Food, Glorious Food

Avocado stall in the Dalat market

View Photos (3) Image © 2000 Ira G. Barrows

I have been accused of being one of those who lives to eat, rather than one who eats to live. The evidence against me may seem strong, but I submit that it is merely circumstantial. When my wife and I travel, it is not unusual for our dining calendar to be filled long before we leave home. Our schedule is often dictated by our stomachs. I feel that it is important to ascertain the whereabouts of suitable dining establishments before setting out on a journey.

Having savored Vietnamese food at the Vinh Hoa restaurant in Philadelphia on several occasions, I looked forward to our trip to Vietnam as a culinary adventure. Undaunted by the rumors one hears of animals that we consider pets...or even pests, being served up to unsuspecting tourists, I entered Saigon with an open mind and an open mouth as well.

Upon arriving we strolled through the neighborhood near our hotel to check out potential eateries, and stumbled upon a small restaurant on a side street. As is so often the case in Asia, the restaurant was enclosed on only three sides, with the street side completely open. Tables with low plastic chairs spilled out onto the sidewalk. Even at three in the afternoon, there was a large crowd. There was a fire with pots of boiling water which sent steam out into the street. The pungent perfume of coriander, curry and garlic drew us in for a closer look.

The chef, a young woman, was in the middle of a ring of counters which contained bowls of raw materials, some familiar and some decidedly less so.

There were the usual onions, scallions and parsley, sheaves of dark green coriander, carrots and eggplants as well as a number of exotic roots and greens. We were able to identify chicken parts, shrimp, squid and fish. Slabs of what appeared to be pork were heaped high on another platter.

The customers crowded around the chef, spoke a few words, and went back to their tables as she went to work. With her fingers going in all directions, she sliced, chopped and diced. Pieces of meat were tossed into a wok and browned, followed by vegetables and sauce. The dish was then poured quickly into a mound of steaming rice and then delivered by one of a group of young waitresses. We were tempted to sample something, but decided that we would come back at a proper mealtime.

Exhausted from having risen at 5 a.m. in Bangkok, we decided that an early dinner at the hotel was the best course of action. We happened to be staying at the Rex, a charming leftover from the days of the French. Carol had read about it and decided that we had to stay there. Our travel agent in Saigon told us that it was impossible, but persistent pleading by fax finally netted us a confirmed reservation. Conventional wisdom seems to be that one should stay in one of the fifteen-dollar hotels to "get the flavor of the country," rather than spend ninety dollars for the Rex, which is for "foreign tourists who like comfort." Never ones for disdaining comfort, and qualifying on both other counts, we opted for the Rex, a decision that we never once regretted.

Before dinner, we went to the rooftop bar. This had been a favored watering hole for the war correspondents and offers a serene escape from the frenzied scene below. The words "hai bia" or "two beers" tripped easily off my tongue and we enjoyed the songs of caged exotic birds and a view of the rooftops of Saigon.

Dinner at the Rex is an expensive proposition, bearing in mind that seventy-five cents can get you a huge bowl of noodles in one of the local eateries. However, we thought that four dollars for a steak dinner was not unreasonable, especially in a beautiful dining room that featured a beaded portrait of Mona Lisa and live music to boot.

The next day, we saw the sights of Saigon. For lunch our guide brought us to a restaurant named Thanh Nien, which translates as "teen years." He spoke a few words with the hostess, then turned to leave. We asked him to join us, but he declined, saying that he would meet us outside in an hour and a half.

The hostess led us to a table in the middle of a lush tropical garden and handed us a menu printed in English. We pored over it for some minutes before deciding on fish, chicken and vegetables. Having already learned how to ask for beer, I ordered some local brew to accompany the meal. The food was spicy, full of garlic, coriander and chilies. Sitting in the garden, sipping beer and savoring this feast, we decided that this would not be hard to get used to.

One day at lunchtime, we decided to go back to the little local restaurant that we had seen on our first day. "So, what are you going to get?" I asked as we walked confidently down the street. Wait a minute! It was right here the other day. Had this been a mirage? We got out our map and tried to retrace our steps from the other day. We did pass other restaurants as we wandered about, but of course I would have none of that. It had to be that place. Why hadn't we written down the address? Why hadn't we just eaten there then? Finally, after we had covered endless stretches of pavement and begun to doubt the existence of the place, we found ourselves right in front of it. We were the only foreigners in the place, but were immediately welcomed. Since our Vietnamese was meager at best and their English no better, we wound up pointing at the items we wanted and then sitting down to see what we would get.

While we were waiting for our lunch, our waitress approached and made a drinking motion. I was able to work my best Vietnamese phrase into the conversation at this point and two cans of beer were quickly placed in front of us. The food arrived moments later, a mountain of steamed rice, barbecued chicken, crispy fried fish and greens. Using the chopsticks we had brought from home, we dug in. Delicious! And when the bill came, we were equally delighted to find that we had spent less than two dollars for this feast.

Our time in Saigon ended too soon. We did manage to squeeze in some sightseeing between meals and the inevitable "hai bia." We checked out early one morning, delighted to find out that our Visa card was indeed welcome, contrary to what we had been told. Our driver and guide pulled up at six a.m., exactly as promised and we set off for Dalat.

Visiting the market in Dalat is a sensuous experience. Fresh produce is spread out in the stalls: lettuce and other greens, dragon fruit, flowers of every imaginable hue. But we were most attracted by the avocados, not the green with which we were familiar, but a rich royal purple. We picked out two large ones and made chopping motions with our hands indicating that we wanted the vendor to cut them open so that we could eat them. After several minutes of pantomime, we were able to make her understand us and we attacked the sweet flesh with our plastic spoons.

In Dalat, constant rain dampened both our bodies and our spirits. We cut our visit short and set out for Nha Trang, the beach and some sunshine. The van rumbled down the hillside. When we reached Cam Ranh Bay we stopped for lunch at a small restaurant by the water. The owner spoke excellent English. He asked us if we wanted prawns. When we hesitated, he left and returned with a plate overflowing with the shellfish, each of which was about eight inches long. We quickly agreed that these were just the thing. They were quickly taken off to be grilled and returned to us for consumption. A platter of fish proved to be equally fresh and delicious. We ate long past the point of fullness and were doubtless a few pounds heavier when we got back into the van.

We were leaving our guide and driver in Nha Trang to proceed by train to Hue. Uncertain of the quality of train food, we decided that a late lunch at the Lys Restaurant might be a wise choice. There was only one other table in use when we arrived. The owner, with whom I was able to communicate in French, was delighted to hear that we were in the restaurant business and insisted on putting one of my business cards on display under the glass tabletop. She chatted with us during our lunch and brought us her special fried rice. She then brought over the other customers, a Vietnamese couple now living in Boston where they own a restaurant. The couple snapped our photo and invited us to visit if we ever got to Boston. Some months later when we did eat there we were shocked to see that all of the waitresses knew us as the people in the photograph!

Meals are served on the trains, but we had read that it was preferable to bring your own food. After our lunch at the Lys, we felt we could survive the overnight journey without further nourishment. It was difficult to explain this to the ladies who served the food. They kept bringing different items, all of which we refused. This seemed to anger them and they could only be appeased by our accepting cans and cans of soft drinks. America's most visible contribution to world civilization is fast food. We were pleased to see that as yet, there were no golden arches in Hue. Our guidebooks did suggest a couple of delicacies to be found in Hue. We determined to sample these as soon as possible. We got a couple of cyclo boys to take us for che, which is described as a sweet soup made with beans or bananas. We pulled up in front of the shop and could smell the sweet potion which was bubbling over a wood fire. Che may be an acquired taste. It is rather thick and gummy and was served over ice, against which we had been warned. We did manage to down most of the cup while being observed by the smiling waitress. Another Hue specialty, banh khoai, proved much more palatable. These are crisp crepes filled with bean sprouts, shrimp and meat, and covered with a rich brown gravy. They bear a remarkable resemblance to something called the Happy Pancake that we get in our local Vietnamese restaurant. The owners enjoyed watching us eat. They smiled and commented frequently.

The dining room in the Huong Giang Hotel commands a view of the Perfume River. It is ornate, decorated in red and gold, with traditional lacquer chairs. The food is not world class, but the tiny spring rolls are more than acceptable.

We took a day trip to Danang and Hoi An, a small town on the Thu Bon River, a short distance south of Danang. There are some historic houses and a whole street of French colonial buildings that have been preserved. When we arrived there it happened to be time to eat. How could we see the sights before we sampled the local dish, cao lau, noodles with bean sprouts, greens and sliced pork. We each ate a large plateful, leaving us no room for green papaya, which we spied while strolling through the riverside market. We had seen the film Scent of Green Papaya, so were able to recognize the fruit. It was only upon our return home that we were able to buy some at our local Vietnamese greengrocer, who taught us how to turn it into a refreshing sweet-and-sour salad.

To splurge or not to splurge? Is that even a question? Here we were in Hanoi where you can get a substantial meal in a local restaurant for a couple of dollars, or a meal in a restaurant catering to foreign tourists for about ten dollars. Should we pass these up for the French menu at the Hotel Metropole which would set us back at least fifty dollars? Of course. A few minutes later the French maitre d' was escorting us to a table set with fresh white linen. How easily the creamy butter spread on our crumbly baguettes! Didn't the lamb have just the right amount of garlic? When was the last time we had potatoes? Yes, you may pour me some more cabernet. An impeccable selection of French cheeses rounded out the meal in style. I have dined less well in Paris at five times the price.

Looking back upon our three weeks in Vietnam, we fondly recall friendly people, exotic places and some marvelous things. Still, many of my most vivid memories are of the food, from simple street snacks to multi-course banquets. Do I eat to live or live to eat? Is food truly that important? I fear I must tackle that problem at another time. It appears to be time for dinner. What's that you say, Carol? Oh yes, hai bia. Coming right up.

Published on 6/1/96