Eat & Drink - Saigoneer

Hẻm Gems: Sip on Mugwort Lattes, Make Ceramics, and Unwind at Haru Cottage

2024-05-03T14:00:00+07:00

“I’m basically Demi Moore from Ghost,” this intrusive thought plagued my mind occasionally during our visit to Haru Cottage to participate in the cafe’s ceramic class.

The sensuous, supernatural romcom was the highest-grossing film of 1990 and single-handedly catapulted pottery wheels into one of the hottest intimacy devices of the 1990s. Moore plays a ceramist and the romantic scene involving her, a shirtless Patrick Swayze, and a spinning wet vase is forever entrenched as the most memorable pottery sequence in cinematic history.

Haru Cottage's outdoor studio space.

Our class at Haru Cottage didn’t feature any pottery wheel, took place to the soundtrack of soft Korean indie tunes instead of ‘Unchained Melody,’ and taught us to make adorable clay brooches in lieu of phallic vases. I’ve come to realize that there’s an inherent intimacy to pottery that might elude other art forms. Of course, with the right person and chemistry, one could seek to replicate the kind of sensual experience à la Demi and Patrick, but even working on cutesy things with friends can afford us a sense of quiet intimacy that can only come from being in touch, quite literally, with art.

Based in a modernist house in Bình Thạnh, the cafe focuses on a rustic vibe.

Opened just a few months ago before the rainy season, Haru Cottage is the newest location from the team behind Haru Cafe, the charming cafe nestled inside the old apartment at 14 Tôn Thất Đạm. Cottage checks all the boxes that have endeared us to Haru Cafe — i.e. coziness, good drinks, and a fluffy ginger cat — and expands into providing on-site pottery sessions that one can attend while sipping on their favorite drinks. Despite the name, the cafe is not based in a cottage on a meadow somewhere, but a sleepy modernist house deep inside a hẻm in Bình Thạnh. It does, however, embody the calming spirits and easy-going personalities of a rustic house in the countryside.

Haru Cottage is awash in shades of green. A pastel mugwort-colored gate welcomes visitors into its front yard, where a spacious table and a shelf full of ceramic knick-knacks await in the Cottage’s open-air studio space. There’s an indoor studio room for those who want to hide from the summer heat as well. Just a few steps more from the gate, one is greeted by the front door, tinted in bright green and casting an emerald hue onto the interior. And of course, plant pots dot the many tables and shelves across the dining area. If you’re lucky, you might be graced with a few playful meows and zoomies from Cottage’s resident cat, a recently adopted creamsicle gremlin named Gona — after Dalgona, the famous Korean candy and now foamy coffee drink.

Kim Ha-kyung, nicknamed Haru, studied Ceramics in college before moving to Saigon with her family. She first rented a small space in District 7 to make art.

While the ceramic studio might seem like a new amenity for some customers, for Haru, the South Korean founder of the place, it was the first spark that brought everything into motion. Haru is the nickname of Kim Ha-kyung, the creator of Haru Cafe and main artist behind most of the place’s ceramic products. She gave herself the name, meaning “one day” in Korean, as a simple word so everybody from Japanese to Vietnamese can pronounce it.

When Haru first moved to Saigon, she worked as a graphic designer for a Korean cosmetic brand. As a ceramics major in college, she has always been passionate about the creative world, especially drawing and making pottery. So, following her mom’s suggestion, Haru rented a location in District 7 to establish a small studio as a sanctuary for herself to create art. To her complete surprise, the presence of the studio caught the eyes of a few young Saigoneers who visited the place and offered to help around, and even a South Korean art teacher who wanted to collaborate with Haru to organize ceramic classes.

At Haru Cottage, one can relish their beverages alongside a friend, a good book, or even during a session at the studio making their own ceramic tchotchkes.

The cafe element would come into the picture later, as a space for more local customers to use and enjoy handmade ceramic products, from mugs to tiny little spoons. Patrons can pick a favorite mug to go with their drink of choice, from the cafe’s range of classics like cà phê sữa or a Haru signature like apple cinnamon tea. Apple slices are simmered in a sugar syrup with cinnamon, to be enjoyed with black tea or soda for a glimpse of Korean autumn. Another unique flavor at Haru’s is the vegetal taste of mugwort (ngải cứu), a herb that northern Vietnamese and Korean cuisines share. If Hanoians are fond of fresh mugwort in their omelets, Koreans powderize the leaves and use it in desserts the way one would employ matcha. The cafe integrates mugwort powder in a fluffy cream on lattes to create an unfamiliar but surprisingly pleasant drink.

Latte with mugwort cream is a signature drink.

At Haru Cottage, one can relish their beverages alongside a friend, a good book, or even during a session at the studio making their own ceramic tchotchkes. The most affordable and easier class for absolute beginners like me entails the making of five clay brooches, so that was exactly what we did. From a small ball of wet clay that fits perfectly in the palm of my hand, I managed to sketch, roll out, shape, and paint a watermelon slice, a pig, a cat, an avocado, and a bum gun into existence. As my Saigoneer colleagues and I hulked over our own little clay brooches, I felt the coolness or the wet clay seep into my fingertips, soothing my mental state and reminding me of the importance of touch in the human experience.

The indoor ceramic studio.

This revelatory connection with tactile art was probably what Haru felt too when she first encountered clay. “When I was young, I really loved to draw, so I wanted to be a fine artist, like a painter,” she recalled. Fine art, however, was too competitive a university program for her when it came time to enroll. “My mom wanted me to have a passion for ceramics, so she let me try out for one month in a ceramic studio. I was really stressed, but I went there, made ceramics and felt really relaxed, so I changed my mind. I realized later that it’s a really good match for me.”

My brooches slowly taking shape and colors.

Sitting at Haru Cottage amidst the energetic cat, cordial murmurs and the occasional hum of beverage machines, it’s obvious that fondness for drawing is still very much alive. Many sketches and paintings on the walls, and even the quirky menu, were created by the owner herself. There’s also a dedicated space upstairs equipped with paper sheets and crayons for guests to try their hands at a little art therapy. Overall, that sense of coziness often found in Korean coffee shops is present across the drinks, activities, and decorations of Haru as well. It’s a little ironic that for such a stressful society, Korean-style cafes are often known abroad for being adorable little… cottages. Perhaps it’s to make up for the cutthroat pace of life and unnerving societal expectations out there.

Desserts and snacks are also available, such that this portion of mayak toast (egg and bacon).

It was precisely these aspects of living in urban South Korea that Haru couldn’t adapt to due to her family history of living abroad from a young age. Her father is in the clothing manufacturing sector, so when she was a little girl, the family moved to Qingdao, China where the factories were. For 10 years, she studied at Chinese schools in huge classes with 70 students and two Korean nationals. Her parents later resettled in Saigon, and she joined them after graduating from college.

To Haru, the owner, opening a ceramic studio in Saigon is a happy development in her life.

“Seoul is not easy, that’s why I think I want to live with my family, that’s why I wanted to move to Saigon,” Haru explained to me. “In Korea, there are many guidelines, you have to do that, you have to wear that — I’m not good at that. Living in Seoul is very stressful, you wake up early, go to the subway, go to work. Qingdao is like Saigon. I really enjoy living here.”

Two weeks after our session at Haru Cottage, just as I was starting to forget about them, my clay brooches arrived in a paper bag, all sturdily baked and covered in a shiny glaze. They are imperfect and might not compare to whatever Demi Moore was making as foreplay with Patrick Swayze in ‘Ghost,’ but they serve as the perfect reminder of a time in my life when the stillness and intimacy of quiet moments triumphed over the weights of living.

Haru Cottage is open from 9am to 10pm. Ceramic classes need to be booked in advance.

This featured article was originally published in 2023.

To sum up:

Taste: 5/5
Price: 4/5
Atmosphere: 5/5
Friendliness: 5/5
Location: 3/5

Khôi loves tamarind, is a raging millennial and will write for food.

Haru Cottage

15/10 Nguyễn Huy Tưởng, Ward 6, Bình Thạnh District, HCMC

What to See, Taste, and Do on a Late-Afternoon Walk in Phú Mỹ Hưng

2024-05-03T11:00:00+07:00

There are probably Saigoneers who will grow old without ever setting foot in Phú Mỹ Hưng, just like how several of my relatives living in District 8 have never visited Nguyễn Huệ Walking Street. Having grown up in the southern district too, I’ve gone three decades without visiting Cần Giờ or District 12, though our proximity with District 7 means I’ve gotten a few chances to get to know Phú Mỹ Hưng.

My personal theory is that Saigon’s numerous residential enclaves are too self-sufficient and our public transportation network too underdeveloped to encourage citywide exploration. With affordable ready-made meals, groceries, optic shops, nước mía carts, pharmacies, hair salons, pet shops, cinemas, nhậu eateries, and any other amenities necessary to sustain life accessible just a short bike ride away, many Saigoneers feel little incentive to venture out of their residential bubbles — which is a shame because Saigon, to me, is a city of endless novelties.

Phú Mỹ Hưng is a sleepy residential town south of Saigon.

First envisioned by Taiwanese land prospector Lawrence S. Ting in the early 1990s, Phú Mỹ Hưng remains Saigon’s most successful urban planning project, turning forgotten swampland into a livable, spacious, and smooth-running town that is still thriving after decades. Today, Phú Mỹ Hưng is known among Saigoneers as Saigon’s unofficial “Korea Town,” hosting the city’s most populous and arguably authentic collection of Korean restaurants, cafes and drinking establishments. Of course, it would be amiss for Saigoneer to run our Korea Chapter without including Phú Mỹ Hưng.

Inside Crescent Mall where our Stroll began.

On this Stroll feature, the Saigoneer team headed to Phú Mỹ Hưng to visit some of Saigon South’s most iconic spots, like Ánh Sao Bridge and Bán Nguyệt Lake Park, and try out a few Korean activities that we’ve only seen on TV dramas. Without giving away too much, I can make a bold claim now that the Korean sauna, or jjim jil bang, is as fun as it looks on the screen and was the best stop in the whole trip.

1. Photo Time

Address: 5th Floor, Crescent Mall, 101 Tôn Dật Tiên, D7

Photo stickers are a mainstay of Vietnamese friend groups.

While the photo booth was first invented in New York a century ago, East Asia really took the technology to another level. Photo booths first arrived in Vietnam at the turn of the century via South Korea; if you’ve taken photo stickers with friends before here, that was probably at a Korean-style photo booth. Our first stop, naturally, is at Crescent Mall for convenient parking, and the Photo Time store is just a few floors up — a whimsical start to document this memory with the team. Birthday dedications on Instagram stories, specially made Spotify mixtapes, and Facebook pokes — today’s expressions of friendships have seamlessly integrated with our cyberworld, but there’s just something special about holding in your hand a physical copy of a photo, feeling the texture of the paper, and how the printed colors depict your crazy poses.

Choose a headband (or five) to complete your look before getting the photos taken.

Feature:

Many fun props, from fluffy cat paw gloves to duck headbands, to enhance the beauty of your visage
A simple vanity station to zhuzh up before taking the photos
Limited selection of filters and frames

Cost: VND30,000 per person
Tips:

The shop provides a link with a QR code to download the photo sets and a video recording the posing, which turns out to be surprisingly delightful. This link only exists temporarily, so remember to download the files.
Download the app for a first-timer discount code.

Friendship milestone unlocked!

2. Ánh Sao Bridge & Bán Nguyệt Lake Park

Walking in April under this heat is unbearable, so we started at 5pm.

Right behind Crescent Mall is the home to Bán Nguyệt (Semicircle) Lake and Ánh Sao (Starlight) Bridge, which leads pedestrians to a spacious park right on the lake shore. The most common comment I get from friends and families who’ve never been here is that the area doesn’t feel like Vietnam. On one side, a placid water surface reflects frond-heavy nipa palms and a bright setting sun. On the other side, a curvy stretch of elevated shopfronts with white steps leads to expansive walkable paths. According to the civic space’s original planners, they took inspiration from Singapore’s waterfront to craft the Bán Nguyệt Lake area.

Ánh Sao Bridge is pedestrian-only, though skateboards and segways seem to be fair game.

Ánh Sao Bridge earns its name from the peppering of floor lights on the bridge's surface illuminating the path in the evening. While the idea is quite cute in a slightly cheesy way, in practice these rays of light can be disorientating if you’re not careful while walking. If the northeastern side of the bank has a put-together foreign feel, once you’ve crossed the bridge to the other side, that very Vietnamese sense of chaos is in full reign: entrepreneurial locals have turned the area next to the park, where Tôn Dật Tiên Street meets a dead-end, into a race track for miniature cars. In the evening, one can find racers of all ages excitedly careening on the asphalt on Hello Kitty bikes, Frozen-themed cars, and other wacky themed vehicles.

A top-tier park well-suited for your picnicking needs.

Feature:

Buskers lending their musical talent to lake-side performances
Well-maintained grass patches for picnics and dog-walking
Miniature racecourse

Cost: Free
Tips: Some finger food and cold beverages would be perfect to enjoy here while you walk around taking in the beautiful sunset and raucous atmosphere of childlike glee.

3. Avocado, Durian and Pumpkin Ice Cream

Address: 1 Đường N, D7

The kitschy exterior of Quán Thỏ Ngọc Xinh Xinh.

Vinahouse music picks, odd interior style, and kitschy decorations: this little corner cafe is a confounding mess in terms of vibes, but luckily, the food and drinks are a treat. Quán Thỏ Ngọc Xinh Xinh — I know, what a name — advertises kem bơ sầu riêng bí đỏ, and manages to deliver that with great aplomb. For the uninitiated, kem bơ is a cold dessert made famous by Đà Lạt, featuring a base of avocado purée and a scoop of coconut ice cream with desiccated coconut flakes sprinkled on top. Here, the menu expands on that concept by adding durian and pumpkin purée as options. Once you can get over the mental hurdle of thinking that pumpkin purée is essentially baby food, it’s a pleasant, cooling snack for a hot summer day in Saigon.

Not baby food! But I won't fault you for thinking otherwise.

Feature:

Campy Instagram check-in sets
Hottest Vinahouse tracks to relax/study to
Quite well-balanced kem bơ and other desserts

Cost: VND55,000 per person
Tips: If the cafe’s ambiance weirds you out, get the desserts to-go and hop to the park to enjoy while people-watching and sitting on the grass.

4. Perilla Restaurant

Address: 161 Tôn Dật Tiên, Tân Phong Ward, D7

Perilla / Tía Tô focuses on wholesome food that's supposed to be good for your health.

As much as I enjoy the savory, saucy, finger-lickin’ goodness of Korean fried chicken, my favorite thing about Korean cuisine is its serious dedication to side dishes, best known as banchan. Perilla restaurant in District 7 has one of the most generous, diverse, and tasty collections of banchan in Saigon. Elsewhere, you might get a few types of kimchi and some dried anchovies, but Perilla’s banchan spread is made fresh every few days and changes often depending on the season. Ever since a Korean colleague introduced me to this place, I have lovingly gorged myself on their banchan every visit, and the best thing is that you can ask for refills. The menu has staples like K-BBQ and deonjang jjigae, but also many other home-style Korean dishes that you might not find at Saigon’s typical K-fastfood places. Perilla’s homey atmosphere makes it an ideal stop for a cozy trip to Phú Mỹ Hưng, getting your stomach well-satiated to prepare you for our last stop: the Korean sauna.

Feature:

Rustic cơm nhà-style Korean dishes
Free after-meal cinnamon punch
Every banchan everywhere all at once

Cost: Approximately VND200,000 per dish
Tips: The restaurant requires at least one dish per pax, so order sparingly. On numerous occasions, I’m already half-full on side dishes even before my order arrives.

5. Golden Lotus Healing Spa

Address: 139 Tôn Dật Tiên, D7

Golden Lotus is open from 7am to 12am.

Picture this: In an enclosed space awash in cedar wood accents, a working-class K-drama protagonist lounges around with her gaggle of auntie friends to talk shit about their neighbors. They all wear quirky-looking pajamas and carry around a bath towel to sometimes whack the heroine on the head should she fail to follow their romantic advice. This is probably a typical vista familiar to anyone who grew up with Korean soap operas in Vietnam, but few might ever get to experience this uniquely Korean activity in person, Saigoneer included — until now, that is.

A visit to any jjim jil bang would be incomplete without cute towel hats and selfies.

This distinctive-looking sauna is known as jjim jil bang in the Korean language. How do I even begin to explain jjim jil bang in this limited article space without sounding like I was paid handsomely to shill their business? I will shill anyway because I enjoyed myself that much, just know that we paid for this ourselves.

A typical dosirak.

First, there are a few components to the spa experience at Golden Lotus: many options of massages, which we didn’t try due to time constraints; a wet bath house on the first floor where participants are all naked, though there are separate male and female sections; a upper-floor dry section with a smorgasbord of different spa rooms to try, and ample space to lounge around shooting the breeze while snacking.

Dinner at Mr. BBQ features typical Korean dishes like soups and banchans.

Speaking of food, the spa compound has a restaurant attached to the first floor called Mr. BBQ, where we had our dinner while waiting for the spa happy hours to kick in. The food, comprising mostly common Korean dishes, is serviceable, though it’s quite exciting to try out dosirak (Korean lunch boxes) for the first time. The dry section has a snack counter selling the iconic jjim jil bang eggs and sikhye (rice punch), amongst other simple munchies like cup noodles. The snacks are on the pricey side (VND45,000 per small Shin ramyeon cup), but the eggs and rice juice are must-tries.

Jjim jil bang eggs are brown and have a nutty, toasty hint to their taste.

For temperature-control spa enthusiasts, there are numerous novelty rooms to try out. There’s a chilly room (like sitting in a freezer), a hot kiln (steamy but a little uncomfortable), an oxygen room (very cozy vibes but I can’t verify the oxygen concentration claims), a few infrared capsules (claustrophobic), a ticklish but nonetheless delightful fish spa, amongst other amenities like kids’ room and exercise machines. While I’ll be the first to question any health claims presented here, I’m still amazed to learn that there are so many different ways to sit in a room, which makes jjim jil bang a great experience for me, because there’s nothing I enjoy more than sitting around doing nothing.

Feature:

Various ways to sit, lounge, and lie around
Gainful employment for fish
Comfortable pajamas
New way to eat eggs

Cost:

The entrance fee per person is around VND315,000 generally, but after 7:30pm, it drops to VND150,000.
Before our visit, I was astounded by the sheer volume of good reviews of the place on Google Maps, but it turns out the spa offers a special rate (VND170,000) for any guest willing to give a five-star review on the spot. The service mostly deserves the good reviews, but beware of the artificially inflated high ratings.

Tips:

Learn how to fold the provided towels into cute headwear before visiting.
The fish massage tank is outside the dry mainroom, up a short flight of stairs past the exercise machines.

Ngõ Nooks: Bingsu, Folk Crafts, and Hanboks at Hanoi's Hayoon Cafe

2024-05-02T10:00:00+07:00

“What inspired you to open a Korean cafe?” I ask Giang, the manager of Hayoon Cafe in Nam Từ Liêm, a popular Korean district in Hanoi.

Giang giggles with a glint in her eye. “I got a Korean boyfriend,” she says.

But Giang’s interest in Korean culture goes back much further than her relationship. She majored in Korean Language at university and met her boyfriend while working at a Korean company in Hanoi. Now, she hopes other Vietnamese people will fall for Korean culture just as she did, and Hayoon Cafe is the ideal venue for people to do just that.

If they can find Hayoon Cafe, that is. As it's situated among a grid of leafy, hidden streets, getting to Hayoon Cafe feels a bit like breaking into a private estate. I gave the security guard as innocent a smile as I could muster as I stepped through the gate, not quite believing he would actually permit me to enter. He watched emotionlessly as I walked past, and I soon found the cafe tucked in amongst a long row of houses.

The project started as a language center in 2022, teaching both Korean and Vietnamese. The second and third floors of the building are comprised of classrooms fitted with long white tables, projectors, and television screens. There is also a room for private events, complete with a full beer fridge and a balcony overlooking the pedestrianized streets below.

Photos via Hayoon Cafe.

As well as language classes, students can take part in workshops teaching traditional Korean arts and crafts, such as arranging bojagi (wrapping cloth), painting bokjumeoni (coin purses), and hanji (folding fans). In June 2023, Giang expanded on this idea of cultural exchange by turning the ground floor into a Korean-style cafe.

The cafe has a minimalist aesthetic — white walls with flashes of blossom pink, bare wood, blocks of elegant hangul script, panoramic windows, and stacks of Korean board games. There is a small, quieter mezzanine with a large window overlooking the garden. The garden is fronted by a lavish, solid wood gate and hemmed in by white walls topped with Korean “giwa” (tiles). It all creates the perfect backdrop for what Giang claims is the most important aspect of the cafe’s charm: the fancy dress.

Giang gets up from our table and leads me into a small room near the back of the first floor. Here, customers can choose from a variety of different color hanboks (traditional Korean gowns), sporting pastel pinks, bold stripes, and elegant gold patterns. There are also hats, fans and headdresses, as well as tripods and flash diffusers for all your amateur modelling needs.

Photo via Hayoon Cafe.

The menu is as vibrant as the fancy dress, with punchy fruit smoothies accompanied by indulgent bowls of bingsu (fluffy Korean shaved ice), with toppings ranging from crunched Oreo, to mango chunks, to matcha cream. There is also a selection of Korean teas and cakes.

Giang’s passion shines through in every detail, and it’s clear she has the greatest respect for Korea, its culture, and its people.

“I was first attracted to Korean culture by the kindness of the people,” says Giang. “Not only are they very friendly, but they are also very stylish and very hardworking.”

Văn and Quỳnh Anh, two staff members who kindly offered to translate for Giang and I, also chip in with their take on the matter. “Compared to Korean people, I think Vietnamese are maybe more free and less hardworking,” says Văn.

“And who is more fun?” I ask. “Both,” says Quỳnh Anh. “Both are very fun in different ways.”

Photo via Hayoon Cafe.

Perhaps this throwaway comment hits upon Hayoon cafe’s biggest achievement. While Giang’s ultimate goal of bringing Korean and Vietnamese cultures together might sound lofty, she achieves her objective through a focus on enjoyment. Her smile when she quips about her Korean boyfriend, the splashes of pink, the elaborate fancy dress, the decadent desserts and the handicrafts are all reminders that learning is supposed to be fun. Hayoon cafe delivers this with passion, style, and a welcome bit of silliness.

Hayoon Cafe is open from 10am to 10pm.

To sum up:

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

Oliver describes bún chả as “wet burgers” and burgers as “dry bún chả.”

Hayoon Cafe

Lot 93 TT4, Mỹ Đình–Sông Đà Residential Area, Nam Từ Liêm District, Hanoi

Hẻm Gems: At D7's Tía Tô, Home-Cooked Korean Comfort Food for the World-Weary

2024-04-25T10:00:00+07:00

Growing up in South Korea's extremely competitive and high-stress education system, combined with strict Asian parenting, my relationship with my parents has never been easy.

Like a lot of children with similar backgrounds, I couldn’t help but ask myself constantly whether I was worthy of my parents’ love, and pushed myself to meet their standards of a perfect daughter. My relationship with my mom was especially challenging, as she was more involved in my education and daily life. One thing that has never changed in our complicated relationship, however, is my mom’s endless effort to keep me healthy. Coming up with carefully thought-out, nutritious homemade meals and lunchboxes was her way of showing her unconditional support and love for me.

Among her staples are a soup and side dish using shiraegi (시래기), dried radish greens. Shiraegi is known to be low in calories, high in fiber and also filled with calcium, vitamin A and vitamin C. My mom appreciated these qualities as she wanted me to have enough energy to study hard all day, but was also worried that I would gain weight from sitting for hours on end.

Quirky posters on the wall of the dining area.

In the past, people ate shiraegi during times of struggle, especially in the winter when few fresh vegetables were available. As shiraegi was easy to find and could be stored for a long time, it was an obvious go-to ingredient. Modern-day Korea has a comparative abundance of fresh ingredients so shiraegi is less often stored at homes for trying times. Still, the humble vegetable has recently gotten more and more recognition as people find out about its high nutrition values and health benefits.

Left: A dolsot rice bowl with chwinamul leaves. Right: Perilla seeds shiraegi soup.

Because it’s such a niche Korean dish, I was very surprised to find Perilla Seeds Shiraegi, a shiraegi-dedicated restaurant here in Saigon. Located in the heart of District 7, during lunchtime the restaurant is usually packed with customers. The majority of them are Korean, though there are Vietnamese patrons here and there.

The menu is quite expansive, from shiraegi specialties to other Korean traditional dishes as well. Normally, I have a hard time putting my trust fully in restaurants with a wide variety of dishes, as most of them end up being rather mediocre, but here I could see a lot of effort and consideration in the selection and preparation of their food, as they show consistency in the theme of slow-cooked, healthy fare.

The variety of fruits and vegetables undergoing traditional processing techniques to give the food its special flavor.

The perilla seeds shiraegi soup, one of their specialties, is served in a boiling-hot bowl, full of soybean paste and perilla seeds aroma, together with a bowl of rice. This is not surprising for a Korean restaurant, but the special thing about their rice is that every bowl arrives in a dolsot (돌솥), or hot stone pot. To people who are unfamiliar with the concept, dolsot is a sizzling stone pot for hot rice dishes to keep them warm while serving and throughout the meal.

Besides this advantage, there is another beauty to having rice served in a dolsot: on the bottom of the bowl, a thin crust of scorched rice will form after a while. This golden layer of crunchy rice is a crucial part of sungnyung (숭늉), a traditional after-meal infusion made by pouring hot water or tea into crispy rice. The result is a "porridge" to be savored as a special treat at the end of the meal.

Fresh and colorful plates of banchan.

As soon as we ordered, the waiter brought out a banquet of of banchan — complimentary side dishes that are served with the main dish in Korean meals — which were very nicely coordinated, complementing one another nicely in both taste and colors. The traditional brassware adds to the neat and traditional ambiance. All of Perilla's banchan dishes are pretty impressive, but the sauce in the dubujorim (braised tofu) and bibimguksu (spicy mixed noodles) is extraordinary.

It's clear to me that the dishes aren’t readily made in large scale, but more of something my grandma would handpick and cook for family dinners. After our meal, I talked to Perilla Seeds Shiraegi's owner, Mr. Kang, and discovered that the mysterious jars decorating the staircase are the secret to this hearty feeling.

According to him, his utmost priority in running the restaurant is to recreate wholesome, home-cooked meals that many modern-day urban dwellers lack in their life. Therefore, he experimented with a lot of natural ingredients to substitute processed spices and refined sugar. He uses a variety of different fruits and vegetables to make an organic enzyme sauce that creates a sweet flavor in a healthier way. Besides, when he moved to Vietnam, he realized that local ingredients like passion fruit, bananas, oranges and red peppers work really well with Korean flavors; and has since made them staples in his cooking.

Left: A set of samgyupsal. Right: Grilled Spanish mackerel.

As we were gawking over the variety and abundance of banchan (you can even ask for more if you want), the main dishes arrived: perilla seeds shiraegi soup, a samgyupsal set (stir fried pork belly), and grilled mackerel. The signature soup did not let me down, as it tasted surprisingly similar to how my mom used to make it, flavorful and wholesome. A word of caution though: to people not used to this type of healthy cooking, the soup could taste a bit bland and flat. It takes time to get used to this flavor and develop a palate sensitive enough to appreciate its deep aroma.

The samgyupsal set is a classic K-BBQ plate, albeit somewhat more neat and healthier than those you get elsewhere. The dish is put together delicately with bean sprouts, mushrooms and pineapple pieces. The accompanying items include green lettuce leaves and ssamjang (seasoned soybean paste) for ssams, a leaf wrap with meat pieces and vegetables.

Last but not least, the grilled samchi (Spanish mackerel) dish is a new addition to the menu. It's subtly seasoned, not too subtle to go unnoticed, but not too strong to overshadow the natural flavors of the grilled fish. Again I was surprised by how similar it is to the meals my mom used to cook for me.

At the end of the meal, diners are given portions of sujeonggwa — cold cinnamon punch — as dessert.

As more and more Korean people and businesses make their way into Vietnam, it’s getting increasingly easier to get Korean food, desserts, or services in Saigon that were previously thought to be available only in Korea. A lot of them are very well-managed and efficiently organized, almost like well-functioning wheels in a factory, making Korean people’s lives here incredibly convenient.

To me, however, one thing that’s extremely hard to replicate in such a well-organized system is the sense of home, the warm feeling of family — the kind of feeling that only a meal cooked at home with warm intention would be able to deliver. This hẻm gem was established with the aim to recreate that essence.

All told, the food objectively tastes great to me, but my experience at this restaurant also has a deeper layer than that: something more personal and emotional, evoking my own memories of visiting my grandma’s house on a weekend with my mom, watching them cook things without any rush while listening to the stories behind the preparation of each dish, their minds filled with thoughts on how to serve the heartiest, most nutritious meals to loved ones.

Being there in my grandma's kitchen, it was the only time my mom and I could put aside concerns about my academic performance to just bond solely and deeply as mother and daughter through the medium of food. “Watch and learn,” she would say with a mischievous smile. “It’s going to take a lot to raise a daughter like you.”

This Hẻm Gems was originally published in 2020.

To sum up:

Taste: 5/5
Price: 4/5 — Very reasonably priced compared to other Korean eateries, but might be on the expensive side for some.
Atmosphere: 4.5/5
Friendliness: 5/5
Location: 5/5

Jae’s soul feeds on coconuts; she will dance her heart out after being fed the right type of food.

Tía Tô / Perilla / 들깨시래기

161 Tôn Dật Tiên, Tân Phong Ward, D7

Hẻm Gems: Tokyo Moon Cafe Introduces Homey Korean Flavors to Japan Town

2024-04-24T15:00:00+07:00

Stepping into Tokyo Moon is like venturing into a world of wonders, neatly packed within a mere 35-square-meter space.

Tucked inside Saigon’s Japan Town on Lê Thánh Tôn Street, Tokyo Moon is run by an older Korean couple who has been serving tea and sweet treats for more than six years. The cozy cafe has been a time-honored Saigoneer favorite ever since we featured it back in 2018. About a year ago, a new Tokyo Moon location opened nearby, so we decided to go and check it out.

Tokyo Moon II is unfortunately closed.

Unfortunately, upon arriving at the new location, we found out that it had closed, seemingly permanently. We lingered there awkwardly for a while and captured some snapshots of the shop’s elegant pastel-pink facade. Then, we took a short walk to the original Tokyo Moon in the maze of alleys on Thái Văn Lung to see if it too had closed. Luckily, the OG cafe is open.

The tiny corner of Tokyo Moon in Japan Town.

Once inside, I immediately felt the snug and cozy atmosphere for which Tokyo Moon is renowned. Our group of three was just enough to occupy the largest table in the shop. Classical music was playing in the background, and from time to time, the owners would let out the common Korean expression “Uwaaa!” in delight whenever familiar Korean patrons entered the store.

Our drinks came with mismatched cutleries and glasses.

We picked an array of options from the menu, mostly tea-based beverages. After a brief wait, our order arrived. Alongside our drink was an additional ginger tea presented in an odd-looking ceramic teapot that piqued my curiosity. A Google Search informed me that the unique vessle was a “Yokode kyusu” teapot. The Japanese teapot with a distinctive cylinder-shaped handle is quite different from the usual pots I've seen.

The ssanghwacha comes with an egg yolk.

According to one of the owners, Madame Moon, the Tokyo Moon tea was steeped with various Chinese herbal medicines. The brew had a brownish hue, with tiny jujube slices and pumpkin seeds sprinkled on top. As I slowly sipped the hot tea, a warm, lightly sweet, gingery taste lingered in my throat — a comfortable feeling indeed. The cup of Tokyo Moon tea also came with a small spoon to scoop up the garnishes and have a nibble.

I also chose to try yulmucha, mainly because of its name. A type of Korean tea made from powdered adlay millets (hạt ý dĩ in Vietnamese), yulmucha fit well in Tokyo Moon’s roster of healthy beverages. What surprised me about this drink was that, while originating in Korea, yulmucha felt so familiar. As soon as the cup was brought to my table, the tea’s aroma reminded me of the of the instant nutritious cereals I used to have as a kid. After having a taste, I realized that the liquid had a thicker consistency than a regular drink; its nutty flavor and creamy texture reminded me of chè mè đen. The inclusion of jujube slices and pumpkin seeds meant this tea could be both a drink and a warm, light snack for the afternoon.

Knick-knacks and keepsakes fill the space at Tokyo Moon.

But tingling your taste buds with healthy tea beverages is not all that there is at Tokyo Moon, because you can also immerse in the cafe’s vivid decorations. We sat beside a wall-mounted shelf full of books, vintage film cameras, ceramic figurines of kittens, etc. Even on our table, there was a tray that contained colorful chocolate candies, and a notebook with the owners’ handwritten menu and adorable pencil sketches.

Mr. and Mrs. Moon behind the counter.

“Many of the decorations here are gifts from our customers, even things like the coasters and cups are handmade by the customers too,” Madame Moon shares with us. When we first walked into the cafe, we were greeted with a wall full of polaroids of the shop’s past visitors, and it seems like one of the factors that make this place look so charming is you get to see small traces of patrons who had enjoyed their stay in Tokyo Moon through the years.

The wall of Poraloid shots preserving generations of customer visits.

Other than the perceivable things that adorn the cafe, the sounds also contributed to the soothing atmosphere at Tokyo Moon. The playlist is handpicked by Mr. and Mrs. Moon, and their preference for classical music is because “back then, Mr. Moon’s dream was being a maestro in an orchestra.”

Due to the small space, Tokyo Moon discourages laptop use and limits visits to 1.5 hours.

Madame Moon let us in on some of their plans for the future, telling us they recently opened a new cafe in South Korea. And just like how Tokyo Moon was named in honor of their family name and Mr. Moon’s Japanese roots, they combined personal identities to come up with the name Ssanghwacha & Cafe Saigon. They are hoping to introduce some Vietnamese beverages to South Koreans, “something like ‘cà phê muối’ for example,” Madame Moon explained of the planned menu. We also got an explanation behind why the new Tokyo Moon was permanently closed: it was simply too overwhelming for the couple to run three cafes at the same time.

Many decorations here were gifts from past patrons.

Before going to Tokyo Moon, I came across an online review commenting that Tokyo Moon carries a very Studio Ghibli vibe, and I wholeheartedly agree. Enjoying a cup of tea in the middle of many whimsical, appealing decorations and velvety classical music makes it a calm and relaxing space to forget about the worries of the world for a few hours, just like watching a Studio Ghibli film. I got so lost in the atmosphere that when was time to leave, I forgot to take my bag with me. Luckily, Madame Moon was quick to notice and brought it to me when I was about to hop on my bike. It was a small but funny moment to cap off a day full of good tea, charming sights and memorable interactions.

Tokyo Moon opens from 10am to 10pm every day.

To sum up:

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

Tokyo Moon

8A/1C2 Thái Văn Lung, Bến Nghé Ward, D1, HCMC

Đà Nẵng Is Michelin's New Destination for 2024 Version of Vietnam Guide

2024-04-12T11:00:00+07:00

After Saigon and Hanoi, Đà Nẵng will be the next Vietnamese city with its own Michelin Guide selections.

In a press release published earlier this week, the French tire-making company announced the return of the Michelin Guide in Vietnam for the 2024 edition. This time, food inspectors head to Đà Nẵng on the prowl for some maritime goodness. The food guide made its debut in Vietnam last year to much fanfare, even though many local foodies have questioned its curatorial vision. Read our commentary on Michelin’s first-ever Vietnam guide here.

The first edition awarded one star each to four restaurants, three in Hanoi and one in Saigon. With every annual update, Michelin has been known to remove and update its star rating depending on how past honorees have performed over time.

“The addition of Da Nang to the MICHELIN Guide’s family is another proof of the vibrancy and quality of Vietnam’s culinary scene, as well as of the richness and authenticity of its local food culture,” Michelin Guide International Director Gwendal Poullennec says in the press release.

“Our Inspectors are currently on the field to realize a restaurant selection we will be proud to share in June not only with local gourmets but also international food lovers and travelers. Da Nang has impressed the MICHELIN Guide Inspectors with the quality and variety of local specialties available to offer – be it Mì Quảng, Bún Chả Cá or famous Bánh Xèo.”

Last year, Michelin dropped the inaugural version of its guide for Vietnam, featuring 103 eateries across Saigon and Hanoi. The selections were generally well received when it comes to higher-end restaurants, but underwhelmed street food fans due to a questionable number of phở places and glaring gaps in representing some of Saigon’s most iconic dishes, like bánh mì, hủ tiếu, chè, and many many more.

The selections for the 2024 edition will be announced later this year in June.

[Photo (from left to right): Bánh xèo, bún mắm nêm, and bún cá cam]

Hẻm Gems: Flan by the Canal, a Cute, Affordable Date in the Age of Inflation

2024-04-05T12:00:00+07:00

Skip the formal attire, a bit of loose change is all you need for a waterfront rendezvous in Saigon.

Photo by Alberto Prieto. Graphic by Tiên Ngô.

Bánh flan Thái Thủy is not made to be a typical dating spot. It's not listed on any guide for couples or featured in romantic roundups. If you happen to stroll by, it might not catch your eye; its facade can pass for any of the myriads of street food stalls across Saigon. But should you come by yourself and experience it firsthand, you'll realize that this little place has all the ingredients for a perfect date.

Ingredient No. 1: A prime location

Nestled on the curvy sidewalk of Hoàng Sa Street, Thái Thủy offers simplicity at its finest. Its humble setup includes a few plastic seats and a stainless-steel cart, yet it boasts a pristine view of the verdant Thị Nghè Canal. Wherever you sit, you're treated to vibrant green grass and the constant flow of traffic under the canopies of golden oak and plumeria trees.

Ingredient No. 2: Inflation-proof desserts

The menu is concise, with just four options that the owners have perfected over 14 years — flan, longan jelly, cheese-filled coconut jelly, and flan-filled coconut jelly. Each dish is freshly made daily by Thái, the owner, and his wife, Thủy, starting from 9am.

This humble setup has been the family's main livelihood ever since this neighborhood was a working-class area, before the canal renovation project. Originally a bike repairman, Thái learned the flan recipe from a friend and tinkered with it. “It was fate, you know. Hard to explain! Back then, no one sold snacks here, so I gave it a shot. Luckily, people supported it, and I've been selling ever since,” Thái explains.

Thái's flan stands out with its velvety texture, a perfect blend of creamy egg and a touch of bitter coffee to cut through the milk's sweetness. The jellies, with their firm bite and gentle sweetness, complemented by the light coconut milk, offer a refreshing respite from the tropical heat.

On sunny days, Thái can sell up to 1,000 servings, providing a steady income for his family despite the long hours. Grateful for the support of Saigon's flan lovers, Thái has kept his prices between VND7,000 and 8,000 over the years, even as expenses climb. “With fuel prices rising, everything gets more expensive. I trim my profits a bit to keep our quality consistent,” he says with a smile.

Ingredient No. 3: Free whimsy

Though the stall opens late, the best time for a date is between 5 and 6pm when the golden-hour sun wraps everything in a beautiful yellow glow.

From your seat, you can see pastel pink, orange, and purple hues dance across the expansive sky as dusk falls. It's the perfect backdrop for a film photo, a deep conversation, or simply holding hands and appreciating nature's free poetry.

The ever-moving scene of city life also offers its own delights. Watch adorable dogs strut as if on a catwalk (or should we say, dogwalk?); guess the songs blaring from the speakers of middle-aged women doing aerobics; or play silly counting games: red bikes vs. blue bikes, Grab vs. Gojek, people walking against the flow vs. people walking with it. The loser pays for the flan, but the winner? They get to enjoy the best desserts, witness the most beautiful sunset, and indulge in the silliest games next to their favorite person.

Bánh flan Thái Thủy is open from 4pm to 9pm.

To sum up:

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

Bánh flan Thái Thủy

893 Hoàng Sa, Ward 11, D3, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: In a D3 Hẻm, 40 Years of Bún Ốc and Other Northern Treats

2024-03-21T15:00:00+07:00

As a resident of Saigon, I’m well-acquainted with the city's vibrant food scene, which features cuisines from various regions of Vietnam, and how these dishes blend local recipes with flavors that resonate with Saigon locals. But Bún Ốc Thanh Hải is quite the opposite. Its dishes, snacks, drinks, and even atmosphere carry a distinct northern identity, so much so that upon visiting the place, I felt as if I was on a culinary adventure within my own city.

The eatery is located inside the alleys off the Nhiêu Lộc Canal in District 3. It’s quite easy to find; just wander through the narrow lanes between Trường Sa, Trần Quốc Thảo, and Kỳ Đồng streets, and the small roads will lead you into a spacious oasis, where Bún Ốc Thanh Hải awaits.

Thanh Hải moved from the Kỳ Đồng pavements into an alley years ago due to tightening rules.

I arrived at Thanh Hải during lunchtime. The scene was lively with sounds of customers chatting while enjoying their noodles, and the clinking of utensils coming from the kitchen. A waitress guided me to my seat and promptly took my order. Surprisingly, only a minute later, a hot bowl of bún ốc riêu cua was already placed on my table.

Seafood essence in a bowl.

“You should try putting some mắm tôm into it,” she told me right after serving my meal. While I rarely add shrimp paste into my food, afraid that my breath will inherit its pungent aroma, the lady adds that “a little bit of the paste won’t hurt anyone.” Intrigued by her enthusiasm, I decided to give it a try. In turn, I got to have a quick chat with her to learn more about this place.

The interior of Thanh Hải is very typical of a storied street restaurant in Saigon.

Bún Ốc Thanh Hải is ran by a family from Thái Bình. They moved to Saigon and introduced their hometown dishes to the city locals in the 1980s. Back then, they operated a small food cart on Kỳ Đồng Street. However, as sidewalk regulations became stricter, they relocated further into the narrow alleys of Kỳ Đồng and eventually set up their establishment.

For more than 40 years, Thanh Hải is mostly known for their signature northern-style bún ốc in which the toppings consist of snails, crab paste, some slices of tomatoes and green onions. And of course, the addition of shrimp paste into the mix is also a part of this traditional style. “That’s how we do it in our hometown,” the waitress said to me.

Chewy chunks of snail and soft crab paste are the star toppings of bún riêu here.

After stirring up the broth to let the shrimp paste dissolve into it, I had my first taste of the broth and the noodle. At first, I don’t notice any clear difference. But much later on, when I was casually going through the dish, the broth started having a tangy flavor that was stronger than the regular bún ốc that I’ve tried in the past.

The main highlights of the bún ốc were its seafood toppings. The snails are sliced into small pieces, spotting a crunchy texture when chewed on. My portion had chunks of melt-in-your-mouth crab paste, and its sweet flavors really came out when combined with the broth.

A portion of bún riêu cua (left) and bún ốc riêu cua đặc biệt (right).

Aside from the signature dish,the menu features a variety of options ranging from main courses to side dishes. If you’re not in the mood for another bún riêu variant, there is northern-style bún ốc chuối đậu. Various snail-based side dishes like ốc bươu nhồi thịt, ốc xào chuối xanh are available for your chewing pleasure. The tangy taste of bún ốc broth mixed with shrimp paste might leave you feeling thirsty, and the place offers multiple types of refreshing drinks like apricot juice.

Bún ốc chuối đậu is among a handful of northern dishes on offer here too.

The spaciousness of the establishment gave me a chance to walk around and explore the place. Right at the entrance of the shop, a counter hosted an array of northern delicacies and snacks such as Thái Nguyên tea leaves, peanut brittle candy, and bánh cáy — it felt like a mini market filled with northern goodies.

Eating here, patrons can also brush up on their ethics lessons.

The distinctively northern setting and heaps of regional snacks at Bún Ốc Thanh Hải made me feel like a tourist, as it reminded me of the rest stops where my family and I would hang out during trips; the only difference is that the Thanh Hải “pit stop” is conveniently a three-minute drive away from my workplace.

A northern specialty corner in the middle of District 3.

Overall, my experience with Bún Ốc Thanh Hải was a delight. As I savored the flavors of their signature northern-style bún ốc riêu cua and couldn’t help but enjoy the lively and inviting atmosphere. I appreciate how the Thái Bình family gives me a taste of their hometown. Throughout my stay, the eatery welcomed throngs of patrons: some lingered at the local specialties counter, and some brought their whole families, casually chatting with the waitress like they’d known one another for a long time. It was as if Bún Ốc Thanh Hải could provide northern-born residents of Saigon a taste of their roots.

Bún Ốc Thanh Hải is open from 7am to 8:30pm.

To sum up:

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

Bún Ốc Thanh Hải

14/12 Kỳ Đồng, Ward 9, D3, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: While the Day Away Under the Green Canopy of Cỏ Cafe

2024-03-19T11:00:00+07:00

Under a thick canopy of verdant vines and minuscule pink flowers, it’s easy to indulge in the cooling comfort of a glass of iced tamarind juice and while the day away.

Nguyễn Hữu Cảnh Bridge connects two of Saigon’s most orderly riverbanks. On one side, tube houses of a sleepy Bình Thạnh neighborhood tower over the Nhiêu Lộc–Thị Nghè Canal; on the other side, luxuriant foliage fills the space as part of the Saigon Zoo. Standing on the pavement in front of Cỏ Café, one can make out the shape and the languid rotation of the zoo’s new Ferris wheel.

"Cỏ" means grass in Vietnamese, but there’s no grass to be found at the corner coffee shop. Instead, patrons are greeted with a blanket of willowy sử quân tử vines, growing thick and enveloping the entire café in the shade. I have never been as envious of anyone in Saigon as I was of the residents living in the vicinity of Cỏ Café.

Ward 19 of Bình Thạnh is a relatively new area: save for the set of apartment towers making up Chung Cư Phạm Việt Chánh, the rest of the streets used to be filled with single-room homes. Now, concrete multi-story service apartments, convenience stores and specialty Japanese restaurants make for an interesting mix of characters in the community. At a glance, Cỏ Café’s clientele seems eclectic — office workers getting their daily caffeine fix, shutterbugs cooing over the latest gear, and bespectacled freelancers typing furiously on their laptop.

The interior of the café is decidedly 90s both in its décor and unabashed penchant for the art of memory hoarding. Every corner of the space is filled with personal knick-knacks (ceramic elephants, homemade sculptures, even scrap wood), tattered books in various languages, and a slew of makeshift plant pots. I order a serving of kumquat lemongrass tea, a refreshing choice judging by the swirling heat deluging the street outside. Mind you, it feels cool and pleasant inside Cỏ Café thanks to ample fans, shade and the vines.

It becomes apparent to me that after an hour working in the space the owner is especially fond of lemongrass. The citrusy herb is in beverages as an infusion, in pots and vases positioned on various shelves as plant, and in bundles hung on the wall of the bathroom as natural deodorant. Not that I'm complaining, because the space smells fresh and well-ventilated, which is sometimes not the case for other Saigon coffee shops bearing the same vintage theme.

For the first hour or so of our stay, Cỏ Café plays Lisa Ono’s Latin bossa nova on repeat. So for the entire ride home, I have her jazzy rendition of ‘Bésame Mucho’ stuck in my head, a sweet reminder of time spent under the shade of vines watching traffic zoom past the Nguyễn Hữu Cảnh Bridge.

Cỏ Café is open from 7am to 10:30pm.

To sum up:

Taste: 3/5
Price: 5/5
Atmosphere: 5/5
Friendliness: 5/5
Location: 5/5

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

Cỏ Cafe

12C Mê Linh, Bình Thạnh, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: Come up, We're Watching Old Movies on the Neighbor's Wall

2024-03-13T16:08:33+07:00

“Thank you for contacting Khôngtrung.bar. Our business hours are 6pm to 1am, Monday to Sunday. Open doors. Cocktails, craft beer, outdoor screening — Thursday and Sunday. Thank you and we hope to bump into you in Không!”

During an earlier visit to my friend’s office, I was introduced to a hidden bar on top of the building, where we can hang out, sip beer, and watch movies together. The bar uses a projector to screen films a few times a week on the empty wall of the neighboring building. I was intrigued by what I could find out about this special place online and by the cryptic greeting note, so I decided to book myself a seat on Thursday.

The wall doubles as a screen.

In the middle of the air — không trung means in midair — a movies scenes are caste on the white wall. In midair, on the third floor, in a narrow alley, film enthusiasts lounge around in silence, their eyes transfixed by the moving pictures. Occasionally, someone would slurp their beer and exchange whispers with their screen pal.

“This place was born of [my] love for cinema and habit of observing the city through the window. Both contain their own stories. Be it through the screen or the window, we’re always curious about and hope to learn more about humanity and the experiences we’ve yet to live through. At times, I also exist through a frame via somebody else’s eyes. So, in the frames live the lessons, and opening Khôngtrung means reaching new horizons. To live my life and gain an understanding of others’ lives,” the founder told me when asked about the meaning behind the bar’s name.

Khôngtrung only has about 20 seats. The open space is well-ventilated, tranquil and peaceful. There’s no sign boards or instructions, as if the place is purposely challenging newcomers to see who’s lucky enough to reach the treasure. Khôngtrung does not run online ads either, so most patrons are here due to a happy accident or via introductions (like me).

The furniture is mostly secondhand, brought in by staff members from “everywhere” as they believe that “objects should also have a chance to live a full life.” Some special items, like an embroidered omelet-themed tablecloth, were handmade. Run by a group of plant lovers, the rooftop is populated by flora residents that the staff hand-selected.

Movie screenings are the main courses here at the cozy hangout space. Around 7:30pm on Thursdays and Sundays, the films start. The wall of the next-door building is flat, windowless and sans decorations — very suitable for screening. The sound comes from two speakers in strategic positions so that everybody can hear the dialogue.

Most titles that have made the wall have been Asian features as they share many parallels in culture, setting, and people with Vietnamese culture. Khôngtrung tends to select films based on intuition or in accordance with seasonal changes and current affairs. “June begins with International Children’s Day, so we would choose films for kids, or young-at-heart adults. July is often very rainy, so the theme shifts to solitude, as you can’t go anywhere with your friends.”

Following a period of trials and errors, Khôngtrung fixed the screening schedule to every Thursday and Sunday. Outside of that timetable, Saigoneers can still come to drink, chat and listen to music. Should you feel the need to organize a screening on your own, you can make a request and pay a fee of VND60,000 per participant. Occasionally, the place itself also becomes the setting of independent film productions.

During my first time at Khôngtrung, Tsai Ming-liang’s Days was the film du jour. It depicted a ruthless sense of aloneness with long, still shots that barely had any dialogue. Admittedly, it wasn’t an easy-to-watch feature. The Khôngtrung member who curated it agreed with me, but they still insisted on experimenting and gathering feedback to improve their curation.

The drink menu comprises several classic cocktails and craft beer, in addition to non-alcoholic options — whose creations borrowed inspirations from cinematic works and directors. On a particularly despondent day, you can try a glass of Comrades: Almost a Love Story (dir. Peter Chan) or a sip of As Tears Go By (dir. Wong Kar-wai).

My visits to Khôngtrung yielded a refreshing peach-flavored non-alcoholic beverage and an Early Summer, both with sourness as the predominant note just how I like it. During their downtime, the bartenders here like to play with ingredients to create new recipes. Those who feel peckish during their watching experience could try a few snacks on offer here too.

On a listless evening, if you’re in the mood for a vintage feature in a similarly rustic space, follow my lead and head to 26/16 Nguyễn Bỉnh Khiêm, Đakao Ward of District 1. And remember, don’t bother looking around for a sign that says “Không trung Drink & Screen,” there isn’t any.

To sum up:

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

Khôngtrung drink & screen

26/16 Nguyễn Bỉnh Khiêm, phường Đakao, quận 1, TP. HCM

This Tết, I'm Finally Learning Our Family Recipe for Candied Coconut 'Flowers'

2024-02-01T10:00:00+07:00

Tết is the perfect occasion of the year to go ham on the sugar.

Forget juices, forget smoothies, forget yogurt bowls — if you love fruits, these healthy renditions do not have a place during Tết. Instead, every lunar new year, your favorite fruits will magically transform into a candied version of themselves in the form of mứt. Pineapple, soursop, kumquat, or even cherry tomato, you name it, there’s probably a candied version of it.

Mứt dừa is my family specialty. My mom has perfected it into an art and finally passed the recipe down to me this year. For the average Joe, any freshly scraped coconut meat can be turned into pearly white strips of unctuous mứt dừa, but not just any coconut meat can cut it in my household, as only young coconuts have the ideal tenderness and moisture content to produce the best mứt dừa in her eyes.

The “original” version without added flavors.

My mom has a guy or lady for everything, so making mứt dừa often begins with a quick reminder to her coconut guy to retain young coconuts after their juice has been drained and sold. She’s been making mứt dừa using his coconuts for over a decade, earning for herself a loyalty discount and first dibs on the best coconut meat this side of Saigon has to offer.

Candying fruits for Tết, as I’ve discovered, is most labor-intensive during the prep stage, when every piece of coconut meat is cleaned and sliced into strips; the cooking phase can be boiled down, quite literally, to waiting for sugar crystals to form. Coconut strips are mixed with sugar and any additional flavor or color in juice form, then brought to a boil before the heat is lowered to allow for crystallization.

Pandan and beetroot juices provide colorful shades.

Pandan is always a crowd favorite in our family. Its uniquely sweet and vegetal aroma infuses well into mứt dừa, and the deep emerald color mellows out into an elegant shade of green evoking that of a warm matcha latte. This year, we decided to experiment with other natural colorants like beetroot and turmeric to unexpectedly vibrant results, but questionable tastes.

While the candied coconut strips are fresh off the stove and pliable, my mom folds them into flowers.

The art of making candied coconut might seem mundane, but it is the neat bow tying together many threads of Vietnamese culture, something that I only noticed this year after actually immersing myself in this family tradition. Every ingredient, from palm sugar, and coconut to pandan, originates from our water, our air, our soil, coming together into a celebration of native herbs and fruits. A sense of community permeates many Tết culinary traditions. The making of mứt dừa encourages the whole family to get together: the dad climbs up tall trees to pick fresh coconuts while the siblings help out with slicing the flesh into strips. Ultimately, it’s also unheard of to make a single portion of mứt dừa, for one of the delights of making New Year treats is giving them away to relatives and neighbors.

Ready to be feasted on in between bầu cua cá cọp matches.

I’ve always been wary of Tết’s eclectic offerings of cloyingly sweet treats, but I can’t say no to mứt dừa. Its conceptualization somehow brings together my favorite tropical flavors in the best package possible — young coconut and pandan — and, as it’s always homemade at the Phạms, I don’t have the heart to say no to such labor of love.

Vignette is a series of tiny essays from our writers, where we reflect, observe, and wax poetic about the tiny things in life.

“Burgers Chose Me”: The Journey of Pingu's Burger and Healthy Fast Food

2024-01-14T08:28:00+07:00

On an intimate, tree-lined street in the middle of Thảo Điền sits Pingu's Burger. By outward appearance, it seems like your run-of-the-mill burger joint, but there’s more intention here than one would expect.

Though she’s always cooked from her heart, Pingu's Burger’s chef Oanh isn’t sure exactly why she picked burgers as the focus of her business, simply telling Saigoneer, “Burgers chose me as a fate – it came to my mind for no particular reason.”

Perhaps it was her dog Pingu, described as a burger-loving canine and the eatery’s moniker, that manifested their owner’s culinary dreams and led her to open her burger delivery service run out of a kitchen in District 6.

Oanh found success, at least in part, due to the heart she puts into her food. This is apparent in the fresh, locally sourced ingredients used for her dishes – beef from local farmers, buns from a small family bakery and vegetables from the nearby market. When necessary, she makes what she needs in-house, like sauces made by her mother (and don’t worry, they still have Heinz available), vanilla ice cream sweetened with natural honey and freshly-squeezed orange juice. Like many chefs Oanh, finds meaning in making people happy with her cooking and the knowledge that she is using healthy ingredients.

Though the menu has items like fries and well-appointed hot dogs, burgers are the focus and most popular dish. Particularly well-received is the namesake Pingu's Burger which features a beef paddy topped with bacon and a fried egg as well as their classic cheeseburger.

This week, Pingu's Burger rolled out their seasonal Tết sliders that include special buns dyed with beet juice that transform them into a festive red hue.

The eatery itself feels like a home living room. Thanks to the plethora of plants, warm lighting and low-key tunes, one may find themselves opting to eat directly at the shop when picking up their delivery order.

Healthy fast food may sound like an oxy-moron and one would be right to be skeptical of such a claim from some international conglomerate. But from top to bottom, Oanh and her team are committed to making this concept a reality at Pingu's Burger.

Pingu's Burger's website

Pingu's Burger's Facebook

070 812 4898

26 Đ. Số 2, Thảo Điền, Thủ Đức, Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam

Sparkling Oysters: Champagne Meets Caviar at Social Club Restaurant

2024-01-03T06:21:00+07:00

Caviar, oysters and Veuve Clicquot champagne are all special on their own, but imagine them combined in one luxurious mouthful.

This extravagant coalescence is exactly what Hôtel des Arts is serving during their weekly Sunday Brunch at the Social Club. Head chef Ivan Barone explained to Saigoneer that the original plan was to delight diners each week with a changing selection of items prepared on a cart navigated through the dining room. However, his first idea, the sparkling oysters, proved so popular it has become a mainstay.

Barone’s recipe supports the theory that a dish can be more delicious than the sum of its ingredients while allowing the chef to indulge creative whims on any given day. Thus, he typically selects imported French Ultime oysters which he describes as meaty but delicate compared to the large Japanese Miyagi he occasionally uses that are strong and crunchy. He then places liberal dollops of colorful roe that he selects based on mood and instinct from a supply of black, orange and green ebiko, wasabi tobiko and smoked kazunoko atop the oyster. Of course, there is always caviar. He adds a dash of citrus and shallots and grapeseed before bathing the entire dish with Veuve Clicquot Champaign.

Pre-scooped for streamlined slurping, the sparkling oyster is an explosion of complimentary flavors and textures. Rich, sweet, and salty, the taste is elevated by the interplay of bursting roe, effervescent champagne and slick oyster. Its arrival on a graceful cart beside fresh bilinies with smoked salmon and accouterments including wasabi espuma accentuates the entire meal's special atmosphere and indulgences.

Sparkling oysters are served at every Sunday brunch, from 11am - 3pm at the Social Club - click here for more information and reservations.

Hôtel des Arts Saigon's website

Hôtel des Arts Saigon's Email

(+84) 02839 898 888

Hôtel des Arts Saigon | 76-78 Nguyen Thi Minh Khai street, D.3, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: Hủ Tíu Mực Ông Già's Squid Game Is to Die For

2023-12-10T19:00:00+07:00

It’s safe to say that one of the most authentic culinary experiences one could have in Vietnam is to sit on a stool, in an eatery that feels very much like someone’s house, and slurp on a bowl of piping hot noodles. The noodles here can be any dishes from the plethora of noodle dishes so dominant in Vietnamese cuisine, and this hủ tiếu mực, or squid vermicelli, establishment has got all of the above to offer.

As a local who has spent all her life in Saigon, I always took pride in the unique culture of this city and how well-versed I am in it. So when I was introduced to Hủ Tíu Mực Ông Già by a Korean person, who had then only been in the city for months, my ego certainly took a hit. But that goes to show how Saigon can surprise you at any turn.

Walking under the signage of the Hủ Tiếu Mỹ Tho stall into the alley, one is greeted with the yellow sign of the squid noodle place.

Located in a narrow alleyway adjacent to one of the busiest most bustling boulevards of Saigon, Nguyễn Huệ Boulevard, the eatery is surrounded by bars, pubs, fancy restaurants and luxury department stores. The area is the last place anyone would expect to find such a street eatery. The entrance to the alley is so inconspicuous that one might just walk past it without having a second look. Normally, with such hidden locations, business owners will place colorful signs or sandwich boards to signify their existence, but besides a sign one would only see half way through the alley, there are none at the entrance. Another hủ tiếu spot — a long-enduring hủ tiếu Mỹ Tho that was our first-ever Hẻm Gems review — also operates at the opening to the alley, but only during morning time and serves a different kind of hủ tiếu. I wonder how many people have been there looking for hủ tiếu mực only to mistake the eatery out front for it.

Hủ Tíu Mực Ông Già has been opened for decades.

The joy of discovery is often about how it changes our assumption or enlightens us on a particular matter or sheds light on something we never even thought about. The glamor of the downtown ambience adds a certain delight to learning there's a place that would otherwise only be found in very local residential neighborhoods. Amidst the heap of meticulously organized high-end restaurants, where people would often dress to the nines and be on their best demeanor to dine at, the place is reminiscent of what I call a “bình dân” atmosphere. A bình dân eatery is where people would go for food even in their pajamas; no dressing up is needed and the whole place is probably not Instagrammable. There’s a looseness and comfort one would feel here. While I was walking along the alley and as the eatery eventually revealed itself before my eyes for the first time, I couldn’t help but be in awe. The same reaction was evoked from people that I later on introduced to the place. Finding out the place feels like unlocking a gem in a game, and it gives rise to an inarticulable sense of achievement.

The casual vibe of the place will immediately put one at ease, even though it might be hot during summer.

Upon arrival, one will see that the eatery is split into two consecutive spaces. Decor-wise, there’s nothing outstanding about it. The one on the right is basically someone’s living room, with an altar right above your head. Stainless steel stools and tables fill the space. Originally, this was the only space available for dine-in customers. As a regular here, I’ve frequented the place many times ever since it first opened. And on a visit here after two years, I noticed the expansion on the left, with wooden stools and tables, the two spaces don’t really match, one might even say that the two somehow clash with each other. However, the space is clean, with utensils and sauce bottles neatly placed at the corner of each table. For many Vietnamese, including myself, a clean and neat space suffices to enjoy a meal. Though the space is somewhat limited, it is quite standard for a Vietnamese eatery.

Dry and broth options.

Hủ Tíu Mực Ông Già specializes in seafood hủ tiếu dishes, with hủ tiếu as the carb base of every dish, a variety of seafood is available for customers to choose from. It goes without saying that squid is the star among the seafood options here, but eaters can also opt for shrimps and oysters or even pork ribs. As with any other noodle eateries, dishes can come in a broth or a dry variation, but the dry version here really sets the place apart from others. Usually, sauces that go with dry hủ tiếu will be a mixture of soy and oyster sauces, with some other types of condiments or seasonings. But the owner of this eatery went the extra mile to concoct a more distinctive kind of sauce, a tomato-based one with other ingredients such as minced pork and aromatics. The thick consistency of the sauce lends a silky mouthfeel to the noodles, adding a layer of complexity to the dish. As tomatoes are packed with naturally occuring MSG, the sauce brings out the umami flavor of tomatoes very well without the sourness.

A dry portion of hủ tiếu mực comes with a bowl of noodles drenched in tomato-based gravy, and a bowl of broth with morsels of protein.

Unlike other types of dry noodle, where the accompanying broth is always too meager for a broth-lover such as myself, a generous bowl of soup is always served along with the dry noodles here. With it comes fresh and chewy squids, soft meatballs and poached quail eggs, garnished with fried shallots and of course, chopped green scallions. An interesting combination of textures is present in the bowl of broth, the chewy and somewhat crunchy pieces of squids, the melt-in-your-mouth softness of the meatballs and quail eggs all come together in harmony. The quail eggs are poached slightly so that the yoke is still runny, adding a bit of richness to the taste without overpowering other ingredients. In classic Vietnamese fashion, greens are served with each portion, a mix of poached tần ô and bean sprouts. The fried shallots also add a fragrant smell to the broth. Add some chili oil for a touch of spiciness to your dish, and try dipping the toppings in the spicy green sauce for extra heat.

Time to dive in!

To maintain the freshness of the seafood, the owner explained in an interview that he calculated the average amount of seafood sold every day and placed orders accordingly. This helps to avoid storing food overnight, and that everything can be made fresh and sold within a day.

The price is generally reasonable for its location, dishes range from VND50,000 to 60,000 with a complimentary iced tea.

Hủ Tíu Mực Ông Già is open from 6am to 9pm every day.

To sum up:

Location: 4/5
Food: 4/5
Atmosphere: 3.5/5
Price: 4/5
Friendliness: 4/5

Hủ Tíu Mực Ông Già

62/3 Tôn Thất Thiệp, Bến Nghé Ward, D1, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: Reading Cabin Sells Stationery, Serves Drinks, and Builds Friendships

2023-12-02T19:46:06+07:00

If I had to describe Reading Cabin in one phrase, it would be “every cafe in Saigon all at once.”

The first time I heard of Reading Cabin, I realized immediately that it shares a not-so-narrow hẻm with my childhood home. Besides serving drinks, Reading Cabin is also a mini collective attracting the city’s creative youths from all disciplines, including music, design, writing and cinema.

Similar to any other coffee shop in Saigon, one can bump into hordes of office workers chasing deadlines at Reading Cabin. But sometimes, curious middle-aged neighbors in the hẻm pay a visit too. At times, gaggles of children aged 5–6 hang out on the ground floor to toy with the figurines on display, or the miniature bánh mì carts on the wall showcasing Vietnamese culture.

Each section of Reading Cabin is dedicated to a different area of creativity: the entire ground floor highlights local products, from stationery, upcycled backpacks, and mechanical pencils to fascinating reference books for those with a penchant for design.

The stationery space is divided in two, each leading to an upstairs area via a staircase. One is slightly more secluded, outfitted with a bookshelf for your browsing pleasures. The other section has mats so customers can sit on the floor, while the al fresco area is sometimes transformed into an outdoor cinema for movie nights.

True to its name, there are purposeful amenities dedicated to the reading experience, while the “cabin” quality is reflected in the space’s intimate seating areas and the friendly faces that, after a few visits, feel like long-time friends, at least to me.

According to the manager of Reading Cabin, the store-slash-reading-space has been around for four years. After four years in existence, does Reading Cabin identify as a coffee shop, a stationery store, or a library? The answer is all of the above.

“Our starting point was just somewhere for everybody, especially those who share a fondness for stationery and reading, to chill. So right from the beginning, Cabin has set up a space to sell our favorite stationery items, alongside a small library, where people can hide to read books all day.”

“Gradually, some patrons started making drinks to enjoy while reading, we thought it was a brilliant idea — sharing a space to drink, to read, to journal. That was why we decided to establish Cabin in 2021, just as a way to spread our small joy to everyone.”

Reading Cabin features a small bar area to serve customers, making drinks with quirky names like “cà phê bê đê” (queer coffee) — which is cafe sữa đá with a layer of macchiato cream — and alcoholic drinks in the evening.

“Cà phê bê đê can also be known as AsianGayFriend Coffee. The name refers to its creator, a true-blue queer friend of ours. You have to shake your hips vigorously in order to produce a delicious glass of cà phê bê đê. Just try it out if you don’t believe us.”

“There’s also Sai Lầm Mơ Muội Món, a drink with a wide range of tastes from sweet, sour to tannic. If you happen to add too much of something, it’s alright, because we’re all daydreamers.”

The cordial ambiance at Reading Cabin comes from the music playlist, which includes many musical influences from 1990s dream pop and shoegaze, to 1980s new wave, and even 2000s V-pop hits. During one visit, Reading Cabin will take you on a journey through different shades of emotions. While jotting down this review, I was sitting at a table the first floor amid the lingering notes of ‘Venus in Furs’ by The Velvet Underground.

“Our soundtrack is often curated based on the personal taste of each barista. Everybody has their own favorites and playlists. Sometimes there are overlaps because we’re from the same group, but the kiosk’s music is quite diverse. Besides, we put aside specific tracklists for rainy days, sunny days, days with a certain prevailing mood. If you happen to drop by on a day when there’s no music, that’s probably when the barista wants to enjoy a bit of natural ambient sounds, or just simply at a loss of what to listen to.”

Those who have been to Cù Rú Bar, a beloved Hẻm Gem based in Đà Lạt featuring a unique way of interior decoration, attracting a cult following amongst local creatives, would find Reading Cabin very familiar: there’s a tinge of nostalgia, but with a healthy dose of open-mindedness to welcome new values and ways of thinking.

Reading Cabin, to me, is an intersection representing a very Gen Z subculture — somewhere you can turn to when you are toiling with difficult life problems any time of the day from morning to dusk. If you’re struggling to find a new hangout for your friend group, keep Reading Cabin in mind.

Reading Cabin is open from 8am to 10pm.

Reading Cabin

Hẻm 18A/33, Nguyễn Thị Minh Khai, Đa Kao, D1, HCMC

Meet the Hội An Family Making Cao Lầu Noodles From Scratch

2023-11-21T15:31:56+07:00

Amid Hội An’s treat-filled culinary landscape, cao lầu emerges as something that’s both simple and one-of-a-kind.

A bowl of cao lầu encapsulates a range of flavors including sour, hot, bitter, tannic and sweet; the savoriness of char siu; and the fragrance of Trà Quế herbs. Cao lầu strands are yellowish in color, with a bite to their texture, and a thickness that surpasses many of its contemporaries. Due to a complex manufacturing process, few cao lầu artisans remain in business in Hội An today — the family of Tạ Ngọc Trái is one of only two households in the area still making fresh cao lầu the traditional way.

Cao lầu strands are light yellow with a chewy texture.

Aware of the intricacies involved in the making of cao lầu, I managed to find the homestead of Trái after asking around in Hội An. “Of all the 365 days of the year, I only have the first day of Tết off. You can just drop by any day at 1am,” he told me. One evening, I found myself plunging into the thickness of the night, on the dirt path leading to the quaint hamlet by the paddy fields of Cẩm Châu Ward. While everybody else was deep in slumber, Trái’s house was still brightly lit like it had always been for the past half a century. The light from inside the kitchen was like a blade slicing the rural darkness in half. The deeper in I ventured, the more intense the heat became; a complete contrast with the dewey climate outside.

The cao lầu workshop at Trái’s home.

The walls in the small kitchen were covered in layers of thick soot. A giant vat of water for blanching the noodles was bubbling above a wood fire. Trái, holding an oversized chopstick in each hand, was hard at work mixing the concoction of viscous dough on the heat.

When I asked why the family had to begin their work day at 1am and not later so they could have more sleep, Trái explained: “To create cao lầu, the flour must be milled several times, in addition to a few rounds of flattening and steaming. Every steaming cycle takes nearly an hour. So the entire process requires four hours. At 5–6am, I deliver the freshly made noodles to the Hội An Market for my daughter to sell, and to distribute to eateries across town. I have no choice but to start at 1am to make it to the market in time.” After sharing, he immediately focused his attention once again on the vat of dough.

When there was a moment to spare, Trái opened the fridge to retrieve one of many prepared glasses of no-sugar black coffee, the indispensable companion to his late nights. “My working hours are very bizarre. I work when people go to bed and sleep when people are starting to get up. I have to stay away from beer and liquor in the afternoon so I don’t accidentally fall asleep,” Trái told me.

Tạ Ngọc Hồng, Trái’s son, in the middle of milling rice into the gruel paste.

Rice dough used to make cao lầu.

Only by witnessing in person the process of how rice grains are transformed into cao lầu noodles could I grasp how arduous and intensive this craft is. To make cao lầu, the variety of rice is carefully selected to ensure consistent sizes, colors, and shapes. The grains are soaked in water before being pulverized into a paste.

In the past, Hội An’s noodle makers collected the ash of a special species of wood on the Chàm Islands and mixed them with water from the Bá Lễ Well, a thousand-year-old well once used by the Chăm community. The noodle makers filtered out the detritus and then used the liquid to drench the rice. Today, it is unclear if these hyper-local ingredients are still required for the water and ash, but the recipe remains unchanged and the drenching process is crucial as the alkalinity of the ash water helps remove acid from the dough, thus increasing the shelf life of the final product.

After soaking, the rice grains are turned into a paste and cooked in a metallic vat until the texture turns more viscous. Trái constantly mixes and molds the mixture so it doesn't burn. The fire mellows out in between occasion flares. Right next to the burner, an electric fan runs at maximum speed to help ward off the unbearable heat. The whole process takes one hour.

Trái molds the dough on the fire.

Working on the noodle dough takes around one hour.

The congealed dough is then rehydrated with some ash water and arranged neatly on trays for steaming. Following the initial preparation, Trái calls out for other family members to take over the steaming phase. While I watched, Tạ Ngọc Hồng, his son, woke up and made his way to the workshop to immediately start distributing the dough across the trays. Hồng probably didn’t have much sleep, but managed to operate with surprisingly alertness. In a small space of just 15 square meters, every member moved at a hastened pace. One hour into steaming, the dough was pulverized into a smooth consistency. “Previously, it was processed with millstones, but after we bought these machines, our workload became much lighter,” Hồng explained. Then, he used a set of tools to flatten the dough and began slicing it into strands.

The dough is pulverized and steamed.

The ambiance of urgency in the workshop.

After steaming, the dough is blended again to achieve a smooth consistency.

The dough is flattened into sheets and then sliced into strips.

Cao lầu strands are cut using a machine to achieve a uniform thickness.

Besides the father-son duo, the workshop also hires locals to help out.

Resulting cao lầu bundles are arranged neatly according to lengths.

The noodles are then steamed once again after being sliced.

Once the hunk of dough makes its way into the slicer, cao lầu noodles start taking shape. A worker uses a knife to make sure the ends of the noodles are equal. The result is thick, squarish, amber-colored, 20-centimeter-long strands arranged neatly on a tray. These bundles a re once again steamed for around one hour. In every round, four trays are stacked on top of one another in the steamer.

Cao lầu trays on the steamer.

It takes on average four hours to go from flour to noodles

After four hours of constant milling, steaming, flattening, and slicing, the moment everyone has been looking forward to arrives: the first batch of fresh cao lầu noodles is done. At just a smidgen past 5am, the sky outside began to feature some bright strips of sunrise. Trái gingerly opened the lid, letting out fluffs of hot moisture. Amid the heat, I noticed a small smile on his face at seeing the product of his four-hour labor luxuriating in the sun. The bamboo trays filled with noodlers were stacked neatly on his bike before making their way to the market. Gradually, all the dough was cut, steamed, and delivered. On average, Trái’s cao lầu workshop produces around 200 kilograms of noodles per workday, which often finishes at 9–10am.

The end product.

Trái belongs to the fourth generation while Hồng is the fifth generation of their family’s cao lầu craft. Even when he was a little boy, Trái reminisced, he was already chipping in when he could with the cao lầu tasks. It has been over 50 years since those days, and now, even as a 60-year-old, he still keeps to the routine of starting a new day at 1am in the workshop. Cao lầu is a treasure of Hội An, one that’s relished by visitors from all over the world, so Trái feels the need to keep the family flavors going even though the work is strenuous. Whenever I hold a bowl of cao lầu in my hands, I always feel as if I can smell a whiff of the rustic wood fire in his kitchen in the middle of the Hội An night.

A Flaky Pâté Chaud That's Been a Saigon Institution Since 1930

2023-11-20T11:00:00+07:00

It took me 37 years to have my first pâté chaud.

Such a delay wasn’t by design. The uniquely Vietnamese-via-French-colonialism pastry item wasn’t served anywhere around where I grew up, and in all my years living in Saigon, I never got around to ordering it. Thankfully, I seemed to have picked an ideal place to enjoy it for the first time last week.

Quán ăn SGC first opened in 1930 and its current proprietor represents the fourth generation of the family operation. During the taping of a special Hẻm Gems video project earlier this year, he shared that it was one of the first restaurants serving pâté chaud, or pa tê sô in Vietnamese, in the city. He claims that many others followed their lead but none could quite match the moist texture of their rendition. An unmistakable sense of old Saigon nostalgia fills the bright, comfortable dining room Tôn Đức Thắng Street. A brick from the first building rests at the wall, complementing the black-and-white photos of earlier venues.

Pâté chaud always seemed to me to be too heavy or oily for breakfast, so I was pleasantly surprised when I took my first bite. While undeniably buttery, the flaky crust was light and thin, like pencil shavings. Nestled within the delicate pastry layers, the minced pork was moist without being greasy. Chopped onions and a dusting of salt and pepper added flavor, however, the lack of MSG as announced on the menu certainly diminished its potential. I’m always disappointed to see restaurants here cave into the west’s xenophobic mistrust of the magical flavor-enhancer, but I take solace in knowing that I can purchase frozen pâté chaud at SGC and enjoy them at home with my own liberal application of the godly particle. Perhaps I will even give in to hooligan peer pressure and try it with mustard as I have been advised.

I need to come back during the weekday lunch rush when local office workers fill tables eating goat noodles, snakehead noodles and hotpot. Or perhaps simply for another pâté chaud to accompany a morning cup of coffee while reflecting on the particular sense of romantic nostalgia one can develop for a time they never existed via carefully curated tastes and décor.

Hẻm Gems: It's Impossible to Resist Bún Riêu Cô Yến's Crispy Fried Tofu

2023-11-03T14:00:00+07:00

A few years ago, my family’s Christmas Eve tradition of making gỏi cuốn was swapped out for a special competition, one that would decisively end a longstanding rivalry: who, out of the aunts and uncles, could make the best bún riêu?

For reasons still unknown, the entirety of my mom’s side worshiped at the altar of the tomatoey, crabby soup. We were scattered from Sacramento to Pomona to New York City. But in every Dao household, the adults made bún riếu, and the children loved it. Bún riêu was one of the few dishes that united us all.

The 2014 bún rieu battle, then, was as much a cut-throat determination of skill as it was an homage to our favorite dish — an excuse to eat four versions of bún riêu in one sitting. The kitchen transformed into a crowded bún riêu laboratory. We blindly sampled, then discussed the virtues of each: which broth had the deepest flavor, perfectly harmonizing the crab and tomato? Was No. 3 too tomatoey? No. 1 too light? Which crab-egg mixture was the meatiest?

After a blind vote, my aunt’s rendition emerged victorious. I still think my mom’s should have won.

The corner where Bún Riêu Cô Yến calls home.

This summer, armed with my credentials as a veritable bún riêu critic, I ventured to as many of Saigon’s bún riêu eateries as I could. I was looking for a bowl that, per my set of personal criteria, rivaled those that I’d grown up eating. I found that many joints serve the crab-egg riêu cua in the form of a single patty; otherwise, the mixture is likely found in barely existent wisps, taking a backseat to the broth. However, the school of thought that I subscribe to dictates that the crab-egg mixture is soft and abundant — not so soft that it lacks structural integrity, but soft enough for pieces of it to disperse throughout the bowl. For me, this has always been the best part of the dish.

An open kitchen greets customers the moment they hop off their scooters.

The bún riêu at Bún Riêu Cô Yến not only aligns with my vision, but exceeds and expands it. Across from the canal in Tân Bình, one can find an outdoor theater of food prep: a bubbling vat of broth filled with crab-egg mixture, colanders of bún, bowls of tomatoes and greens, people bustling around to assemble dishes from it all. A man sat on a ledge of the eatery cutting fried tofu, which surrounded him in several heaping bowls. This family-run business has been here for 15 years.

The range of toppings and noodle choices.

The menu contains a few other options, like bánh đa, but I’ve gotten the titular crab paste vermicelli soup every time. When the bowl arrives, I add some rau sống, ớt, and mắm tôm, before mixing everything together. Along with the crab-egg mixture and tomatoes, it’s also topped with a pork blood cube, green onions, sausage, and fried tofu.

Bún riêu cua and bánh đa cua.

Upon crafting my first bite, I noticed the pale orange hue of the bún — a unique feature that hints at the richness of the broth. The flavor of tomato, and especially of crab, is so deep that I’d believe the broth functions as a dye for the noodles. It’s salty, wonderfully pungent and tastes like it’s been stewing for days.

It's slurpin' time!

But while the crab-egg mixture is similarly well-done, I was surprised that another element of the dish had managed to nudge its way into the spotlight: the fried tofu, an ingredient that’s never entered my family's recipes. Crisp on the outside and silky on the inside, it’s the ideal textural counterpart to bún riêu’s prevailing softness. I’ve rarely, if ever, had tofu that can maintain its crispiness so well within a broth; it would even be a delicious snack on its own. When I visited the place later with the Saigoneer crew, we were so obsessed with the tofu that we ordered an additional portion.

It's impossible not to fall in love with the fried tofu here.

I still love bún riêu for its islands of crab-egg mixture floating in broth — but a joy of eating, and of loving eating, is discovering new possibilities within old favorites. Cô Yến introduced me to a twist on bún riêu that stays true to my favorite parts of the dish.

Bún Riêu Cô Yến is open from 5:40am to 6pm.

Bún Riêu Cô Yến

1346 Trường Sa, Ward 3, Tân Bình District, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: Wake up Early, We're Getting Hủ Tiếu Cá for Breakfast

2023-10-25T10:00:00+07:00

When I used to live in Hanoi, I always knew that if an eatery only opens for half a day, the food is probably certified, at least by the locals, to be not only good, but excellent. There is something written in the local traditions that specific dishes should be served at particular times of the day.

For example, in every Hanoian’s consciousness, cháo sườn is strictly quà chiều, a cozy snack for the afternoon, although guests still come at any time of the day whenever their hearts desire. In some cases, perhaps the restaurant's reputation has built up so well over the years that the turnout is so consistently immense that they simply run out of stock in half a day. Therefore, you always have to put a certain amount of effort into scheduling, almost as if the meal itself is a special occasion.

Waking up late runs the risk of having no fish for your noodle bowl at Anh Mai.

Now, to a person whose concept of hủ tiếu cá was completely foreign until last Sunday, I do not know if this is a dish for which certain temporal rules apply. I have only discovered recently that a hundred ingredients could be combined with the chewy noodles — pork, shrimp, squid, satay, beef meatballs, even bones, and the list goes on including either with-broth or dry variations. However, there was something about a plain and earthy bowl of fish hủ tiếu that piqued my interest. Hủ Tiếu Cá Anh Mai, which served this dish specifically, came highly recommended online.

The Sunday breakfast crowd.

Online reviews specify that the store would close at around 12pm, so I was determined to pick myself out of bed and get there by 10am, hoping it would not be unbearably crowded. Anh Mai is located on Lê Thị Riêng, one of those rare streets in District 1 that is neither riddled with traffic nor high-rise buildings. Every table was filled, but the great thing was that the owners never seemed particularly frazzled during our visit. Like every good restaurant that has been in operation for over ten years, Anh Mai has their regulars. The woman in Table 4, for example, briefly mentioned to the smiling owner how she was running late that morning and did not have the time to drop by earlier. It was a familiar sight: families with small kids, office workers, and teenagers came in and out every 40 minutes or so.

A big portion (VND75,000) gets you a substantial amount of fish fillet.

After a short wait, our order of three hủ tiếu cá with broth and one dry hủ tiếu were served to Table 0 where we sat. With a generous amount of flaky white snakehead meat, garnished with scallion, pickled radish chopped into minuscule speckles, some bean sprouts, and a splash of soy sauce, my hủ tiếu bowl held the piping-hot soup within like a secret. Upon the very first bite, the fish let me know that it was the star of the dish — firm and moderately sweet in a tenderly seasoned broth.

Dry versus broth versions.

I learned from locals that this snakehead’s freshness was almost unparalleled across Saigon. As my chopsticks sank beneath, ample noodle layers were unveiled. The chewy texture of hủ tiếu seemed to take a step back to let other ingredients shine. No sooner had I thought that was the extent of the experience than a jolt of saltiness touched my palate in the most pleasant way imaginable. Was it from the pepper? I am still not quite sure, but the hide-and-seek game of flavor persisted until the last bite.

For your slurping pleasures.

We finished our meal at 11am and nodded our heads in contentment, even with the VND75,000 per person bill. It was simply worth it. As new customers started to flood in, we quickly parted ways so as not to overstay our welcome. Like every good meal, hủ tiếu at Anh Mai requires one to take their time — waiting, enjoying, and collecting themselves from that enjoyment. It's thus a good thing we waited until Sunday instead of going on Friday like the original plan. While there’s more for me to learn about the customs of eating hủ tiếu from Saigoneers, hú tiếu cá is now for me, perpetually, without debate, a Sunday dish.

Hủ Tiếu Mì Cá Anh Mai is open from 6am to 12pm (or whenever stock runs out).

Hủ Tiếu Mì Cá Anh Mai

99B Lê Thị Riêng, Phạm Ngũ Lão Ward, D1, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: On Falling Head Over Heels (Literally) for Dũng Ký's Mì Xào Giòn

2023-10-24T16:00:00+07:00

When Saigoneer’s office relocated from District 1’s downtown to District 3 earlier this year, one of the instantly noticeable changes was the increase in affordable eating options.

As much as we enjoyed our daily view of the Notre Dame Cathedral, it was great comfort going from being surrounded by upscale and gimmicky restaurants to the fundamentals of Saigon’s street food scene — a meal sold straight from a cart where the chef often triples as the cashier and the janitor.

Upon arriving on Nguyễn Thông Street, we gleefully left our lunchboxes at home to make space for the gastronomical possibilities that might arise by exploring our new neighborhood. Among the local eateries, there was certainly no shortage of bún bò and cơm phần, as well as a Michelin-approved Hẻm Gems that has been running for 40 years.

Dũng Ký is just a short walk away from Saigoneer's base.

What I found most delectable, though, was the sight of Dũng Ký’s shopfront. In Saigon’s hectic noontime, lunching is a fairly unanimated affair where the vendors vend and the diners dine in still silence, half of their energy already spent bearing the scorching sun. Dũng Ký, where heat and entropy are in full swing, begs to differ. Its kitchen extends onto the pavement and diffuses spice-laced aromas and cacophonous metal-on-metal clinks into the air. Guests chatter rowdily as the staff uses all of their strength to vocally relay each order to the cooks. The scene is as lively as it is greasy.

Alexa, play 'Burning Up' by the Jonas Brother.

The humble eatery primarily serves Cantonese-style cuisine comprising a variety of dishes. The recipes are somewhat similar: a carbohydrate base such as noodles or rice, a side of protein, and a whole lot of oily goodness to mix it all together — stir-fry galore, in short. Though Cantonese dishes like these aren’t hard to find in Saigon, they are less common to come by in areas farther away from the Chinese communes of Chợ Lớn’s districts. As an admirer of unapologetically calorie-dense food, I have been taking advantage of this outpost of Chinese cuisine on days where I need an extra power boost. And its best dish? Hands down, mì xào giòn.

Dũng Ký does not go lightly on the toppings.

Mì xào giòn, or crispy fried noodle, is believed to have originated from the region of Guangdong in Southern China. The noodles, made out of wheat flour, is flash-fried until they turn lightly golden-brown, then bunched together like a nest to make an excellent bed for the other ingredients. Though one can theoretically throw anything into the mix, seafood is traditionally used as “toppings.” Leafy greens, like bok choy, are added to keep a healthy balance to an otherwise heavy dish. And as with many other great noodles, the secret is in the sauce. A combination of light and dark soy sauce, oyster sauce, garlic, and other seasonings creates a savory sauce that delivers a satisfying gloss enveloping the noodles.

At Dũng Ký, mì xào giòn is serious business. First-timers might be taken by surprise by how behemoth the serving is, especially if they go in expecting a typical lunch-sized meal like I did. Adorned with heaps of fish maw, fish balls, beef, prawns, and liver slices, a plate of mì xào giòn special can easily feed two adults. One can dive in immediately if they prefer a crispier bite, as the sauce hasn’t set in and the noodle still retains its original form, or leave it to drench a little in the sauce for a softer touch. Any chopstick-full of mì will introduce a concoction of umami flavor from the groovy sauce. Each ingredient’s texture competes for your palate’s attention: the squid fresh and chewy, the cabbage, onion, and cauliflower crunchy, and the noodles, if properly soaked, will melt right in your mouth.

Crispy noodle + thick sauce = simply groovy.

According to Dũng, the owner of Dũng Ký, this mì xào giòn adheres exactly to the recipe that was passed down through generations of his Cantonese lineage. He had previously helped with his siblings’ restaurants elsewhere before opening up his own here two years ago. “There are so many shops in District 5 already, so I chose this location because it's more ideal. It offers good visibility, lots of foot traffic, and fewer competing restaurants,” he explains. Dũng Ký is very much a family business, with Dũng overseeing the day-to-day preparation and operation of the shop, while his nephew and cousin take charge of the kitchen, where we could see them putting on a visual feast of flames and smoke combining the ingredients.

Dũng also reveals that the secret to his hearty noodles is not just in the sauce, it’s also in the cookware, and the noodle itself. “Heat control is crucial, if it's slightly too hot, or not hot enough, it won't taste good. That’s why I had to order this wok from China. Vietnamese woks are too thin and won’t be able to reach the right temperature.” He continues by pointing to a batch of unused noodles: “You know how other places’ noodle gets soggy on the outside and but they stay tough on the inside? Ours isn’t like that, it’s fluffy, like prawn crackers, and when drenched, it all melts away instead of retaining a hardened core. We have to make a special order at a store in Chợ Lớn to get this specific type of noodle.”

Hủ tiếu mềm + thick sauce = good in theory, not so much in practice.

One can substitute the crispy version with hủ tiếu mềm, which will significantly alter your experience with the dish — the noodle picks up more sauce, but lacks the interesting mouthfeel, and takes up the space of other toppings on chopsticks — and for that, I consider it an unworthy alternative. Instead, mì xào giòn’s biggest contender for the title of Dũng Ký’s best dish is cơm chiên sụn gà nước mắm, or fried rice with chicken cartilage in fish sauce. “Instead of using frozen rice, we use newly cooked rice that is made from a special type of grain. It doesn’t stick together and has a fluffy texture,” Dũng shares. According to him, the dish is one of the best-selling items and is a new, non-Cantonese creation that he has incorporated into the restaurant’s menu to keep up with local taste.

Dũng Ký's best-selling item is non-Cantonese, but delicious regardless.

While Dũng Ký’s other offerings are no less delightful, their mì xào giòn holds a special place in my heart, not only because of its taste, but also because the one incident that forever binds me to Nguyễn Thông’s street lore, and Saigoneer’s hall of humiliating experience. The story goes like this:

“Once upon a time at a small, bustling diner named Dũng Ký, Uyên found herself on a mission to satisfy her cravings for some mouthwatering mì xào giòn. The scent of sizzling onions wafted through the air, making her stomach grumble with anticipation. But, as luck would have it, just as she skipped away with her mì xào giòn in hand, she felt a sudden, unexpected slip under her foot. In a split second, she was airborne, flailing her arms in an attempt to regain balance. She crashed onto the hard ground. A collective gasp of surprise and concern swept through the diner, all eyes turned in her direction. She tripped over a puddle of grease that had spilled from the wok, similar to how blood was spilling from her left knee. Her quest for food had turned into an example for kitchen safety booklets of what not to do. The very next day, the staff put up a slippage hazard sign as a cautionary tale for prospective patrons to not suffer the same horrible fate. Despite her injury, Uyên still finished her mì xào giòn and it somehow tasted even better after the mishap. Perhaps it’s because she knew she went down doing what she loved the most: getting food, and falling for it, over and over again.”

This puddle of grease is not a paid actor.

Dũng Ký is open from 10am to 10pm.

Uyên is an editor and kumquat tea addict based in Saigon. For a career, she writes to fuel her eating and eats to fuel her writing.

To sum up:

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

Dũng Ký

60 Nguyễn Thông, Ward 9, D3, HCMC