Stickyrice

Toy Street Coffee

Amongst the coloured clutter of children's play things in the old quarter street known as Toy Street, there is a coffee den. Awkwardly positioned, slightly camouflaged and really tiny, a seat in this establishment comes at a premium. In fact, it's best to carefully plan one's assault on it.

Persistent by nature, I've been known to circle this cafe like a shark, waiting for someone to vacate their stool and extract their motorbike to create space for me and mine. As the place is located in a one way street, this circling involves doing curcuits of the block burning litres of fuel. It's really best to park elsewhere and walk but even then there is no guarantee of a place to park one's body. The sure-fire strategy is to hit the place between 11am and 1pm, when the locals are feeding their rice holes and then sleeping it off. I must say though that I have noticed an increasing number of Vietnamese foregoing their afternoon siesta in favour of the caffeine alternative.

The coffee here is a sweet, rich but subtle blend served in classy glassware, delicately ridged and a good fit in my hand. Even though the girls who make the coffee are mere teens, they have been very well-trained to produce consistent coffee every time, which is one of my imperatives in a cafe. In all of my regular haunts, I know the cup I'm going to get. When I'm nursing it, tinkling with the ice and anticipating the liquid on my palate, I know what it's going to taste like. It's a comforting thought. In fact, venturing to new cafes can be traumatic, risky business.

As I sip my coffee, the traffic whizzes by, a passing parade of sweating and lost tourists, too. Across the street, toy negotiations are undertaken and cheap Chinese-manufactured playthings are clutched tightly by kids on the back of motorbikes, ready to be assembled, broken, discarded and their small parts swallowed all over Hanoi.

Cafe Huong
37 Luong Van Can
Hanoi

Curbside Workshop

A stiff fishy breeze lingers about this old quarter street at night. Daytime business shutters go down, giving way to a line of street stalls and narrow corridors offering up a snack that is prepared in a noisy workshop-like atmosphere.

There are tools about - not your typical cooking utensils, not a spatula in sight!

Instead, picture ye olde blacksmith shoppe, where hammers and hot fire are at play, though not to fashion a fire stoker nor a horse's shoe. Here the material to be fashioned is edible sea creature of the cephalopod family

Rigid leathery dried squid are propped up to attention on display stands up and down this stretch of old Hanoi. Single light bulbs shed dull light on these formally jet-propelled swimmers now flattened and well dead.

Once selected by the consumer, the squid hits the workshop floor for its transformation into food. Placed over a small hot box of red coals on the pavement, it curls as it is grilled in some kind of delayed final act of defiance against its earlier capture. The hammer is then used to batter the squid against a wooden board in an attempt to tenderise it.

It's Hanoi dining ambience at its best. The close proximity to the roar of traffic, the incessant horns, banging hammers and, as a special treat on the night of my visit, there was a special impromptu performance of street theatre, too. The stall's proprietor arrived back from an outing to find one of her young male workers asleep out the back. He shot bolt upright to receive a right royal cussing peppered with the kind of purple language one would expect of a fishmonger! The boy was dazed and still wiping the sleep from his eyes as she performed Act 2 at the front of the house, shouting a similar tirade at one of her competitors who was allowing her customers to park in the wrong "f***ing place."

Of course, I was the only one taking any notice of all this carry on.

 

Every other patron was on task, munching on their shredded muc nuong (grilled dried squid) and throwing back shot glasses of rice wine. After all the distraction, I started chewing, too. I'm not sure but maybe I chose the wrong squid specimen at the outset because I chewed and chewed and chewed until I had a wad of fishy papier mache forming in my mouth. Maybe not enough elbow grease was expended at the hammering stage. I was concerned that the squid might choke me on the way down.

I'm not going to give up on this as a culinary experience, though. I like the idea. It's a good beer match. I will try it again. Next time I will seek advice on selecting a squid which requires less jaw action.

Muc Nuong
36 Hang Bo
Old Quarter
Hanoi

Bun Cha of Choice

 

I've discovered superior bun cha.

The doorway from which it's served has been in my peripheral vision for a long time. In fact, I could've been wolfing down this fine exponent of the dish for at least six years - it's next door to one of my regular caffeine hangouts. For some ridiculous reason, I'd ignored it, thinking it shonky gutter style bun cha. My dismissal has turned out to be a huge error of judgement and, to put this wrong right, I am hereby nominating this barbeque soup vendor as my official bun cha of choice - if that counts for anything!

The husband and wife tandem and their team of young relatives from the provinces see to it that all the elements of quality bun cha are present. Herbs, lettuce and crisp white beanshoots are diligently rinsed in big plastic basins. The pork patties and chunks of pork belly are methodically arranged in wire grillers before being given the requisite charring over the hot coals. The husband must get a lot of the plaudits here as he doesn't rush the cooking process, ensuring that the meat is well done and edged in black. Nothing worse than under-cooked bun cha meat.

The wife is the chief of the operation, portioning big serves of bun (fresh rice noodles), handfuls of young papaya slivers, ladles of slightly sweet nuoc cham and the all-important meat bits. Crouched and surrounded by her ingredients, she swivels on her kiddie stool, her knees inserted into pink plastic bags to protect her floral slacks from splashes and drips. Her multi-tasking also includes the frying of the rather scrumptious spring rolls (nem), a normal accompaniment or side dish to bun cha, and doing the sums to collect the cash.

Chopped garlic and sliced chili on the tables allow the patrons to customise their dipping sauce-cum- soup. As no-one seems particularly concerned about garlic breath in Vietnam, I am heavy-handed with the former. The latter I am wary of. I like spice in my bun cha but I do take regular stock of the number of chili slices I place in my soup, as they can easily be picked up hidden in noodles or lettuce and accidentally swallowed. 

The morning after burning ring of fire is an affliction I can do without!

A further word of warning: even though bun cha is lunchtime fare, this vendor packs the punters onto her plot of pavement. One time I arrived at 11.45, only to be told that the barbeque was over. Get there early!

Brunch Money

Two serves of bun cha, two spring rolls - 50,000VND (USD$2.90, AUD$3.50)

Bun Cha
48 Pham Hong Thai
Hanoi

I've got hate-mail

I've received criticism before.

I understood that when I chose to start blogging I was putting myself up for it. It's a very public forum and food generates some very passionate discourse. As they say, "one man's meat is another man's poison." Not sure where women fit into that idiom but no doubt they have their own significantly more complicated one!

Anyway, in the four years that stickyrice has been inhabiting its tiny, cruddy corner of the blogosphere, my dozen or so loyal followers have kept me honest, correcting me on the detail and giving me a subtle tongue-lashing if I push the wrong buttons here and there. I appreciate it. As an expat commenting on a foreign cuisine and culture, I do try to tread fairly carefully. I don't actively seek to patronise or belittle the locals nor do I want to be branded a wanker by those from other shores.

But it's happened. While in my inbox this morning I opened an email entitled 'great blog', only to be greeted with the following vitriolic spew:

"it's always so much fun to listen to a pretentious, self-important
expat brit try to work out his colonial complex by fawning over
primitive cultures.  wake up.  no amount of sycophantic swooning will
ever change the fact that asians will eat anything that doesn't crawl
out of the bowl before they can get a chopstick into it.  asian
cooking is the truly the antithesis of food as art.  the emperor isn't
wearing any clothes and for all your pretending to the contrary, pho
is not ambrosia from the gods--it's thin noodle soup.  get over
yourself."

I'm loathe to admit that it's quite articulately expressed vitriolic spew. I also love the fact that my critic has simultaneously managed to attack me, pho, Asians, Asian food and, just for good measure, the Brits. And all that in under 100 words, which must come close to some kind of Guinness Book Record for concise but sweeping invective.

What I am just a tad confused about is why this magnificent tirade wasn't posted in the comments for all to see? Not enough pluck, eh? A bit shy maybe?

Well, John Cain (I believe that's your name?), in the spirit of a public forum in which I am the main contributor, allow me the right of reply. Firstly, I feel sorry for you, your family, friends, colleagues and even acquaintances...in fact, anyone who comes into even passing contact with you. You are obviously a deeply unhappy person.

Secondly, fuck off!

And just for the record, John - not that I'm the slightest bit patriotic - I'm an Aussie, arsehole!

Rainy Day Noodles

The Spot: Not far south of Hoan Kiem Lake, this is French Quarter pho in one of Hanoi's main gridlines, Hai Ba Trung St, almost opposite Tran Tien Plaza, a shopping centre which not so long ago was a place where the truly wealthy shopped and the rest came to marvel at the escalators and the airconditioning. Now, all around there are electrical goods outlets selling TVs bigger than drive-in movie screens and stereos which can be turned up loud enough to drown out Hanoi's ambient noise - no mean feat! The Spotted Cow (now Jo Jo's) used to be next door and Hanoi Cinematheque is up a lane over the road.

Space and Atmosphere: On a rainy day, it's all ramshackle plastic sheets, blue and orange tarps and corporate beach umbrellas strung over the pavement keeping the patrons dry. Everyone's thankful for the rain and there's definitely a smiley warm fuzzy interaction thing happening between the servers and the slurpers. Weird. Nice weird!

 

Shopfront Style: It's a typical rustic Hanoi street scene with the scratched up ochre walls and ancient green doorways leading away to dark mysterious places where scarey toothless grannies squat and even rats fear to tread.

Sticks, Condiments and Crockery: A touch of innovation is in evidence here in the form of large custom-made metal tubs holding the sticks, on the top rim of which a little baby tub has been welded to hold the toothpicks. I wonder if they've got a patent on that one? Standard on all other fronts, including the floral china from China.

Serving Station: Noodles are dunked and separated in the light of day before disappearing into the dimness of a dark corridor where all the prepping of meat and clipping of spring onions is done. Portions are arranged and the bowl re-appears for the final, vital step: a ladle and a bit of the stock floats the ingredients and delivery is imminent.

Meat Generosity: A flattened cake of cowflesh hit hard with a cleaver sits centre of my bowl slowly losing its rawness and pinkness with the heat of the soup. It's large.

Service to Delivery Gap: The rain has slowed trade and the staff are at their best. I'm still settling into a position on my stool under my beach umbrella pulling my feet out of the weather when the product is set down steaming in front of me. Prompt.

Stock Factor: It's a warming shot of comfort that matches the kind of day it is perfectly.

Cost: 50,000VND (USD$2.80, AUD$3.45) or so for two bowls with tea and quay donuts. Slightly on the high side of the average.

Rank: "For me, it is the best pho in Hanoi," said the comment from Chi, whom I must thank for the recommendation. More recommendations most welcome!

Chasing Porky

Between the slaughterhouse and the butcher, Porky was going pillion on a Honda Dream, albeit in a slightly unorthodox position and in defiance of Vietnam's helmet laws.

This was worth a chase.

I was driving and the god was on back with the viewfinder at his eye. The whole scenario had a touch of the papparazi about it, the pig playing the celebrity part well. The flailing limbs could 've been mistaken for a wave and every left turn saw the trotters scrape the bitumen. Dramatic stuff!

Porky's chauffuer was not so impressed by our pursuit and started driving like Henri Paul. Weaving in and out of the dire traffic on Hanoi's Dai Co Viet Street, he was mindful that we were drawing attention to him and his fat mate. I was mindful that I may never be presented with this photo opp again as the powers that be have earlier this year decreed pig pillion passengers illegal, dead or alive. Apparently, Porky must now be taken by specialised transport which is licensed by veterinary departments and meets specified safety and hygiene standards.

But the citizens are protesting and the Ministry of Justice is on their side.

Every day I love Vietnam a little bit more.

Streets of Fire

 

There is fire on the streets of Hanoi.

It's beating down from above and reflecting back up from below. Temperatures are peaking in the capital and the midday walk to lunch is a scorcher. Hand fans are waving, umbrellas are shading folks from the sun and eyes peer out from cool, darkened cracks in the streetscape. There is a general reluctance to go out. Even the traffic is in a strange state of sedation in July.

But the heat's no reason to go hungry. If I collapse with heatstroke, I will do so on a full stomach.

A stomach stuffed with a specialty from Phu Ly, a town in Ha Nam province. This dish is just a regional variation on a theme really. Its foundation is pre-prepared sheets of banh cuon, a steamed rice pancake which can be eaten straight from the steamer all over Hanoi. Here the sheets are bought elsewhere, cut up into ribbons and loosened in a bowl with a bit of oil. Handfuls of moorish dried shallots are scattered amongst the white before porked grilled roadside is placed on top.

It's essentially bun cha meets banh cuon.

On the side is a basket of incredibly fresh mint and coriander and a dipping sauce consisting of fish sauce, vinegar, lime and fresh chilli which I doctor up myself at the table.

My table is next to the fire where fat fueled flames are licking over the curb, dangerously close to a line of motorbikes. My mercury rises and patches of perspiration develop on my shirt as this light, satisfying lunch slides down.

This place is hot on my list of current lunchtime favourites.

Lunch Money

One serve banh cuon, one iced tea - 20,000VND (USD$1.12, AUD$1.40)

Banh Cuon Phu Ly
64 Bich Cau
Dong Da District
Hanoi

Cow House

Red meat eaters salivate at the mere mention of this specialty beef house out on the dyke road continuation just beyond the Sofitel Plaza. It's packed solid for lunch and dinner seven days a week. I've been chowing down on the cow here for a solid five years or more and, as far as steak-houses go, I'd be shocked to find anything better anywhere in the capital.

Getting a berth at a table is the hard part. It's a bit dog-eat-dog to be honest as there's no system for making reservations nor a stroppy maitre de to muscle customers into line. Beady eyes, sharp elbows and a fast sprinting wide arse have more than once been deployed by this customer to mark some territory in this establishment. Thankfully it all runs smoothly thereafter.

There's a clear division of labour based on gender. Boys cook cows and girls serve them in this joint, the whole act overseen by a very astute couple who are never far away from the cash tin. The kitchen is smaller than the average home kitchen, yet six to eight boys clad in chef gear manage to bump around the grills, woks and salad prep area churning out dozens of plates an hour.

Bits of cow are slapped on all but the side plates of salad.

Because I haven't consulted my cuts of beef chart recently, I can't elaborate on exactly what the bits are. Let me just say that there are long rolls of beef stuffed with ham and melted cheese (bo cuon pho ma), there is diced beef stir-fried with pepper and onion (bo luc lac) and there is the good old standard beef steak with chips and bread to mop up the gravy (bi tet). These are the flag-bearers for me but the simple menu of photos (no prices!) exhibits many more beef dishes, including a spag bol (my y), and allows those of us with rudimentary Vietnamese to simply point to order.

This cow house is a place where meat eaters can congregate and rejoice!

Cow Tab

One serve pho cuon pho ma, one of bo luc lac, side plates of chips, salad and rice, several beers - around the 500,000VND mark (USD$29.20, AUD$36.20)...for four big eaters!

Chien Beo
192 Nghi Tam
Nghi Tam

More Rural Bird

I keep getting these birds; chickens from the countryside or ga ta.

The last one came from Ha Tay. This latest one got its neck wrung and feathers plucked in Ninh Binh, a province 90 kms from the capital famous for limestone karsts rising up out of the ricefields. Not a bad place for a chook to grow up, I s'pose.

Anyway, said chook made its way to my freezer stuffed in the hatch under the seat of my mate's motorbike. It did look a bit wonky when I got it out and thawed it, as if it had been folded or something. Naughty disfigured chicken wouldn't sit straight on the oven tray. Kept falling over while I was dealing to it with the aromatics.

You see I'd thought I'd do a roast this time. Let me call it risky roast because I wasn't exactly sure how a scawny long legged fowl from the provinces of Vietnam would take to being rubbed with olive oil, garlic and lemongrass and shoved in a hot box with spuds for an hour or more. Most of these birds get boiled or grilled. I wasn't sure that the meat wouldn't end up as tough as a billy-goat's knee.

I had to be vigilant and I had to use aluminium foil for part of the cooking time. The result was well worth the risk. I cleavered the bird into pieces and surrounded them on the plate with sweet and normal potatoes. Ye olde feast ensued, drumsticks were brandished, bones flung about, tankards of wine swilled and spilled and wanton wenches pleasured.

Well, almost. Kind of.

Good Bird Soup

 

The Spot: North-west of the Old Quarter, within spitting distance of Truc Bach Lake and just up from the Chau Long market, this fine exponent of bird soup is directly opposite the Hanoi Cooking Centre (which incidentally had its official launch late last week). One of my favourite coffee hangouts is nearby...in fact so near I wheel my motorbike there afterwards. Nothing quite like good pho followed immediately after by an hour on the caffeine drip!

Space and Atmosphere: A jolly owner directs patrons to appropriate parking spots and collects the dong on the way out. He attempted a conversation in English with me, and despite his abstract pronunciation, I manage to gain full comprehension. Amazing what seven years in a classroom with Vietnamese students can do! The pho chain gang are ready at the serving station of this narrow space, which has walls papered with fantastic metallic floral contact. I think my textbooks were covered with the stuff in the 70's. Dusty plastic flower arrangements feature prominently and every unopened soft drink, beer and Hanoi vodka bottle is shelved against the floral walls, giving off some kind of trippy psychedelic vibe. The business altar above the back door is flashing with fairy lights.

Shopfront Style: Mixed messages are being conveyed here. Up high, there is pepsi sponsored signage promoting pho ga at a completely different address while below, the shop's yellow canopy advertises che, which they apparently flog at night. The latter has the correct address. Ignore the signs and look for the chickens!

 

Sticks, Condiments and Crockery: The chopsticks are shorter and with a more defined eating end than the industry standard sticks found in most pho joints. Old jam jars do nicely for the red sauce and garlic infused vinegar while the lime wedges are fully replenished on fancy orange tear-shaped plates. All in all things are spiffy in the condiments department, with smudges and smears kept to a minimum. A clean-freak is in the house somewhere!

Serving Station: A chopping block, various plastic containers of seasoning, mi chinh, lime leaf needles and stainless steel bowls and trays loaded up with bird bits for all tastes as well as plates of rare and corned beef for the pho purists...the big custom-made glass and steel cabinet is well set up for pho assembly, with the finishing touches of herbs and soup carried out by the ladler on the street.

Meat Generosity: A generous handful of quality bird from the thigh and breast lands in my bowl along with a serving of trang trung (tubes and eggs).

Service to Delivery Gap: I hit this bird soup house during a lull, so after putting in my order on the way in, the soup practically followed me to the table.

Stock Factor: I slurped to almost the bottom of the bowl.

Cost: All spelled out in the photo above. (USD$1.40, AUD$1.72)

Rank: I can't bring myself to start the ranking palaver again, by setting pho in conflict with pho, chicken pho against beef pho in an unresolvable battle that will only end in tears. Nor do I want to be exposed for my less than scientific research methods. Let me just rate this as pretty bloody good!