like sitting on a coach in a whole different country, heading to a far-flung corner, yet suddenly hearing a Vietnamese voice from a fellow passenger with the same accent as your hometown’s. It’s so familiar I almost shed a tear.

District 7 is both foreign and familiar to me after five years studying and working here, but stopping by a sidewalk to have a southwestern bowl of bún riêu is not the only thing that makes me miss home. Here and there, I can sense fragments of my hometown in the accent of the servers, in the way they call out orders, in how they banter with regulars, how they joke around during downtime, the stainless steel tables, the plastic stools, and the giant plastic mugs filled with iced tea. It’s as if my tiny street at home is materializing around me. I see my mom’s figure carrying a bowl of bún from the market home to my dad in the way the server carries orders to our tables.

A bún riêu in Mekong Delta style is prepared with care and attention to details to produce a complete and flavorful eating experience. To me, it’s not merely a meal. It’s a seashell where my spirits can take solace in during particularly tough days; it’s a bridge linking me to that special place 300 kilometers from where I’m sitting, and linking me to the shards of memories that have been supporting me on my life’s journey forward.

Bún riêu canh bún Thắm is open from 5pm to 12am.

To sum up:

Taste: 4/5
Price: 4/5 — VND35,000 per bowl.
Atmosphere: 4/5
Friendliness: 5/5
Location: 5/5

Bún riêu canh bún Thắm

249-263 Nguyễn Thị Thập, Tân Phú Ward, D7, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: From Music to Mise en Place, A Thăng Is an Eatery That Friendship Built

2025-04-13T16:00:00+07:00

“We want to be artists; we want to be free. Now we are free,” says Nguyễn Hoàng Anh, co-founder of A Thăng Eatery.

Hoàng met the restaurant’s other co-founder and head chef Bùi Gia Huy when they were both hospitality students in Saigon. The pair quickly bonded over a shared love of music. Huy is a singer while Hoàng plays guitar. Both in their early twenties, they found the drudgery of working in restaurants after graduation to be harmful to their mental health, so this past December, they decided to free themselves by opening A Thăng. The name, translating to the musical note A sharp, is a nod to their friendship and common interests.

Hoàng (left) and Huy (right) founded A Thăng at the end of 2024.

Established in a humble building down a District 1 hẻm that was most recently a homestay, A Thăng is a testament to youthful ambition, creativity, and friendship. A DIY aesthetic and pride in one’s hometown permeates the space, with a repurposed door serving as the bar counter shelf, behind which rests a jar of Quy Nhơn chili sauce. Knick-knacks, including tiny bears added by core team member Khoa Diệp and adorable bear doodles by Nghi Diệp, further give it a charming personality and establish a warm and welcoming vibe.

Born and raised in Quy Nhơn, Huy credits his father’s cooking with helping put him on a culinary path. He would watch his dad prepare traditional Bình Định family meals and soon did the same, adding western techniques and flavors when he came to Saigon to study. An appreciation for these hometown lessons and ingredients explains why he was quick to recommend the #Q Fish Rice made with sea bass and the aforementioned Quy Nhơn chilli sauce. A stand-out dish, the fish is supple and meaty while the perfectly cooked rice offers complex notes of cinnamon, pepper and chili.

Another favorite item we ordered on our most recent visit was the pumpkin soup with grilled cheese. I’m a sucker for soup, particularly during Saigon’s perpetual soup season and A Thăng’s rendition is fantastically thick and rich. Dipping the crisp sandwich bread filled with gooey cheese is the perfect melody of textures with crunchy meeting melty. But even more than the mouthfeel, the quality of ingredients shines through. Every morning the team travels to nearby Tân Định market to purchase the ingredients. Such a habit might cost a bit more, but its worth it for the resultant fresh and clean dishes. This emphasis on healthy meats and produce reflects the team's own habits and the eatery’s motto: “We sell what we eat.” Thus, other than occasional pop-ups, the menu only features seafood, pork and chicken alongside vegetarian items.

When it first opened, A Thăng Eatery consisted of just the front room and a small interior dining space with a few tables. This quickly changed thanks to a random video that went viral on TikTok. A friend of the co-founders had ordered flowers for the restaurant to celebrate its grand opening. The florist who delivered them was impressed with the spot and returned for dinner. She uploaded a video of her visit to her rather unanimous account and netizens took notice; it amassed hundreds of thousands of views. Perhaps it was the comfy interior that reminded one of the cozy home of close friends. Maybe it was the clips of young people diligently attending to their passion. Or it could be that the colorful dishes simply looked irresistible. But for whatever reason, the video resonated and guests arrived in droves. This early success allowed the restaurant to furnish a large, bright anterior space. Huy and Hoàng had been sleeping in the small room behind the kitchen but they were able to move to a nearby apartment and use the makeshift sleeping quarters as ingredient storage.

In a clear reflection of the restaurant’s grasp on food trends and the particular flavors in vogue with the city’s young diners, the drink menu has a detailed matcha section in addition to a homemade soda that reimagines Hội An viral Mót herbal tea. As Hoàng meticulously whisked the green tea and layered a “Mt. Fuji” of foam on top, he discussed the co-founder’s background. At one point, he gestured with pride to the restaurant’s license hanging on the wall. Hailing from Cần Thơ, Hoàng’s family is involved in the region’s rice trade which has given him familiarity with and appreciation for the legalities of commerce.

While A Thăng Eatery is certainly a business and everyone involved wants to make enough money to continue, getting rich is not the priority. Rather, they want to have a space that allows them to explore their collective creativity and passion. This helps explain the recent pop-up menu with Saigoneer favorite Trần Pizza. In what came as no surprise, the street pizza’s proprietor Hiếu is a long-time friend of the A Thăng crew, and the collaboration seemed obvious when Hiếu found himself in between venues (he has since found a permanent location). But the pop-up was more than simply giving Hiếu space in the kitchen and on the menu; it was an opportunity for everyone involved to have fun while learning from one another. Huy and Hoàng learned about making pizza while Hiếu benefited from having A Thăng craft the toppings. It culminated in Kurty Wurty, a phở-inspired pizza named for an influential Singaporean chef that proved to be the week’s favorite item.

The sense of community fostered at A Thăng goes well beyond the specific Trần Pizza pop-up. The team has plans to host music performances that can give space to themselves and their circle of artist friends, in addition to future culinary collaborations. In the meantime, they have space to promote the undertakings of friends, such as The Hồ Tiêu, a company run by the friend of one of their sisters that sells a remarkably unique and flavorful craft pepper from Phú Quốc. Even during regular meal service and downtime, one understands how the restuarant serves as a source of community connection as evidenced by the Playstation 2 hooked up outside the kitchen. “Go ahead and play,” Hoàng said with a laugh.

Of course, many diners do not select a restaurant just because the team behind it is cool and its mission reflects an admirably earnest embrace of youthful passion. They understandably want great food. A Thăng certainly excels in this regard with a small but exemplary menu of Vietnamese-inspired western dishes. In addition to the #A Rice and pumpkin soup, we had the A# Salad made with kale, hydroponic lettuce and a variety of other vibrant produce;and the A# Pasta featuring pan-seared shrimp and a signature shrimp sauce. This later dish’s perfectly cooked pasta and shrimp underscore how the chefs can deftly execute basic techniques. This talent allows them to proceed according to the adage that only when you know the rules are you free to break them. A mastery of blurring the lines between western and Vietnamese cooking is on display in the Pasta Agilo Olio which features Nduja (an herbal pork sausage) with local spices and chili, as well as the A# Chicken Rice that reimagines the familiar central dish with egg and kimchi.

Fitting to the restaurant’s ethos, Saigoneer became aware of A Thăng because of a mutual friend with the cofounders. That first trip was on a Saturday afternoon and the venue was absolutely packed with mostly young people enjoying relaxed weekend meals. When we made our most recent visit to A Thăng on a Wednesday afternoon, other than a pair of young women snapping careful photos of their food before digging in, we were the only ones there. It’s a bit surprising because the prices (VND90,000–120,000 per dish) make for great casual lunches in the middle of a workday. But regardless of when you come, you’ll be sure to have a great meal in a wonderful atmosphere. You’ll leave inspired by the passion and talent of the team and perhaps even optimism for the future of the city’s entire dining scene.

A Thăng Eatery is opening every day except Monday and Thursday. Check out their Instagram account for opening times and dates.

To sum up:

Taste: 5/5
Price: 5/5
Atmosphere: 6/5
Friendliness: 7/5
Location: 4/5

A Thăng

47/9 Trần Quốc Toản, Ward 8, D3, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: Kura Bar, a Veritable Treasure Trove of Rare Japanese Sakes Amid Saigon

2025-03-19T10:00:00+07:00

Saigoneers are spoilt for choice when it comes to Japanese eateries in the city. Dozens, if not hundreds, of sushi, ramen and izakaya spots dot its districts. And if you're in the mood for something special, more obscure delicacies like tsukemen, Tokyo abura soba and Okinawa taco rice are readily available. Over the years, the epicenter of such eateries, especially those run by Japanese owners, has been slowly shifting from the upper stretches of Lê Thánh Tôn to Bình Thạnh District’s Phạm Viết Chánh neighborhood.

This is where an even rarer branch of Japan’s culinary heritage can be enjoyed. Just off the main drag is 蔵 KURA, a dedicated sake bar — pronounced “SAH-keh” in Japanese — helmed by Sana, who originally hails from Nara Prefecture in southeastern Japan. Known colloquially as “the cradle of the Japanese civilization,” it is home to more UNESCO World Heritage sites than any other prefecture in the country. With such a pedigree, it may come as no surprise that it’s also rich in sake traditions.

KURA is hidden in a hẻm just off Nguyễn Hữu Cảnh Avenue.

KURA is a one-woman show, with Sana curating both the sake selections and appetizer-sized dishes in her narrow standing bar establishment, which attracts all types of patrons including Japanese, Vietnamese and westerners who all have their unique sake preferences.

Japanese are generally the most distinguished consumers when it comes to their national alcohol. They are often knowledgeable about sake, having opinions and tastes that were formed over their lifetimes. “Japanese sake lovers who come to my bar know their own favorite taste of sake from different areas in Japan, so they tend to order by flavor,” Sana told Saigoneer. Sometimes this is based on flavor profile, or even simply in line with their home prefecture. For Japanese guests, it’s clear that the comfort and nostalgia of home brings them to KURA.

Sana is deeply proud of her Nara heritage.

Vietnamese who visit are also often familiar with Japan and sake, with many having lived in or visited the country, according to Sana. Similar to Japanese guests, they also make their selections based on personal experience.

Westerners are comparatively visual when it comes to their sake choices. “I see westerners tend to choose by a label or look of a bottle on the first visit — like pointing to a bottle and saying “I like to try that red bottle” or “I will pick this [beautifully labeled] one.” After sampling the inventory, this group starts to get their bearings and narrow down their preferences. “I see they are humbly confident and proud of their own taste buds and senses,” shared Sana.

Have you ever seen this many types of sake in one place?

If guests need a bit of help navigating the extensive offerings, Sana assists by asking questions that help to determine what would be suitable for their palates. “I usually ask them if they prefer “karakuchi” (dry) or “amakuchi” (sweet) taste. If they don’t know what they want, I [would] recommend they try the ones that I select from my favorite sake lines and seasonal ones. When they like it, I am happy too. For beginners, I usually refrain from serving peculiar and strong-tasting sakes.”

Sake is just as diverse as wine or other spirits.

Sana also offers a limited but important food menu that she feels can elevate the overall experience when paired correctly: “At my bar, I usually serve aged foods such as fermented and smoked dishes, because sake is also aged, they create an amazing chemistry in a mouth together.”

A platter of aged snacks accompanies sake sipping.

When at KURA, it feels like Sana has been doing this forever. But like many who follow their passions to build their business, her sake journey was filled with serendipity.

In 2010, Sana was working as a stage photographer in Tokyo, mainly shooting dance, ballets and musicals. This was also the year that Nara was commemorating the 1,300^th anniversary of its ascension as the capital of Japan during the Nara Period from 710 to 740, and again from 745 to 784. At the event, sake breweries from around the region held a small tasting event, where she felt a sense of pride for her prefecture’s historic products.

Four years had passed when a business feng shui expert told Sana to go to Vietnam. “Although Vietnam was not on my list of countries I was interested in, she pinpointed it and told me to go to Hồ Chí Minh City. A week later, I met a company that was helping me start a business in Vietnam. After that, good connections continued to draw me smoothly to Hồ Chí Minh City, and before I knew it, I had opened my shop a year later, in 2015, in Lê Thánh Tôn,” she recounted. “At that time Vietnam still didn't have much understanding of sake. I remember I was disappointed that the even proper way to store and preserve sake was completely unknown. I would keep passionately spreading correct ways to have sake in the best condition and the greatness of sake; Japanese masterpieces.”

Since she arrived, much has changed in the scene. Sake is now a more common offering across the city and there's more consumer demand for it than ever. While the robust range of offerings alone makes KURA worth a visit, it’s Sana’s knowledge and passion that have solidified its status as a Hẻm Gem.

KURA is open from 6pm to 11pm.

蔵 KURA

40/28 Phạm Viết Chánh, Ward 19, Bình Thạnh, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: Go Back in Time to Chợ Cũ's Golden Days via Cô Chánh's Hủ Tiếu Mì

2025-03-10T20:20:14+07:00

In the memory-scape of children growing up in the countryside like me, there always exists the familiar sight of old wet markets and the mornings we spent there, toddling behind our moms on the hunt for snacks, CDs, and lollipops. In the afternoons, I often tagged along with my grandma to buy meat and veggies, sneaking a toy or two inside her basket. Sometimes, if I was particularly sweet, she would allow us to have lunch there instead of at home.

After years of studying and working in Saigon, I once thought that these nostalgic scenes only live in my mind now, but on a trip to Tôn Thất Đạm’s chợ cũ, I was shocked to find a charming kiosk with the same retro display I remember from my childhood.

Hủ Tiếu Mì Cô Chánh is located at 69 Tôn Thất Đạm, manned by the titular cô Chánh, whose real name is Huỳnh Thị Dung. She told me that the kiosk was a family heirloom from her uncle, who started selling noodles 60 years ago. When he emigrated abroad, he left the operation in her hands. At first, she kept it simple with just Guangdong-style hủ tiếu, but to cater to local demand, over time, she added more options to the menu, like hủ tiếu mì, wonton, meatballs, etc.

The flavors of cô Chánh’s noodle shop have changed across the decades too. The uncle moved away when she wasn’t a noodle master yet, so every day, she learns on the job by cooking the way she knows how while listening to customer feedback to improve her craft.

Diners have two options: large strands or small strands of noodles. Both share the same chewy texture and eye-catching golden hue. Other toppings like shrimp, fried garlic, fried pork lard, liver, heart, and pork add to the dining experience. Chunks of liver are cleaned properly so there’s no unpleasant smell with every bite. Cô Chánh has been getting her ingredients from the same trustworthy supplier over the years. The vat of bubbling broth in the corner, moderately seasoned and not too sweet, is an undeniable attraction luring curious shoppers to stop by. Each guest can modify the flavors of their bowl in whatever way they see fit with the range of Teochew vinegar and sauces on offer.

Slurping up a few spoonfuls of warm broth, I feel as if I was transported to the noodle stalls I enjoyed years ago. Cô Chánh’s noodles have that “vintage” flavor profile often seen in Hoa Vietnamese kitchens. The wontons are quite hefty with a thin wrapper and a well-season filling, keeping me hungry for more. The meat filling is a touch saltier than that of other stalls, but this balances the taste well in the context of the light broth. Apart from the taste, diners will no doubt feel delighted by the way she presents the bowls. Each slice of pork, each sprinkle of fried shallot, and each shrimp is arranged neatly on top of the noodles.

Cô Chánh shared that she wakes up every day at 4am to start prepping ingredients and usually finishes by 7pm. There used to be a time when this tiny kiosk could feed over 100 patrons in a day, mostly office workers from nearby buildings having breakfast or lunch. Post-pandemic, however, the foot traffic has dwindled. “Now, I sell about 30 bowls at most a day. Some days the revenue can’t even cover the ingredient costs,” cô Chánh sadly explained.

Whenever the kiosk is empty, cô Chánh and cô Gái, a friend who helps out with stall operation, start tidying and washing, before sitting down to chat about every topic in the universe. The chatter greatly contributes to the uniquely cordial vibes of the market, so much so that guests often feel comfortable enough to join in their conversations.

When asked about her kiosk partner, she said: “A long time ago, I was selling noodles, and she was selling sweets right next door. Business was quite bad at the market, so I asked her to hop over to sell noodles with me. Since then, we sisters have stuck together.” Perhaps it was thanks to that stroke of fate that cô Chánh’s noodle shop is always filled with laughter. They work well and play well, never one to shy away from teasing each other to ward off the exhaustion of a tough work day.

Cô Chánh is not getting any younger, so her health has declined somewhat, but she reassured me that she will continue selling noodles no matter what, as the kiosk has been a part of her life for decades — a constant source of happiness during the golden days of a Saigoneer who lives alone.

To sum up:

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

Hủ Tiếu Mì Cô Chánh

69 Tôn Thất Đạm, Bến Nghé Ward, D1, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: A Night of Love, Poetry, and the Pursuit of the Sublime at Emme Bar

2025-02-23T20:00:00+07:00

“So what makes Emme House different?” the head bartender Dũng asked during our earlier conversation with Trực, the bar’s owner. “Emme House is not a bar,” he explained. I further inquired then about the layers of storytelling embedded into every detail, to which he replied with a smile, “I’ll tell you the whole story.”

I’m merely the messenger now retelling what I saw and felt, and the first thing to note is that the best part of writing about a bar is the on-the-ground research. Thus, I ventured into the unknown and traveled up the dimly lit flight of stairs underneath the discreet red and yellow street sign that reads: 70 Hàm Nghi.

Some time after 10pm:

The black-and-white palette inside Emme.

I had arranged to arrive late at night and was greeted at the door with a warm handshake within seconds by Đức, the head chef of the adjacent a.dau Kitchen. We stroll past its chipped tables and cracked plates conceptually representing the love of yesterday and are transported to the love of tomorrow with earthly green and brown hues within Emme House.

Đức recommends my first drink, a personal and fan favorite: Love Is a Game. The glowing glass featuring Tito’s vodka, mango, chili syrup, kombucha vinegar, and a heart-shaped lime leaf is placed in front of me a few moments later. The ingredients of the current concoction, as well as the rest of the menu, originate from less than 20 kilometers away at Chợ Đầu Mối Bình Điền. I take my first few sips; good thing I like spicy.

A glass of Love Is a Game to start.

Roughly 11pm:

“We only said goodbye with words. I died a hundred times,” Amy Winehouse’s words come via the musical cover duo and dance off the walls while light chatter fills the air. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a blue flame set ablaze a cloudy ball of steel wool. There, lingering at the margins to my right in front of the flame is Tín, along with another repeat customer, Thư. They’re sharing a pair of cocktails and a shrinking stack of forest-green So Much Closer drinking cards. Tín is the resident poet at Emme and the founder of the branding studio ChoChoi Creative. He writes anywhere from one to four or more poems a week, which he DM’s biweekly to his brother, Trực, the owner of Emme House, d.dau Kitchen, and the interior design firm Red 5 Studio.

Poetry is scattered in small corners of the bar.

By the time his friend found this location four years ago, Trực already had a habit of hosting friends and family in his own home, which meant he didn’t need to market Emme when it opened — he just had to tell his friends about it. That said, launching Emme and utilizing his design firm to fill the interior with original, handmade pieces were a lot of work. But, as Kahlil Gibran wrote in The Prophet, “Work is love made visible.” Point in case, the bar equipment is hidden beneath the counter so customers focus on staff who doubles as in-house raconteurs. This subconsciously highlights Emme’s story of love and its love of story. After all, how many places discuss a topic as deep as love during the interview process?

Love is a common theme in both the founding and running of Emme.

Furthermore, on any given night, roughly 10 of Tín’s poems are featured on the covers of menus throughout each table of Emme. Thư says that in two and half years of consistent attendance, she has yet to see the same poem twice. Again, just like his brother, that’s love made visible. Tín shares more about his journey as a poet and studio founder as well as Emme’s details, like the chairs’ backrests designed specifically for men and women, plus the spades, hearts, cloves, and diamonds on the window that reference card games. Meanwhile, the bartender whips around the kitchen counter presenting my second drink of the night: Something’s Burning. After he holsters his blow torch and the embers of the steel wool cool, the aroma of grilled pineapple arrives, and some additional questioning helps peel back a few more layers of the story.

Something's Burning, literally.

Half past 11pm or so:

The fundamental ethos of Emme is inspired by 50% of Trực’s life and 50% by his friend’s with whom he studied in primary school years ago. At its core is a love story about an architect and a freelancer who live together but because of their opposite schedules, they wake and work at different times, constantly missing each other. As a result, each leaves short handwritten notes at the kitchen counter for their partner to read while they are away. Hence, the poems scattered everywhere.

Emme has ample cozy corners to fit any patron's preferences.

However, the storytelling goes deeper than that. The first drink I had, Love Is a Game, comes from the “Legendary Menu.” Now featured on the menu’s right side, it contains the drinks from when they first opened. It calls to mind a mature, adult-like, action-oriented love. My second drink, however, comes from the new half of the menu which took roughly an entire year to create.

The tall, broad capital E at the top left corner of Emme’s notebook paper menu represents the onset of a high school love story starting with Something’s Burning. It symbolizes the unforgettable moment, for better or for worse, when two high school lovers locked eyes, peering through the flickering flames for the first time at an end of the year bonfire often held on the outskirts of Đà Lạt’s rolling hills. The rest of the drink trio belonging to the E stanza of the menu includes the jasmine gin-based I Can’t Take My Eyes Off You and Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now with whiskey, Malibu rum, banana, coconut, and Milo.

Preparing snacks.

It’s time for a snack so I follow Tin’s recommendation for a plate of Squid Game. Hint: it’s not squid, but you can find out for yourself what it is, and just a note: available snacks change every four months. The second letter on the menu is a large capital M, which is italicized, leaning to the right, as if one is now leaning into the relationship and the characters in the story are growing closer. Drinks include Make You Feel My Love with cognac, Thai tea, dark choco, and menthe; plus It’s Now or Never with Flor De Cana Rum, salted pineapple sparkling, and strawberry shrub — it's like strawberry lipstick, or an ode to the taste stored in one’s memory of a first kiss.

Nearing midnight in Saigon:

I’m closing in on the final stretch, the music has finished, but I’m now warm from the spiciness of Love Is a Game and the mezcal of Something’s Burning. We now move to the next part of the story represented on the menu by a flower separating the Em and the Me, or You and Me. The flower is a lưu ly flower meaning “forget me not.” This part of the story is where the two are now dating but don’t have money for expensive activities, so they express their love by buying each other what they can afford at that age: cheap drinks and snacks. For example, Up Where We Belong has some Red Bull, the go-to drink sold in front of schools. Love Me Tender features some elevated mango fermented with salt, a reference to bánh tráng trộn. And finally Isn’t She Lovely, a personal favorite of Trực’s, contains sassafras wood tinctures, which is similar to the cola-like flavor of sarsaparilla, or otherwise more commonly known as sarsi.

Small groups of friends start to fill up the bar's tables.

I motion to the bartender who flies towards me and finds my index finger pointing to my third drink: Isn’t She Lovely. Yes, plus she’s sweet, sour, fizzy, and refreshing — a winning combination. Atop the glass is a green grape coated in white chocolate. I’m instructed and happily comply as follows: eat and sip and eat and sip…

The rest of the menu contains the latter half of Emme. First, a chipped M, resembling the likes of arguments with self-explanatory drink names like Raining on a Sunday, All Out of Love, and the poignant If. Finally, a lowercase ‘e’ at the bottom personifies the “thương” type of love and the accompanying innocence the two lovers share as they disregard the all-too-real possibility of their paths no longer intertwining. They choose to bask in the naivete of the joyous here and now while they snack on rice with watermelon together. There’s only one drink title that can encapsulate the sentiment felt at such a juncture: Just The Two of Us — a medley of Vietnamese sake, some watermelon and raspberry, and a dash of mắc khén tincture.

The witching hour has commenced:

A few guests linger, the crew is beginning to clean up, and it’s time for last call. I return to where we started on the “Legendary” right side of the menu and take Dũng’s recommendation for my final final: Cheers Darlin’ — a drink, a torched cord of cinnamon, and a rich treat. Already plenty buzzed thanks to the fusion of vodka, mezcal, chardonnay, and now cinnamon tequila, I practice a small act of restraint and refuse the temptation of exploring the whole menu by abstaining from a fourth or fifth drink.

Cheers Darlin'.

I mentioned earlier Gibran’s wisdom that work is love made visible. He also wrote that your home is your larger body, an extension of self that acts not as an anchor holding you down, but as a mast guiding you forward, and that your body is the harp of your soul, an instrument of giving. Emme House embodies the late Lebanese poet down to the studs. This place is more than a bar. It’s a body. It’s an instrument. It’s an extension of its owner and staff — it’s a home.

Home is where the heart is.

Anytime you’re invited to someone’s home, the best way to be invited back is to leave with grace and not overstay your welcome. As I see the staff wiping down the back table, stacking clean glasses, and taking last last calls, it’s time I am on my way. However, knowing I would be back for another round or two and knowing there will be new poems on the tables and walls, new drinks and snacks on the menu, and plenty of new and repeat guests seated and suited, I realized: this is merely cheers for now Emme, cheers for now…

Emme

70 Hàm Nghi, Bến Nghé Ward, D1, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: Cô Chi Creates a World of Northern Noodles Right in Her Living Room

2025-01-20T14:00:00+07:00

Bún Cô Chi offers a great introduction to the wonderful world of northern noodles.

I discovered Bún Cô Chi through a recommendation from a colleague. After looking it up on Google, I found the place to be interesting — from the display of the wooden sculpture collection, a popular hobby for the elderly, to the menu featuring dishes I had never heard of before. Plus, it’s just a 7-minute drive from our office, and with traffic jams becoming more common this time of year, it’s always convenient to find a place nearby to fill your belly.

Bún Cô Chi is nestled in a small alley off Hòa Hưng Street in District 10, with a sign displaying its name hanging at the entrance. Turn into the alley and look for the house with a large sign reading “Bún,” that’s your destination. The shop can be easily mistaken for a regular house, but a quick glance inside reveals that the living room has been repurposed into a dining area.

The family's extensive collection of wooden sculptures serves as dining decorations.

I had the chance to meet cô Chi, the titular owner of the eatery. She introduced me to the shop's extensive menu. The options feature a diverse range of northern-style noodles, from the familiar bún riêu and bún mọc to the less common options like bún cá hồi or bún thang. I was too spoiled for choices to decide, so I asked her for some recommendations.

I was intrigued by a dish called bún bung, also known as bún dọc mùng, because its name is so unusual. According to cô Chi, this dish has “a sour flavor that might be a bit unfamiliar to Saigoneers, but if you can handle this, you’ll likely enjoy everything else on the menu.” Hearing that piqued my curiosity, so I decided to order it.

A humble bowl of bún bung.

The name bún bung comes from the ancient word “bung,” which refers to the traditional method used to prepare its broth and ingredients. Its other name is bún dọc mùng, after dọc mùng, the Vietnamese term for taro stem. It’s a well-known ingredient for southerners, often appearing in home-cooked, broth-based dishes like canh chua. However, as the name bún dọc mùng implies, this taro stem is the star ingredient in this northern-style noodle.

When we asked cô Chi for permission to take photos, she gladly agreed and even helped us by putting the scallions on top to make more colors pop out. She also shared that she and her family photographed and designed the menu boards all by themselves, using only authentic photos and no stock images. It seems like cô Chi and her family invest a great deal of care and attention into presenting the shop.

Rare northern dishes are on the menu.

Since cô Chi was so willing to share about her shop, I asked her a few questions to learn more about Bún Cô Chi. Her family is originally from Hanoi, but they moved to Saigon in the 1990s. They started this eatery more than 10 years ago, serving a wide range of delicacies from their hometown to make a living. Back then, they operated at a different location nearby, but later on, as the family ventured into other businesses, cô Chi was moved to their own home to save on operating costs. Cô Chi said they are basically “serving food out of passion” now, catering to a small number of customers, including northerners living in Saigon, and anyone interested in trying out northern cuisines.

After waiting for a short while, my bowl of bún bung was served. At first glance, this dish was quite simple, with just about three main ingredients. It has a distinctive color, blending between yellow and green. When I had my first sip of the broth, I was immediately introduced to the key distinction between southern and northern noodles: the light and pleasant tart flavor. It was definitely a new experience for me, and fortunately, the sourness didn’t deter me in any way.

Dọc mùng might be an unfamiliar topping to some eaters.

The dish contains plenty of taro stems, whose greenish-yellow hue makes it the most visually striking bún bung ingredient. They play a significant role in the dish’s unique appearance, and not only that, they are also responsible for bún bung’s signature sour flavor. Just a single bite of the taro stem and I already felt all its spongy, watery textures — a cooling sensation. I'm familiar with taro stems in a bowl of canh chua, but in this dish, I could truly appreciate the taro stem in all its glory.

Cô Chi explained that taro stem can sometimes cause an itchy sensation on the tongue after eating. However, she assured us that the way they prepare the taro stem can eliminate this issue. They peel off the outer layer, soak in saltwater and repeatedly squeeze them to remove all of the sap, which is what causes the itch. I didn’t experience any issues after eating them, so there’s no need to be concerned.

It's like dining in somebody's living room.

The taro stem, while very soothing in flavor, can be a bit overwhelming due to its sheer volume, in addition to the sourness. It definitely caused me to feel a bit fatigued, but I think it was more about regional differences in tastes rather than a flaw in the food itself. I worked my way around it by eating the stems along with other components like the rice noodles and the meat, to balance out the flavors.

For protein, cô Chi used short chunks of pork ribs that were tender, with just the right amount of fatty parts, so they were not greasy. Complementing the tenderness of the ribs is the chewiness of mọc, a type of meatball made from minced pork mixed with tiny slices of black fungus mushroom, giving you two different chewy textures contained in a single meatball.

These must be a nightmare to keep dust-free.

Overall, Cô Chi’s bún bung, though simple in its ingredients, features components with distinct characteristics that come together nicely. The light, tart flavor of the dish and the spongy bite of the taro stems might be off-putting to some who aren't accustomed to it, but if you give it a chance, each spoonful can offer you a refreshing and soothing feeling.

Besides bún bung, Bún Cô Chi also serves other northern delicacies that can be more inviting for southern palates, such as bún chả ốc đùm lá lốt, bún mọc, etc. For dessert, they offer flan, which is a perfect way to cleanse your palate after a hot bowl of noodles. If you’re on a budget, there’s always free iced tea to quench your thirst.

Bún Cô Chi is located deep inside a hẻm.

In conclusion, the bún bung offered by Bún Cô Chi really opened the door for me to explore northern-style noodles. Not only did I have an enjoyable and refreshing dining experience, cô Chi also made the place feel like it truly embodies the spirit of “serving food out of passion.” The care and attention in the shop’s presentation, along with cô Chi's enthusiasm in sharing about the food, made me feel like she runs this eatery not only for a bit of income but also to get people to chit-chat about the dishes that she and her family create.

Bún Cô Chi is open 6am–1pm and 4pm–8pm except Sunday.

Bún Cô Chi

170/2 Hoà Hưng, Ward 13, D10, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: At D5's Sủi Cảo Đại Nương, a Song of Chives and Fire

2025-01-16T11:00:00+07:00

One night after my meal at Sủi Cảo Đại Nương, I find myself in a mystifying dream about chives.

In the dream, I am slurping on an unknown soup when, from the bottom of the bowl, blobs of dumplings float up, staring me down with their lush, doughy white skin. After a fleeting rush of glee at discovering extra food, I bite into one, only to have an unstoppable stream of chives break out into my bowl. It quickly descends into a chives-pocalypse in which I keep gobbling up these pulpy green leaves, but they won’t stop materializing and eventually take over the entire dining area.

Other than dumplings, Sủi Cảo Đại Nương also serves Chinese-style phá lấu.

This eerie episode is not a reflection on the quality of dumplings at Sủi Cảo Đại Nương, because they are, on the contrary, absolutely delicious and not at all nightmare-inducing. But they do have an abundance of chive segments, which I personally love, that might drive the allium-averse insane. We first heard of this dumpling heaven through a colleague, who, on his first visit, thought that these fluffy morsels were so good that he bought a takeaway portion for us to sample right at our desk in the office. Even when eaten lukewarm and out of a Styrofoam box, they are the epitome of the intricate balance between soft and chewy.

Sủi Cảo Đại Nương’s specialty is in the name: sủi cảo is the Vietnamese word for jiaozi, a special type of Chinese dumpling packed with minced meat and usually eaten steamed or pan-fried. Its location, on the side of Châu Văn Liêm Avenue, is a testament to the eatery’s endurance and authority on the art of dumpling-making. The busy street has long been been one of the best places in Saigon to immerse oneself in Chinese culture, from old theaters to petite dessert carts to dumpling establishments galore.

Huge balls of sủi cảo are either blanched or deep-fried on order.

Inside, a steamy kitchen sectioned off by plexiglass, a few sets of metallic tables and mahogany chairs, and nondescript white walls — all in all, nothing flashy enough to distract one from the meal at hand. We settle down at a round table right below a high rack brandishing a range of Chinese condiments. I already feel at home in the setting.

Slowly, our orders start arriving on the table: fried sủi cảo (VND50,000 for ten pieces), blanched sủi cảo (VND45,000 for ten), a plate of stir-fried noodles with pork and egg (VND45,000) and a portion of fried rice (VND40,000). Both dumpling dishes are created from the same sủi cảo, golf ball-sized chunks of minced pork and chives wrapped in a thick sheet of dough that’s reminiscent of Taiwanese dumplings. Slowly tearing it in two and dipping into a mix of soy sauce, chili oil and vinegar, I take a first bite into the still-steamy filling.

The condiment is also a make-or-break component of a good sủi cảo. To make your own, balance to taste a concoction of chili oil, vinegar and soy sauce.

The blanched sủi cảo, despite their thick covering, are al dente on the outside and generously chives-laden on the inside. Apart from providing a touch of inviting green, the chives flakes help retain some moisture in the filling. The fried sủi cảo, on the other hand, has golden skin that provides a crunch at touch. Still, I soon grow tired of its greasiness, as they are deep-fried completely instead of pan-fried for a potsticker approach.

The stir-fried noodles and fried rice, surprisingly, are sterling stars on their own that warrant many more repeat orders in the future. We wash everything down with glasses of oolong tea, brewed especially potent and not anywhere near the usual trà đá one might find elsewhere in Saigon. These ladies mean business, be it in tea brewing or jiaozi frying.

For just around VND40,000 the portions at Sủi Cảo Đại Nương are huge.

This article was originally published in 2019.

To sum up:

Taste: 5/5
Price: 4.5/5
Atmosphere: 4/5
Friendliness: 2/5
Location: 3/5

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

Sủi Cảo Đại Nương

125 Châu Văn Liêm, Ward 14, D5, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: In a Hẻm, on Plastic Chairs, One of Saigon's Best Pizzas Beckons

2025-01-11T14:00:00+07:00

“The leopard spots. They hate them,” Hiếu Trần explains to me. “They think it means the pizza is burnt.”

Editor's note (Mar. 2025): Trần Pizza recently changed locations and this article is written about its original location.

Getting Vietnamese customers to embrace his Neapolitan-style pizza has been the biggest challenge so far in running Hiếu's year-old shop, Trần Pizza. This came as a surprise to me, as I expected it to be something such as the rivals who messed with his Google Maps location or the asthma-like symptoms of “baker’s lung” he’s experienced. Nope, it’s the leopard spots.

Leoparding is a common phenomenon in Neapolitan pizzas.

Leopard spots are small, black blisters that can appear on a pizza crust, and are what many associate with pizzas from Naples, Italy. The gas trapped in the dough expands and bubbles up into blisters from the heat of the oven. They are supposed to be there, and pizza geeks know their presence indicates a dough that has likely gone through a long, slow fermentation process. Pizza geeks also know that such a process likely means the crust will taste fabulous. For my fellow geeks, Hiếu uses a 48-hour biga, and his is one of the most flavourful crusts I have tried so far in Saigon.

Hiếu's pizza dough.

A few years ago, Hiếu would have also thought those spots meant the pizza was burnt. He remembers his family ordering from Domino’s or Pizza Hut when he was growing up, especially on weeknights when there would be buy-one-get-one specials. As he got older, he explored more independent pizzerias in Saigon and grew to like them.

Thanks to word of mouth and social media like TikTok, Trần Pizza has earned a sizable following.

Challenges to his pizza being accepted by locals and this ho-hum-ness are unexpected given Trần Pizza’s current success. The constant social media buzz; the daily sell-outs, sometimes hours before closing time; and the promotion of him being a “self-taught baker” might suggest that the pizzeria is the culmination of years of self-determination to achieve an ultimate pizzaiolo dream. It’s not — Trần Pizza is the culmination of a pizza passion born out of necessity and generational know-how of running a Saigon street food business.

The self-taught baker

During the COVID-19 pandemic, Hiếu quit a part-time barista job he enjoyed to accept a higher-paying one in a restaurant kitchen. The type of American-style pizza that you typically find in bars and pubs was on the menu, so making it was just part of the job. For Hiếu, getting good at it was part of keeping the job, a necessity with university tuition and the uncertainty of the world as stressors. But understanding and mastering a process — first with coffee beans and now with pizza dough — was something that motivated him as much as the income.

Learning how to make pizza went from an on-the-job task to Hiếu's main income.

He knew his manager liked and trusted him, and he learned just how much when the deck oven was ditched in favor of an Ooni portable pizza oven. This is where the self-taught baker moniker comes in. It was Hiếu’s responsibility to figure out how to use the oven. In the absence of real hands that could teach him, he turned to the next best thing: the recorded ones of YouTube.

Learning how to simply use the oven was the first priority. Hiếu quickly realized, however, that putting the restaurant’s style of pizza into the new oven wasn’t sustainable. He was simply cleaning off burnt cheese and toppings way too often during a shift, so he went back to YouTube to learn about the style the oven was better designed for: Neapolitan.

Pizzas only need to be in the oven for a few minutes to cook.

“I needed to learn how to make this work, or else I would have had to find another job,” he explains. “But for the first time ever, I felt like I was getting really good at something.”

The crust of a pizza Napoletana has a thin, soft center with an outer crust (cornicione) that balloons up and takes on the characteristic leopard spots when baked. The time in an ideally 480°C oven is less than 90 seconds, which means the eye of the pizzaiolo is constantly on the oven, checking the bake and turning the pie when necessary to ensure the crust cooks evenly. The short time in the oven also means that what and how much the pizza is topped with has to be carefully managed.

Much of Hiếu's pizza-making knowledge is gained through the help of the internet.

By looking to Naples and seeking help from YouTube pizza heroes like Vito Iacopelli, Hiếu began to transform the restaurant’s pizza menu. He had to learn how to make a Neapolitan-style dough to give the characteristic soft, chewy texture and importantly, the leopard spots. This would involve needing to source and use new flour, as the finely milled 00 flour from Italy is considered standard. He learned about the San Marzano tomatoes used in the traditional sauce, and the difference between a marinara and a Margherita.

Hiếu retained all the equipment he invested in after the failed partnership.

Things were plugging along until they weren’t. The restaurant changed directions, and Hiếu was left unemployed. But someone he knew from his barista days collaborated with him on a pop-up at their café, the success of which led to discussions for a permanent business partnership. Hiếu’s initial investment would be all the necessary equipment for the space he would occupy: the prep table, the fridge, and of course, the pizza oven. Still an unemployed part-time student, he borrowed most of the money from his family and friends.

Trần Pizza as we know it would not have existed if the partnership had worked out. It went south before anything even began. All that equipment, however, was his. “I thought, I'm not going to waste all of the energy that I put into coming up with the money and getting everything,” he says. “And so I decided I would work for myself.”

The descendant of street food vendors

As the son and grandson of women who ran street food stalls from the same hẻm where you’ll find his pizza shop today, Hiếu knew that opening up his own place in Saigon didn’t have to mean looking through “for rent” ads or talking to a real estate broker. The only thing he had to do was ask mom and dad if he could carry on the family and city tradition with an Italian twist.

The alley on Cống Quỳnh where Hiếu's family has lived for decades — now also the home to Trần Pizza.

Less than two weeks after the partnership’s dissolution in December 2023, Hiếu was already slinging pies from the small alley in District 1. He figured out a way to make all the equipment bought for a completely different space work for the one he lived in. He employed social media as best he could and has steadily grown his customer base since.

“My goal was to introduce really good pizza to locals at a reasonable price. For no reason would I trade that off for any number of new or curious customers just because they want something sweeter to suit their palates.”

Hẻm Gems across the city are often on the first floor of a family home, and Trần Pizza is no different. Five days a week, the space used for storage and motorbikes becomes the pizza kitchen and indoor seating area. A few more short, stainless steel portable tables and small plastic chairs extend to the alley, creating a quintessential street food experience.

Keeping tasty pizzas affordable is the pizzeria's utmost important motto.

Outside of friends and fans who attended his pop-up, supportive neighbors were his first customers. The eagerness to support the son of the woman known by everyone as cô Chín, who had fed the alley previously, was matched by their openness to tell him what was wrong with his pizza. In addition to being turned off by the leopard spots, they felt the tomato sauce was too acidic, the crust too soft, and why was there no ketchup or chili sauce on the tables?

You’ll find those bottles there now, but Hiếu makes it clear that he does try to aim for as much Neapolitan authenticity as he can with his basic pizza elements such as the crust and the sauce. He tries to educate skeptical customers, convincing cô Chín herself that his pies aren’t burnt.

Ham & Mushroom (left) and Margherita with burrata (right).

The menu includes classics like the Margherita with cheese, tomato, and basil; but he also has choices that reflect options that are popular across pizzerias in Saigon, like Carbonara and Four Cheese; and ones he thought would be delicious, such as Chicken & Pesto and Pork & Eggplant. He offers no apologies and just a smile when the Italians he’s served scoff at his inclusion of pineapple on one of his pies — Chicken & Pineapple — a cardinal pizza sin to many. My favorite so far has been the Ham & Mushroom with added burrata, but the Carbonara is a close second.

The star dish: Carbonara pizza.

Financial constraints are also in play in Hiếu's aspiration for high authenticity. Fresh mozzarella is simply too expensive, so he has played around with different low-moisture mozzarellas to see which one could recreate the creaminess of fresh. He makes his pesto with Vietnamese cashews instead of pine nuts, which are harder to find and much more expensive. The charcuterie is from local companies instead of being Italian imports.

The charcuterie is locally sourced.

Adjustments only go so far, though. When I ask Hiếu if he considered changing his tomato sauce recipe given the feedback that it was too sour, he was firm: “My goal was to introduce really good pizza to locals at a reasonable price. For no reason would I trade that off for any number of new or curious customers just because they want something sweeter to suit their palates.”

The hẻm pizzeria

While Italy may serve as his North Star when it comes to what he serves, he views the shop as inherently Vietnamese: “We are no different than any other street food stall,” Hiếu asserts. “We don’t see ourselves much differently than the other aunties and uncles selling their food on the street. We just sell something more unique and might use social media more. But we’re still just a family business.”

Cô Chín, Hiếu's mom (grey shirt), helps out in the restaurant.

In addition to Hiếu welcoming and chatting with customers from behind his workstation, you are likely to be served by either his girlfriend Phương or cô Chín, who also has a hand in the prep work, whether it’s cooking the chicken or pickling the chilies that you can order to accompany your pie. His father, chú Hồng, is more the silent partner, as he’s usually perched outside watching over, ever-ready to help out with setting up or moving tables. One of his two brothers helps out, too, when not too busy with school and work.

With confidence and a smile, he underscores: “I’m street.”

Just like many other popular street food stalls, if you arrive too late, you might be out of luck. The promotion of Trần Pizza on TikTok and Instagram has meant he’s often turning customers away in the evening. “I feel sad about it,” he says. “But I'm glad that many people have accepted my pizza, that many people enjoy it. It makes me feel I'm heading the right way.”

I ask him if that way is a dream towards a free-standing pizzeria with proper tables, a full staff, and the ability to book a table. “I don’t want that,” he states firmly. “I don't care, I don't want that.”

With confidence and a smile, he underscores: “I’m street.”

A beacon in the dark leading you to delicious pizzas.

Trần Pizza is open from 1pm to 9pm (or until sold out). Double-check their Instagram page for monthly off days before visiting.

Trần Pizza

215B Đ. Nguyễn Trãi, Phường Nguyễn Cư Trinh, Quận 1, Hồ Chí Minh

Hẻm Gems: CAM Coffee Serves up a Chill Ambiance With a Side of Bánh Cam

2024-12-16T16:59:56+07:00

Bánh cam, or sesame doughnuts, has been my beloved snack since childhood.

My mother would occasionally buy bánh cam for me when she came across them at the market; I quickly fell for their crunchy outer layers and sweet, buttery fillings. Typically, bánh cam are sold by street stall vendors who move from place to place, so it’s a snack I usually encounter by chance rather than something I seek out at a specific place. But on a lazy day when I was craving bánh cam but didn’t feel like venturing out, I tried ordering them online. That was how I stumbled upon CAM Coffee, a cozy café that serves bánh cam. The pairing seemed unusual, as cafés usually aim for a relaxing atmosphere, and the sizzling sound of a frying pan making bánh cam doesn’t quite fit. Still, out of curiosity, I decided to check it out.

Situated in District 1's narrow and quiet Nguyễn Phi Khanh Street, CAM's surroundings are a stark contrast to the crowded, “city center” vibes encountered elsewhere in the district. At first glance, the café seems to embrace a rustic vibe, as it’s a small, boxy two-story building, adorned with wooden furniture and plants.

Alongside the bánh cam, the menu also offers a wide variety of drinks. But since I came for the bánh cam, I ordered a simple black coffee to stay energized for the rest of the day, along with CAM Coffee’s signature “Mix 4” bánh cam — a set of 9 pieces with four different fillings. The shop only begins frying the bánh cam once you place your order, so you’ll need to wait around 10–15 minutes for them to be ready. While the delay can be a bit of a nuisance, for a snack whose charm comes from its crispness, it’s worth it to enjoy it in its “fresh out of the oven” state.

When served, each piece is fried to a golden brown. They are smaller than the typical bánh cam found at street stalls and some pieces are sprinkled with extra sesame seeds, which playfully hint at the fillings hiding inside.

The traditional green bean filling is indicated by a lack of black sesame seeds, making it a miniature version of the usual bánh cam you find at street stalls. It’s gently fried so the crust is crunchy upon biting, yet retains the chewiness of the dough. The filling is seasoned with just the right amount of sugar, offering a velvety texture and not-too-sweet green bean flavor.

The other three variants are distinguished by different amounts of black sesame seeds on the exteriors. A few seeds on the crust signal a pandan or purple potato filling, while a greater amount points to red bean filling. Although these ingredients are new to bánh cam, they are commonly used in other Vietnamese snacks.

Pandan, a green plant typically used for snacks like rau câu and bánh da lợn, usually promises a fresh, cooling sensation. But when used for bánh cam, the flavor remains close to the traditional green bean filling, though each bite is enhanced by a pleasant and refreshing pandan aroma.

The red bean variant is the opposite of pandan. Its fragrance is subtle, and upon tasting it, the red beans provide a different kind of sweetness compared to the traditional bánh cam. The novel twist on the classic treat is perfect if you're seeking a new take on bánh cam.

The last variant is the purple sweet potato filling, which falls somewhere between the familiar and unfamiliar variants of bánh cam. The taste is a bit different and the purple color is striking. But what I find interesting is it reminds me of a different kind of snack: bánh khoai mỡ (fried purple yam cake). This similarity is probably due to the frying method and the purple color. It's a snack I don't come across often, and the only time I tried it was at a stall in District 8, which is far from my house. It seems I'd forgotten about its existence until I tried this purple potato bánh cam.

CAM Coffee caught my attention at first because of its unique bánh cam, but I started revisiting it because of its atmosphere. The small size creates a cozy, homey vibe, and it’s not crowded with people most of the time. There’s no music playing, so all you hear is the café’s ambient sounds, and the light noise of the slow traffic outside. The floor is covered with concrete, evoking the feeling of living in an old house.

The overall ambiance makes CAM quite versatile. The peaceful vibes create an ideal spot for me to sit and work, or to conduct interviews as there is not much excessive noise. Then, if I finish working, there’s a front yard that overlooks the street which is perfect for getting some fresh air and relaxing. The green space is particularly good for meditative thinking with plants to gaze at, and most importantly, the slow, steady movement of traffic that allows me to zone out and unwind with my eyes away from screens.

To sum up, CAM Coffee is a place that draws you in with its unique take on a beloved street snack, offering both familiar flavors and innovative new variants that give common new life inside the teeny bánh cam. But beyond that, it’s a spot you’ll want to return to for its comforting atmosphere and relaxed opportunities to unwind.

CAM Coffee opens from 7AM to 9:30PM every day.

To sum up:

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

CAM Coffee

47C Nguyễn Phi Khanh, D1, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: An Alternative Cơm Tấm From Long Xuyên for Thịt Kho Trứng Fans

2024-12-06T15:00:00+07:00

When it comes to cơm tấm, most people are familiar with cơm tấm Sài Gòn, featuring grilled pork ribs as the vedette topping. But since the dish’s creation, and as it gained popularity across the Mekong delta and southern Vietnam, another cơm tấm variant emerged alongside cơm tấm Sài Gòn. This version became so cherished by the locals that it was named after its birthplace — cơm tấm Long Xuyên.

I recently tried this dish for the first time at Cơm Tấm Tị Quỳnh. I arrived with the expectation to have the usual cơm tấm Sài Gòn, but I saw the Long Xuyên-style listed on the menu, and curiosity got the best of me.

Cơm Tấm Tị Quỳnh is hidden in a nondescript hẻm in District 3.

The shop is nestled in an alley that links Kỳ Đồng Street with the road along the Nhiêu Lộc Canal. It’s a modest spot with an open house where food is prepared and ordered, while customers sit across the house in the front yard of another neighbor that serves as both a parking area and a dining space. There’s another branch in Gò Vấp District, but I chose this location because it’s closest to my house and workplace.

To place an order, one must weave through a sea of delivery staff from food-hailing apps.

Cơm Tấm Tị Quỳnh is run by a family from southwestern Vietnam. They started as a snack shop more than 10 years ago but only began serving many types of cơm tấm in 2021. Their signature dish is cơm tấm Long Xuyên, a culinary highlight of their hometown, but they also offer the more common Saigon-style cơm tấm with toppings like chicken or tender ribs.

For a cơm tấm place that’s only three years old, Tị Quỳnh is surprisingly busy during the lunch hours. But after ordering a portion of cơm tấm Long Xuyên, I was fortunate enough to find a seat. About 5–10 minutes later, my dish was ready.

The standard portion of cơm tấm Long Xuyên has rice, pickles, fish sauce, thinly sliced braised pork belly and eggs.

The most noticeable difference between Long Xuyên-style cơm tấm and the Saigon version is the topping. Instead of grilled pork, it features caramelized pork and eggs, both sliced into thin strips, with a drizzle of braised sauce to enhance the flavors. Upon tasting, the main topping offers a delightful mix of textures. The yolk of the boiled egg provides a creamy mouthfeel, the pork strips contain both tender lean cuts and crispy, chewy fatty cuts.

If one is looking for something more substantial, pork chops and ốp la are great add-ons.

Another unique feature of cơm tấm Long Xuyên that one can observe from eating the dish is the rice. Known as “cơm tấm nhuyễn,” it is a type of broken rice with smaller grains and a firmer texture compared to Saigon’s common broken rice. To get this cơm tấm nhuyễn, the shop has to source it from Long Xuyên. When served fresh and hot, the grains give off a gentle, comforting aroma. With each spoonful, I can feel the fluffiness of the grain.

Essential elements of cơm tấm.

Sweet fish sauce is the element that ties everything together and can make or break any cơm tấm dish. Long Xuyên’s style fish sauce is also quite distinctive, thanks to its thicker, more pronounced sweetness. After all, Long Xuyên is located in Miền Tây, where sweetness is a hallmark of the region's culinary identity. Pouring the fish sauce onto the toppings ensures that each serving is filled with rich, inviting flavors.

A lunch for champions.

Upon finishing the dish, what fascinates me about cơm tấm Long Xuyên is the culmination of contrasting aspects. On one hand, the thick sweet fish sauce, and the light, delicate grains of cơm tấm nhuyễn guide me into the essence of a local delicacy from a faraway region. On the other hand, the main topping is caramelized pork and eggs, a renowned dish that evokes memories of family meals. Almost every Lunar New Year, my mom prepares a big batch of caramelized pork and eggs to ensure we have enough food stocked up throughout the holidays. It gives me a homey feeling, even though I’m savoring cơm tấm Long Xuyên.

In conclusion, Tị Quỳnh offered me a savory introduction to a southwestern specialty, Long Xuyên-style cơm tấm. A dish that truly reflects the palates of its homeland. When tasting a regional dish like this, there are elements that are new and different from what I'm used to, yet there are also elements that remind me that, no matter where we come from, there are things that still bind us all together.

Cơm Tấm Tị Quỳnh opens from 7am to 2pm, and 4pm to 9pm every day.

To sum up:

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

Cơm Tấm Tị Quỳnh

19E Kỳ Đồng, Ward 9, D3, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: Amid Saigon's Heat, a Wintry Ambiance in Xocoati's Cozy Cocoa Drinks

2024-11-29T15:00:00+07:00

Amidst Saigon’s year-round scorching heat, I crave coziness — a feeling that often comes with snuggling under heavy blankets in my Hanoian winter. I was searching for some comfort and “winter vibe” spots when one review, in particular, sparked my curiosity by mentioning (in my opinion) the greatest combination known to mankind: cocoa and Harry Potter. Brimming with expectations, I weaved through Saigon’s usual frantic roads to find a small alley, which surprisingly led to a spacious apartment complex.

Occupying the second and third floors of a small old building, Xocoati welcomed me with a wall full of paintings, old Hollywood photographs, and a mosaic name label. Right from the start, the place screamed vintage nostalgia. Sliding open the heavy wood door, the chocolate-infused atmosphere, wine-red walls, and a small table filled with colorful ceramic cups overwhelmed me. The clear highlight of cocoa on the menu compelled me to try three drinks: Mayan, which only has pure cocoa with no additional milk; Parisian, which is a standard cocoa drink with whipped cream; and Butter Beer, the famous Harry Potter item. I was even allowed to select my own cups from the wide selection displayed.

Xocoati's decor features a lot of mosaic works.

Soft-launching in the spring and officially opening in the summer of 2023, Xocoati has been the dream of its founder, Vinh, since high school. “The initial inspiration came from my love for cacao. I've always enjoyed its taste and have tried cacao drinks everywhere in Ho Chi Minh City, but haven’t found anywhere serving my desired taste,” Vinh explained in Vietnamese. “I noticed that many cafes focus primarily on coffee, and wondered why cocoa, which is also delicious, wasn’t treated the same way.”

Coziness is a key quality one might find at Xocoati.

Staying true to his goal of doing cocoa justice, Vinh curated Xocoati-style cocoa creations that “do not follow any established recipe.” Mayan resembles the rudimentary recipe of Mayan people but with small Vietnamese tweaks like added sugar to reduce the potency. Even with this modification, the drink was still very much about the raw taste profile of cocoa. The barista had to ask me twice about my spice tolerance as Mayan’s combination of bitterness and pepperiness was no joke. But it is this quirky flavor that marked cocoa as something much more special to Vinh than merely its taste.

A cup of cacao is a metaphor for life.

“I like to think of making a cup of cacao as a metaphor for life,” Vinh laughed and apologized for such a cheesy analogy. “You pour the cacao into the cup first before adding the milk. Similarly, in life, everyone must endure the bitterness of hardship before experiencing the sweetness that follows. Whenever you drink a cup of cacao, the first taste can be spicy and bitter, but the lingering aftertaste is sweet.” Embracing this philosophy, Xocoati presents cocoa in its original form with some modifications here and there. It might be a bit intense for some, but that's exactly the point.

Colorful knick-knacks dot the space inside.

But, great cocoa is just one part of the sensory experiences Xocoati offers. Surrounded by red walls and bookshelves on which hung mosaics, ceramic chessboards, and big windows that welcome the aureate light of a typical Saigonese sunny afternoon, both floors of Xocoati are filled with miscellanea. Two artworks of a King and a Queen portray King Justinian and his wife subtly add to the vintage medieval aesthetics. The coincidence in the time of Justinian’s reign and when the Mayans discovered cocoa makes these pieces special to Xocoati. Thanks to the collaboration with Toong Teng — a former ceramic and current mosaic studio — the artistic vision is clearly on display.

Recognize anyone in the artwork?

“I hope visitors enjoy a five-sense experience. I aim to create an auditory and aromatic environment that can make people feel comfortable and at ease. As for sight and touch, I want them to feel the ambiance of a classic space,” said Vinh. “What I most desire is for people to come here and enjoy a cup of hot cacao in a serene, vintage environment, as if they were transported back to a different era, perhaps the 17^th or 18^th century.” Observing the other customers during my visit, I think Xocoati’s mission was somewhat accomplished: a couple whispering sweet nothings to each other in a mellow corner; two groups of friends exchanging chit-chat; and one solo visitor quietly reading her book under the near-sunset golden light.

An afternoon at Xocoati.

There were, however, no Harry Potter decorations like what I had expected from the TikTok reviews. Even the continuous popularity of Butter Beer on a cocoa-heavy menu was a “spontaneous decision.” The Harry Potter drink was intended as a seasonal Halloween activity in 2023 only. Vinh candidly shared that while virality is a great pathway to stable income, he still hopes that, if Xocoati goes viral, it must be for the drinks, specifically cocoa.

Even though it's nowhere near as famous as coffee, Vietnamese cacao is also highly regarded.

“After starting Xocoati, I discovered that foreigners actually consider Vietnamese cacao as among the best. Even foreign brands were surprised by the exceptional quality of cacao grown in regions like the Central Highlands,” Vinh further explained why Vietnamese cocoa is so special. “Vietnamese cacao grown in different regions develops distinct characteristics. Vũng Tàu–made cacao has a subtle saltiness from the sea breeze, while Mekong Delta varieties, like Bến Tre, can even have coconut notes.”

You can choose your own mug to go with your warm beverage.

It is these distinct regional personalities that drive Vinh’s dream of opening his own cocoa farm for a direct farm-to-cup approach. “I am working hard to learn more about agricultural products, cultivation, and quality control,” he said of his goals of having self-sufficient cocoa production and expanding Xocoati to a professional cafe chain with more branches. However, even with never-ending serious business considerations, Vinh’s top priority is still to keep Xocoati’s cocoa spirit alive. Not wanting to compromise authenticity for more widespread appeal or financial gains, he shared: “I think those who resonate with us will stay. Out of 100 people, if only 50 can connect with our vision, I’m willing to lose the 50 who don’t to keep the 50 who do.”

Most of the cocoa shop's ceramics were handmade.

Enjoying the steaming cup of cocoa, I found myself lingering longer than planned. The atmosphere was not quite the exact coziness of Hanoian winters, but for a 38-degree time in Saigon, I can compromise. After all, Xocoati offered me a nice compensation: somewhat peculiar cocoa and an art-surrounding corner. Now, Xocoati is marked with a red saved symbol on my Google Map Saigon coffee-hopping collection, reserved for whenever either a Hanoian ambiance or cocoa craving arises.

Xocoati Coffee opens 1pm–10.30pm on weekdays, and 10am–10.30pm on the weekends.

To sum up:

Taste: 4/5
Price: 3/5 — average VND70,000 per drink
Atmosphere: 5/5
Friendliness: 5/5
Location: 3.5/5 — Motorbike parking is quite hard to find and need to follow the cafe’s instructions to find the correct place.

Thái An is a red spring onion, dark roast robusta nâu đá addict, and professional Hanoi yapper.

Xocoati

33/11 Lý Văn Phức, Tân Định Ward, D1, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: Reliving the Joy of Jollof Rice at Saigon's Only Nigerian Eatery

2024-11-05T12:00:00+07:00

Food is history. For some, it may just be sustenance, fuel for life, something to wash down quickly with sips of water to keep the body going. But the reality is that many food types have directly influenced and changed the course of human history, like sugarcane, palm oil, and spices. On a national scale, many Vietnamese dishes that we adore today, like hủ tiếu Nam Vang or cà ri gà, are surviving proofs of the country’s storied past.

A slice of Saigoneer history

Seeing this sign makes my heart sing.

When I reminisce about my memories with Saigon in the late 2010s, in my mind, there is a special place for Baby African, the city’s only restaurant serving Nigerian food. My personal history is peppered with eateries like this: a dinghy teen hangout right outside the gate of my middle school where fried rice was the fanciest menu item, a phở place that serves giant portions, or a Korean bar where I heard Lou Reed for the first time with my ex. Some have shuttered forever, some have gone on to receive Michelin Guide approval, and some have miraculously stayed more or less the exact same for decades. My early 20s and Saigon’s 2010s were fragranced by spiced rice and flavored by greasy fried plantains, courtesy of the one and only Baby African.

Some of you, dear readers, might know what I’m talking about. In 2016, Saigoneer published a Hẻm Gems on Baby African, written by our former editor-in-chief and my then-boss. In the essay, she told the story of how she first got to know the restaurant thanks to her boss’s recommendation and made a trek all the way to the far-flung reaches of Gò Vấp to experience it in person. At Saigoneer, we pass down this nugget of obscure knowledge about Baby African’s existence the way a bún bò Huế vendor inherits her family’s secret broth recipe. Her boss entrusted her with the family heirloom, and she then passed the baton down to me, who was just a mere intern at the time. Eight years later, I’ve stepped in her shoes for a while now, so today, I will take over the family business in spreading our not-so-secret love for this hidden gem of Nigerian tastiness to everyone.

The rather spartan shopfront of Baby African.

Back in 2016, when Saigoneer’s intimate tryst with Baby African began, it was quite literally a hole-in-the-wall in the middle of nowhere in Gò Vấp, a peripheral district that’s not often associated with rare international cuisine. There was no shopfront, menu, placard, or any visible advertisements that could hint at its existence. Baby African operated on a need-to-know basis, within the walls of the owner’s kitchen and in casual orders made via WhatsApp. Over the years, I’ve quietly kept track of the place’s whereabouts. Despite a few location switcheroos and the ruthless global pandemic in 2021, the restaurant has endured. Last year, a post on their Facebook announcing a fresh new location prompted me to finally decide that I have to undergo this rite of passage myself and hail a cab to Gò Vấp. It’s high time I took over the Saigoneer family tradition of overeating Nigerian food on a workday and falling into a food coma.

African fares in… Gò Vấp?

After a mini panic attack over the way Gò Vấp organizes its addresses, I set foot into the place’s courtyard and there to greet me was a shiny red sign that read “Baby African Restaurant” alongside an internet picture of a plate of jollof rice. This was a tearful reunion eight years in the making. Inside the air-conditioned dining area, a few brightly patterned wooden tables sat in front of a wall-spanning menu boasting a range of West African dishes. In a corner, a pair of African diners were busy enjoying their plates of reddish rice. As soon as I settled down and offhandedly mentioned that we used to order their food for a “red-haired Canadian lady,” Ngân, the place’s co-owner, immediately recognized us and we cordially reminisced about the tininess of the previous location’s dining space.

A menu this big means big flavors.

According to Ngân, she runs Baby African with her sister, whose husband is a Nigerian living in Vietnam. Even though they receive few Vietnamese eaters apart from the neighbors, the restaurant is something of a staple for Nigerians in the city, a handful of Ghanaians and Kenyans, and the ragtag bunch of writers running this website. If Korean, Japanese, and Thai cuisines — thanks to the robust cultural exchange between their motherlands and Vietnam — have popped up in all nooks and crannies of Saigon, and Vietnam at large, African food has not. In the Phạm Ngũ Lão tourist quarter, an Ethiopian restaurant which has since shuttered was another uncommon representative of food from the continent, so the tasty food at Baby African is something to treasure.

Ngân has been running the restaurant for years with her sister and brother-in-law.

We promptly made an order and spent some minutes luxuriating in the cooling air-conditioned atmosphere inside. They still make my favorite, jollof rice with chicken, but Ngân suggested a mix of beef chunks and chicken to experience more flavors. The kitchen is in another room, but guests can catch a glimpse of their food being prepared through a glass display that’s built into the wall, showcasing rows of plates filled with toppings waiting to be piled on top of rice mounds. Apart from the distant clanking of cookware, the only sounds in the dining space were an unintelligible dialogue from the other guests and the random bangs from the wall-mounted TV above.

Egusi and fufu, like many African dishes, are eaten using one's fingers.

While we were waiting, Ngân brought out a small portion of egusi and fufu (on the house!), because she thought it would look great in our photographs, and she was right. Popular in Western Africa, egusi is a stew made of squash seeds, dried fish and spices; it is rich in protein and umami, and there’s a mellow touch of heat from chili. To my palate, its fish-derived umami resembles an XO sauce while the seed starch brings to mind cooked eggs. Accompanying this powerhouse of flavor is fufu, a thick, starchy paste often made from pounded cassava, green plantain, cocoyam, or any combination of them. We made a disc of fufu in our palm, and used it to scoop the egusi.

The joy of jollof

A portion of jollof rice with fried chicken, beef, and plantain, and a side of coleslaw.

My plate of jollof rice (VND100,000) arrived on the table with a thud, just as grand and overflowing as I remember from all those years ago. The rice grains were brightly colored, coated in spices and flecks of radiant cooked-down tomato. A gentle aroma of chili pepper and curry powder teased my nostrils. On top, a small chicken drumstick that was deep-fried to golden crispiness and chunks of fried beef glistened. The portion was rounded out by slices of fried plantains and a generous serving of coleslaw. Our photographer quipped that it looked like “African cơm gà xối mỡ,” which was both a hilarious and strangely apt description. Still, in cơm gà xối mỡ, rice is more often than not an afterthought, resulting in frequently undercooked, bland, and unsatisfying grains. That’s not the case with Baby African, where the situation is reversed: jollof rice is the headliner and the rest are merely backup dancers.

A West African feast.

Whenever we used to order Baby African to the Saigoneer office for lunch, we had to plan ahead to make sure to starve ourselves in the morning, because the portion is so colossal that one average human won’t be able to finish it in one sitting, and you will feel enchanted to finish it, because the rice is ever so enticing. The grains are plumped, richly spiced and seasoned, so, coupled with that slight sweetness of the cooked plantain, make for a perfect bite. The chicken is fried to crispiness, not hardness, but the beef can be a tad tough to bite into. By the time I could see the bottom of my plate, I was heavily carb-loaded and swimming in an intoxicating mix of nostalgia and digestive satiation that I fell asleep numerous times on our cab ride back to the city center.

Each portion comes with a lot of delicious rice, so prepare for a carb high.

Jollof is the most common dish in West Africa, and there are a myriad of variations across the region, though Nigeria and Ghana are particularly passionate about their claims on the dish’s national origin, so much so that it once led to physical altercations between nationals. The core of jollof is long-grain rice cooked in tomato, onion, chili, and spices; it’s simple in execution but complex in flavors, so I’ve personally made a similar version at home that was quite tasty on its own.

Perhaps, Baby African might end up not being all that special for you to warrant the long distance of travel or delivery, but it contributed majorly to my journey back in the late 2010s to appreciate Saigon for all of its dynamic quirks, diverse cultures, and frenetic energy. After being away for years, I found it challenging to foster my sense of belonging with the land and reconnect with the pulse of this city. While at Saigoneer, it was via the discovery of places like Baby African, run by people with unique stories to tell, that made me realize that Saigon is a wondrous mix of rarities and that I greatly enjoy sifting for gold in the chaos. Baby African might seem out of the box for Vietnam, but it’s more emblematic of Saigon than you might think.

Baby African is open from 11:30am to 10pm.

To sum up:

Taste: 5/5
Price: 4/5
Atmosphere: 4/5
Friendliness: 5/5
Location: 3/5 — The address might look like a hẻm, but the restaurant is actually on a side street facing the canal.

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

Baby African

965/102/3 Quang Trung, Ward 14, Gò Vấp, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: A Streetcart Named Aoya and the Comfort of Sidewalk Ramen

2024-09-30T16:00:00+07:00

The first time I tried to visit Aoya Ramen was on a Monday. The pavement where the stall should be was empty, without any trace of noodles or noren. I learned quickly that they’re closed on Mondays. The second time, my joy in discovering that the cart was open for business was quickly dashed by the long queue of hungry diners already in line. The third time, learning from the previous crowd, I arrived later at 8:30pm, just to find out that they were out of stock for the day.

At that point, it was getting pretty obvious to me that the universe must be conspiring against me. Is this one of those character development episodes one often sees in television dramas, where the main character learns the hard way that “if you love something, set it free; if it comes back, it was meant to be”? This is utter hogwash, by the way. So, of course, I pushed on with a fourth attempt, because the meaning behind getting to sample this ramen, for me, has morphed from a casual visit to a new interesting eatery to defying the twist of fate to prove that I am in charge of my own destiny, determinism be damned.

Arriving before the opening time is the best way to ensure you'll have a seat right away.

On my fourth attempt, I made sure every piece of the puzzle was in place by arriving 15 minutes before opening time on a non-Monday evening. A light drizzle was humming above, peppering streets with rhythmic drops of late summer rain. In the blueish tint of dusk, the golden sheen of lighting and twirls of steam from Aoya Ramen appeared like a haven to lost travelers.

There's undeniable beauty in a little chaos.

On the pavement of Ngô Thời Nhiệm, the humble cart sat, surrounded by eight stools; inside, a young chef was busy prepping the toppings for another night of serving ramen to curious Saigoneers. On one side of the cart, a piece of scaffolding was covered in a tapestry of random, but surprisingly harmonious, stickers. Everything was enveloped in the warmth of a yellow fluorescent light and two lanterns. I have driven through this neighborhood outside of the eatery’s opening hour; the stretch of sidewalk where Aoya Ramen calls home is in front of a rickety parking lot. On the opposite side is the backside of the Hồ Xuân Hương Stadium, so save for the distance grunts of basketballers, this block of Ngô Thời Nhiệm is devoid of street vendors, local residents, or any other common characters that would give life to the Saigon street scene that we know and love.

Rain on your hat and back is a common feature here even though Aoya Ramen has canopies.

Now with the presence of this humble ramen cart, I can’t help but think of that precise moment in Spirited Away when the evening comes and the dark, abandoned theme park is suddenly teeming with colorful lights, a frenzy of activities, and throngs of frog-faced patrons heading to the bathhouse. I guess I am a frog-faced patron in this live-action, eager to bask in the cordial atmosphere of street eats, rub shoulders (literally) with my fellow food lovers, and shove my face into Aoya Ramen’s enticing bowl of shoyu ramen.

A team of young friends run the show here.

There’s only one item on the menu here — though even that is a rhetorical expression, because there isn’t an actual menu. The Aoya special is a bowl of ramen (VND100,000) with shoyu broth, garnished with a piece of chasu pork belly, a bundle of wakame seaweed, strips of bamboo shoots, half an ajitama ramen egg, a sprinkle of diced leek, and a slice of narutomaki fishcake. Everybody will eat the same portion across the board, though you can choose to wash it down with iced green tea or a beer-of-the-day.

A chicken broth serves as the base, and when orders are made, the chef adds the shoyu tare in each bowl and layers on the toppings.

I will go ahead and admit that even though Aoya’s ramen is not the best ramen in town, it certainly cracks the top 5 in my personal list. Still, for me, it is the platonic ideal of a bowl of ramen, from the olfactory, gustatory, and visual senses. Even from afar, your nostrils are already filled with the umami and fatty notes from the broth, a hearty concoction that promises savoriness with every slurp. Then, the actual bowl arrives on the table, and everybody lets out a chorus of oohs and aahs, mesmerized by the plump egg, glossy noodles, and that whimsical pink swirl of the fishcake in the center.

Itadakimasu!

You carefully lift a spoonful of broth to your lips. It’s rounded, rich, and salty. It seeps into every nook and cranny of the toppings, marrying every element together. The noodles, which could at times be a neglected feature at some restaurants, have a nice bite and balanced texture, not too eggy or doughy. It’s one of the rare instances when I like the ramen noodles even more than the toppings, even though the chasu is juicy and the ajitama has a perfect soy coating and jammy yolk. Ramen is not an easy puzzle to crack in Saigon financially, where nearly every other restaurant prices their creations at VND150,000 and above, so at VND100,000, Aoya’s shoyu ramen is a sterling attempt at providing a good quality meal at a reasonable price point.

Yatai like Aoya Ramen represents a slice of Japanese street culture.

Aoya Ramen identifies as a yatai (屋台), which can be translated simply as “food cart,” traditionally a type of mobile restaurant that serves simple, hot dishes on the street like ramen, yakitori (chicken skewers), okonomiyaki (savory pancakes), and oden (hotpot). Carts often go dormant during the day and open in the evening to cater to workers stopping by for a quick bite or drink after work. Each cart is small and able to serve no more than 10 patrons on tiny, squished-up seats, but it is this cozy arrangement that also makes up the appeal of yatai, as few things can be as conducive to friend-making as huddling together in the cold slurping hot soup.

Rubbing shoulders with your fellow diners is a great way to make friends.

Street food cart is a genre of eatery that Vietnamese might find all too familiar but is actually on the decline in Japan. Yatai as we know it today appeared in Japan as early as the 17^th century, and as the country entered industrialization, it became a symbol of upward mobility for working-class people seeking to make a living in big cities. In preparation for the 1964 Summer Olympics in Tokyo, municipal authorities cracked down on street food, cleansing local roads of yatai. Fukuoka, thankfully, is amongst the few cities in Japan today with an existing population of historic yatai, because of a yatai trade association established in 1950.

Until the next bowl.

If any nation knows how to open, find, and celebrate street vendors, it’s Vietnam, so it’s natural and frankly quite delightful that such a distinctively Japanese food feature can adapt and be accepted so willingly in Saigon. Every time I get to feast on a good meal, like the shoyu ramen at Aoya, my mind sometimes wanders to Chihiro’s parents. They couldn’t escape the lure of the cursed food at the theme park and were transformed into insatiable pigs who spend the entire movie at the banquet. This ramen, in my personal opinion, might be a meal worth being turned into a pig for.

Aoya Ramen is open from 6pm to whenever they run out of noodles, from Tuesday to Sunday.

To sum up:

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

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

Aoya Ramen

30 Ngô Thời Nhiệm, Võ Thị Sáu Ward, D3, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: Time-Tested Sâm Bổ Lượng Versus Wacky Quail Eggs in a Dessert

2024-09-15T14:00:00+07:00

As a kid, my mom would often buy me chè when the weather was too hot to keep me from drinking Coca-Cola. Chè made by Hoa people always got my attention, thanks to its distinctive presentation. Though, to get to it, I would usually drive to Chợ Lớn, which is fine, but it often involves traversing through traffic jams. So when I discovered Chè Sâm Bổ Lượng 399 on a random Google search, a long-established chè shop run by a Hoa family just 7 minutes from my office, I had to check it out.

While the eatery is tucked in alley 399 of Nguyễn Đình Chiểu Street, it remains noticeable due to its Chinese-style food cart poking out of the front door. But unlike typical food stalls in Chợ Lớn that usually serve hủ tiếu mì, this shop displays all kind of simmered beans, fruits, and tuber slices,

The rustic shopfront of Chè Sâm Bổ Lượng 399.

The store’s menu offers a wide variety of chè options, but for our first taste, I settled with a bowl of chè trứng cút củ năng, one of the shop’s most talked about dishes in Google reviews; and then, a glass of sâm bổ lượng since the shop is named after this sweet treat. Sâm bổ lượng is how we pronounce ching bo leung, a sweet and cold dessert popular in Cantonese and Hainanese cuisine that usually features pearl barley, dried longans, jujubes, lotus roots, and ginkgo nuts (amongst other toppings depending on where you order it) served in a sweet syrup. The owner quickly scooped tons of ingredients to prepare my order, and everything was ready to be served in about two minutes.

Various grains, tubers, and fruits make up sâm bổ lượng.

At first glance, chè trứng cút củ năng looked strikingly similar to the popular Vietnamese snack súp cua, with its viscous broth and quail eggs as toppings. I asked for the dessert to be served hot because I was curious to see how a sweet version of súp cua would turn out. It was a refreshing experience. The sweet soup is not too thick nor watery; a perfect consistency. Tiny slices of water chestnut were sprinkled everywhere, simmering in the soup, giving the dish a warm, pleasant aroma.

Wedding banquet-style súp cua? No, this is a dessert.

This was my first time seeing quail eggs in a sweet dish; they harmonized well with the sweet soup without feeling out of place. Eating the quail eggs with water chestnuts and small pomegranate seeds made the chewing more playful, with the eggs having a slightly creamy texture; the tuber was soft yet crunchy; and the pomegranate seeds were tender. This hot bowl of chè trứng củ năng, with its gentle sweetness, left me feeling purified, as though it was cleansing me from the inside.

For the sâm bổ lượng, I asked for it to be served cold as I typically enjoy it as a thirst-quenching dessert. Sâm bổ lượng is always a sight to look at, thanks to the colorful ingredients. I remember the first time my mom bought me one when I was a child. I was confused as to why there was seaweed in my drink, but she simply told me to close my eyes and start eating. It worked, conjuring up a refreshing feeling that was organic, unlike the fizzy carbonated sodas that most kids love.

A glass of sâm bổ lượng is ready in less than two minutes.

Looking closely at my cup of sâm bổ lượng, I could see grains of pearl barley, lotus seeds and roots, water chestnut, seaweed, longan, and jujube. This combo creates a mixture of flavors and textures in the sâm bổ lượng glass. The pearl barley, lotus seeds and roots were soft and starchy. The water chestnuts, unlike in chè trứng cút củ năng, were cut into large, crunchy chunks rather than small slices. The seaweed and longans were chewy and lightly sweet, while the jujubes offered a sour flavor, giving the dessert a refreshing, cooling quality.

I savored these two dishes in a small, cozy space that resembled a repurposed living room, with tables and chairs arranged for dining. There weren’t many customers who chose to sit and enjoy their sweet soup at the shop, as most simply stopped by to grab takeaways before continuing on their way.

A refreshing treat for sweltering afternoons.

Seeing that the owner wasn’t too busy, I asked her a little bit about the store. According to her, Sâm Bổ Lượng 399 is her family business, and they have been serving chè for more than half a decade since the 1960s. Back then, the eatery was located in other areas around this alley, but now it has moved here.

The toppings of chè.

The shop's signature sâm bổ lượng is made using a traditional recipe that has been passed down since the shop first opened. Due to their long-standing presence, they garnered quite a following of regular customers, each favoring a different combination of toppings. The owner mentioned one customer who loved boiled quail eggs, but wanted a cold dessert, so they asked to add quail eggs to their sâm bổ lượng order. Surprisingly, these mix-and-match choices still worked, and the ingredients always seem to blend together well within a cup of sâm bổ lượng.

All in all, Sâm Bổ Lượng 399 provided me with refreshing desserts made from time-tested traditional recipes. With such a diverse menu, this is a place that I’d love to revisit from time to time, to try new types of chè and grow to love its ingredients. And perhaps one day, I might even request an unconventional sâm bổ lượng combo just to see how it turns out.

Chè Sâm Bổ Lượng 399 is open everyday from 3pm to 9pm.

To sum up:

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

Chè Sâm Bổ Lượng 399

399/14 Nguyễn Đình Chiểu, Ward 5, D3, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: An Alternative Cao Lầu in Saigon for Full-Topping Eaters

2024-08-18T18:00:00+07:00

If I have to use one word to describe the food philosophy of Saigoneers, it would be maximalist. Those who have had the gluttonous joy of hunkering down on a plastic chair on the sidewalk and demolishing a giant tumbler of full-topping bubble tea will know what I’m talking about.

In the eyes and mouths of Saigoneers, just a bowl of noodles or plate of rice simply doesn’t cut it, so phần đặc biệt — the most expensive permutation of toppings at any given local eatery — exists as a reminder that the people of Saigon loves to let their palates dance. A cơm tấm đặc biệt comes with a pork chop, a crispy ốp la, a bundle of shredded pork skin, a hunk of chả trứng, and pickled vegetables. So what’s in a cao lầu đặc biệt? This week’s Hẻm Gems feature heads to Cô Ba Ân, a relatively new eatery in Saigon that brings this Hội An specialty to Saigoneers.

Cô Ba Ân is decorated in a way that evokes traditional Hội An houses.

Cao lầu is the ancient town’s most celebrated delicacy, a noodle dish that’s paradoxically both simple and complex. Its simplicity lies in the number of elements: cao lầu noodles, thịt xíu, a dark sauce, fresh herbs, and crackers on top for a touch of crunch. The complexity, however, comes from how each of those components used to only come from a specific part of Hội An and nowhere else, carrying the unique tastes, techniques, and local qualities of the historic trading port.

The new hẻm where the restaurant calls home.

Today, it is not as challenging to find cao lầu outside of Hội An, for decades of migration have placed Quảng Nam natives everywhere in the country, bringing with them the secrets of their hometown’s unique noodle dish. I’ve had the privilege of trying cao lầu from Mì Quảng Trí Hội An, a humble eatery in Tân Bình operated by a family with roots from Hội An. Here, a bowl of cao lầu is faithful to its original existence in the number of elements, though it comes as no surprise that it’s logistically impossible to source every ingredient from Central Vietnam.

The simple interior.

Cô Ba Ân’s cao lầu, however, represents a delightful intersection between Hội An cuisine and Saigon’s tendency to feast. I discovered this humble restaurant completely by chance thanks to Google Maps: one day a few months ago, I was browsing the app to look for a place near the Saigoneer office to get takeout to bring home for dinner when the orange pin of Cô Ba Ân popped up. There was no way I would pass up one of my favorite noodle dishes, especially that close to me, so I had to make my way there for a quick slurping, and the rest is history.

Interestingly, I got to know the restaurant while it was on the cusp of a major change in location. From a tiny nook with a handful of tables and limited parking space, the version of Cô Ba Ân that readers see in this Hẻm Gems feature is a vast improvement: better seats, air-conditioning, and, of course, kick-ass cao lầu.

A bowl of cao lầu comes with thịt xíu, grilled pork, a roll of ram, and crackers.

According to Ân, one of the titular “Ân” in the name, the place was founded in 2019 as a way for her mom to make some additional income. During the next three years of operation, it shuffled through a few locations and remained nameless. Luckily, 2022 turned out to be a successful year, so they gave it the name “Cô Ba Ân,” for two reasons: Ân and her mother are both the third sibling of their parents, and Ân has another sister also named Ân. The trio decided to select the name to honor the significance of the number three in their lives.

A portion of cao lầu đặc biệt at Cô Ba Ân is no small feat. On a bed of golden brown cao lầu noodles sit slices of thịt xíu, chunks of grilled pork, crispy fried crackers and shallots, fresh veggies, and a roll of ram. This pile of goodies is accompanied by a small bowl of caramel-colored soy-based broth that gives off a pleasant wisp of five-spice. Before diving into the mix, I would highly recommend adding a generous dollop of the house-made chili jam provided on the table.

Ready to dig in!

There are a number of ways the cao lầu here might differ from what one’s used to in Central Vietnam. The grilled pork, roll of ram, and fried shallots don’t exist in the original iteration, and the soy broth is a smidgen sweeter; but to me, all of these additions have fortunately improved upon the classic, even though the generous amount of food makes for a significant meal that might leave you (me) dozing off in the middle of meetings. The grilled pork, using a fatty cut and glossy marinade, is my favorite part of the bowl, surprisingly even more than the traditional slices of xá xíu, for it manages to stay moist and moreish throughout.

A dollop of sa tế ớt adds some heat and sweetness.

Like many other regional food places in Saigon, Cô Ba Ân was born from a migrant family’s desire to eat the food of their hometown, but can’t find it in the city. “As Central Vietnam natives who live away from home, all three of us always hope to share our hometown’s special dishes to everyone,” Ân tells me in an email. “Specifically, I really love cao lầu, but it’s not very common in Saigon. Coincidentally, one time my dad said he missed it a lot, and bought cao lầu noodles in Saigon so my mom could make it. That was the story of how we got into the restaurant business.”

Cô Ba Ân refers to the “mother and daughters” team behind the counter.

The biggest challenge the eatery faces, according to Ân, is sourcing and processing cao lầu noodles, which the family imports in dry bundles from Hội An. “Soaking the noodles takes up most of our time every day, that’s why we open quite late,” she explains. “To arrive at strands of noodles that are tender enough for serving, we had to experiment with several different ways.” That very distinctive chew of cao lầu is my most favorite thing about this special noodle from Hội An. It’s big like udon but there isn’t that doughy aftertaste, and the minimal addition of the soy-based broth helps keep the texture from getting soggy. Apart from the imported noodles, Cô Ba Ân makes nearly everything else in-house, from the sparkling soy sauce to the sa tế ớt, something that’s so addictive, “others even bought the sa tế ớt to eat with bánh tráng trộn,” Ân says with pride.

The space for dining has recently expanded, but Cô Ba Ân gets much of its popularity from food delivery apps.

More is more. Such is the guiding philosophy I personally follow every time I visit a new eatery. I order their phần đặc biệt, sample every topping, and decide for myself what I will keep for later visits — if there will be any. I have enjoyed nearly everything Cô Ba Ân puts in front of me, with the exception of the fried roll, which I don’t think adds much to the cao lầu discourse. Whether this version of cao lầu is authentic is outside of my expertise, for I’m neither from Central Vietnam nor have I tried a cao lầu in Hội An. As a maximalist eater, however, I can proclaim with resounding authority that Cô Ba Ân’s cao lầu is a stellar representative of my culture.

Cô Ba Ân is open from 10:30am to 2pm and 4:30pm to 8:30pm.

To sum up:

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

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

Cô Ba Ân

387/12 Cách Mạng Tháng 8, Ward 13, D10, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: A Long-Anticipated Bowl of D10's Pre-Eminent Mì Vịt Tiềm

2024-08-16T10:00:00+07:00

Rarely have I gone into a meal with such anticipation.

Through a combination of bad weather and conflicting schedules, my dinner at District 10’s finest duck noodle spot was postponed several times before it actually happened. In the interim, we dispatched our film crew to create the food envy-inducing video below and our photographer, Brandon, made a visit or two on his own to capture the photogenic noodles.

But while everyone else was getting in on the braised duck goodness buried down an alley off Nguyễn Tri Phương, I was only hearing about it.

“You’ve gotta check out this duck spot,” Brandon told me. The photos of his trip — the ones you see here — later surfaced in our work exchanges, taunting me. By the time yesterday afternoon rolled around, I was ravenous and excited. It felt exclusive, like I was going to meet a celebrity. This underscores my relationship to food: put me in front of Sơn Tùng, Taylor Swift or any army of K-pop singers and I couldn't care less; tell me we’re going to eat a mean bowl of duck noodles and I get the jitters.

“Put me in front of Sơn Tùng, Taylor Swift or any army of K-pop singers and I couldn't care less; tell me we’re going to eat a mean bowl of duck noodles and I get the jitters.”

The sign out front of Nguyễn Tri Phương’s hẻm 481 looks depressing, but it doesn’t take long to see how misleading this signage is. Just a few feet down the alley, a standard steel street cart is lit by fluorescents. Behind it, waiters pile heaps of braised duck into plastic tubs. The golden brown thighs look sexy on their own, but pair them with equally generous tubs of mì — real, genuine egg noodles, not the instant version you see so casually substituted into many a local meal — plus a killer broth, and you’re in heaven.

These flavorful noodles, served from 3pm to 10pm everyday, come with several different parts of the duck — breast, thigh, neck, phao câu — but what you want to spring for is the house specialty: mì đùi vịt góc tư. The dish features a trifecta of well-made, mouthwatering components: rich, flavorful broth, a generous serving of golden-brown braised duck and a tuft of al dente egg noodles.

In my experience, duck can be a divisive protein; people either love it or hate it. The general complaint among the haters is its texture and consistency, too tough and chewy for some. But this duck manages to attain that perfect, fall-off-the-bone quality that eludes lesser cooks, and combined with the other main ingredients, plus a few spring onions and the odd táo tàu (jujube), it’ll have you ordering seconds.

Beyond the bowl — I only looked up for a few brief moments during my meal, so caught up in the euphoria of duck noodles was I — 481’s dining area occupies one side of the alley. Outside, waiters serve customers beneath a string of heavy-duty fluorescent lights, while a single table indoors is used for inclement weather and larger parties. Across the alley and around the corner, another house also handles overflow from the main cart. Last but not least, the Chinese music streaming from a stereo somewhere inside the alley is a nice finishing touch.

On the whole, 481’s duck noodle cart does not come with the bustling, frenetic energy infused into most evening street food joints but this, too, is part of its charm. Sometimes, after a long wait, a lengthy pilgrimage from District 1 and a solid week of anticipation, you just want to enjoy your meal in peace.

Mì Vịt Tiềm Thượng Hải is open from 4pm to 9pm.

This article was originally published in 2016.

To sum up:

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

Dana is 70% caffeine, 50% fish sauce and hasn't taken a math class since 2004.

Mì Vịt Tiềm Thượng Hải

Hẻm 481, Nguyễn Tri Phương, Ward 4, D10, HCMC