(02-SDC17281) CHE. Ah…che – It’s so good I had to use it for two different pictures. In the first photo we see a neighborhood che maker. These ladies wheel their carts around in the afternoon, hoping to ply their wares to workers going back to their offices after a nice salty lunch. The che (which means “sweet soup”) is made in huge pots, and is a mix of tasty treats boiled together in sugar and often coconut milk. Some ladies have a selection of flavors available – the sweet bean and salty coconut cream (my favorite), the “Chinese” type with seaweed and ginger, the jackfruit and tapioca, the grass jelly with lotus seeds and mango (oh!) – but others specialized in only one type, notably a woman who serves hers with tiny bananas, grilled to sweet perfection on a little hibachi. The che lady in this picture was near a place where I worked and she was friendly, willing to stay out a little later than the others, and seemed to genuinely enjoy watching customers swoon over her tasty creations. People would hang out around her cart for a bit to eat the che rather than just grab it and go like most.
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(19-SDC14737) SOUP SWEET SOUP. This second che photo is a close up of the sweet soup itself. It’s about 25 cents U.S. for a bag, super sweet but with just a whisper of salt, and incredibly delicious. You can eat it by simply biting the corner off of the bag and sucking on it, or if you’re feeling fancy you can take it home and put it in a bowl. I ate it almost every day, but I could never, ever get the pronunciation right. The ladies would just smile and hand me the goods. As I became more and more addicted, I discovered there were a few late night che spots set up on sidewalks where one could show up any time after midnight and see a bevy women holding court over multiple bubbling pots. Shouting orders to each other the whole time, they would ladle the steaming goodness into bags for the nightclubbers and other hungry drunks who buzzed up on their motorbikes, waving money under the dim streetlights. There was something clandestine about it that made the che all the sweeter.
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(03-SDC16965) OUR LADY OF PERPETUAL NOODLES. I started doing some volunteer work at an office not far from my apartment and it was there that I met my friend Thuy, an awesome gal with a pink moped. One day she asked if I wanted to see the Lunch Lady. She said this in a way that made me think I should already know who that was. I went along with her, as I was going along with almost any food ideas at this point, and we hopped on the back of her motorbike, speeding to a large, irregularly shaped array of tables, each full of an unusually international looking crowd. At its hub stood the Lunch Lady herself, a woman in a pointy straw hat and flowered pajama set. Lashing deep bowls with long, steaming noodles and pouring ladles of something wonderfully aromatic over them, she would then spread a huge tangle of greens over the top before handing it to one of her lackeys, who would run it over to a table with a saucer of sliced limes. I was agog at the intoxicating sights and smells as well as the Lunch Lady’s powerfully stern and confident demeanor. Thuy went on to explain to me not only who Anthony Bourdain was, but also that this is one of his favorite places to eat in Viet Nam. No surprise here: these were some of the best noodles I had eaten in a country where I ate noodles nearly every day. The whole spread was set up in what appeared to be a dusty parking lot, totally makeshift. Chickens pecked at the ground while I ate, though what they were getting from this I don’t know, for not one morsel escaped my mouth. I stopped for just a moment to take this photo of Thuy slurping up a noodle, but the rest of the time we sat in silence, overjoyed at this awesome feast. Thank you Thuy!
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(08-SDC16173) IDENTITY CRISES IN DA LAT. In Da Lat, a mountain town with the freshest, coolest air I’d experienced in this unbelievably warm and humid land, there is a park full of roses and other plants that you wouldn‘t expect to thrive in such a tropical country. I went to the park (and to Da Lat itself) to enjoy the novel pleasure of a crisp breeze and a light sweater, but also discovered that the park is the municipal headquarters for the famed Da Lat cowboys. Picture a crew of very fit Asian guys, tight of muscle, small of stature, straight black hair shining like oil, dressed in old school cowboy garb: Stetsons, leather chaps, plaid shirts with bolo ties, fancy pointy boots, and spurs. (Yes, SPURS!) And don’t forget the horses, also dolled up, their embossed Western style saddles and silver bits glinting in the tropical sun. I sat on a bench and watched them meeting up among the rose bushes and pine shrubs, evidently showing off their horses and fashions to the group. They smoked moodily and slouched convincingly, kicking gravel with their boot heels, fully in character. I wandered over to an old lady at a food cart and, completely distracted by the cowboys, absently exchanged money for food. When I focused on what was in my hand, I could see bright purple rice emerging from a smiling maw of bread. It seemed almost fluorescent and stared at me provocatively. It almost looked like a puppet. What the heck is in here? I wondered, held it in front of my face, and ready for anything, sandwich and human kissed deeply. It was incredibly sweet and bursting with absolutely nothing that I would think of putting between two pieces of bread, although it did look just like a sandwich. The sweet purple rice, shredded coconut, slices of something like candied yucca, and probably palm nuts made this wonderfully sticky concoction delicious, unforgettable, and as confusing as a Vietnamese cowboy.
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(11-SDC16048) VIVE LA MANGO. Mui Ne is a tiny, dusty beach town where for a very low price you can enjoy the lovely South China Sea lapping warmly at your feet, elegant palm trees towering high overhead, and your own bungalow with a hammock and a swimming pool steps from the surf. I escaped the raging insanity of the city several times to Mui Ne, and always stayed at the same place, the Hoa Kim Resort. Across the street was a little restaurant with a patio, and although the town was so sparsely populated, there were always people sitting on it. Curiosity got the best of me and I flip-flopped across the road one morning to discover my breakfast destiny: mango crepes. A French influence, the crepe is very popular in Viet Nam and is sometimes served in savory form with distinctly Asian fillings like bean sprouts, Chinese broccoli, and various seafood. On this particular morning I craved something fruity, and all I can say is I want to make sweet, sweet love to whomever invented this wonderful creation. The buttery, slightly salty crepes, the almost over-ripe, juicy mango slices, and the dusting of powdered sugar was a combination so good I ate very slowly, savoring every morsel and leaving not a crumb behind. I think the early morning sun and sea breeze added their delicate notes to the plate. It wasn’t the last time I ate this for breakfast.
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(16-SDC15024) AFTER SCHOOL FEEDING FRENZY. Behold: salad in a bag. Every afternoon, in the very thick of the relentless heat in Saigon, students throng around pajama ladies squatting on sidewalks near their schools. I would walk by casually, noticing the ladies grabbing from one bowl then another then another in a swish of delicate wrists and mysterious contents, finally tossing everything into a plastic sandwich bag. They would then spin the bag around tightly, tie it off, and exchange it for a few dong with a pair of splintery chopsticks. After trying to figure out what was going on with these hives of young people, all bent toward a center point in the sidewalk, and rushing away with their plastic bags like so many back-packed crack addicts, I decided to jump in and try one for myself. Shredded green papaya, hot sauce, chopped nuts, herbs, dried shrimp, a fistful of MSG powder, and don’t forget to throw a quail egg in there. Brown bag lunch? Forget about it. The kids in HCMC have more complex palettes than that. The flavors and textures were intense and excellent; I walked up the sidewalk, eating from my bag, feeling very ‘with it’. I wondered if this were somehow healthy, even though I could feel the MSG burning my brain cells and the salt pleasingly searing my tongue. A highly recommended experience.
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(12-SDC15297) A PLATE OF FROGS. That’s right, a plate of frogs. If you look closely, you can see the froggy patterns of their skin and their pointy little frog elbows. I had eaten frog legs a couple of times back home, in some hoity-toity French restaurant, so I figured it might be more or less the same. I had no idea that ordering a plate of frogs in Viet Nam would result in the following: a plate of frogs. Boiled with skin, innards, and bones all for the taking. The sauce was very tasty and the meat itself was good, but there was something about the skin that was a little too much for me. What this photo doesn’t show is the plate of curried goat meat that was right next to the frog pile. Now that was really good! All of this was served in a family’s kitchen/restaurant which was hard to find down a winding path of dark alleys, but most definitely worth the search. A couple of kids played with trucks in the doorway while we ate and the family radio played romantic Vietnamese ballads through tinny speakers. A guy outside burned special papers as an offering to the home’s Buddhist shrine, which glowed with red candle light in a corner. I said a little prayer for the frogs…
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24-SDC14333) NOODLE MEDITATION. This picture is special to me because it’s the very first food picture I took in Viet Nam. It was morning – about 8:30 – on my first morning in the gigantic and implausible Ho Chi Minh City (still called Saigon by the locals). I wandered out of my hotel, hunched over defensively from the broiling intensity of the sun, feeling hungry and confused. Everything around me was positively exploding with sound and motion; it was a spectacle I have never seen before or since. Thousands and thousands of motorbikes raging down the streets, their riders decked out in theatrical garb that was meant to protect them from sun and smog: opera length gloves, huge goggles, colorful scarves pulled up over the noses like bandits, flesh colored leg warmers, and huge bonnets with exaggerated brims flapping in the breeze. I felt intimidated by everything, including the many restaurants that I passed, but hunger finally forced me to stop. Through an idiotic series of hand gestures, smiles and thumbs-ups, I managed to get myself some food. Carrying it to a table I was shaking, feeling both triumphant and humiliated. Not sure what I was about to eat, I assumed the position that thousands of people are taking on at any minute of the day in this land: semi-squatting in a small plastic chair, head bent over a steaming bowl of noodles. They were incredibly good, and getting into the moment of discerning all of the flavors and textures, I calmed my fears of the Two Wheels From Hell fuming outside by gorging myself on the exquisitely flavored soup. Just a width of a sidewalk away, the morning rush continued on and on, but the noodles, meat, broth and herbs drowned them out and I felt peaceful and present at last.
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(15-SDC15211) NO JUST NO. What in the world is this you might be wondering? A specimen from a science class, soaking in formaldehyde? Is it Godzilla in a jar? Is it even real, or could it be some kind of rubber toy? No, it’s something that you can find behind some bars in Saigon, similar to the very pedestrian vodka-infused pineapple chunks you can see in L.A. or New York. I ran into this incredible sight not far from my job, at a lunch I was invited to with my supervisors. One of them explained that the reptiles (there were also coils of striped snakes in the other jars, each of them looking as disappointed as this lizard at their absurd fate) are steeped in some kind of alcoholic brew, resulting in a strong liquor. It was one of many jars on a shelf at the bar, this one being the largest, and it was surrounded by a small posse of older Vietnamese guys, all smoking cigarettes and hoarsely laughing their heads off, each of them clearly at different levels of reptile intoxication. I stood there fascinated by the bizarre sight and wondered what on Earth would make anyone want to drink something like that. Later, someone explained to me that this drink was a famed aphrodisiac and that the more venomous the animals within, the more potent the amorous drinker would become. I feel pretty sure that if my lover came to me after sucking down a few cups of lizard juice that I would hesitate to indulge them with a kiss. Regardless, I did try to procure some of this freakish brew but was told several times that it was not for ladies.
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(23-SDC14651)THE COMFORT OF BUNS. Most mornings I had to walk down Dinh Tien Hoang Street to get to work. This wide boulevard is dynamic, interesting, and full of cafes and shops. It’s fun to stroll there in the late afternoon, but in the morning it’s the Highway to Hell. Overflowing with a tsunami of motorcycles, the street traffic often overflows onto the sidewalks, which are already packed with vendors. All of this makes being a pedestrian look foolish at best, but on some mornings it seemed downright suicidal. But on I would trek, hoping to make the 6 block stretch, hopping around shop displays and dodging rogue motorbikes that blared, beeped and coughed exhaust fumes in my face. I was actually hit a couple of times, but everyone is moving so slowly, I was thankfully fine. The little buns in this picture represent a tiny respite in this melee. Between a butcher who hung long slabs of red meat from hooks and nails out font, inches away from the traffic, and an incredibly sterile shop that featured boxes and boxes of snacks made from compressed birds’ nests, there was one little bakery that called me out of the morass every morning with the wafting scent of freshly baked bread. For a few coins I’d grab a couple and catch my breath, letting the sweat on my neck dry just a little before barging back out onto the deathtrap sidewalk. It was about half way to the building where I worked, so holding the warm bag against my chest I focused on putting the next few blocks behind me so I could make a nice cup of tea and quietly tear the crispy points off of one bun, and nibble at the slightly spicy pepper bits of the other. The insides of these were soft and steamy and creamy white. Nestled silently in their soft pastel bag, they were the very opposite of the sidewalks outside.