Falling In Love Again: Food in Saigon, Part One

Sunny side up and very spicy: Your choice of condiments for breakfast eggs.

Almost ten years ago, I had my first bowl of pho and fell in love with Vietnamese food. For those who haven't tried it, pho is noodle soup -- flat rice noodles in a huge bowl of beef broth with slices of beef or meatballs on top. (Sometimes it comes in chicken flavor.) It's served with a dish of fresh seasonings and vegetables, like stalks of Thai basil and cilantro, bean sprouts, sliced hot peppers, and lime wedges. There also might be condiments like pepper sauce and hoisin sauce on the table. With these accompaniments, you dress your noodles as you like, the hot broth releasing the scent of the herbs, peppers, and lime.

It takes a minute to absorb all these flavors hitting the palate at once. Further savoring reveals even deeper, warmer flavors -- in some bowls, I swear I've tasted unusual spices like cloves and star anise. The fresh veggies and herbs make a crunchy contrast to the tender noodles and rich broth. In short, it's culinary genius: taking something familiar like a bowl of noodle soup, and infusing it with a simple, direct freshness and stimulating complexity.

So I was definitely looking forward to trying as much Vietnamese food as possible during my visit to Saigon. I'm happy to report that it was like falling in love all over again. From swank restaurants to take-away snacks, it was all pretty much as delicious as I'd hoped.

The following photo shows one of my favorite dinners, a variation of pho with chunks of duck meat and shredded bamboo shoots, topped with chopped scallions. It made for a much richer bowl than what I'm used to, but still really good.

At the same restaurant, Andy chose a dry noodle dish consisting of rice noodles topped with cucumber, cilantro, shredded lettuce, bean sprouts, peanuts, and prawns. It was kind of like a giant fresh spring roll that had been opened and dumped into a bowl. The whole thing was lightly dressed with the tangy, sweet, and spicy sauce on the side.

And here's the Vietnamese fast food sandwich: banh mi. It's a small French baguette, stuffed with shredded, marinated cooked pork; lettuce, and lightly pickled cucumbers, all moistened with a thin, sweet-and-sour dressing. Just the thing to eat on a sultry, hot day: filling and satisfying, but doesn't weigh you down.

I had heard about some really gourmet versions of banh mi, with fillings like paté and fried eggs in addition to the pork. But I like to think of these little sandwiches as the perfect takeaway snack, so I don't think they should be too fancy.

Vietnam is not, however, immune to the charms of processed, packaged snacks. Here's what we picked up to go with the banh mi: chips in "Texas Grilled Beef" flavor.

The photo also shows the beverage that Andy picked up to wash down his banh mi: a can of "333" beer. It's practically yet another icon of Vietnam.

Eating banh mi made me realize that it is possible to make French bread in a tropical climate. Maybe it's not perfect French bread, but it's a good deal more edible than what typically passes for bread in Hong Kong. I had always assumed that good bread was impossible here because the high humidity makes it difficult to create and maintain a good crust. I've got to discover the secret.

Next post: Andy and I trek out beyond downtown to try banh xeo, or Vietnamese crepes.