Extreme bun cha

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I know, I know, I'm being terrible about updating right now. It's just too hot and now I'm falling behind. But bringing up these pictures from two weeks ago have already made me nostalgic about Vietnam. I've written before about how much I love bun cha, and my feelings have only deepened since then. I don't know what it is about bun cha--I think it's that combination of fish sauce and vinegar that gets me. I love just about anything that's doused in vinegar, but find a way to get some noodles into the equation and I'm in fatface heaven.



In case you've forgotten, bun cha is a big plate of vermicelli noodles, a soupy fish sauce and vinegar mix with pickled green papaya and/or carrots and daikon and a bunch of pork in various forms: grilled pork, pork patties and sometimes a few pieces of offal throw into the mix (if you're lucky).

I'd been eating random street bun cha on a daily basis and found that despite the numerous obstacles the universe was trying to put in my way--a bowl of vermicelli filled with hair, an ornery old woman raising the price on my meal post-consumption--that bun cha and I were fated to be together, forever. So on my last night in Vietnam we decided to search out some serious bun cha.

First we tried 20 Ta Hien as recommended by noodlepie but found that the family running the place seemed to have forgotten they had a giant sign up outside that said "bun cha" and were hanging around the place doing nothing bun cha-ish whatsoever. How soon we forget. Instead, we went to the place on Hang Manh Street that noodlepie refers to as "utter bollocks."

All I can say is if this is bollocks, give me more.



I have never seen such large portions of bun cha in my life. It was easily five times the serving you'd get on the street. At first I was certain that they had given us so much food as some sort of weird high bill cum "you're white so must need double helpings" thing. But then a large Vietnamese group came in and all received helpings the same size. The difference was that they didn't feel compelled to eat every last bite on principle as your hero did.

"What are we supposed to do with these?" Jenn hissed, waving around a spring roll. "I'm going to ask the guy next to us."

"Don't, he's a tourist!" I had seen him taking a picture of his meal before tucking in, a dead giveaway. I had visions of Jenn asking some confused American guy how to eat her dinner.

As it turns out, we were both right. He was from Saigon (but had just spent four years at college in Canada) and said he liked to dunk his spring rolls in his fish sauce-soup. He said that bun cha was one of the only foods from northern Vietnam that was better in the north.

He emphasized everything he said by making air quotation marks, which was only heightened by his very long fingernails, a popular trend amongst Vietnamese men. And to be fair, Saigon is generally thought to be a better city for eating.



The group of 10 people that came in after us were done in less than fifteen minutes, leaving bowls and bowls of pork behind. I'd passed a recent resolution "No Pork Left Behind," and as such, we were forced to stay in the place until I had devoured every last morsel.

If you are still wondering what bun cha is or are interested in making bun cha (I made a pretty successful version in Ireland before I had ever tried the real thing) check out the Ravenous Couple's great article and recipe.

Lunch at The Cart, Hanoi

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On my last day in Hanoi--where I had somehow stayed for more than two weeks without even noticing--I had lunch at The Cart. The Cart was recommended to me by Hanoian-about-town Steve Jackson who is helping his lovely fiancée Loan run the place.


Steve and Loan (and Jenn Fell in the background)

I had a Number 1 "Ly Quoc Su Street," which was chicken live pate with cucumber, carrot and lettuce. It was a lovely cross between banh mi and something my Austrian faux-grandmother, Lollo, would have served me. If there's a woman who loves feeding people pate, it's Lollo--at least, whenever I think of going to Westchester to see her I think of pate and being "forced" to eat tons of delicious little treats.

Anyway, it was nice to have a fond memory of home while sitting in sweaty Hanoi, and Jenn gave two thumbs up to the coffee as well. The Cart is a great place to visit if you're looking for western-style sandwiches, coffee and desserts. Check their Twitter for daily specials.

The Cart is located 18 Au Trieu (but enter from street behind, opposite The Splendid Hotel), Hanoi

BBQ Chicken Street, Vietnam

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I love it when cities have streets that are entirely dedicated to one thing. I like it even more when that one thing is food. There was duck soup street in Gwangju, Korea and bug and snack food street in Beijing and full-on food theme parks in Japan.

So when my pals Jenn and Joe told me about BBQ Chicken Street in Hanoi, Vietnam, I knew that was the place for me.



These pictures aren't very good, but perhaps give a sense of how dark it was. Not only have I not gotten better at using my camera but I've apparently gotten worse, and a very dark, smoky alley filled with chicken carcasses didn't improve my skills any. The place definitely isn't interested in lighting--and based on the various comments about hygiene in the New Hanoian that's probably for the best.

Ly Van Phuc is the street's real name, but the plethora of BBQ chicken dealers, spilling out from every restaurant into complex street seating arrangements, accounts for the more descriptive 'Chicken Street' moniker.



Here's how it works at Chicken Street. You sit down, and wonder what's going on for a while. There's a menu bolted to the wall somewhere, but you probably won't see it, and have to rely on Jenn's pidgin Vietnamese to order. "I don't know how to say wings!" she shrieks. Cue to start flapping your arms.

The scene at Chicken Street is pretty intense. There are dozens of dimly lit tables spilling from the sidewalk into the street. You'd call them tables if you were a four-year-old, anyway, because that's who they are sized for. Imagine a decent sized footrest. The accompanying stools are about four-to-six inches off the ground. This isn't the sort of ground that you particularly want to be six inches from--in addition to the usual grime and scurrying rats, there are piles of chicken bones. We don't need no garbage cans here (and to be fair, they do come sweep the bones up under your table before the next patron sits down).

After Jenn orders a few wings, a few legs, a few sweet potatoes, a few pieces of bread, bottles of bia Ha Noi--we sat back and waited. Eventually, it all showed up--the beer after much prodding which arrived warm with a dirty glass of ice to pour it into--and then, plate after plate of chicken and grilled bread that had been brushed with honey. For our first round of bread we weren't able to wait for the woman with this scissors--we didn't know about her, you see. But after watching us tear into our food a kind woman at the next table told us to wait, and the scissor woman would come and cut everything into more manageable pieces for us. Who knew that a chicken wing was three servings?



We all had bowls to squirt chili sauce in, and the chicken and honey-drenched grilled bread, once dipped in chili was heavenly.

"See how you feel tomorrow," Joe said ominously. But miraculously, I felt great.

Vietnam's take on ramen: spaghetti?

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I was in a Vietnam supermarket, perusing the instant noodle section, when I saw Roma Xao Spaghetti. It's entirely possible that this exists in every culture, but I hadn't seen it before. I didn't have the stomach to buy it--I wonder if the noodles are the same as instant ramen? I can't imagine that this could possibly taste good, but then again, I did end up buying three or four instant ramens when I passed this one up.

More from Hoi An

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I'm sort of reaching a stage of blog/journal/writing/keeping track of my budget weariness. I think this may be because I have been staying in dorms with no windows for the last three weeks. Anyway, this means that you, My Big Fat Face readers, have suffered. But now I have my own room and promise you a half dozen posts in the next two days.



Prawn wantons from Khu Am Thoc, the 'Area of Eating and Drinking' near the Hoi An Market. I am not sure if this is a local specialty as well, but I saw it all over town.



This was the most amazing cao lau I tried, and I tried probably half a dozen in Hoi An. This one was from a small stand in the market, and I went there on Eating Asia's recommendation. Robyn has written so much and so well about this cao lau that she has saved me the trouble of bothering to say anything about it. So read about it at Eating Asia.

Filled with mom's heart

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I love my mom, and she's got a very big heart, but I don't know that I'd want to eat it inside a pastry.

Is there a doctor in the house?

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Check out this little pucker that I found in my soup in Hoi An a few weeks ago. Anyone willing to venture a guess on what it might be? The mind reels.

Whatever the offending item might be, it was served with blood. Overall, soup seemed like the sort that would benefit someone with a cold. Absolutely riddled with iron and vitamins, and possibly a buttonhole.

The soup was the accompaniment to a plate of chicken rice. Not the most thrilling meal of my life, but for $1 and the opportunity to sit on a 4 inch plastic chair, I didn't say no.

And when I saw that I was only charged 2,000 dong more than the locals (in Hoi An, most tourists can expect to get charged triple for everything), I rejoiced. You can't win them all, but losing by 2,000 (about 11 cents) in Hoi An ain't bad.

Carved fruit and food that looks like animals

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Not too long ago my pal Simon took me out to dinner at Tinh Gia Vien in Hue. It was, no lying, a bizarre place. They have a three set menus, priced at $15/20/25. Each one features a dazzling array of Vietnamese foods designed to look like animals.

Above is a chicken carved out of a pineapple with chilis for a beak and spring rolls for feathers.



The place is pretty nutty--Simon said it was like your eccentric great Aunt's house. There's a doll collection, polished stone collection, crystal collection. A lot of collections, basically, and a spooky olde-tymey vibe. Not necessarily the most gourmet meal of my life, but what they lacked in that department, they made up in the toads-croaking, we're in a giant colonial mansion and we are the only customers and god only knows what's going to be on the next plate department!

There was no one else there, apart from the toads. It was completely quiet except for when the waitress would silently glide up and deliver another course--there were eight in all.



Our pineapple lamp with various wontons and deep-fried goodies (including baby corn) sticking out of it.



Flowers on the table made from carrots and daikon.



Green papaya dragon



Phoenix made from papaya and cha lua (Vietnamese ham) with carrot, peas and egg on a bed of fried noodles.



And a fried rice turtle!

Tinh Gia Vien, 7K/28 Le Thanh Ton St, Hue City

Dong Ba Market, Hue, Vietnam

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Hue's Dong Ba Market was reasonable motivation for me to get out of bed before 8am for once. The place is run almost exclusively by women--not ones quite as intimidating as the ones that run Busan's Jalgalchi Fish Market, but they still had me treading lightly in my flip flops. (Flip flops which have now given me tan lines on my feet, incidentally.)

Dong Ba Market has been in its current location, on the north bank of the Perfume River, since 1889. There are some things that place it in today's world: the endless scooters beeping and weaving around the tiny alleyways, the stalls selling nothing but counterfeit goods and the sea of conical hats marred only by the motorcycle helmets--but the rest is as it was a hundred years ago.























Dong Ba Market is located at the southeastern corner of the Hue Citadel. You can find more information on Dong Ba Market here.

Hue specialties: Bún bò Hue and Banh Khoai

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I spent five sweltering days in Hue last week doing little else other than eating the specialties of Hue, learning to cook the specialties of Hue and whinging about the heat. Eating a hot bowl of soup on a blazing day is sometimes said to cool the body down. I haven't yet experienced that--generally I find myself sitting on some 6 inch high plastic chair sweating my ass off while being looked at pityingly by the locals.

But it's worth it for the bun bo Hue, the special noodle soup of the area. Beef bones are simmered for ages with lemongrass and chili powder, which gives it a special zing.

I took a cooking class where I learned how to make it--here's the recipe I was given:

Hue Beef Noodle Soup - Bún bò Huế

1. Beef bone
2. Beef
3. Fresh onion
4. Chicken powder
5. Chili
6. Fresh rice noodle
7. Water
8. Vegetable
9. Lemongrass

1. Pour water to pot and chicken powder, you wait when water bolting
2. Put all of the beef bone in pot till 50 minutes (longer is better)
3. Chopping some lemongrass in the soup
4. Put some fresh rice noodles and beef in the bowl
5. Take beef soup from pot to pour to bowl
6. Put some fresh onion on top of the bowl

Make of this recipe what you will. I took copious notes but will probably ditch them and work on my own recipe some day, as the restaurant that I got this recipe from wasn't the best bowl (but not the worst) of bun bo Hue that I tried. Incidentally, the picture above is not the one that I made. In the class they certainly left out some key ingredients in the recipe that they included in the actual making, like the side of banana blossoms, bean sprouts and cilantro, or the shrimp paste that no dish would be complete without. I spent the majority of the class asking questions that remained unanswered and wondering when I'd get to eat.



This is the Banh Khoai I made in my class. Robyn at Eating Asia has a wonderful piece about banh khoai with pictures by her equally talented husband David. They show it so well that I don't need to make the effort.

The only thing I had to add was that this, like many foods that I enjoy, is essentially deep fried. (Not entirely, but you do add about a half inch of oil to the pan after you've folded it over into an omelette shape.) I'm finally starting to cop on to why I'm chubbing up. But at least this dish, as with most others in Vietnam, comes with a healthy supply of fresh veg to compliment it.

I am soldiering on with the cooking classes, but wondering if I will remember any of it by the time I have a home again. I take notes, ask questions and once a month send my new recipes to my parents. Yesterday I got an email from my father: "If you come back to California, I think we need to share a T-Fal Activfry." He may just be right.