Hanoi is the plaintive wail of saxophones in a smoky jazz bar late at night. The chatty hoot of busy scooters balancing sleepy school children and their half-eaten bánh mì breakfasts early in the morning. And every afternoon, the smoky, lingering scent of bun cha, smouldering over fiery charcoal on make-shift pavement grills.
Evenings begin at crowded Bia Hoi junction, at the corner of Ta Hien and Luong Ngoc Quyen streets in Hanoi’s Old Quarter, where tourists and locals perch on low plastic stools drinking cheap, chilled beer.
We break away from the chaos, punctuated by steamy hot pots and wobbly portable barbecues, to catch the last performance at iconic Binh Minh Jazz Club. Vietnamese jazz saxophonist Quyen Van Minh, owner and local musical legend, performs an impromptu rendition of ‘La Vie En Rose’ to end the night.
The streets are dark and quiet at midnight, but Bamboo Bar still buzzes gently with Cabernet-fuelled conversations at the more-than-a-century-old Sofitel Legend Metropole Hotel. I flip open Graham Greene’s The Quiet American to read the last few chapters while I soak in the atmosphere. Greene wrote a part of his beguiling tale of ill-fated love, war and espionage at this hotel.
A turbulent history
Hanoi has had a turbulent history: First Chinese conquerors, followed by the French colonial period (1883 to 1945) and Japanese occupation (1940 to 1945). The city then became the capital of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam (North Vietnam), after which it was bombed repeatedly by the United States during what the locals call ‘The American war.’ It concluded only in 1975.
Despite tumultuous waves of foreign occupation, the town has a feisty cultural identity that is distinctly Vietnamese. As for the influence of the invaders? Foreign ideas, aesthetics and flavours have been unabashedly localised. Like powerfully dark Vietnamese coffee, introduced by the French, now served with swirls of condensed milk and ice to combat steamy summers. Or bánh mì: crusty baguettes crammed with coriander, grilled meat and pickled vegetables. And bun cha: squiggly rice noodles, grilled pork, fresh herbs and a meticulously balanced dipping sauce.
Versatile Vietnamese sausage, used in banh mi to pho, fresh vegetables at the market
Although everyone eats bun cha in Hanoi, no one seems to be able to agree on the provenance of this dish, casually assembled on every street corner. As far back as 1959, Vietnamese food writer Vu Bang described Hanoi as a town “transfixed by bún chả” according to Vietnamese newspaper Thanh Nien . The article continues, “A legion of cooks roamed the capital with makeshift grills carved out of French biscuit boxes on their heads... These people dealt in perfect pork... lightly charred, evenly cooked and moist with fat.”
In May 2016, swashbuckling chef Anthony Bourdain took former US President Barack Obama for dinner at Huong Lien, a popular but then nondescript family-run restaurant. They ate bun cha, after which Bourdain posted a picture on Instagram titled: “The President’s chopstick skills are on point.”
More than 1,80,000 likes and 7,700 comments later, the restaurant has become an essential social media stop on the tourist trail. They have more than 19,000 followers on Facebook, and even offer a ‘Combo Obama,’ consisting of ‘1 bun cha, 1 fried seafood roll, 1 Hanoi beer’ for 85,000 Dong (about ₹250).
However, Greene has raised expectations. I’m looking for bun cha that’s quintessentially Hanoian. “I can’t say what made me fall in love with Vietnam... everything is so intense. The colours, the taste, even the rain... They say whatever you’re looking for, you will find here,” he wrote in 1955.
To market, to market
Standing in the centre of joyfully rambunctious Dong Xuan market, that’s easy to believe. I’m with Bui Lan Anh aka ‘Zim’, who teaches at Apron Up, a popular local restaurant that doubles up as a cooking school, and we’re shopping for bun cha ingredients.
The wet market is a beguiling tumult of thrashing fish, wriggly eels and jumpy bags of frogs. There are slabs of fresh tofu, baskets of pigs’ feet and containers filled with snails. I gingerly step away from the lady methodically killing chickens in one corner and inch towards stalls packed with herbs: We buy purple perilla, minty shiso leaves, lemongrass and coriander. Then fresh noodles, thin, white and springy. And finally, double-minced pork belly. The total cost? 60,000 dong: about 170 rupees.
Nguyễn Thuý Nga, a former street food guide, who now runs Apron Up, says the food in North Vietnam is all about balance. “In the middle or south, your food may look more colourful. But flavours are deepest here,” she says, adding, “Our techniques and ingredients are simple. It’s how you combine them.”
Bun cha is a great example. “The food is like summer: It has fresh herbs, smoky barbecue... It’s sweet, sour, salty, spicy and bitter.” Her family has run a restaurant serving bun cha for years. “It’s a friendly dish you can eat on the go. There are thousands of places that make it in Hanoi. Every family, every vendor, every restaurant has its own recipe,” she says.
Following the Apron Up recipe, we blend minced pork with lemongrass, garlic, shallots, fish sauce, oyster sauce, pepper, sugar and honey. Then shape it into spheres. As it blisters on the grill, we make the dipping sauce, a meticulously balanced blend of fish sauce, vinegar, sugar and water with sliced vegetables.
Then, the moment of truth: Lunch is served. We tear apart the herbs, adding their fragrance to the dipping sauce. Like Hanoi, it is loud, bright and exuberant. And like Hanoi, it leaves you hungering for more.
