As a Đà Nẵng native, I often get asked where and what to eat and drink by friends who are in town. The tried-and-true list of places in my mind always includes Góc Nhà Tụi Mình, which I’ve frequented nearly constantly for the past six years.

Góc Nhà Tụi Mình, which translates to “our home nook,” is right by Phan Châu Trinh, Đà Nẵng’s largest high school, and my alma mater. It’s always been a crucial anchor centering my formative years spent at school and in the quaint tea shop.

I found Góc Nhà Tụi Mình the natural way that kindred spirits gravitate towards one another. Here, there’s a tree-filled deck awash in green hues, the fragrance of freshly brewed tea, and nostalgic tunes by Trịnh Công Sơn or Ngô Thụy Miên. Amid the invasion of bubble tea in 2017 Đà Nẵng, discovering Góc Nhà Tụi Mình was a personal achievement.

Góc Nhà shares many wistful traits with other drink hangouts in the city, but what draws people here is not interior design, its list of lovingly curated drinks and an intimate, familiar ambiance true to its name. The shop’s signature selling point is over 10 types of Vietnamese tea, such as milk oolong from Bảo Lộc, Shan Show tea from Hà Giang, and peppermint tea from Sapa. Besides, the menu also offers local liqueurs like Điện Biên wild apricot wine, or housemade mulberry wine; and other mainstays like coffee and fruit teas.

Setting foot into the place, guests are greeted by a trà nương — a tea hostess with knowledge of tea and the menu — who will help them find the flavor profiles and, consequently, the types of tea that fit their palate. She will also provide a crash course on tea ceremony and how to treat different kinds of tea leaves, like how jujube goji berry tea will not cause insomnia and has mood-calming effects, or how certain types of oolong will “burn” when in contact with boiling-hot water, so one needs to be careful with temperatures.

I used to believe that tea is just a bitter liquid that only old people drink, and that tea leaves everywhere come from the same Thái Nguyên tea packets one can buy at supermarkets. But thanks to Góc Nhà’s teachings, I realized that the universe of tea is much more diverse and multi-faceted. My favorite order is milk oolong, a surprisingly milky brew thanks to the teahouse’s painstaking scenting techniques. There’s no actual milk in the drink, but it has a richness that evokes dairy.

I think I’m not the only one in Vietnam who harbors such notions about our tea, like how it’s an old people’s beverage or how it’s too fancy for our taste buds. Often when I broach the subject of going out for a tea together with my peers, they would immediately chime in with: “Yes, milk tea! Which location?” More often than not, we prefer the sweet and easy-to-drink tastes of milk teas and fruit teas over tea in its purest form, so when actual tea comes into the conversation, we become confused and hesitant.

Thankfully, today, tea culture has grown in popularity and is no longer unfamiliar to Vietnamese youths. To think that just a few years ago, I had overheard on a few different occasions newcomers expressing shock at the fact that a teahouse sells other tea drinks apart from milk teas.

Knowing the context behind this welcoming development in the appreciation for Vietnamese tea, I gradually fell in love with the tea culture that Góc Nhà has always tried to cultivate with every cup. Huy Hùng and Ái Tầm, the founders behind Góc Nhà, once shared with me:

“When we first built this teahouse, everybody thought we were out of our minds,” they reminisced. “We barely had any guests in the first six months, to the point that our friends felt bad for us and camped out at the shop when they had a chance, just to convince us not to close it. It was really a risky and crazy move, because loving tea is one thing, selling tea successfully is a whole other story. In the F&B field, everybody wants more patrons, so a good turnover rate is key. But with tea, we want to get customers to visit and sit down for as long as they can. How to be profitable like that?”

Tầm added: “Still, the more we travel, the more we discover that our local teas are so distinct and valuable. When you ask 10 people about tea, eight or nine responders are not aware of these values. So I really hope to spread our tea culture to young people. Any time I have a moment, I make a point to talk to our guests about tea, introduce its origin, and teach them how to best enjoy it — this is something foreign tourists appreciate, but in Vietnam, it’s not there yet.”

After six years of constantly seeing my face in their teahouse, Hùng and Tầm started to actively teach me so many cool things about tea, not that much different from how they train their own tea hostess. In the local tea hierarchy, each variety and its price are classified based on altitude, the higher the altitude of cultivation, the more valuable the leaves are — from lowest to highest in Thái Nguyên Province’s local names: trà móc câu, trà nõn tôm, and trà đinh.

At the moment, Góc Nhà mainly serves trà nõn tôm and trà đinh to promote the flavors of these signature Thái Nguyên varieties. Trà đinh means that only the terminal buds of tea bushes were collected while trà nõn tôm includes both the buds and one to two unfurled young leaves. Some types of tea require the caretaker to climb up a heritage tea tree before sunrise to pluck out buds, but it’s so rare that even a large tree only yields up to 2 kilograms of harvest. Then, farmers bring the buds back home to dry and hand-roast to ensure the quality of the product.

“Once I got to see this level of effort, I stopped wasting tea, not even a strand,” Tầm told me. Therefore, Góc Nhà always encourages customers to refill at least three times before finishing a pot to not waste precious tea.

I feel that this is as good a time as any to admit that Góc Nhà is always the hangout of choice during days when money is tight for me and my friends. A two-person teapot costs VND60,000–70,000 with complimentary mung bean snacks. An additional person only incurs a surcharge of VND10,000. So, my three-person friend group can enjoy as much tea as our stomach can contain for just VND25,000. During my travels from north to south, I’ve never encountered a place with such a hospitable policy to get its guests to stay.

Most trà nương at Góc Nhà are college students, but the training process involves more tea knowledge than a typical milk tea or neighborhood cafe. Staff members must learn the names of every tea on offer, as well as how to brew and keep tea to produce the best quality. Hùng told me that it often takes newcomers from 1.5 to 2 months to get used to the position. Once they eventually depart the teahouse to follow other life endeavors, they also carry with them a deep appreciation for tea and Góc Nhà.

Tầm told me the stories of her past employees who went on to study abroad, but still brought along tea leaves to drink, to the amazement of foreign friends. Some incorporate tea time as a daily routine and thus bringing Vietnamese tea culture to every nation they set foot in. Gradually, the common notion that tea is just confined to the free beverage on offer at food stalls has become less common, replaced by the confident and impassioned orders of young Vietnamese who are well-versed in their own tea heritage. Perhaps, this is the sanguine change that Hùng and Tầm have been chasing since their humble beginning.

During the first few visits here, I honestly didn’t pay too much attention to what I was drinking, because I was occupied by my own problems. I made an attempt later to approach tea drinking as an exercise in honing patience and leaving behind daily struggles, because “tea can be both fast and slow,” as Hùng shared with me. To get the most out of tea leaves, one needs to learn the virtue of temperance. If one tries to rush the process, the tea won’t have time to cool off, and the drinker ends up with burns and breakages. If left out too long, the tea gets stale and no longer tastes the best. One day, maybe I’ll learn to apply temperance to my own life too, the way I’ve always done with tea.

Góc Nhà Tụi Mình is open from 7am to 10pm every day.

This article was originally published in 2023.

To sum up:

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

Plastic stools circling low metal tables. Staff wearing pajamas and street clothes that match patrons welcomed from all walks of life. Meagre and/or mismatched decor. Views of street traffic with motorbike engines as soundtrack. Brief menus sometimes consisting of a single dish. A strict cash-only policy (until recent years, at least). Minimal concern for health-safety regulations. No artifice of chef as artist or meal as a masterpiece. While we can quibble over a specific, all-encompassing definition for streetfood restaurant, there are many qualities most will agree they share.

At first glance, Quán Bà Nga in Huế is a quintessential street food restaurant. Sutured into an inconspicuous neighborhood less than 1 kilometer from the Imperial Citadel’s West Gate, it contains not only near-platonic ideals of street food conventions but the best bowl of bún bò Huế I’ve ever had. While increasingly known amongst out-of-towners, it remains a favorite spot for the locals who keep it crowded from 3pm until late.

Thin gold bracelets encircle the arm that stirs a steaming vat of broth and meat. Beside her, other employees shuffle around a preparation table disheveled by stacked bowls and waiting ingredients: noodles, chives, lettuce, pork legs, and blood sausage. Beyond them, a few food delivery drivers wait next to a vendor taking advantage of the crowd to sell fresh jackfruit. Passing them leads to the wondrously unpretentious dining room where pots, pans, plastic baskets, and surplus sugar cane rest on rickety shelves against bare, waterstained walls.

Crumpled napkins litter the floor along with spent limes, their dry flesh reminding one of a cicada's desiccated shell. You won’t be greeted, but if you find an empty table, someone will notice you and come by to relay your request to the women beside the pot. Speed is another tenet of street food restaurants. Rarely does one wait more than a few minutes for their food to arrive, and the entire dining experience can often be completed in less time than it takes for an average Ferris wheel rotation.

If your visit to ​​Quán Bà Nga is anything like mine, however, you might experience a thrill before you begin eating. I went alone on a random weeknight. Frequently accompanied by my Kindle, I enjoy dining out alone. This time, however, I was not alone. I was joined by a child. A few moments after I’d sat down and ordered, and hardly a few stanzas into my book, a man who appeared to be in a rush pushed a boy of ten years old or so to the empty plastic chair across from me. After depositing him in his place and ordering something from the staff, he shuffled out the door and sped off down the road. He hadn’t so much as made eye contact with me, let alone attempted an explanation of why his son would be my dinner companion. Made no difference to me, as I quickly returned to my reading and the boy quietly slurped the noodles that soon were set in front of him. A quiet and unstressed acquiescence to the hectic happenstance of life is a hallmark of a street food restaurant.

For me, bún bò Huế in general is a mid-tier noodle soup. And before you begin crafting hate messages, let me clarify that I rank it as such because Vietnam is blessed with many wonderful noodle soups and I am actively committed to upholding the reputation of “mid” as an adjective meaning average, which is in no way a bad thing. Not everything has to be extremely, utterly, stupefyingly wondrous to be worthwhile and enjoyable: it's dinner, not a search for salvation. But when I express to friends that I think bún bò Huế is merely a mediocre noodle dish, by Vietnamese standards, I am frequently told I must be going to the wrong places. I should go to its city of origin to appreciate it. Thus, on a recent trip to Huế, I followed the recommendation of Saigoneer staff who told me to visit Bà Nga.

Another element of street food is the absence of written recipes or standardization, allowing for daily and regional variations. No two shops prepare identical dishes, and the differences become more significant the further apart they are (a smarter person than I could probably illustrate this fact with a coefficient-laden, variable-rich equation). This is certainly true for bún bò. Each stereotypical difference between bún bò in Saigon and bún bò in Huế is seemingly subtle but becomes significant in aggregate. The bún in the south is thicker while chả lụa takes the place of crab cakes and pork blood. Southern broth renditions typically rely on beef bones and beef balls for flavor while the broth in Huế takes a more pork-centric approach thanks to pig bones and knuckles. The central broth is also more aromatic and spicy while the southern take is more subdued and single-note sweet from added rock sugar. Finally, locally available and seasonally specific herbs and vegetables alter the overall flavor and texture. It’s impossible to attribute the holistic experience to a single difference, but bún bò in Huế strikes me as a more complex and cohesive dish wherein the elements elevate one another rather than vying against one another for prominence.

In addition to the taste, another significant difference between bún bò in Huế and Saigon is the price. Simply, like most things, it's much cheaper in Huế. A fully loaded đặc biệt bowl with beef, crab and pork knuckle will only set you back VND40,000–50,000 at Bà Nga, while a dish with only one protein is just VND30,000. And given the heat from the chilis and overwhelming summer humidity, a refreshing nước mía for VND5,000 is the easiest decision you’re liable to make all day.

The more one travels throughout the world, the more likely one is to cherish Vietnam’s street food restaurants. Many of the qualities Bà Nga exemplifies get lost amidst modernization’s demands for standardization and regulation. A certain indescribable flavor is imparted into a dish when enjoyed on a plastic stool in a humid, noisy, dirty room so stuffed with convenience, tradition, and serendipity it threatens to burst into chaos at any moment.

It’s certainly the ideal environment to enjoy one of the country’s most beloved dishes. And dear reader, it shouldn’t matter to you one bit if Quán Bà Nga affected the placement of bún bò Huế on my personal Vietnamese noodle power rankings. You should make your own decisions, but I will recommend you experience it here to understand its full potential.

To sum up:

• Opening time: 5am–11pm
• Parking: In front of the restaurant (bike only)
• Contact: 0905263715
• Average cost per person: $ (Under VND100,000)
• Payment: Cash, Transfer
• Delivery App: ShopeeFood

Paul Christiansen only writes and edits because he can't afford a durian farm, yet. Read more at his website.

During a recent trip to Đà Lạt, a friend invited me for coffee at 5:30am. The frosty climate of the Central Highlands mornings concerned me, but upon hearing the pitch about a whimsical cafe that operates on a “now you see me, now you don’t” basis, I immediately said yes.

“Anh ơi, where are you based tomorrow?”

Tiệm Cà phê Một bàn, true to its name, only has one foldable table, just enough to fit various coffee-making apparatuses like travel burner, gas canister, grinder, filter cones, beans, etc. Everything can fit neatly in an old camera bag.

The coffee shop’s founder, Sói, has many roles: a leather artisan, a hiking guide, and even an “amateur” barista — to use Sói’s own word. Tiệm Cà phê is a safe space for him to both play with and learn about coffee. As someone who enjoys being on the road, he decided that every day, he would open the cafe at a different location. Sometimes, it’s open in the forest, by the beach, by a lake, a stream, in the middle of a field; if he’s in the mood to people-watch, Tiệm would settle down at a park or public plaza.

Confining his operation into one table is intentional. Instead of each person, pair, or group of patrons sitting at separate tables, everybody who wishes to enjoy the coffee can only sit together, so they can talk to one another and connect easily. “Every stranger eventually becomes a friend,” Sói explained.

Apart from these quirks, Tiệm Cà phê Một bàn is also peculiar in its opening time from 5am to 7am, when Đà Lạt is quite deserted, reminiscent of the city’s past decades. Amidst a layer of morning mist, guests gather around the table to sip hot coffee, converse with new faces, wait for the sun to rise, and get their first daily dose of dopamine before embarking on their usual routine.

No expectations, no restrictions

Whether he’s working on a piece of leather, trekking, or brewing coffee, Sói always seeks to bring people together. When he was still running a leather workshop in Hanoi, he often invited customers in for tea; after moving to Saigon, he treated them to pour-over coffee made of Arabica beans, which were still quite new in the country at the time. The barista pours hot water in, the coffee slowly drips down while the filter retains the coffee grounds. “For their first visit, when asked if they want coffee, people often think of black or milk coffee, but once they witness the process of making craft coffee, they are all quite astonished because it looks like a tea ceremony.”

The workshop was tiny, made even more cramped by the many people surrounding the small table in the middle. Guests would just sit down right next to one another; one would get a cup of coffee while others engaged in lively conversations. “At that time, an idea popped into my head. I thought: ‘Wow, this is like a cafe, except there’s only one table.’” That was the exact moment the name and concept behind Tiệm Cà phê Một bàn came into existence.

The entire “coffee shop” happened because of personal interest and not to make profits, so Tiệm has neither set prices nor a menu. It serves whatever is available on the day and patrons pay however much they want. Every morning, there are 5–6 varieties of beans from different roasteries to choose from. “Sometimes, we purposely pick a type of bean because we want the first pitcher of the day to smell and taste a specific way. Other times, we just choose… at random.”

“The pour-over method gives baristas room to ‘perform.’ Oftentimes even with the same bean variety, it could taste differently through the hands of different brewers. When we launched Tiệm, we hoped to promote this experience as well — that feeling of no expectations, no restrictions.”

May I have a đen đá with stream water?

The cafe doesn’t have a set location, so naturally its patrons also come from all sorts of regions, with their own life experiences, lessons, and passions to share. “Their stories make up the soul of Tiệm and fulfill us every day, like the wind, rain, sunlight, and water nurturing a tree. Tiệm is like a tree hosting playful children. They sit beneath the tree, lean on it, grow up with it, sharing their joy.”

Before officially putting down roots in Đà Lạt, Tiệm Cà phê Một bàn has spent some time across localities in Vietnam and even overseas. The owner remembers like yesterday a number of past locations that are special for so many reasons, such as the town of Ladakh in India, nestled at the foot of the Himalayas.

“It will always be my home. Over nearly a month staying here, I amassed nearly 30 coffee sessions all over this surreal dreamland. One day I was on the deck, looking over the garden of a red-white house right beneath a mountain, with stone fences and lush wildflowers. Some afternoons, I spent time along the bank of the primordial Nubra and Shyok rivers. Some mornings, I sat on the grass right next to the profound azure of Pangong Lake, taking in the rows of snow-covered peaks in the distance.”

In Vietnam, Sói reminisced about the early days with the drizzle of Hoàn Kiếm Lake, the pristine streams of Bidoup, and the mornings by the creek in the forest of Nam Cát Tiên he struggled with making a fire. “The Bidoup jungle is Vietnam’s most breathtaking jungle to me,” he recalled. “The water there was the freshest, sweetest I’ve ever tasted and used to make my coffee. In the morning, I woke up, washed my face, tried to find a big rock to sit around, made a fire, and scooped water straight from the stream to boil and make coffee.”

Today, as Sói explained to me,Tiệm Cà phê Một bàn is an excuse to wake up early, to experience the many facets of Đà Lạt, and to facilitate chance meetings, with or without purposes. You can seek out Tiệm yourself, or it will bump into you. And during these chance meetings, Tiệm can help you appreciate Đà Lạt more.

"Sói ơi, where are you today? / Hello, tomorrow we're at Lâm Viên Square./ We'll join you at 5:30am./ See you later!"

Aspiring guests to Tiệm Cà phê Một Bàn can contact the place’s Facebook page to find out where the “location of the day” is.

To sum up:

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

You’ve probably never had bánh khọt like this before.

One of the great joys of traveling is exploring local specialties: bánh mì xíu mại in Đà Lạt, cao lầu in Hội An or chả rươi in Hanoi. When Saigoneer recently took a trip to Quy Nhơn, one would assume the top restaurant on our list would be serving the bánh xèo, bánh hỏi or cháo lòng the city is famous for. And indeed, that has been the case in the past. But this time we were most eager to sample some bánh khọt.

Bánh khọt, those crisp discs of dough topped with shrimp and accompanied by herbs and dipped in fish sauce, is popular in the south, with Vũng Tàu at the epicenter. So when a colleague tipped us off that there was a popular place in Quy Nhơn serving them up, we were intrigued, but a little skeptical.

The nameless bánh khọt spot at 19 Hàn Thuyên didn’t immediately instill confidence. Situated across the street from a school and surrounded by a familiar scramble of tạp hóa, eateries and shops, it contains only four tables and none of the telltale signs of a popular eatery, like a gaggle of Grab drivers waiting for delivery orders. If it hadn’t been recommended, we probably would have passed by without giving it a second look.

When the first “mixed” plate of bánh khọt arrived, however, we knew we were in for something special. In addition to the familiar bánh khọt topped with little shrimps and quail eggs, were ones with full squids and others that featured a large smattering of beef with wood-ear mushrooms. 

Beef bánh khọt?

Bánh khọt isn’t one of my favorite Vietnamese dishes. Too often the subtle crustacean flavors are overwhelmed by the pork lard used to fry them, resulting in grease pucks whose only enjoyment comes from the herbs and fish sauce they are dunked in. Tasty, but I might as well just make fish sauce herb soup.

The addition of beef and mushrooms changes everything. The stronger flavors cut through the grease, producing a more significant dining experience. It helps that this location doesn’t overdo it on the oil to begin with, and thus the more conventional shrimp or egg varieties will certainly thrill bánh khọt enthusiasts. 

While praising the inclusion of beef, the novelty of the squid must not be overlooked. I have a theory that animals can be either interesting or delicious, but not both (jellyfish are fascinating but not tasty; catfish are boring but scrumptious). Some squid’s internal organs produce phosphorescent light that distracts predators, some squid ink contains the dopamine that gives humans a natural high, and the end of a male squid’s arms serves as a penis. Incredible, right? Which means it isn’t especially delicious. Sure, it can be involved in great dishes, but on its own, it’s dull. 

So while the lackluster cephalopod bánh khọt might not be on par with the beef version, its texture adds a new dimension to the dish. And if you subscribe to my theory, seeing the bright purple creatures on your table at least provides a chance to marvel at the species’ many charms.

But the joys of 19 Hàn Thuyên, as I'll call it, don’t stop at the beef. As I already noted, I love the fish sauce typically served with bánh khọt, but what I love even more is the peanut sauce confoundingly relegated to the central region. The rich, nutty sauce adds great complexity to whatever one dips into it, and bánh khọt is no exception. It was a great joy to see a large container of it on the table.

But back to the beef. How did this delightful regional remix happen? The establishment’s owner, Huy, explained that he is originally from Vũng Tàu. Four years ago he gave up his job as a bike mechanic and moved to Quy Nhơn and opened up shop, tailoring the bánh khọt to local preferences and thus the peanut sauce and the squids. And once any semblance of traditional flavors were abandoned, you might as well add beef because of how good it tastes.

Such stories of migration, availability of different ingredients and innovation explain how Vietnamese cuisine is ever in flux with new versions and dishes taking shape all the time, like phở cuốn in Hanoi or bánh tráng nướng Đà Lạt. A meal at 19 Hàn Thuyên is a nice reminder that it’s worthwhile to explore how different regions interpret dishes that may have strayed far from their places of origin. 

Moreover, if dozens of these Hẻm Gems over the years haven’t quite convinced you that some of the best meals are found in the most mundane locations, 19 Hàn Thuyên could do it. A few plastic tables and chairs on the street, dozens of mismatched chopsticks clustered in a cup, a giant jar of fish sauce and, best of all, thin pieces of paper serving as napkins: this place provides all the many charms of Vietnamese street food. And that includes affordability. A plate of the mixed bánh khọt, which could satisfy the average diner, runs just VND25,000. The husband and wife team are exceedingly accommodating as well, checking on if you need a complimentary refilling of any of the herbs or pickled vegetables that pair with the bánh khọt. 

But there’s even more to a trip to 19 Hàn Thuyên! Situated next door is a juice stand that serves incredible sữa chua nếp cẩm (fresh yogurt with black sticky rice). Not only is it delicious, but it’s a healthy dessert that can make you feel better for having had an oily meal. 

If you go during the afternoon, you can enjoy the nostalgic scene of parents parking their motorbikes waiting for their children. When we visited, a few families had decided to stop at 19 Hàn Thuyên for an after-school snack. It’s possible that for some of the young children the beef and squid bánh khọt dipped in peanut sauce might be the only version of the dish they know, and they’ll be disappointed to learn one day that it’s not found elsewhere. That is a pretty cool way to think about the evolution of cuisine.

Bánh Xèo Bánh Khọt Hàn Thuyên is open from 2pm to 8pm (could close sooner if stock runs out).

To sum up:

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

Paul Christiansen is a Saigon-based writer. Read more at his website.

Sometimes, for descendants of Central Vietnam, a bowl of steaming bún chả cá can even sooth the pain and misery of a storm-battered rainy season.

My parents often took me to a bún place before school. To them, nothing could fill their child’s stomach as ideally as a bowl of bún chả cá with a broth that sings of Đà Nẵng essence, a symphony performed by many different local produce like cabbage, tomato and squash, making it an appetizing orange color.

Having grown up in a land of many cultural influences, a blend of Huế and Quảng culinary styles, I was lucky enough to sample numerous delicacies. To me, bún chả cá is still the most elegant dish in central Vietnam cuisine. While most recipes coming out of the region err on the side of saltiness and intense savoriness, this magical noodle soup brings a sweet, neutral aftertaste thanks to ingredients from both the land and the sea.

As far as bún cá goes, I have tried countless stalls, but Dì Gái’s version remains on my trusty checklist whenever a friend makes a visit and wishes to try a true-blue bún Đà Nẵng. The stall’s rustic shop front doesn’t stand out much amongst the sea of famous eateries on Lê Đình Dương Street; even I have to carefully check the addresses every visit so I don’t drive past it.

The staff prepares each portion right in front where one can watch every step. The toppings are stored in a glass display, right next to a giant vat of broth that’s always bubbling and emitting swirls of enticing fragrances.

A standard bún chả cá is assembled from rice noodles, chả cá, crab patties, broth, fresh herbs, and pork skin — nearly everything is either homemade or consciously selected by the owner, chị Phượng. The first element in its making is the broth, which requires cooking down fish bones from the previous night. She also rolls her own noodles to achieve a good texture.

Every day, Phượng wakes up at 3–4am to head to the wholesale market for the freshest fish to make her Lý Sơn-style red fish chả. The chunks of fish flesh is pulverized at a local shop — the texture of this mixture is a crucial factor in deciding the chả’s quality. In every batch of fish, she only picks the choice cut to make the paste (she politely refused to divulge which cut because of “trade secrets”).

Then the fish paste is put in molds and cooked by frying or steaming. The accouterments are also very Đà Nẵng: smashed chilies, shallots, pickled carrots, bean sprouts, banana blossoms, and whole-leaf herbs — unlike Saigon’s usage of julienned herbs.

“My mother began selling bún here before 1975. Her entire wealth was a bún kiosk on the pavement. Her regulars affectionately called her ‘dì Gái.’ After she passed it down to me, I fixed the shop up, and used her moniker to name it,” she reminisces while nimbly pouring broth into a row of bún bowls.

This backstory encapsulates what I adore about the place: it’s a family business, but they are not ostentatious about it. There’s no bombastic marketing campaign or banners boasting “selling since this or that year.” The throngs of patrons in and out of Bún Chả Cá Dì Gái are all lured here thanks to word of mouth, from parents taking their children for breakfast, from colleagues recommending new spots to try for lunch. On average, the place dishes out from 500 to 600 bowls a day, proof that a simple noodle spot can be “hot” without advertising.

Eating here, I often pick up very distinctive local dialects, like “Lấy tui một tô bún chả cá hỉ” or “Hết bao nhiêu rứa chị?” mixed with regional accents of tourists from other localities. I have never asked them what they think of my hometown’s bún chả cá, but thankfully, if Google reviews are to be believed, almost everyone praises its balanced flavors, even though I know that each region in Vietnam does lean a certain way when it comes to overall taste.

What about the palate of Đà Nẵng and Central Vietnam dwellers? Savory and salty, for sure. We love including mắm in our meals. Accompanying a bowl of bún chả cá is mắm ruốc. One can opt to mix it in with the broth or with smashed chilies as a side dipping for chả.

I always order a big portion, even though the difference between the sizes is just VND5,000. Perhaps I am one of those picky eaters to whom a small bowl is not enough, but a “đặc biệt” bowl will leave me bursting at the seams. In any case, with just VND30,000, I can relish a bodacious bowl of bún filled to the brim with toppings like crispy pork fat and fresh herbs. Where else can you find a delicious dish at an affordable price in the age of inflation like today?

“My mom left me this bún place, and right from the name, it shows a sense of passing down the baton. Because it bears her name, I don’t dare to be careless in my food. She taught me that if you want to sell food, you must cook it as if for your parents, for your family. I always try to embody that spirit,” Phượng tells me.

Perhaps thanks to that dedication, Dì Gái’s vat of broth always empties at a dizzying rate. Even though the closing time is officially at noon, there have been times when I have to find a different option at 9–10am because everything is already sold out, especially during weekends or peak tourism seasons.

After every typhoon season in Central Vietnam, a hot bowl of bún chả cá not only satiates the foodie in us. It also encompasses the faith that fishermen will continue to head to the sea, that their nets will be full of seafood, and that we will, as always, weather any disaster together despite losses and tragedies.

Bún chả cá Dì Gái is open from 6am to 12pm.

To sum up:

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

The secret is the sauce. And the sauce is a secret. The owners of Đà Nẵng’s Bánh Xèo Bà Dưỡng refuse to reveal the recipe for the rich, meaty, and multi-faceted sauce that falls somewhere between hex colors #A07212 and #A0522D. It elevates a familiar bánh xèo into a meal that draws in enough guests to have essentially taken over an entire downtown hẻm.

Bánh xèo is a love-it-or-leave-it dish for me. Homemade in miền Tây-style with rich coconut milk and generously prepared so it’s light, crispy and overflowing with plump shrimp and it is one of my favorite meals, especially when accompanied by fresh, countryside herbs. But purchased at an average street food spot in the city where it's frequently little more than a folded grease ascot smothering fatty pork tatters, wilted bean sprouts and crustacean carapaces? You can miss me with that.

So I admit that I was a bit skeptical when our photographer suggested that we spend one of our preciously few meals during a recent Đà Nẵng trip at Bánh Xèo Bà Dưỡng. But he then explained that the savory crepes were not served with the familiar sweet nước mắm one customarily finds at Saigon eateries, but instead a special sauce unique to the central region. A year living in Quy Nhơn has endeared me to the central coast’s condiments and I was convinced to check it out. After looking at the reviews online, at the very least it would be an opportunity to test notions of expectations and living up to the hype.

The utilitarian but clean kitchen of Bánh Xèo Bà Dưỡng.

Chipped tile flooring, water stain-streaked ceiling, faulty lightbulbs and faltering fans: Bánh Xèo Bà Dưỡng’s utilitarian interior is instantly recognizable as the type of restaurant that pays all its attention to the food it serves. The practically sheer paper napkins, bare walls, flimsy rubbish bins beside metal chairs and clamorous kitchen offer a comfortable familiarity. Typically there would be nothing to distract from the meal in front of us, but we happened to visit on a day when there was a charmingly content cat nestled up against the wall under a table. It only emerged from its slumber to stretch, shift and return to snoozing while we ate. It foretold the food coma awaiting us.

"Con bé đó dễ thương. Mắt nó đẹp nhưng biếc. Nội sợ sau này nó sẽ khổ."

Diners will not need to waste any time dithering over the menu nor wait long for their plates of bánh xèo, vegetables and nem lụi to arrive. Cut into convenient halves, the modest crepes are filled with a satisfactory amount of acceptable beef, shrimp and bean sprouts while their exteriors are crispy and oil-slick with a suggestion of charcoal smoke. The grilled meat sausages are tender. None of that matters, really. They are all simply texture vessels for the sauce.

How to assemble a bánh xèo roll.

One does not make a meal out of sauce alone. I am not entirely sure why we have agreed upon this as a society; perhaps it has something to do with the extravagant salt and fat content and lack of nutritional value found in most condiments and dipping liquids. But if there were a sauce I would risk becoming a pariah for and gobble up by the ladle-full, it would be the one at Bánh Xèo Bà Dưỡng. Peanuts, pate, fish sauce and garlic in some uncertain ratio are all likely joined by a few sprinkles and dashes of secret ingredients. Simply put, it’s a lavish, umami-laden delight that you will likely find yourself drenching the bánh xèo in past the point of recognition.

The crepe assembly line.

Due to its appeal, the kitchen at Bánh Xèo Bà Dưỡng functions like an assembly line. The crepes made with Quảng Nam rice and turmeric are cooked on one of six charcoal stoves, piled up to cool and crisp and then cooked again with the addition of prepared fillings. If one visits during the busier evening hours, the flames are worked by older women experienced in the fast-paced process of churning out an impressive amount of bánh xèo per minute.

Beef, a shrimp, and bean sprouts are the toppings here.

But when we visited this past summer, the comparatively quiet mid-afternoon shift was held down by young men seemingly still learning the process. It’s sweaty, repetitive work that makes one appreciate the meal all the more. Unfortunately, the sauce was prepared out of a sight and the giant vat of the unctuous liquid provided no guidance on how to reverse-engineer it at home.

What's in the sauce????

Unlike their closely guarded sauce recipe, however, Bánh Xèo Bà Dưỡng is no secret. Foodie sites are filled with reviews and local media outlets have covered the eatery countless times. Their success is so complete as to have transformed the humble hẻm in which they are situated at the end of. In classic Vietnamese fashion, success invites imitators, and the brightly lit and decorated alley is home to several other bánh xèo places, though all were completely empty while Bánh Xèo Bà Dưỡng was packed, even at 2pm on a weekday. It gets so busy that they’ve expanded to include a separate house used exclusively for parking.

One successful bánh xèo place can turn a hẻm into a conglomerate.

In addition to the copycat joints, the hẻm contains numerous small shops specializing in tourist goods. Dried fruits and seafood, jams, biscuits and baubles aimed at travelers in need of gifts to bring back for family, friends and co-workers all point to the type of clientele that frequent Bánh Xèo Bà Dưỡng. But while many Đà Nẵng locals may have other venues that they frequent when they don’t want to deal with the crowds there, Bánh Xèo Bà Dưỡng should not be confused with a tourist trap that sprang up to offer profitable facsimiles of famed local specialties to tour bus occupants that wouldn’t able to tell the difference. Rather, it's been in operation for more than 30 years, and its fame grows with each successive generation that maintains its stellar reputation.

Of course, one successful bà will spawn a host of imitations.

So in summary, am I really recommending you visit Bánh Xèo Bà Dưỡng to eat sauce? Yup. That's exactly what I am doing. Out of respect, I won’t suggest you attempt to order nothing but sauce to slurp up with a spoon. It’s tempting, I know, but we are living in a society and societies have rules. So, get the bánh xèo, nem lụi or bò lá lốt and smother it so fully you might as well be drinking sauce.

Bánh Xèo Bà Dưỡng is open from 9:30am to 9:30pm.

To sum up:

Taste: 4/5
Price: 4.5/5
Atmosphere: 3.5/5
Friendliness: 4/5
Location: 4/5

Paul Christiansen only writes and edits because he can't afford a durian farm, yet. Read more at his website.

Traveling in Nha Trang wouldn't be complete without tasting this delicious bowl of bánh canh which makes you enjoy eating almost every part of the fish, from its meat to its organs.

This dish has been part of many Nha Trang people’s daily meals, and it makes for such a complete, memorable fish soup bowl in this fishery beach city. You can grab this bánh canh at the corner of Trần Văn Ơn and Yersin street, and the eatery has existed there for more than 20 years.

One normal serving of bánh canh costs VND30,000. It contains chả cá (grilled chopped fish), lòng cá (fish organ), trứng cá (fish roe), cá dầm (steamed fish meat) and trứng cút (quail egg). The fish ingredients are from tuna and many other kinds of fish. If you want, you can get a special serving that costs VND40,000 and additional ingredients will be added for a greater experience, like da heo (pork skin) and chả lụa (Vietnamese pork sausage or pork bologna).

“She can make a variety of cooking styles from fish. The cook really makes use of the local natural resources from Nha Trang’s sea for this dish. She doesn’t import ingredients from somewhere else, but uses original products available locally and makes a disparate combination of fish meal in one bowl. It’s a great and interesting blend,” Hồ Đăng Tiến said.

Tiến is from Huế and now works in Nha Trang as a cable TV engineer. He has been eating at this place for almost 20 years. He recalled that he was still young and single the first time he ate here. Now he’s married with two children, and he still enjoys eating this bánh canh. For him, eating here a few times a week has become his favorite routine habit. “The fish flavor of the soup emits a deliciously fragrant smell and I don’t get bored eating it. Truly, it makes the typical taste of this seaside city,” Tiến added.

The most memorable thing is that this bánh canh street eatery has been located in the same spot for years. The owner hasn’t moved her business elsewhere and it has become a familiar place of people living in Nha Trang.

Lâm Thi, an immigrant from Quảng Ngãi living in Nha Trang, has eaten at this place for 20 years. He said: “This bánh canh place has become a famous brand by itself in Nha Trang. Everybody calls it ‘Bánh canh Trần Văn Ơn.’ You can find bánh canh in some restaurants within Nha Trang, but no other place can be compared to this street eatery. This one is the most delicious I have ever tried.”

“One of the most interesting things is that this is a street eatery located on the sidewalk. It has a friendly open atmosphere and is not covered with walls, like the restaurants. Inside some restaurants, you may be treated with different attitudes according to your appearance. However this street eatery always happily welcomes everybody and its prices are affordable,” Mai Thanh Trung said.

Trung is from Ninh Hoà and works around Khánh Hoà Province as a medical representative. Every time he gets the chance to work in Nha Trang, he never fails to visit to enjoy a bowl of bánh canh. Ten years ago, he first ate here when he was studying as a vocational student. Now he is studying to upgrade himself and get a bachelor's degree while working. He said that cô Điệp, the owner Bánh canh Trần Văn Ơn, has fed him for the last 10 years.

“She has treated me like her son. Most often, she serves me more food than normal to make sure that I am satisfied and my stomach is full. There are times when she would also let me eat for free when I was short on cash,” he smiled and shared. “I feel this bánh canh is like my delicious homecoming dish and this street eatery is like my family. Whenever I’m still in Nha Trang, I come to eat it. If I would stay far away, I think that I would have to ask Mrs. Điệp to deliver this food to me.”  

Điệp is the nickname of Nguyễn Thị Minh Trang, an original Nha Trang resident. She is 65 years old and she has run this bánh canh spot since 1999, when the price was just VND1,000 per serving.

She has five children, two of whom have passed away, while two daughters got married. Now she lives with her husband and son. Her husband is 70 years old and a veteran of the American War. She didn’t want to share much further about her son and just simply said that he has an illness.

Trang is the only one who supports her family financially. “I sit here to run this street eatery from 10:30am to about 5pm every day. My skin has adapted to the heavy heat of the sun. I just wish that I’m always healthy to keep working to support my family. I’m not confident that my food is one of the most delicious in this city, but I think that god has blessed my business a lot. That’s why many locals and tourists visit my eatery,” she said.

She shared that she loves her work so much and selling on the street like this makes her happy. Sometimes her close and loyal customers would pass by and would tease her: “Hello Bà Tám. You are still alive and working. When will you retire?” She would tease back: “I will retire when I am inside the coffin.”

“Bà Tám” is another nickname of Trang. As to why she got this dear nickname, here is the reason: Many high school students often visit here as a favorite place to eat. They also spend a lot of time sitting here to chat. Vietnamese calls someone ”Bà Tám” (Madame Eight) if one loves chatting and gossiping a lot.

“There are two high schools near here. After class, many students often come to my place to eat and ‘tám.’ They all wear white uniforms and they look like a herd of storks that flock here every evening,” Mrs. Tám poetically shared.

A hospital is nearby too, and people often come to eat bánh canh and she always serves her food for free to patients with a serious illness. “The rich people can do charity using their money, but since I don’t have much money I give them bowls of bánh canh. It makes me feel happy when I have a chance to be the giver,” bà Tám said.

This fish soup bowl has stayed deeply in the memories of Nha Trang people not only because it is delicious, but also because it is filled with friendliness and the love.

Bánh Canh Cá Trần Văn Ơn is open from 9am to 9pm.

Walking down Da Lat’s Robin Hill amid emerald pine trees and languid fluffs of cloud, one’s eyes will inevitably encounter a visual disturbance in the form of bright orange plastic maple trees. They are not the heroes of this story, but reluctant antagonists that nonetheless serve as hurdles on the journey to discover a hidden treasure.

As far as Vietnam’s cable car projects go, the Da Lat Cable Car is neither the longest nor most exciting, but its existence does provide a decently priced, reasonable way to enjoy a slice of the city’s mountainous beauty. It also serves as a link between the intercity bus station and more secluded lodgings dotted in the vicinity of Tuyen Lam Lake.

On my recent trip to Da Lat, we didn’t ride the cable car, but visited the station anyway to sample a delectable vegetarian hotpot that also nestles in the same complex. It is true that concretization has claimed large swaths of the town’s heartland, but for a moment there, as we exited the building to amble downhill, nature prevailed. There before my eyes, a breathtaking vista of tree-covered hilltops that ebbed and flowed like contours on an origami art, below a sky filled with cotton clouds. It’s hard not to feel overwhelmed by the sheer grandeur of the Central Highlands' topography.

The view from Robin Hill. Just out of frame on the left is the garden of plastic maples.

A few more steps in our descent and this harmonious canvas of natural elegance is brought to a halt by splotches of a gaudy, almost vulgar, flare of artificial orange. A hillside coffee shop decided to install on their premise numerous fake maple trees on a bed of plastic lawn. It felt like a crime against nature to defile such a scenic sight with something so senselessly synthetic. As it turned out, the maple was only the appetizer, because the venue is much less a café than strategically constructed Instagram fodder with many other photographic props. On the menu: a swimming pool with ankle-deep water just enough to add a reflection to photos, a fake torii gate, and, for the pièce de résistance, a replica of Bali’s famed Gates of Heaven. The operation stood out in the landscape like an inflamed boil on an otherwise unblemished face.

The steep hill that one can walk (or roll) down to Ngàn Cafe.

Ocular fatigue eventually got the best of us, replacing the initial curiosity with a swelling urge to escape. That was also the precise moment a tiny wooden sign bearing the name Ngàn Cafe came to our attention. It stood on the street level of the incline, overlooking a steep alley heading to what seemed like nowhere. Hidden at the end of the hẻm is a spacious coffee shop perched on the side of the hill among towering trees, a haven that somehow was the exact salve needed to soothe our souls after that visual atrocity.

Left: the coffee shop's entrance. Right: the forested area just behind the cafe.

The café was opened in November last year by a pair of Da Lat residents working in the creative industry. With a background in architecture, they created an open space that blends rustic materials with tastefully curated decorations. A hammock hangs beneath the canopy, fresh flowers in vases, expressionist paintings on the wall, guitars, vintage album covers line neatly on a shelf — the attention to detail is apparent. The coffee shop is divided into three main areas: a main building with an upper floor for a design office, the first floor that houses the mixing area, toilet and a living room set. Outside, a wooden deck protrudes into the space among treetops. There’s a staircase leading to a “basement” that’s also open to nature.

The main sitting areas, all open to nature, though that, unfortunately, includes mosquitoes.

Just looking at the retro knick-knacks, one can mistake the place for any of Saigon’s similarly themed drinking establishments, but Ngàn Cafe has something that Saigon coffee shops can only dream of: access to nature and fresh air that’s just an arm’s reach away. With a cursory glance from the deck, I spotted a mulberry tree bearing ripening berries, a blossoming peach tree, and a citrus tree with plump green fruits.

Mè (left) and Củ Lạc (right) are resident cats.

In addition to the owners and a waiter, Ngàn Cafe is a home for three furry friends that I am eternally grateful to have met: Lửng is a mutt who was heavily pregnant during the visit; Mè, a rotund and somewhat shy feline that was very selective regarding who can receive his affection; and Củ Lạc, a gangly kitten who’s the physical embodiment of energy. Over the course of an hour, we sat in awe as Tiên, one of the owners, relayed one story after another of their shenanigans — Lửng managed to get knocked up right before they could spay her; she had a coterie of paramours waiting outside the gate every morning; Mè has been going on adventures for “me time” since Củ Lạc joined the family.

Tiên and Lửng during a play session.

I could go on and on, for my memories of Ngàn Cafe are still as vivid as the day they were etched into my brain, but as is the case with many of Da Lat’s spectacles, they should be experienced rather than read about.

The cozy interior of Ngàn Cafe.

There have been many discussions surrounding the effects of unchecked tourism on Da Lat, brought about by both tourists and tourism administrators. The rising number of tourists boosts demand for accommodation, hence turning downtown Da Lat into a labyrinth of concrete. Chronic congestion, waste management, and conservation are also pressing issues. In August, a plan put forth by the Lam Dong construction department sparked furor as it sought to transform Đồi Dinh, the lone green spot in central Da Lat, into a hotel complex.

Strolling the city as tourists, sampling its bánh căn and snapping shots of people bundling up in winter wear, we were conscious how our actions could impact the town, even though at times it was challenging to gauge these implications. Supporting local businesses might be a good way to start, and to me, Ngàn Cafe is a shining example of an ideal Da Lat tourism experience. Like the way the sitting area molds its physical structure along the hillside, it shows a respect for the landscape instead of dogged determination to cater to tourist taste without consideration for the ambient environs.

I bear no ill will towards the patrons of the maple café; after all, if you sprinkle syrup on the floor, the ants will come. However, I can’t help but wonder what drove these particular ants to lap up artificial sweetener while right next to them are bountiful fruits. What drives us to abandon our city burdens to seek out Da Lat but a desire to once again be among the therapeutic enigmas of nature? If so, why come all the way here in the middle of the forest to pose next to plastic trees while majestic pines beckon right within reach?

Ngàn Cafe is open daily from 8am to 6pm.

To sum up:

Taste: 4/5

Price: 4/5

Atmosphere: 6/5 

Friendliness: 6/5

Location: 5/5

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

Editor's note: Cù Rú Bar, the artists' solace, was born in Saigon by a tightknit group of friends and lovers, fueling creative souls with delectable homemade rượu cocktails, the group relocated to Da Lat, filling their newfound home with art events and crafting a new community of cocktail swillers.

Read the article in Vietnamese here.

I am walking into Cù Rú Bar in Da Lat
A greenhouse in the middle of town
There is a substantial amount of fairy lights
And there is a very sweet dog watching me as I descend slowly into the plant-filled space

Two deck chairs
A wooden panel with a hole
A hole with a spiderweb
A large chopping board hanging
I am walking towards a group of people 
I can see some musicians in the group
Tiny Giant will play a concert tonight

To my right I see what looks like a gynecologists’ examination chair
And I see an old medical cabinet lit from the inside with blue and pink fluorescent lights
Holding broken glasses from the bar
Underneath is a pug
He just had a fight with the dog inside and then proceeded to pee on some of the furniture
He now looks slightly confused and yet slightly proud

I can see a Minnie Mouse office chair
Next to it is the tiniest of tiny stools
As I continue, a child's bicycle
As I continue, an oven
On the oven are seven broken windows
As I continue there is a hammock
An outdoor hammock silver in color
One that you would see in roadside cafes of the south
It is hung on top of a pile of junk wood
I am unsure if this wood will be set on fire but I doubt it
As a structure that holds high an orange kite englobes it
Next to which is a birdcage
And on top of which is a cross made out of tiny tiny bits of silken fabric

I am walking into the main part of the bar
The pool table is being used to hold the concert equipment
To my right is a bamboo sofa that looks used
“Used” would be a kind word
I continue into the space
To my left I can see a bird's nest holding ping-pong balls like eggs
To my right vases filled with flowers
Underneath a rifle

I see four frames displaying various images of genitalia
Another is a portrait with a leaf delicately placed
I am next to the bar now
It is made of wood
You can see the various glasses
You can see some unbaked ceramics that vaguely look like penises
You can see a papier-mâché green giraffe with strange white hair and eyes that are drawn like flies
30 glass barrels of rice wine hold different hues
Ingredients marinating in suspension
Two postcards say “joy for this”

I am looking right on top of myself now
There is a papier-mâché head with glowing LED lights shining in blue green red blue green red
Spurting out are all kinds of plants that all
Join
Down
To
A brick and ceramic path
I go forward
There is a closed book called Hacker next to an empty packet of cigarettes
I am walking past a swing
I look forward there is an electric guitar
I look forward again there is a photo of naked people
I look forward again there is a family that arrives
I look forward again there is a beautiful sculpture of a man with a scarf
His leg hangs over the bed
Next to another electrical guitar
Next to another bed
Next to a comfortable looking bed
Full of books and plants

I look up
There are lights
Yellow red blue yellow white red
I go forth
I duck under the bamboo
The bamboo holds a ladle
I watch my step
There are broken ceramics
I look to my left there is a mirror
The mirror is much taller than me
It says “Oh! You are GORGEOUS!”

Underneath I see nail polish
I see nail polish 
Silver glitter maroon
Red red blue
White maroon
White maroon white
Blue again
Blue again

An empty candle holder
A family sits down
I move back
There is a huge orchid plant
I am at the entrance of Cù Rú Bar in Da Lat

Elise is usually pretty friendly, she enjoys being inconsistent about any decision-making and looking at things.