Food is everywhere in Ho Chi Minh: in roadside stalls, on pushcarts, in baskets tied to bicycles, inside cafés and stores, and of course in restaurants. I have landed in the city with only one mission — to eat — and the city does not disappoint me. Within just a few minutes of my arrival, en route to my apartment, I have already witnessed a mind-boggling variety, from Bánh mì to pho, rice cakes to deep-fried buns, com tam to bun cha, fish cakes to pancakes.
With food places sprinkled like sea salt all over the city, you find something new at every corner. And I use the opportunity to sample almost everything that comes my way: the delicate yet flavourful fish cakes with noodles from an old lady on a cycle, some sweet, deep-fried bread (that looked more like a bhatura) from a stall under a tree, a few rice cakes with sausages from a pushcart, paper-thin pancakes with syrup from a shack, sandwiches from a café — I eat until I can eat no more. However, there are three things you must experience when in the city.
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I find myself in a café called Pho 2000, situated across the famous Ben Thanh market. On the first floor, away from the din of the road, the bright, modern place is bustling with locals and looks like a safe place to begin my gourmet sojourn.I promptly order pho — a clear broth with meat, vegetables, and noodles — and wait anxiously. It arrives quickly, with an array of sides: dark green leaves, sambal, chopped green chillies, and lime. I hurriedly gulp a large spoonful, only to scald my tongue. Not sure if I should wait for it to cool or have it as it is, I see everyone enjoying the steaming broth. I follow suit; soon, there is an explosion of flavours and textures in my mouth.
There is the heat of the chilli, the tang of the lime, the bite of the meat, and the body of the noodles. The leaves add much-needed crunch.
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Other than food, coffee was the second reason for me to be in Vietnam. My brother, who had recently been there, had told me that in Vietnam, one could survive only on its signature coffee. What he had clearly forgotten to tell me was what kind of coffee. While I know Vietnamese coffee is famous world over, what I do not know is which version of it I am supposed to have. Since I can do with something cooler after the pho, I order a cold, black version of the drink. The tall glass with ice cubes peeping from within looks promising, but turns out to be extremely bitter and unpalatable. Disappointed, I decide to let it be.
(Spoiler: I do find what I’m looking for.)
Night street food
While lunchtime is busy in the city, the most famous food places come up at night when they appear out of nowhere.
I see them when I return to Ben Thanh after spending the day ambling through the beautiful vestiges of Saigon’s colonial, war-ridden past. But for the buildings, it is impossible to recognise the square. In a matter of a few hours, the entire place has undergone a complete transformation. The shops have shut, the vendors have left, and the streets are illuminated by the lights of dozens of food stalls already set up on the pavement.
Complete with open fire and grill, pots and pans, griddles and woks and many, many people, these stalls look far from temporary. A wide variety of seafood is displayed, stunted plastic tables and chairs are neatly set up at a distance under a canopy, colourful lamps hang from the make-shift ceiling. Next thing I know, I’m sharing a table with a young man waiting for my com tam to arrive.
The stalls along the street are clean and the service swift — a ladle of soup here, a plate of mussels there, some grilled fish on one table, multiple bottles of beer on another. People behind the counters are dressed identically and work in perfect coordination, like a well-orchestrated performance.
The rice and meat dish turns out to be nice, but I am still thinking about my coffee from the morning. I find it impossible to believe what I had in the morning is the beverage everyone raves about. It is then that I spot a girl walking by with a bicycle on which she has something that looks like coffee. I abandon my half-eaten rice to pursue her.
The girl, who has now parked her shop in a corner, is indeed making coffee. Hopeful, I order one. She makes my drink by mixing condensed milk, coffee decoction, ice cubes, and a few other things and hands me a plastic glass. As I tentatively take the first sip of the beautiful beige liquid, I realise I have no reason to worry. I have finally found my coffee.