A Taste Of Vietnam

It is 11 a.m. in Ho Chi Minh City， an odd hour for dessert. I attribute this sentiment to my ‘sweets-after- a-meal’Indian upbringing. In Vietnam， any food is eaten at any time of the day. I am at the corner of a street in the heart of busy Ho Chi Minh， where a young woman I have befriended thrusts che（sweet soup） into my hand. “Eat， eat，” she coaxes me in highly accented English and keeps stirring sugary syrup in a large steel pot on her push-cart. A mix of beans， sticky rice and jelly are floating in a white liquid made of coconut milk in my glass， and next to me， a queue to take away barbecued fowl is steadily growing.

In Ho Chi Minh， as in the rest of Vietnam， food is an obsession. And the best way to discover the culture of the place， quite obviously， is to taste the city’s cuisine. One cannot help notice how important a role food plays in the life of the Vietnamese. It continues to bring families together， and is at the core of all occasions— be it a wedding or a funeral.

What Ho Chi Minh， or Saigon， lacks in aesthetics， it compensates in pace， energy and in its cuisine. Amid a jumble of ramshackle buildings， its narrow streets and tiny alleys overflow with nondescript restaurants which open onto the sidewalks. On almost every corner are hand-pulled carts and old women stirring soot-covered pots. Patrons rest on rickety stools or cheap plastic chairs， hunched over bowls of noodles. The houses stand cheek by jowl， often decorated with Chinese motifs and red lanterns. You will also find here the trappings of a modern city. So there are skyscrapers and McDonald’s outlets， cobblestone streets and French town squares with extravagant colonial structures lined with shopping malls.

I explore the various quarters of the city to discover its food identity. I find nuances left behind by the Chinese who occupied Vietnam for centuries： the noodles， the fish-sauce， stir-frying techniques and chopsticks. I learn about the influence of Buddhism， the essence of which have been lovingly preserved in the yin and yang balance between ingredients. I also learn that the Mongolians introduced beef on the dining table and a host of spices sailed their way to Vietnam to be added to curries.

A sprinkling of western influence came with the French. That explains the popularity of baguettes （known in Vietnam as banh mi） and the favourite beverage being coffee （served with ice and condensed milk）. However， the various influences notwithstanding， Vietnamese food remains right at the top. The country’s cuisine turned into art under the rule of its last sovereign emperor. At the time， numerous dishes were churned out and placed on the royal table （usually in tiny portions to tease the palate）. These recipes eventually reached Vietnamese homes and the streets.

Finding your way in Ho Chi Minh， a city carefully divided into districts， is easy. In District 1（D1） is ngon， a bustling restaurant in a French colonial building with an alluring menu. Open-air kitchens line its compound and it is my first choice for a taste of local cuisine.

It is here that I see that meals in Vietnam are communal occasions. Cooks work in tandem for the frenetic chopping， slicing and dicing while diners gather around hotpots on the table. It is next to impossible to find a lone eater in this country. However， I am told that the real flavours are to be found in the less posh areas—from women who are still homemakers and men who safeguard generations of recipes.

My discovery leads me to Ben thanh market. Here， Ho Chi minh’s local life comes to a full boil. Between delicate hand-fans and beautiful pottery sold by chattering vendors， are several food stalls. A smoky kitchen is where I find the best—Banh Canh （noodle soup flavoured with crab， chilli powder and cashew oil， though it has various versions）， spooned out up by garrulous women working at a dizzying pace.

The market entices me with more options， like Pork Stew With Eggs and Rice， Xoi Dui Ga Roti， which is sticky rice with roasted chicken， and sinful desserts such as Chuoi Nuong， banana wrapped in sticky rice and grilled， accompanied by tapioca and sweet coconut milk.

I skip the Pork Bun With Noodles at the market for a small joint in D1（Bun Cha Hanoi， nguyen Van thu）. The taste of food differs from one corner to the next， from cart to cart and home to home. A good example of this is the lady with a noodle cart in D3， up from the end of Hai Ba trung.

Sure the Vietnamese love their food and also cherish the variety， but the popularity of the pho is unparalleled. Born in Hanoi， the pho is a bowl of beef or chicken broth with leaves， vegetables and noodles. Voted as one of the fastest growing asian fast-foods today， pho depots dot the city—Pho 24 to Pho 2000 （the latter grabbed the headlines when one of its outlets was visited by Bill Clinton）.

In search for the authentic pho， I am whisked off to a street corner in D3 where a mother-daughter pair pore over a large pot simmering all day. The lady of the shop， mrs Quan， is impatient with my curious questions. With a frown， she answers that she cannot go wrong with the cooking time.

As she serves me a bowl， all sorts of greens are thrown in. She recommends I squeeze in half a lemon and， if I can handle it， some chilli paste. “No day is a day without pho for me，” says my guide and translator.

As I taste the soup， I don’t find the finesse I did in the many exotic dishes I have tasted in Ho Chi minh so far. But there， swirling in the clear brown stock， I see generations of mrs Quan’s traditions. Of her life and of those around her. The recipe doesn’t just lure visitors like me， it is an ageold binder that brings her family together. Soon， her siblings and their children arrive for a mid-day snack of pho and I see mrs Quan smile for the first time.