Stickyrice

Young Bamboo

At the base of Yen Tu and along the trail to the Dong Pagoda (1068m), the chief commodity for sale is young bamboo, plucked fresh from the forest, trimmed and bundled in string. Vaguely resembling asparagus with thick woody white stems rising to finer green or purple tips, this local specialty is peddled with vigour by members of this community. Grubby little urchins appear from the undergrowth with string sacks of it, feisty young women in blue workers shirts stand their ground on price with equally astute Hanoian hagglers. 

In the car park at 5pm, as pilgrims drag their weary limbs into vehicles, the bamboo pushers persist. Escaping the site minus a bunch would be miraculous. Being foreign, I manage it.

What would I do with it in the kitchen anyway?

Mountain Pilgrim Picnic

Halfway up the mountain to the holy bronze pagoda at Yen Tu (Quang Ninh Province), there are half a dozen green corrugated tin eat-houses. When pilgrims do the early morning climb, these primitive sheds double as overnight dormitories. Nestled on the side of the hill between the two stages of cable car that save worshippers what is a strenuous four hour climb, I get the sense that these places offered more of a respite from the delirium of two hours of uphill agony rather than any great or exotic culinary experience.

Today, the luxury afforded by the cable car is that folks can cart a picnic lunch and a half up the mountain themselves. The Vietnamese are remarkable in their pack-horse mentality. 'Packing light' is not a concept in this country. This can be witnessed most emphatically at airports and bus stations where individuals struggle  onto conveyances with two rice-cookers and ten kilos of lychees - in addition to their bags. Here, five hundred metres above sea-level, it can also be observed, albeit on a smaller scale. Thermos flasks, plastic bags filled with Heinneken cans, packages of sticky-rice, whole cooked chickens, store-bought cakes and potato crisps and thousands of mandarins and dragon fruit are lugged mountainside. Hunched over little old grannies in bare feet carry some of the load, well-to-do Hanoian matriarchs under umbrellas in high-heeled trainers manage their share, strong lithe boys hold mobile phones in one hand, the heaviest plastic bag of supplies in the other.

Mats are spread in the courtyards of the various pagodas on the ascent to the top where trays of offerings are prepared. The food is also quickly gobbled down and thus, the load is lightened for the remaining and most daunting section of the climb.

Of course, if carrying the kilos of picnic stuff is too much like hard work, rocking up to one of the eating houses is the other option. Here, Bambi is waiting for another hunk of his neck to be hacked off for someone's lunch.

Noodle Nests

Dried noodles are a common sight around the streets and marketplaces of the city. Resembling string, wool or, indeed, the bleached bun of Cindy McCain depending on the angle you come upon them, the noodles above are made from cassava.

Called mien, they are commonly dunked momentarily in water before being served with chicken (mien ga), eel (mien luon) or to finish off the hot pot ritual. After rehydration, the long glassy filaments require deft chopstick management to reach their location: my mouth. One hot string dropped on a bare leg might have one cussing. In fact, scissors are often deployed by vendors to minimise such an occurrence

The ones on the right ('the Cindy McCains') have had bleach treatment, the ones on the left not.

Night Fruit

Amongst the tack, trinkets and cheap shoes, the fruit stand at Hanoi's weekend Cho Dem (night market) is one of few highlights for me. An artfully arranged exhibition of colour and shape, this ready-to-eat fruit is peeled and treated with salt and chili which adds a red-mottled sweaty sheen to its surface.

The stall holder sets up as I'm polishing off yet another spring hot pot with my mate's family from the south. She wields her knife skillfully, angling slices of mango (xoai) off the fruit's stone. She strips the inedible string from jackfruit (mit) pouches. Segments of tiny under ripe plums are cut and piled on a plate.

And the customers round the corner from the market's trash and treasure to make the inevitable purchase. I made mine jackfruit and mango.

Bag O' Fruit

Half a kilo of ready-to-eat mango and jackfruit - 50,000VND (USD$3.20, AUD$3.55)

Dong Xuan Night Market
along the north facing wall
Fri, Sat & Sun 7 - 11pm

Ceremonial Rice

In Vietnam's north, it's mad pagoda pilgrimage season. The first period of the lunar new year sees Hanoians heading to the incense urns and altars of pagodas all around the city and surrounding provinces. Busloads of pilgrims pour into these oriental religious complexes, armed with offerings, incense and money in small denominations to feed the ancestral gods in exchange for wealth, health, profit and success.

Low grade pandemonium reigns, to be honest.

Last weekend, at Ba Chua Kho in Bac Ninh, there was pushing and shoving, conning and shouting. The pagoda warden had his mouth attached to a loudspeaker, barking rules and warning the muster of pickpockets. Ceremonial paper and incense were being burnt at a rate which would warrant its inclusion in future carbon trading schemes. A breath of fresh air and a quiet prayer were hard to come by.

Cultural difference is a wonderful thing. I stood back and took it all in.

Trays were being carried on high, laden with cooked chickens, fruit, biscuits, flowers, soft drink, beer, money and golden tinsel trees (cay vang bac). Crowns of orange sticky rice added to the spectrum.

Called xoi gac, this rice is sold at the foot of the stairs leading up to the pagoda gate. While not as colourful as the rainbow rice I found in Sapa last year, it is prepared by combining the fleshy interior of the gac (a relative of the jackfruit) with glutinous rice that has been soaking for six or seven hours. The rice's glossy finish and subtle sweetness is achieved by the use of various other ingredients in the steaming process, including rice wine, salt, sugar, vanilla and oil.

Xoi gac is strikingly eye-catching, the colour of luck and respect.

For believers, not skeptics like me!

Food Glorious Food

I do eat at home sometimes. I even entertain. And while I can lay claim to being a half decent cook, I can't take responsibility for the smorgasboard of plenty laid on my humble bamboo table last Friday night.

Well, that's not entirely true. I did rather skillfully open some tinned tomatoes. I biked around to the corner shop for a missed ingredient on the day's shopping list. I fried the tofu and bean curd skin for my vegetarian friend. And, as any cook would appreciate, I kept on top of the washing up, keenly eyed the signals for certain utensils and plates and, I quite like this bit, happened to be on hand when flavours and seasonings needed checking.

Bloodywell indispensible, I was.

That's bending the truth a bit.

But I am naturally one of those people who dwells in kitchens. I am not of the 'food simply as fuel' breed of human. I do not meet my food solely at the table before shovelling it into my chewing mechanism so that I can continue functioning. I like to do it and see how it is done by others in kitchens. I invariably learn a simple technique, a faster way to peel a vegetable or a good use for a knife handle.

So, again I mostly watched on, this past Friday night. A production line of aesthetically pleasing dishes passed under my covetous gaze on their way to my guests. I wondered whether they could appreciate such culinary allure. I wanted them to pass a test or fill in an application form to prove it - before they ate!

Just as well that I heard the appropriate plaudits. Not quite the involuntary moaning and loud 'yums' that I'm prone to on occasion but clearly approval was unanimous and that was enough for me.

And now I must give credit to the creator of the feast.

To my thorough and loyal house-helper,
Cam on chi Huong (Thank you, Huong)

Nha Trang Seafood

The seafood restaurants of Nha Trang line the main drag, Tran Phu St, among hotels big and small, starred and starless. A mere fifty or so metres from the shore-breakers of Vietnam's most renowned beach, these eating houses are close to the source.

A fifteen minute scooter ride around the coast, away from the hum of the town traffic and the neon blur of the night scape, the seafood places continue to dot the beach road. At night, the fluoro lights of the squid fishing boats float on the horizon. Palm fronds waver.

And I scoff...

...large crustaceans which had been tip-toeing across the glass bottom of their tank but 15 minutes before. As I wait for them to cool down and stop staring at me with those beady black eyes, the waitress squeezes my lemon wedge into a ramekin of salt and pepper. This is the best treatment for these simply steamed prawns - no heavy sauces required. After offing their heads, legs and jackets, I dip them and pop them in my mouth, poo-tube and all!

The produce lured by last night's squid expedition is brought to table next. This squid is not delicate little calamari rings dusted in flour but rather the whole creature deep fried and cleavered. The tentacles end up being deliciously crunchy while the pieces of sack are meaty yet not chewy. The simple dipping sauce is mixed at the table with a chopstick: mayonnaise and ut toung (red chili sauce). I'm addicted to this simple combination and my annual excursion to Nha Trang is not complete without it.

The exquisite prawn salad above rounds out the main dishes of our order.

And here I am, a month later, dribbling at the memory, wishing I could pull a lever and transport myself there right now.

Shell Out

Squid x 2, prawns, prawn salad, green salad, rice crackers, several beers - 350,000VND (USD$22.10, AUD$23.50)

Bien Tien Hai San
ride 3km north out Tran Phu St
( it's on the left )
Nha Trang

Czech Up Yours!

Stickyrice used to be a boozier blog. Beer was never far away in any given post. Many of my street food escapades are punctuated with beer full stops. I do still occasionally put a jug or two away but not with the same frequency. The gut's gotten bigger and the hangover's bite bigger. I'm basically avoiding the amber fluid except where protocol requires it or I'm a stick in the mud if I don't.

A Friday night not so long ago had me sampling a few at the huge Czech beerhouse, Gammebeer, on the dyke road by the Vietcombank building. This enormous green establishment had taken my eye on many a prior rideby. The big barrells out front leave nothing to the imagination. It's a beer lover's paradise, one where gluttony takes over, where a beer lover feels he has divine licence to drink as many huge tankards as possible in a race with his tablemates in as short a period of time as possible. It would be downright wrong not to! Nobody would expect less. No room for moderation at all.

Ugly!

Problem was that the atmosphere inside had a reverse effect on me. My consumption was seriously tempered by the decidedly pesky staff. No jolly beermaids delivering beer here. The Czech connection was manifesting itself in some kind of weird recoil to real communist times where the fun police were alive and well. It seems that at this beerhouse, under this waitress's watch, one is not permitted to move one's beer off the coaster, move one's soy sauce ramekin onto one's plate, clap or cheer too much at the conclusion of the rather karaoke-like entertainment or take too many photographs. Her superior arrived at the table to admonish me at one point. What kind of beerhouse was this?

We called for the bill.

Didn't even have the chance to get ugly!

The Bill

Four people had three beers each and some snacks - 530,000VND (USD$33.40, AUD$36.10)

Gammebeer
198 Tran Quang Khai St
Hanoi

Birthday Hotpot

In years gone by, birthdays hardly registered a blip on the celebration radar in Vietnam. There is a generation of folk in this country who don't even know the exact day the stork arrived, having dodged all kinds of bombs, bullets and chemicals on its way. Birth certification got pushed to the bottom of the list of priorities, way below basic survival. My mate, the God, is a case in point. His father says he was born on December 29, 1976 while his mother says it was January 29, 1977!

So 'Happy Birthday' hasn't had much voice in this country until recently. The pervasiveness of western culture, albeit with a decidedly Vietnamese twist, has brought the birthday party to the fore among post-war babies.

I got an invitation to one such party a few weeks ago. In this season, gathering around a hot pot (lau) is a popular and inexpensive option. In Vietnam, the birthday boy or girl pays for everyone! Firing up the hot pot at home is an even better idea. My young friend, Thanh, recently married and already a father, was turning the grand old age of 24 and he and his wife, Trang, were in the midst of transforming their bedroom into some kind of dripzone when I arrived. Big black plastic garbage bags were being clinically scissored, cellar-taped and placed over the carpet, as if a ritual sacrifice was to occur and an easy clean-up was preferred.

When the collanders containing a half dozen varieties of Asian greens got placed down on the plastic I knew no blood would be shed. We are talking food ritual, here. A procession of vessels holding piles of raw goodies to be cast down into the soup got arranged on the floor as the guests manoeuvred for leg room and chopsticks.

The two centrepieces - the actual bubbling cauldrons around which the ritual occurs - were set down next and, while reverence would be too strong a word to describe the reaction of the assembled company, excitement was definitely in the air. Though some were itching to start on the big communal cook up, formalities had to be observed.

We had to drink.

Gin, rum and vodka got mixed with tonic and coke to both toast Thanh on his birthday and signal the beginning of the meal. Frenetic activity ensued as ingredients took the dive. Clams, tofu, chicken, pig intestines and beef all went in together along with a sizeable spoonful of Thai chili sate, flaps of bean curd skin and greenery. The broth already contained the aromatics of lemongrass and ginger plus other powerful flavour enhancers like pinapple, tomato and rehydrated Chinese mushrooms.

We fished for an hour or more. Any delicacy running low was replenished. Drinks were downed and topped up. Then the point came when the noodles were called for - another signal in this ritual, meaning that the meal was nearing its end. Packets of instant noodle bricks are torn open and tipped into the soup before being slurped up into stomachs fully sated.

There was no 'Happy Birthday' sung, nor a candle, nor a cake. Spirited talk of karaoke commenced...

...and I politely took my leave.

Hanoi History 101

I don't need salubrious surroundings and funky music in my cafes. Places to be seen are places to avoid. I don't have the right clothes, haircut or motorbike, anyway. There is a certain aesthetic that rates with me, though.

Clutter appeals. I hate cigarette smoke up my nose but kind of like the way it stains the walls. A street facing stool, a passing parade and a view of a temple scores points. Feeling a sense of days gone by is good in a cafe, too. History is palpable at this place in the old quarter. A permanent collection of black and white photographs depict Hanoians alighting from the old street cars that used to rattle around the city. Others have captured an eerie and unrestrained Hoan Kiem Lake, an old quarter street strangely unencumbered by motorbikes and wartime destruction of buildings that would have been standing right across from this very cafe.

A moment of reflection accompanied by a caffeine injection.

Cafe 61 Bat Su
Old Quarter
Hanoi