Eat & Drink - Saigoneer

Hẻm Gems: In the Mood for Lẩu? A Ngưu Offers Hong Kong Vibes and Tasty Bites.

2025-11-28T12:00:00+07:00

I visit Tiệm Lẩu A Ngưu on a rare wintry Saturday evening in Saigon, the perfect occasion to fill one’s stomach with warm broth, noodles, and a host of other tasty accouterments.

According to the hotpot place’s self-description, Tiệm Lẩu A Ngưu is decorated based on 1970s and 1980s Hong Kong aesthetics. I have neither been to the city nor lived through the decades, but A Ngưu’s tiny 40-square-meter dining room really helps to create that very particular poetic atmosphere.

The first thing that I take notice of is how the interior is set up. As someone who follows a rather minimalist style, I can’t help but feel a little overwhelmed by the cluttered space — no patch of wall is left unembellished. Red lanterns, a Chinese calendar, and vintage movie posters intermingle with Christmas garlands and a Santa Claus with an enigmatic smirk.

The overarching color scheme inside is green, red and yellow. I wonder if they encapsulate any hidden meaning in Chinese culture or were purposely selected to evoke the tint of Wong Kar-wai movies. I choose to believe in the latter, as every trinket — from the gaudy shop banner to the peculiar tight space inside — reminds me of Chungking Express.

The seating arrangement here also differs from typical street nhậu spots: plastic stools and short tables are non-existent. Instead, guests sit around family tables and separate booths like those at The Goldfinch from In the Mood for Love. Is this a deliberate choice by the owner to conjure up that cinematic wistfulness? And would it still be romantic if Tony Leung and Maggie Cheung relished hotpot together instead of steak?

We pick a round table for our party of eight, who are all ravenous and have no desire for Instagram showboating. A Ngưu offers two types of broth of eaters’ choice with every hotpot. There are six to pick from and dozens of toppings. We opt for spicy and non-spicy options to sample a wide range of tastes. The spicy soup is Mala, named after the sauce from Chongqing, and is rich with Sichuan peppercorns and chillies. The owner tells me that the name makes up of two characters meaning "numbing" (麻) and "spicy (piquant)" (辣) in Chinese. One can guess the condition of their mouth after tasting just by the name.

Nonetheless, the level of heat has probably been adjusted to take pity on some demographics of local eaters — our team included — that can’t endure too much chili. The non-spicy broth is named Longevity, whose major taste profile includes milk and bone stock.

I, for one, am a fan of spiciness, so my attention is firmly docked at the half of the pot with simmering Mala broth, almost always dipping my toppings into its peppery, oily water. Still, my colleagues do review the Longevity half favorably. When the water recedes, the owner is happy to refill the sections with additional broth so the fun can continue.

A Ngưu’s offering of toppings, like vegetables, mushrooms or seafood, is not unique to such eateries but we still order nearly everything on the menu, just because we can. My favorite is something I’ve never had before: century egg-filled fish balls. The richness of the egg goes unexpectedly well with the heat of Mala soup, but alas I could only try the last fish ball. Of course, despite not being an authentic Chinese hotpot component, Hai Con Tôm noodles are a prominent star of our banquet.

Flavor-wise, Tiệm Lẩu A Ngưu is admittedly neither an outstanding nor accurate reflection of Hong Kong cuisine. Nevertheless, the sense of warmth and comfort here — emanating from the bubbling broth and the cozy interior — is enough to warrant A Ngưu a place in my to-revisit list. Does it matter whether the food is wholly authentic if it’s able to make me yearn for an unlived lifetime?

To sum up:

Opening time:5pm–11pm
Parking: Bike only
Contact: Facebook/0902002835
Average cost per person: $$ (VND100,000–under 200,000)
Payment: Cash, Transfer
Delivery App: N/A

Tiệm Lẩu A Ngưu

11C Vũ Huy Tấn, Ward 3, Bình Thạnh

Slipper Lobster Bisque: When the Local Sea Speaks in the Language of Fine Dining

2025-11-25T16:19:07+07:00

There are dishes that arrive at the table softly, like a whisper from the ocean. They do not seek attention yet draw it in through restraint and balance. At LAVA, InterContinental Phu Quoc’s signature restaurant, beneath an intricate bamboo structure designed by architect Võ Trọng Nghĩa, Chef Dương Quốc Dũng presents his Slipper Lobster Bisque, a dish that mirrors both his journey and his philosophy.

Raised in a farming family in Central Vietnam, chef Dũng’s upbringing resulted in a deep respect for the innate characteristics of local ingredients, which extends to those not only from the land but also from the sea.

His skills and approach, honed working in international kitchens with chefs from diverse backgrounds, are reflected in his interpretation of the French bisque. The slipper lobster (tôm mũ ni), native to Phú Quốc, is chosen for its fresh sweetness and firm texture. Instead of boiling or steaming, the meat is cooked sous vide at 55–58°C to preserve flavour and moisture. Crustacean shells are roasted and slow-simmered, then a portion of the broth is reduced and combined with local sim wine to form a delicate jelly, introducing a gentle, tannic finish. A touch of dill purée brings herbal freshness.

When guests taste the bisque, they encounter a velvety structure with layered depth, softened by Asian sensibility. Pieces of lobster remain intact, offering contrast within the smoothness. It is a dish of precision, but also one of warmth. “I wanted to show that daily seafood from the local market can enter an international fine dining space if we know how to honour it through modern craftsmanship,” Chef Dũng shared.

At LAVA, where the sea is never far from view, the bisque finds its most natural expression. Here, where the rhythm of the waves meets the quiet precision of the kitchen, the ocean speaks gently through the hands of the chef.

LAVA's website

LAVA's Email

0919 069 129

LAVA | InterContinental Phu Quoc Long Beach Resort by IHG, Bai Truong, Dương Tơ, Phú Quốc, An Giang, 920000, Vietnam

From Delta Winds to Highland Soil: A Plant-Based Odyssey

2025-11-24T05:46:00+07:00

A restaurant where vegetables speak of home.

“Home” is a word that resists definition. It doesn’t simply refer to a house or a city or a place on a map. It’s a feeling, elusive yet deeply familiar, that lingers in the smell of steaming broth, the weight of chopsticks in hand, the taste of something your grandmother once made. At Hum Signature, that sentiment becomes the foundation of an entire culinary philosophy. There, home is not something you return to. It’s something rediscovered, one dish at a time.

This rediscovery begins with a journey, not a linear path, but a sensorial voyage across the varied landscapes of Vietnam. The restaurant’s new tasting menu, Từ Đồng bằng đến Non cao (From Fields to Peaks), is designed as a pilgrimage through terroir. It is a sequence of flavors that carries diners from the silt-rich banks of the Mekong to the windswept peaks of northern mountains. Each course acts as a chapter in that journey, with ingredients speaking in their own quiet dialects of place and memory. “We want to let the land tell its story,” says Culinary Director Bảo Trần. “Our role is simply to listen and to translate it onto the plate.”

Dổi leaves paired with Sóc Trăng sprouted brown rice germ (left) and kolrabi from the far north (right).

Listening, in this case, means understanding ingredients not as mere components of a recipe, but as living storytellers. The kitchen treats local produce with reverence by exploring their textures, rhythms, and histories rather than subduing them under layers of technique. When a humble fig, abundant on the trees of Central Vietnam, is braised and wrapped gently in aromatic dổi leaf, its earthy sweetness and deep, smoky perfume evoke a sense of community and abundance, the way fruits once collected in a courtyard might have tasted decades ago. “We don’t try to force vegetables into something they’re not,” Bảo Trần explains. “Instead, we let their natural character lead the way. Technique should follow ingredient, not the other way around.”

That philosophy runs through every course at the restaurant, which is one of the pioneer plant-based fine dining names in Saigon. A dish of An Giang soybeans and Tien Giang watermelon pays homage to the simple comfort of tào phớ, silken tofu pudding, while imparting it with delicate playfulness: ginger-scented coconut blossom soy, crisp fried tofu, and sweet green peas swirl together into something familiar yet startlingly new.

Lotus wine (left) and Đà Lạt Fermented Passion Fruit Wine (right).

Elsewhere, a pairing of spring shoots and mashed ginkgo from Lào Cai conjures the purity of mountain forests, crowned with a whisper of cardamom broth and ruby goji berries. Even kohlrabi from the far north, roasted beneath a golden crust, finds new life in a light, earthy broth, followed by the refreshing crispness of chilled lặc lè, a journey within a journey, from warmth to coolness, from lowland to highland.

An Giang soybeans and Tiền Giang watermelon (left) and spring shoots and ginkgo from Lào Cai (right).

Yet Hum Signature’s ambitions stretch far beyond reimagining Vietnamese landscapes on a plate. The restaurant is also quietly rewriting the language of plant-based cuisine itself. In a country where vegetables have often been cast as supporting players rather than protagonists, Bảo Trần and his team want to prove they can carry the entire story. “Plant-based cooking is often misunderstood as limited or simple,” he reflects. “But to us, it’s a language, one that can be as expressive, complex, and luxurious as any other.”

This belief gives rise to what the team calls ẩm thực thanh lành or mindful cuisine. It’s a way of cooking that considers every part of the plant, from leaf to root, and honors every stage of its journey from soil to plate. Ingredients are sourced seasonally and responsibly, often from small farms that practice traditional cultivation methods. Nothing is wasted: skins, stems, and seeds are repurposed into broths, ferments, or powders, adding a narrative of sustainability to the creative process. In this context, a meal becomes more than nourishment; it’s a gesture of balance, a quiet act of reciprocity with nature.

Hum Signature’s ethos extends beyond its kitchen walls. The dining room, a century-old villa bathed in soft light and the scent of warm ceramics, blurs the line between meal and memory. Each course is plated like a chapter in a book, unfolding at its own rhythm, inviting guests not just to eat, but to listen. In the subtle pacing of the service and the delicate choreography of flavor and form, one begins to feel the deeper intention behind it all: to remind us that food, at its best, is about connection to land, to people, to something that once felt familiar and perhaps forgotten.

At Hum Signature, architecture and plant-based cuisine converge into a seamless experience. The space itself becomes part of the meal, allowing craftsmanship and flavor to converse. Meanwhile, sustainability is felt in small, tactile ways, including the warmth of pandan-wrapped chopsticks and the fragrance of dried vegetable peels. Old mooncake molds are turned into door handles while buffalo bells and weaving shuttles are reborn as décor, allowing an element of heritage into the present. These gestures remind guests that sustainability isn’t an abstract ideal, but a living expression of respect for nature, tradition, and the quiet beauty of mindful living.

By the time the final course arrives, the journey has become something deeply personal. The dishes may have spoken of mountains and rivers, farms and forests, but they have also spoken of childhood kitchens and communal tables, of things that root us to who we are. In that sense, From Delta to Highlands is more than a tasting menu. It is an invitation to return, to remember, and to find home in places we never thought to look for it.

Hum Signature's website

Hum Signature's Facebook

Hum Signature's Email

Reserve a seat at Hum

+84 899 189 229

32 Vo Van Tan Street, Xuan Hoa Ward, HCMC.

Nem Chả Diên Khánh, a Match Made in Khánh Hòa's Coastal Heaven

2025-11-21T11:00:00+07:00

During my journey to explore the culinary specialties of Khánh Hòa, I was delighted to discover the nem chua and chả lụa from Diên Khánh, a centuries-old ancient town that’s just 10 kilometers from downtown Nha Trang.

About 10 kilometers west from Nha Trang, there lies a historic citadel constructed by Nguyễn-era emperors during the early days of southward expansion to form the Bình Khang Prefecture under the control Hiền Lord (Nguyễn Phúc Tần). It’s called Diên Khánh Citadel, one of southern Vietnam’s oldest, and often referred to by locals as “the Citadel,” comprising the township in Diên Khánh Province today. Apart from historic structures, this is also the hometown of many traditional artisan villages, including nem chả — two rustic delicacies known simply as nem chả Thành (citadel nem chả).

Nem chả Diên Khánh is Khánh Hòa’s most notable treat.

Though both are processed meat sausages made of pork, nem is lightly fermented while chả is created by pulverizing the meat into a paste and then boiled. The first time I tasted this citadel nem chả, I could immediately detect the slight differences compared to similar versions from Huế or Đà Nẵng. This delightful personal experience, along with the affection both locals and tourists shower on this treat, compelled me to dig deeper into the making and culture behind nem chả.

The most crucial ingredient contributing to the quality of chả is, of course, freshly butchered pork. Contributing to the seasoning are flavorful locally made fish sauce made on the coast, and a little sweetness from sugar. With just a bite, one will immediately sense a savory mix of saltiness and sweetness, a faint tingliness from black pepper, and that special touch of banana leaves.

The corner where leaf-wrapped nem is boiled.

Compared to chả, nem is a much more complicated product involving more steps requiring a higher level of precision that not all manufacturers can attain to create that perfect bite of nem Thành. Only families who have been in the craft for decades could produce sausages with the right texture and that highly sought-after subtly sour taste.

Shredded pork skin, one of nem’s typical ingredients, must be cleaned properly to retain its bouncy texture without too much chew or odor. This is still a step that many nem makers do by hand to ensure it turns out up to the standard.

Nem chua Thành is first coated in a chùm ruột leaf before the final banana wrapping to promote fermentation.

The meat mixture is first coated in the leaves of chùm ruột, a berry native to Vietnam, to encourage natural fermentation and impart the subtle fragrance of the leaves. Then, each nugget is wrapped in banana leaves before being cooked. Some foodies enjoy eating the nem with the chùm ruột leaves, relishing the peppery notes of the leaves. Within the old citadel area, there's an entire village dedicated to making these sausages, each household has its own family recipe, but overall, a good nem should be lightly tangy in taste and a little leafy in smell without any off-putting smell. Some prefer their nem to be a little “young” — meaning freshly made and fermented for only 2–3 days, lightly chewy and meaty. Others wait until after the fifth day to enjoy nem, when the sourness reaches its prime and the pork skin is still bouncy. Older nem pieces might be too sour or start to go bad.

Wrapping chả from the meat paste.

Among the two dishes, perhaps chả Thành is more famous and respected as a local delicacy. The nem here might have its own fans that value the nuances in flavor, but most eaters might not be discerning enough to distinguish it from similar versions from nearby like Nha Trang and Ninh Hòa.

In contrast, chà Thành is a firmly established mainstay in the regional food landscape — not just as a savory snack to eat on its own, but also as a silent contributor to many other dishes like bánh căn, bánh xèo, bánh bèo, bún thịt nướng, etc. Step into an eatery in Diên Khánh or Nha Trang and you will immediately spot bundles of wrapped chả dangling in the display, their presence a sign of implicit trust by the vendors in the quality of their hometown’s special creation.

Freshly cooked chả is wrapped and tied into bundles, each comprising 14 pieces.

To enjoy the full-bodied flavors of chả, try slices of it with steaming bánh ướt. For nem, I would recommend grilling them on charcoal fire to bring out those vibrant notes of savoriness amid a chilly evening. A tip that I learned from locals involves biting a tiny bit of green chili and fresh garlic with nem chả — a stylish way to eat these Diên Khánh treats.

Nem chả from Diên Khánh remains rather obscure still; perhaps it can’t shine too brightly in the heart of Khánh Hòa’s already sparkling culinary sky. For me, both nem and chả carry the spirits of this coastal region.

Sweet chả and tangy nem.

If you happen to set foot in Khánh Hòa one day, the land where placid natural scenery harmonizes with historic cultural traditions, don’t hesitate to drop by Diên Khánh. Not only can you learn more about the history behind these moss-covered citadel walls, but also feast on bundles of tasty nem chả made using age-old methods.

The Man Bringing a Michelin Reputation to Phú Quốc’s Pink Pearl: Olivier Elzer

2025-11-19T15:00:00+07:00

Just before reaching the sand, the sky awash in soft, late afternoon pastels, you’ll arrive at the Pink Pearl, which now bears a sign announcing it as the Pink Pearl by Olivier E. But who is Olivier E.?

Saigoneer first met Olivier Elzer via his food. A special tasting menu had been prepared as an introduction to his culinary style and the new gastronomic ethos that has arrived at JW Marriott Phú Quốc’s flagship restaurant.

Japanese Wagyu A5 Tenderloin with Pomerol Jus.

The meal began with a succulent lobster complemented by tandoori sauce and caviar, and transitioned to courses featuring premier ingredients, including Hokkaido scallops and Japanese A5 wagyu. Precise portions of carefully balanced sauces, as is a hallmark of French cuisine, combined with imaginative seasoning to embellish the flavors of the exceptional proteins, which were plated with an understated panache. Notably, Vietnam made its presence known in the final dish, a decadent Maraou chocolate dessert. The courses surpassed expectations of offering moments of surprise tucked within stupendous flavors.

Who was the man behind the extravagant meal?

The Origins of Olivier

“I was super driven very early on and I was very ruthless,” Olivier told Saigoneer when we sat down for a series of conversations the next day. He shared how he first entered the kitchen of the restaurant his mom owned in France because the sous chef had called in sick that day. That shift was the first step on a path that has involved decades of hard work. “For 15, 20 years, I was like a sponge. I had to learn, I had to get my craft. I had to work very hard to gain knowledge … I was 14 when I started work in the kitchen, and I understood that there was a level in any sport: you can play in the Champions League with the best, and you can play in the local leagues where no one knows you. With kitchens, it is the same.”

Olivier in his early days with mentor Pierre Gagnaire. Photo courtesy of Olivier.

With this philosophy in mind, Olivier learned from many of France’s most accomplished and acclaimed chefs, including Pierre Gagnaire and Joël Robuchon, who was named Chef of the Century by Gault Millau. During these years in some of the world’s most prestigious kitchens, he experienced the oft-glorified rockstar-like atmosphere of the ‘90s and ‘00s culinary scene. “I saw some chefs throwing hot caramel pans in the face of people. I saw people taking a fish fillet and smashing it in a face,” he said. “I saw thousands of things in those days that now would never happen anymore because we have too much access with phones that can record, and it will be in the newspaper or whatever right away. But that's where I come from.”

While Olivier holds some nostalgia for the raucous era he came up in and the trials by fire he endured, he is proud to lead kitchens that are healthier and more supportive of their teams. He admitted that “When I took my first head chef position in Burgundy, I was a tyrant, too. I was screaming at people, I was throwing plates, and one night I had stomach pain, you know? I asked myself, ‘Is this what you want to become? You want to continue on this road for 20 years, screaming at everyone and being nuts because of a few sauce dots that aren’t right?’ And I thought, no, that's not the life I want to live. Lifting people up is the way; it's way more genuine than screaming at them.”

Olivier and the team at L'éclat 19, a Michelin-star restaurant in the Vallie Hotel in Hangzhou. Photo courtesy of Olivier.

This belief in lifting his culinary team up and mentoring their growth helped fuel Olivier’s success as he moved to Asia and transitioned from being the head chef at the Pierre Restaurant by Pierre Gagnaire in the Mandarin Oriental and L’Atelier de Joël Robuchon Hong Kong to founding his own namesake restaurants that include Seasons by Olivier E. in Hong Kong and a collaboration with Louis Vuitton on their first restaurant in Chengdu, China. In the process, Olivier has garnered numerous accolades, including Knight in the Order of Agricultural Merit of the French Republic, while a total of 30 Michelin Stars have been awarded to restaurants he has helmed. His newest venue, JW Marriott Phu Quoc’s Pink Pearl, reflects the totality of his skills as both a chef and a leader who nurtures the next generation of great chefs, as we would witness when meeting Danny Đỗ, Pink Pearl’s Chef de Cuisine.

The Pink Pearl Restaurant at JW Marriott Phu Quoc.

French Food Suitable for Asian Tastes

“The French – we are very ego-centered; we think we are the best. We think we have the best cuisine,” Olivier said when asked what he has learned about food during his years cooking in Asia. “It humbles me a lot because you see some beautiful cuisine based on texture … which is super flavorful, super tasty, but much more humble in terms of the approach of sourcing products. You get humbled, and you realize French food is amazing, but there's some other amazing cooking [out there] too.”

Olivier’s appreciation for Asia’s dishes and ingredients has allowed him to widen his scope of understanding and, in the process, develop meals that he describes as “French food that Asians like.” This involves points of commonly appreciated flavors and textures, as well as an embrace of local ingredients. “The DNA of French cuisine is always to try to find the best ingredients. Most of the time, we really always want to bring it from France ... But buying fish in France or finding vegetables from France would be stupid, because we are in Vietnam.”

Relying on ingredients from Vietnam generally and Phú Quốc specifically involves searching for ethically-sourced, sustainable items. This mission is made possible, in part, because of JW Marriott's on-site garden. Having a garden just steps from the kitchen not only ensures maximum freshness and full oversight of growing techniques and methods, but allows Olivier to better acquaint himself with local varieties and flavors. We joined him in the garden as he pointed out items that he had only recently learned about and the creative ideas they unlocked for his approach to French cooking with local diners in mind.

Danny Đỗ, Pink Pearl’s Chef de Cuisine.

To succeed in using local ingredients requires the talents of an experienced local team led by Danny. The Hanoi native who studied marketing and worked in food sales before following his passion to create food has been at Pink Pearl since 2022. His years on the island and his previous stint at Saigon’s prestigious Noir allow him to provide Olivier with insights into how to discern locally available produce, meat, seafood, and spices. For example, during our visit, Danny had shown the chef a local variety of jumbo clams. Believing the true test of a chef is his or her ability to work with anything, however unfamiliar, it provided the Pink Pearl with a great challenge. “By slicing them differently, by seasoning them differently, all of a sudden they became an outstanding dish. That's my approach for everything. There's a solution for everything, for every ingredient,” said Olivier.

More than a mere source of ingredient knowledge, Danny also leaves an impression on the dinner. For example, our dinner featured a pan-seared toothfish with bouillabaisse sauce, and fennel orange sauce was his own concoction that offers a winking nod to Phú Quốc’s gỏi cá trích. While imparting his creativity, Danny is tasked with maintaining the lofty reputation of Olivier, who notes that whether he is physically present at Pink Pearl on any given night should have no impact on the dining experience, as the teamwork ensures standards are maintained. In service of that philosophy, members of Olivier’s team make frequent visits for training and oversight. For example, the week after our visit, Olivier’s head sommelier would be present, followed by his head pastry chef, and later the lead for service.

On our last morning at Pink Pearl, we had an opportunity to watch Olivier and Danny work together in the kitchen. Easy communication flowed as Olivier would request certain items or ask for support in creating dishes that were being photographed. While focused on achieving the task at hand, there was a clear comfort between the two as well as a conscious effort to make the time together resonate long after Olivier departed. Olivier would occasionally pause to hear what Danny was sharing about an item and its reception. As Danny once noted, “I’ve learned that leadership isn’t just about giving orders — it’s about listening, mentoring, and constantly learning.”

Danny Đỗ and Gin Nguyễn, Pink Pearl's Restaurant Manager cum Hotel Sommelier.

Exciting Times Ahead

Pink Pearl has only been an official Olivier E. restaurant since this past spring, and it is already earning an elevated reputation thanks to the concerted efforts of the entire team. Guests have been planning vacations to Phú Quốc for the sole purpose of enjoying a meal there, and such destination dining will only increase as more special menus and meals are announced. For example, Olivier described the newly launched brunch that pairs his cuisine with the casual atmosphere of a leisure hotel for a meal that makes people feel relaxed and comfortable. Meanwhile, he is working with Danny on a menu for Christmas that will map Vietnam, incorporating the best available items from all regions.

While Olivier played coy when asked if Pink Pearl would receive a Michelin Star in the future, noting the guide has not arrived in Phú Quốc yet, he certainly is establishing the reputation of one such restaurant for when the time comes. Moreover, as he has matured, his views on awards have evolved. Fueled less by ego and fame, he admits that now “I don’t cook for myself, I cook for guests.” This is a blessing for all of us guests at the Pink Pearl.

The Pink Pearl Restaurant's website

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The Pink Pearl Restaurant's Email

+84 29 7377 9999

The Pink Pearl Restaurant | JW Marriott Phu Quoc Emerald Bay Resort & Spa Phu Quoc, Kien Giang, Vietnam 92513

Huế's Bánh Pháp Lam Turns Backyard Fruits Into a Celebration of Ngũ Hành

2025-11-10T12:00:00+07:00

“Everything must be really fresh, made-to-order, colorful, and fragrant. Everything has its place, and is arranged exquisitely!” The food in the 2008 feature film Trăng nơi đáy giếng, adapted from a short story by the same name of Trần Thùy Mai, is a vivid depiction of Huế’s culinary creations — rustic, delicate, and ever-enticing. It’s evident in the tuber that Hạnh meticulously carves and then scents using pandan; in the bowl of lotus soup that she makes by wrapping in flowers the night before.

Some of the most iconic foods in Huế don’t stop at satiating the stomach, but aim to wow every sense of the eater. Huế chefs are mindful of every detail from the selection of ingredients to their preparation, to the arrangement of each element on the plate so that each plate is itself an artwork. Encompassing that spirit in bánh pháp lam, a novel dessert that inherits the flavors and forms of the traditional bánh bó mứt, but taking those to a new level with its brightly colored palette.

Photo by Huế Ngày Nay.

The sweet treat that captures the essence of the seasons

Bánh pháp lam, also known as bánh bó mứt, is a notable delicacy from Huế. It often arrives in special packages that are made from folded colored paper segments neatly assembled together into a square box. The colors are almost always red, yellow, green, purple and white, representing the five fundamental elements in Vietnamese culture (ngũ hành).

The name “pháp lam” is a relatively recent term to refer to this traditional treat, inspired by the enamel art by the same name that flourished during the Nguyễn Dynasty. It reached the Imperial City during the reign of Emperor Minh Mạng and involved layers of pigmented enamel coating a bronze base. When the metal is heated, the enamel turns into a sparkling film. Pháp lam art was commonly used to decorate palaces and could be spotted on many historic structures in Huế.

Huế's pháp lam art. Photo by Thái Hoàng via Lao Động.

Ancient homesteads in Huế often came with spacious courtyards, so people made use of the land to grow fruit trees, for both shade and a fresh, juicy treat once in a while. During harvest seasons, when there were more fruits to eat, the extras were sun-dried and then candied on low heat to produce sugared fruits.

The results were chewy, crunchy, sweet, and aromatic snacks that can be kept for months. Papaya, tomato, winter melon, banana, pineapple, etc. — many familiar fruits contribute to the elements of bánh pháp lam. Depending on the season, the resulting pháp lam can consist of different fruits, making a small bite that encapsulates the passage of time.

Photo by Hải Vân via HCMC Tourism Magazine.

After fruits, sticky rice is also another important component of bánh pháp lam. The best rice grains are ground into a fine flour, toasted carefully on low heat to brown, and then fragranced with pandan leaves.

In mixing the batter, a precise ratio between rice flour and water must be followed to arrive at an ideal consistency, not too crumbly or too viscous. The dough is hand-kneaded, rested for about half an hour. Once the dough has softened, pháp lam maker would flatten it into a thin sheet, arrange the candied fruits into layers, roll everything into a hunk of dough, adjust the edges so the cross-section is square, and finally slice across to get discs that are about one centimeter thick.

Each step in the creation of bánh pháp lam calls for a high level of attention to detail, so that the dessert not only tastes good, but is also visually appealing. With one bite, you will enjoy the gentle sweetness of the candied fruits, in between the rich, nutty taste of the sticky rice dough.

Thanh Tiên paper as wrapping

The paper segments that form the package for bánh pháp lam might look mundane, but they are actually from Thanh Tiên Village, where the bark of indigenous bamboo cultivars like dướng and nứa is turned into paper. Its durability is especially prized as the bamboo material can go years without being tarnished by termites. Thanh Tiên paper has a smooth texture and a gentle scent of bamboo.

Photo via Mộc Truly Hue's.

From Thanh Tiên bamboo paper, the segments are folded and assembled together into a cube. A five-color palette echoes the enamel art origin of the pháp lam name, as the five shades are commonly used in decoration

The hallmark of the ancient capital’s cultural heritage

To me, bánh pháp lam is the physical embodiment of Huế residents’ standout qualities and life philosophies. The sweet snack is the result of several different complicated steps, showcasing the characteristics of the people here: frugal, attentive, precise, and patient. The frugality is evident in how all the fruits come from trees grown at home; the precision and attention to detail come from the construction of the sweet; and the patience is imbued in the way each piece of paper is folded to create the cubes without using glue.

Traditionally, the women of Huế, the leaders of the household, were the creative minds behind the invention of many of the old capital’s most complex delicacies. It’s no wonder that Huế’s dumplings and desserts have managed to capture the attention of travelers all across the country, thanks to their flavors and the dedication of their makers.

Photo via Trí Thức Trẻ.

In the culinary arts of Huế, the balance of the five elements is always sought after. This philosophy originates from East Asia’s fundamental elements — metal, wood, water, fire, and earth. In Huế, these are represented by five hues: red, purple, yellow, green, and blue. This palette makes bánh pháp lam instantly recognizable, like Huế-born writer Hoàng Phủ Ngọc Tường describes: “Very glaring but also easy on the eyes.”

From the outside looking in, the filling of bánh pháp lam is a multi-color feast that, while not directly associated with the elements, could evoke that elemental balance. Dried papaya’s redness is fire, and candied winter melon is water. Similarly, the paper cube of the packaging is also the product of many colored segments. It’s often believed that this use of colors represents the yin-yang balance of the dish and an appreciation of nature.

Photo by Hải Vân via HCMC Tourism Magazine.

Lastly, bánh pháp lam is also a crucial piece in Huế’s tea culture. Its sweet taste and crumbly texture pair nicely with the tannic notes of hot tea. In a peaceful setting, Huế residents sip on fragrant tea alongside slices of bánh pháp lam, while exchanging pleasantries — it’s the perfect occasion to reconnect with loved ones.

From north to south, there are countless permutations behind the filling of bánh pháp lam. Still, perhaps nowhere besides Huế can this special treat be created with such a level of reverence and care.

Ngõ Nooks: In the Same Hanoi Building, a Music Fan's Essentials — Vinyls and Cocktails

2025-11-06T11:00:00+07:00

Sharing a building, Montauk and LP Club might initially appear to be just another cafe and another record store, but their goals are far loftier than selling drinks and vinyl.

I place my highball on one of the tables inside Montauk and head upstairs to LP Club. There, I find two men sitting on a rug surrounded by cardboard, scissors, and stacks of purple CD cases. They laugh and hum along to Japanese city pop as I flip through wooden boxes filled with records. Slowdive, M83, Frank Ocean — I could spend the next three days here without getting bored.

Montauk is a music-themed cocktail bar.

Unfortunately, I only had a single afternoon to spare. Upon learning this, I chug my highball, hop a xe ôm to my hotel, grab my camera, and rush back to Montauk/LP Club.

Because it's mid-autumn season, lanterns dot the corners of Montauk.

It’s a very photogenic space, especially if you enjoy getting lost in small details: a fish tank, vinyl sleeves above the bar, old cassettes stuck to the wall beneath the stairs, anime figurines, mini vinyl drink coasters, local band merch strewn over antique speakers, a shrine hidden behind an upholstered chair, and at least three days' worth of vinyl to flick through.

Montauk is inspired more by 2000s film than by music. The name Montauk refers to the setting of the 2004 Charlie Kaufman movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and the blue and orange color scheme evokes Kate Winslet’s hair and coat combination from that movie. The playlist is as hip as you would expect, mixing the occasional Vietnamese number into mostly western sets. It’s a great space to work or just kill a couple of hours chilling to the soundtrack and sipping cocktails, especially if you can nab a place on the sofa.

A Ngọt album in its natural habitat: next to a Beatles paraphernalia.

While there seem to be innumerable retro-inspired cafes opening around Hanoi, the goal of Montauk/LP Club is deceptively progressive. Its mission becomes clear when I start speaking to Anh Tú, the owner of LP Club, among the piles of CD cases scattered over the shop floor.

True to its name, LP club is filled with vinyl records.

“There have been many record shops opening in Hanoi the last few years, but most have already closed down because they’re just record shops. We’re able to keep going because we also produce music,” Tú explains.

This music production is a joint venture between Anh Tú and Ngọc, the owner of Montauk. Ngọc has spent most of his career working in Vietnamese media where he was able establish vital connections and learn about the music industry.

Record-digging is a real hobby.

The purple CDs on the floor, Tú explains, are for a Thanh Tùng tribute record by local artist Quỳnh Anh. Tú gladly shows me more CDs that he and Ngọc are producing for other indie acts, one presented in such an elaborate boxset of paraphernalia that he has to point out where the actual CD is.

Trinkets are peppered across the space.

“People want the physical product,” he shares. “And sure, this phenomenon is happening all over the world, but it’s especially true in Vietnam. This is because traditionally in Vietnam artists don’t really make albums — even the most famous ones. And because of this, their fans have no loyalty to them. They don’t have real fans, just people who enjoy hit records. So if they put on a concert of just them, I’m telling you, I’m telling you — no one will come. But now indie bands, because they are making albums — not just making albums but also releasing them on CD, vinyl, cassette — they have strong groups of real fans and can sell out their shows.”

Music posters awash in red light.

Local musicians can actually hold these shows at Montauk. The owners frequently use the space to stage album release parties. Such events embody the values held by Montauk and LP Club; they are not simply milking nostalgia trends to sell coffee and records, but using their businesses as a springboard for new artists. This in turn gives both of them a stronger foothold within the local indie scene.

LP Club also plays host to many cozy album launches by indie artists.

Of course, the music production and album parties would not work if Montauk/LP Club were not simply a cool place to hang out, have a drink, and browse records. Like a lot of the best cafes in Hanoi, it feels like a place that shouldn’t exist, like a bubble of calm amid the chaos. Once you set yourself down with your drink, and the music kicks in, and you take a sip and marvel at the retro decor, it feels like nothing could ever tear you away. Nothing except the convoy route of a foreign politician, of course.

A space for sipping on some alcohol and listening to music.

Montauk and LP Club are open from 7:30am to 11:30pm.

Montauk/LP Club

174 Kim Mã, Kim Mã Ward, Ba Đình District, Hanoi

Built on Immigrant History, France's Vietnamese Food Scene Is Onto Something Special

2025-10-31T10:30:00+07:00

France’s Vietnamese population is one of the largest outside Vietnam. From colonial assignments to refugee migrations, the community has grown, shifted, and evolved since its beginnings in the 1860s. Meet the new generation of French-Vietnamese creatives — chefs, authors, cultural consultants — who are reimagining and representing Vietnamese culture in Paris in fresh and deeply personal ways.

History of Vietnamese migration to France

Paris hosts the oldest Vietnamese community in the western world. Today, an estimated 70,000 people of Vietnamese heritage live within the city limits, and another 100,000 in the surrounding Île-de-France region — together forming one of the largest Vietnamese populations outside Vietnam.

The first arrivals were not immigrants in the modern sense, but Nguyễn dynasty diplomats and officials, sent in the late 18^th century when France and Vietnam established formal ties. After France colonized southern Vietnam in 1862, Paris became a gathering place for Vietnamese civil servants, scholars, intellectuals, and artists — many of whom left an early cultural imprint on the city.

Door-to-door assortment of Vietnamese eateries and businesses in Paris.

When Vietnam gained independence in 1954, France remained an important destination for those seeking education or new economic prospects. But with the country divided and North Vietnam closed off, most newcomers during this period came from the South.

The upheaval of the American War brought a new chapter. The first wave of refugees, arriving in the months just before April 30, 1975, were largely political figures from the former South Vietnamese government and their families, beginning a larger and more complex migration story that would continue into the late 20^th century.

Anne-Solenne Hatte, author of Tasting Vietnam: Flavors and Memories from My Grandmother's Kitchen, shares with me that her grandfather worked in the previous government. “Even though he was a man of power, the one who was leading the family was really my grandmother... After [Diệm’s assassination], my grandfather had a job offer in Taiwan for a political position, but my grandmother said, ‘No more politics. It's done. We have nine children, and we need to take care of them.’” Because of her grandparents’ involvement in the Catholic community, a cardinal helped them immigrate to a small town in the center of France.

The cover of Anne-Solenne Hatte's book. Image via Amazon.

Vietnamese refugees, like Anne-Solenne’s grandparents, had to do what they had to do to stay alive, which often meant opening restaurants. She recounts: “My grandmother couldn't look back to her past. She needed to survive and move forward by creating a Vietnamese restaurant in the garage of their government-subsidized house without any money. It was not a project of the heart, it was a project of survival. They needed money.” She goes on to describe a small space, a third of the size of the hotel bar we were sitting in, that could only fit four dining tables. “All of the children participated. My mother and all of my aunts and uncles had a special skill: you do the appetizer, you do the main course. My mother and her twin were the waitresses. My grandmother would wake up at 6am to start cooking and work until 3am.”

Anne-Solenne Hatte (left) gathers her bà ngoại's (right) most loved recipes into a book project. Photo courtesy of Anne-Solenne Hatte.

The family recipes have always interested the former actress: “My grandmother is very close to me, even though she passed away five years ago — she's still with me every day. So the cookbook is very important to me. When I first started, it was just a cookbook for my family because there are 60 of us. Every one of us loves cooking, and I felt it was easier to have something like a dictionary where we could put all our recipes together.”

But as anyone who has ever asked a Vietnamese person for a cooking lesson knows, collecting recipes is a lot more challenging and less straightforward than it sounds. “By the time I stayed with my grandmother, I realized her recipes were alive,” Anne-Solenne recalls. “Because she had moved between Vietnam, Washington, D.C., and France, she needed to adapt and recapture the taste without money, without nước mắm, without crabs, without whatever ingredients.” The completion of her book Tasting Vietnam, which weaves recipes with memoir, is made even more impressive considering their language barrier. In her words: “I don’t speak Vietnamese, but I speak the language of taste, the taste of Vietnam.”

With a cookbook under her belt, Anne-Solenne just wrapped up production on a documentary featuring videos she recorded of her grandmother in the kitchen and an open door to the past via found archival footage of her family. “I think food is a great door to storytelling [about the Vietnamese experience] because it brings joy and lightness. It’s more powerful than when it’s always linked with pain.” Her documentary is called Taste of Exile.

The tricky situation Vietnamese food got itself into

In the years following the American War, the 13^th arrondissement of Paris, referred to by most as Chinatown, transformed into “Quận Mười Ba” by the 1980s, as waves of Vietnamese refugees had reshaped the neighborhood, filling its streets with the shops, markets, and gathering places that anchored the community in a new country.

A view of the Asian quarter in the 13th arrondissement of Paris in 1994. Photo by Pierre Michaud via Radio France.

While an Asian presence already existed in the area, the post-war influx turned it into a vibrant hub of Vietnamese life. Supermarkets like Tang Frères, Buddhist temples, travel agencies, bookshops, and steaming bowls of phở became fixtures of the local landscape. For many of the new arrivals, the restaurants weren’t just places to eat: kitchens became a source of community, serving familiar flavors to fellow refugees at prices they could manage.

“The first generation created restaurants to feed their own community. They sold their food for low prices so their fellow refugees could afford it,” Nam Nguyen, the proprietor of Hanoi Corner, a Vietnamese coffee distributor, observed. He goes on to explain: “Because of this, in France, Vietnamese food is expected to be cheaper than McDonald’s.”

“In France, Vietnamese food is expected to be cheaper than McDonald’s.”

As Julien Dô Lê Phạm, founder of the creative food agency Phamily First, argues in his Subway Takes video: “Southeast Asian food should get more respect, or at least be treated equally as any other cuisine. I love Italian food. I love a good cacio e pepe. It’s the most common dish that can be done in 5 minutes. You know phở? You have broth that was made the day before, with bones, with a lot of love, with the spices and everything. You have meat in three different forms. You have fresh herbs. You have everything. Phở is around EUR12–15... But people are willing to pay US$30 for the cacio e pepe.”

In addition to being cheap, Vietnamese restaurants in France have traditionally been seen as indistinguishable from one another and pigeonholed into making only a few well-known dishes. From a dining table across the street from Pont Neuf, the team behind the food and beverage brand Hà Nội 1988 explained to me: “Older generations go to the 13^th arrondissement for Vietnamese food, but rarely with a specific restaurant in mind.” Among the French, bò bún is the most popular dish, surpassing even phở. Bò bún is so popular in France that even Thai or Chinese restaurants serve it. In my opinion, when chefs outside the culture start serving a dish, it’s a surefire sign that it has become both popular — and profitable.

As a concept, bò bún is fairly typical Vietnamese fare, but the name might be unfamiliar to Vietnamese outside of Europe, who would call this dish bún bò xào. Photo via Grazia.

As someone who has only heard of bún bò, and never bò bún, I was a bit confused. Bò bún is a bowl of rice vermicelli noodles topped with stir-fried lemongrass beef, lettuce, cucumber, mint, cilantro, bean sprouts, pickled carrots, roasted peanuts, and a fried eggroll — which is called “nem” in French, after the northern term, instead of the southern “chả giò.” Bò bún is served with nước chấm. In Vietnam, we would call this dish bún bò Nam Bộ, bún bò xào, or bún thịt bò xào. Why the name was flipped in France remains unknown, but it's a mystery many of us would like to understand.

Expanding France’s understanding of Vietnamese food

Steps from Notre-Dame, Hà Nội 1988 feels like a time capsule of Vietnam, with its retro décor and menu of familiar, soulful dishes, rooted in the flavors of the north. Founded in 2020 by Huy Nguyễn, a former photojournalist from Hà Nội, his dedication to developing his own northern-style phở earned him the Golden Anise Award from the Vietnamese Culinary Culture Association and Tuổi Trẻ. From there, Hà Nội 1988 has become a pioneer in introducing northern Vietnamese cuisine — beyond the usual phở and nem — to French audiences.

When I asked Uyên Trần, the general manager, and Phương Trần (no relation), the marketing lead at Hà Nội 1988, about the popularity of northern Vietnamese cuisine in Paris, they laughed and said, “Now restaurants are serving northern dishes. We can’t say if it’s because of us, but we know they were far less common before Hà Nội 1988 opened.”

The Hanoi 1988 team and their location. Photos by Tâm Lê.

They also emphasized the importance of their central location, outside the expected 13^th arrondissement, in expanding non-Vietnamese’s understanding of Vietnamese food. “We have many Parisians dining here, and a large number of international visitors from China, Korea, and the United States, particularly Asian Americans. Several social media food influencers and prestigious chefs, including Chef Hélène Darroze [a long-time juror on French Top Chef], have taken notice of us, which has helped draw in an even more diverse audience. For us, it’s a source of pride to bring Vietnamese food closer to people from all over the world.”

But it’s become about so much more than food. Both Uyên and Phương came to Paris, from Vietnam, for college and started working at the restaurant as a part-time job. Uyên recounts, “Before I started working here, I didn’t realize how important it was to share Vietnamese cuisine and culture. At first, it was just a part-time job while studying in France, but over time I became proud of what our food represents. And I believe many members of our team feel the same.” She smiles as she continues: “Now it’s not only Vietnamese people who are opening Vietnamese restaurants and coffee shops, the French are doing it as well. Vietnam has become kinda trendy in Paris.”

Outside the Hanoi 1988 Cafe in the Latin Quarter. Photo via Time Out.

And in the five years since they’ve started, some of those were during the COVID-19 pandemic, Hà Nội 1988 has certainly started moving from cuisine into culture. They’ve got two restaurants and two cafés, the latest one being Hà Nội 1988 Flowers and Archives in trendy Le Marais, which offers not only coffee, but workshops on flower arrangement, paper flower making, and other skills. They’ve got their own merch and have collaborated on pop-ups with companies like Uniqlo. They’ve recently released a cookbook, and possibly, one of the most exciting pieces of news: they brought Hanoian coffeehouse Cộng Cà Phê to France.

Cộng Cà Phê's first location in France. Photo via Cộng Cà Phê.

I arrived in the 2^nd arrondissement, steps from the Paris Opéra, just before the official grand opening of Cộng Cà Phê’s first French outpost, to see a space that looked more like a war zone than a café. Tarps hung like makeshift barricades, hammers echoed against exposed walls, and the scent of sawdust lingered in the air. In the middle of this chaos sat Giang Dang, the café chain’s CEO, coolly stationed at a laptop in the back corner. She didn’t need to raise her voice; her quiet focus carried the weight of command, like a field general plotting strategy while the battle raged around her. Even in the not-yet-completed café, the staging felt unmistakably Cộng: equal parts grit, vision, and discipline.

This Paris location on 18 rue Volney marks the brand’s first foray into Europe, an ambitious step for a café chain already beloved across Vietnam. For Giang, the significance of this moment goes beyond business. “We usually have brands coming to Vietnam,” she told me. “Now we can have a Vietnamese brand come to other places.”

“We usually have brands coming to Vietnam. Now we can have a Vietnamese brand come to other places.”

For Giang, the decision was not only about expansion, but about who she trusted to bring the Cộng identity abroad. “We had inquiries before, from France,” she explained. “But actually, Huy [founder of Hà Nội 1988] was the first Vietnamese person to reach out. We did some research and saw his restaurants. That gave us the confidence that he could really do it. And I have to say, he has a very professional team.”

And this location won’t be the only stage. Giang shared that other new Parisian locations are already in the works, and the chain has its sights set on an even wider horizon. “My dream is to one day expand to New York, or Japan,” she said, her voice steady but the ambition clear. If Paris is the foothold, Europe — and beyond — may soon follow.

The future of Vietnamese food in Paris

The City of Light’s Vietnamese culinary scene is evolving from enclaved phở joints to high-concept eateries and hybrid café-boutiques. It reflects a generational shift: from first-generation immigrants who opened restaurants out of necessity in the 13^th arrondissement, to second-generation and recent Vietnamese entrepreneurs" who now use food, design, and storytelling to assert identity in Paris’s most fashionable quarters. Many of these cultural ambassadors are eager to reclaim and redefine what “Vietnamese” means in France today.

Left: My Ly, the founder of Bà Nội (left); and Nam Nguyễn (right), the founder of Hanoi Corner. Photo by Tâm Lê.
Right: Bà Nội's gỏi cuốn. Photo via Bà Nội.

“My parents really didn’t want me to go into the restaurant business,” recalled My Ly Phạm, founder of Bà Nội. “When I told them my idea, they made me meet with a family friend who had a restaurant, just so I could see how hard it was. For that generation, it was about survival. But for ours, it’s different — we choose to do this work, we’re not forced into it.”

For My Ly, that choice meant building a restaurant featuring summer rolls. “At home, everyone rolled their own at the table: my family, my French friends, anyone who came over. It felt normal to me, but my French friends would always say, ‘Oh my God, this is so good.’ That’s when I realized I wanted French people to discover this way of eating.”

She pursued the idea methodically, studying business, working in restaurants during a gap year, and spending semesters abroad in Bangkok and later traveling through Malaysia, Myanmar, Singapore, and Hong Kong. Each place added something to her vision. “In Myanmar, by the lake, I tried fish with this peanut sauce that was amazing. I asked the chef what was in it, and that recipe became my sauce.” Her menu today blends memory and inspiration: tom yum adjusted to her own taste, teriyaki salmon, and that peanut sauce. “If I were opening now, maybe I’d ask if it’s legitimate to do it this way. But eight years ago, it wasn’t about legitimacy. It was about inspiration, about sharing flavors with French people in my own way.”

“People in Vietnam don’t fight over their authenticity. Recipes vary and everyone just says, ‘It’s the way I like it.’”

That balance between authenticity and adaptation is a recurring theme among Paris’s Vietnamese restaurateurs. Nam of Hanoi Corner, put it bluntly: “People in Vietnam don’t fight over their authenticity. Recipes vary and everyone just says, ‘It’s the way I like it.’ French food borrows from everywhere — Japanese minimalism, Chinese small dim sum plates, African spices — and that’s how it thrives. Like how the French kebab is different from the original, I want Vietnamese cuisine in Paris to grow the same way, to have its own French-Vietnamese identity.”

Julien Dô Lê Phạm with cơm hến and bánh mì xíu mại from Chop Chop's collaboration with Saigon Kiss. Photos by Tâm Lê.

“I feel like French-Vietnamese food is not born yet,” echoes Julien Dô Lê Phạm. We are sitting in front of his spot Chop Chop, a painfully cool wine bar that hosts a rotating cast of multicultural chefs. This week is the Vietnamese-Dutch collective Saigon Kiss serving central dishes like cơm hến and bánh mì xíu mại. People mill around us hoping for a seat to open up, as he continues: “I see what’s going on in New York and it’s so interesting. Ha’s Đặc Biệt is doing American-Vietnamese. Mắm is authentically Vietnamese. Bánh by Lauren is amazing. She’s doing something very authentic in a New York way. I feel like we are late in Paris, in terms of having the younger generation create restaurants with their own identity. There is a freedom in the US, where a mix of cultures in cooking is possible. Whereas in France, you are always seen as an immigrant — you need to do your food and adapt it to French people.”

Julien pauses as he chooses his next words carefully, “This event might be the edgiest Vietnamese thing in Paris right now, but the best is yet to come once us kids of immigrants are totally free to express ourselves. Creating something that is intentionally mixed was not possible until now. For a long time, it was only about French food, French food, no deviations, and Vietnamese restaurants were considered hole-in-the-walls. It’s only been recently that Paris has embraced its diversity and the kids of immigrants. That’s why Paris is so exciting nowadays.”

Julien’s optimistic sentiment reminds me of something Nam expressed earlier, laughing as we stood outside Cộng Cà Phê during their soft launch: “Being Vietnamese in Paris is finally starting to feel fun.” Santé to that!

Saigon’s Beloved Basilico Undergoes Re-Imagining to Emphasize Authentic Italian Cuisine

2025-10-26T06:54:00+07:00

“We are Italians, we do pretty much what we want,” said Chef Francesco Leone when pressed for his vision of Basilico. “If you want to transmit authenticity and the feeling of Italian food by making Basilico a small section of Italy in Saigon, then you need to reflect Italy in the ambiance, but mostly in the food.”

Born in Corato, Southern Italy, Francesco is adamant about serving authentic food as it was envisioned in his home country. “If you want to defend yourself as a chef, a restaurant or a brand, you need to maintain your authenticity … if customers don’t like it, they don’t like it, and I’m really sorry about that.”

More than 15 years after it first opened, Basilico is receiving an extensive makeover with a menu created by Francesco that perfectly matches the new interior. While a few menu items remain for the guests who have been coming since those early days, Francesco is committed to bringing flavors and preparations he learned at culinary school and Michelin-starred restaurants in Italy to the newly renamed JW Marriott Saigon.

Francesco sat with Saigoneer earlier this month to walk us through the new menu, pointing out with pride the changes and additions he has made that allow him to oversee meals at Basilico that maintain Italy’s culinary reputation.

Leaving Italy, But Not Leaving Italy Behind

We cannot say that cooking is in Chef Francesco Leone’s blood. While he did help his mother prepare the family’s Sunday cakes, he comes from a family of accountants, so his decision to attend culinary school was a radical departure from expectations. Oddly, his decision to move to Southeast Asia after several years working his way up the rungs in esteemed restaurants in Italy was not unusual for his family. Francesco has several relatives in the region who encouraged him to enter the international culinary scene, which has developed rapidly here over the past several decades.

As he transitioned from resorts in the Philippines, Singapore, and most recently, central Vietnam, he refined his craft alongside a determination to introduce people to authentic Italian cuisine. This often involves dispelling previous misconceptions, such as the acceptability of adding cream to carbonara as a shortcut to achieving a rich, smooth texture.

“When I saw it, I wanted to pull out my hair. I already don't have hair, but I wanted to pull out my hair,” Francesco said of the burrata on the previous Basilico menu. Leon completely changed the recipe, removing the berry jam and reverting to an authentic simplicity that involves the fresh cheese alongside heirloom cherry tomatoes, Roman tomatoes, Parma ham, and a balsamic reduction. Many of the items on Basilico’s new menu retain old names but feature completely different preparations, ingredients, and presentations. For example, an international-style sandwich was replaced with one featuring 18-month Parma ham, mortadella, coppa, and spicy salami. Meanwhile, the pizzas are no longer flatbread-esque but on their way to being true Napoletana-style thanks to a new pizza oven prominently placed in the open kitchen.

Alongside these reinvigorated recipes are dishes completely new to Basilico. For example, the pasta menu has been fully revitalized, including the linguine al pomodoro, which features hand-made linguine pasta tossed in cherry tomato sauce and basil finished with parmesan cheese. A new crab pasta reflects the reality that it’s not reasonable or even possible to import only Italian ingredients, and some of the local ones are great too. Thus, Cà Mau mud crab is served with hand-made spaghetti and Stracciatella cheese while the hand-made bigoli pasta complements Nhin Thuận flower crab. Similarly, Francesco praises the octopuses that are caught and prepared in Japan and used in a seafood salad, a tagliatelle, and an organic saffron risotto.

The Role of Creativity in the New Menu

In explaining his culinary philosophy, Francesco is most concerned with defending traditional flavors and can be less dogmatic regarding presentation, particularly when it coincides with the elevated decor and expectations of diners who consider the visit a special occasion. Thus, he embraces the opportunity for one-of-a-kind presentations that are fit for social media.

The soups, for example, are prepared at each table so the merging of beetroot, which turns the conventional stuffed pasta a shocking shade of pink. Such attention to unexpected experiences underscores Basilico’s understanding of what elevated cuisine means. For example, in Italy, a seafood salad is presented as a singular mix in a large bowl, colors and flavors can delight diners and online friends. Meanwhile, the ravioli recipe at Basilico is more refined with each ingredient marinated and presented individually. “It’s the exact same dish, but with an elevated touch,” Francesco summarizes.

Basilico also allows Francesco to express his personal creativity. While again adhering to the flavors and textures Italians expect, he tweaks and embellishes recipes in ways that modern Italian restaurants are familiar with. For example, the amatriciana pizza captures the flavors of the similarly named pasta sauce via a San Marzano tomato sauce reduction. Meanwhile, a late-night epiphany led him to carmelize the bottom of gnocchi, giving them a crispy quality that contrasts with the sauteed version served elsewhere.

A Time and Place for Compromise

With a certain amount of glee, Francesco shared a story about a foreign guest who asked for a Hawaiian pizza at his restaurant in Manila. Francesco wouldn’t do it. No amount of money, or threats to complain to the owner, would change his mind. While he still refuses to make a pizza with pineapple, he has softened some of his views on cuisine and also restaurant management. No longer does he rule the kitchen with a severity that earned him the nickname Francesco Valkyrie, after a famous World War 2 assassination plot. “You change, you mature, and then you become more professional, more diplomatic,” he says.

This diplomatic attitude extends to his remaking of the Basilico menu. There are some menu items that he would not include if it were up to him alone, but he understands it’s a business and that means keeping beloved guests who have been coming for years happy. So French oysters, seafood pasta and Caesar salad remain, made with as much loving attention as always.

A New Look in Every Direction

Part of the bold, new impression Basilico hopes to make has nothing to do with Francesco's impact on the menu. The airy first-floor space recently re-imagined its entire interior, elevating the decor in a way that pairs with the new food. In addition to new furniture and wall decor, it’s opened the kitchen to showcase the care Francesco and his team pay to each dish. Similarly, an increase of vegetation, including the namesake basil plant, reinforces the fresh and natural feel that permeates the atmosphere and the plates.

If you want to know the sincerity of Francesco and Basilico’s commitment to authenticity, you can ask him about alterations to classic dishes that are popular in the region. “No cream in the carbonara. Absolutely no cream in the carbonara,” he said while pounding the table. “You can cry. You can roll on the floor. I honestly don't care.”

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Lê Duẩn/Góc Hai Bà Trưng, phường Sài Gòn, Quận 1, Hồ Chí Minh, Vietnam

A Delicate Dish in Hanoi That's Not Your Usual Crab Salad

2025-10-16T10:00:00+07:00

Crab has long held a beloved place in Vietnamese cuisine, and it is often simmered into comforting soups, tucked into rustic rolls, or served fresh and simple on coastal tables. Yet it is rarely treated as a star ingredient or explored with the kind of finesse that reveals its deeper character. That is precisely why the Smoked Crab Salad from Viên Dining in Hanoi deserves attention.

In Chef Trương Đức Mạnh’s hands, this humble seafood is reimagined with elegance, offering diners a fresh way to experience the essence of Khánh Hòa’s coastal bounty: refined and contemporary, yet deeply rooted in tradition.

The crab is carefully shelled and steamed before each strand of meat is meticulously separated to preserve its natural texture. The meat is then cold-smoked over straw for a full hour. This delicate process imbues the flesh with a subtle, fragrant smokiness while amplifying its inherent sweetness. Finally, the crab is gently tossed with Vietnamese herbs and seasonings, which balance the smoky depth with the bright, clean freshness of the sea.

Paper-thin slices of zucchini and radish bring a crisp, refreshing contrast, while toasted pumpkin seeds add a layer of nutty richness. The result is a dish that feels both grounded and elevated, a microcosm of the coast where acidity, crunch, and umami exist in harmony.

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Integrating Spanish Culinary Traditions into Local Lifestyles

2025-10-12T08:20:00+07:00

Paella’s elevation of humble countryside ingredients into an extravaganza of flavors united by fluffy rice; soft and creamy Torta del Casar sheep’s milk cheese; intense Pimentón de la Vera paprika made with smoked peppers, and nutty, earthy iberico ham sliced whisper thin: Spanish culinary treasures are becoming increasingly common in Vietnam. As more Spanish restaurants open and Spanish products occupy more space on grocery store shelves, people here are also discovering how Spaniards like to eat.

Spanish hams.

Eating Like a Spaniard

Perhaps the biggest difference between how Spanish and Vietnamese eat involves timing. Unlike the rise and shine and dine culture here, the Spanish tend not to prioritize breakfast, opting for a small, mid-morning meal consisting of simple bread, pastries, and cheese alongside strong coffee. One is therefore unlikely to see any Spanish restaurants competing for attention beside bustling phở shops or xôi vendors.

Meanwhile, lunch, or la comida, typically arrives later than here, coming at between 2 and 3 pm. But while breakfast may be light, once the Spanish begin eating, they go all in, and la comida is a large and long-lasting affair with numerous courses. With an agricultural heritage similar to Vietnam’s, it has been historically common for Spanish folks to take a nap after a long lunch, which helps them recover after arduous mornings in the fields.

Secreto Iberico.

While fewer offices and businesses are closing nowadays to accommodate the habit, la comida continues to contain heavy, food coma-inducing items. Soup and salad starters, meet, seafood, and rice mains, and desserts consisting of fruit, pastries, or cheese and honey are all standard practice whether eating at a restaurant or at home.

Pincho de magret de pato.

The culmination of a meal doesn’t mean one gets up from the table, however. Sobremesa, a Spanish word without a good translation, involves remaining at the table to drink coffee or wine, smoke cigarettes, and most importantly, chat with family, friends or colleagues. Simply hanging out and letting the good spirits continue is surely familiar to anyone who has spent a night out here, and the commonality reveals how, across cultures, food brings people together.

Pan tumaca.

Spanish dinner comes late, and in contrast to lunch, is a smaller meal consisting of moderate portions or leftovers from lunch. To tide people over until it’s served at around 9 or 10, many people break for tapas. Coming from verb “tapar” which means to cover up, legend claims tapas originate with the plate placed over wine or beer to keep insects away. Over time, bars and restaurants begin putting small portions of shareable food on the plates, particularly salty ones that would compel people to drink more. In some regions of Spain, guests receive these items for free, while they are paid for in others.

Gastronomic experience with Spanish flavors.

Dining Spanish-Style in Vietnam

As often happens when traditions cross borders, tapas have been transformed, taking on new meaning when brought outside Spain. Rather than snack items served with drinks between meals, many restaurants outside Spain now use the term to describe any small item that can be shared amongst diners. Thus, a lunch or dinner at a Spanish restaurant may consist of a dozen or so small plates, all selected from a menu’s tapas section. One can also treat the item as the Spanish do, and order some cold cuts, bread with cheese and olive oil, croquettes, meatballs, omelets, olives, and fried bites beside a late afternoon or early evening drink.

Tortilla de patatas (left) and paella, pinchos and sangría (right).

Diners in Vietnam can observe either approach at local restaurants led by Spanish teams, such as Saigon’s Sabor Restaurant & Bar, which serves traditional tapas, including meatballs with tomato sauce and calamari with spicy sauce. Many Spanish restaurants here balance time-honored dishes with creative items, such as the Michelin-recognized Octo Tapas Restobar’s octopus with ginger and sesame relish and roasted bone marrow with beef tatar and oyster cream.

Crowd gathers at Iberico in Saigon.

In addition to consistent innovation and expanded popularity amongst local diners, an exciting trend in Spanish cuisine in Vietnam involves expansion beyond Saigon. Recently, Capos in Hanoi, My Casa in Đà Nẵng, OLÁ Beach Club by SOL Meliá in Phú Quốc, and Hispania in Nha Trang have all opened. Such forays into less traditionally adventurous markets reveal the suitability of Spanish cuisine for local palates. Meanwhile, the talented chefs who helm these restaurants require authentic Spanish ingredients, and therefore a robust supply chain that can meet their high standards.

Chef at Sabor Restaurant.

Ensuring Quality and Authenticity

In response to the growing need to access authentic ingredients and a desire to bring diners around the world a true and delicious experience with Spanish cuisine, in 2020, ICEX Spain Trade and Investment launched the Restaurants from Spain certification program. In order for a restaurant to obtain the official distinction, it must meet seven criteria related to the ingredients used, the dishes offered, and the presence of a Spanish chef or representative capable of conveying the cuisine’s heritage. Each application is carefully evaluated by ICEX’s local offices abroad, while a commission in Madrid composed of Ministries, Associations, and food professionals reviews the dossiers to ensure that every Restaurant from Spain truly represents authentic Spanish cuisine.

Certification plaque verifying authenticity.

As of now, there are more than 500 certified restaurants around the world, including 11 in Vietnam, including the previously mentioned establishments, as well as Olé Saigon Restaurant, Tomatito Saigon, and Iberico Tapas y Vino I, II, and III, with more in the application process. Of course, there are more than 11 restaurants in Vietnam that claim to serve authentic Spanish cuisine so discerning guests can ensure they are patronizing a restaurant that has undergone the exhaustive application process by looking for the certification plaque.

In addition to these restaurants, people around the world can obtain authentic Spanish products with the help of the Colmados from Spain certification, which verifies food and wine shops that specialize in Spanish products. Several establishments in Vietnam are currently in the process of obtaining this certification, which will guarantee consumers of the Spanish items’ quality and origin. At present, there are more than 80 Colmados certified worldwide.

Spanish olive oils.

Welcoming and flexible, Spanish cuisine is ultimately about enjoying food and the people you share it with. Knowing that Spanish people eat dinner at 10 pm, or that a meal doesn’t traditionally consist of tapas, is neat knowledge, but doesn’t need to be followed to appreciate authentic ingredients and recipes. Simply savoring the dishes is enough, particularly when the experience has been certified by the Spanish government. A perfect way to experience Spanish cuisine in Vietnam falls on October 12th, when Spain celebrates its National Day. An occasion to honor the nation’s history, culture, and traditions, the day is a great way to embrace its rich gastronomy.

Scan above and learn more at Restaurants from Spain

Hẻm Gems: Bánh Đa Cua Hải Phòng, a Rare Northern Treat in D10

2025-10-03T20:00:00+07:00

On the way to Phú Thọ Indoor Sports Stadium in District 11, make a turn off 666/74 Ba Tháng Hai, go all the way to the far corner, and you’ll discover Triển Chiêu Quán’s bright yellow sign. Park underneath the canopy, walk up the ramp, and you’ll notice something stands out, but you might not know why — bunches of caramel-colored noodles in the kitchen area waiting to be enjoyed.

Dried, flattened, and blanched in boiling water, the chewy, brownish bánh đa noodle hails from Hải Phòng. In an ideal world, at some point in life, you will find yourself in the major northern port city, upstream from the mouth of the Cấm River, sitting under those royal poinciana flowers and hovering over a steamy bowl of bánh đa cua Hải Phòng, the city’s most famous delicacy.

Red phượng blossoms are a common symbol of Hải Phòng.

“One day,” I told myself, looking at the picture of this scene hanging on the wall at Triển Chiêu Quán in District 10. But, the line of sight to my imagined escape was broken and auspiciously brightened. Bluish skies and reddish flowers were replaced by bluish bowls and reddish noodles being carried toward me. A colorful concoction of flavor headed my way:

Purplish brown mushrooms.

Orange-and-pink crab and shrimp.

Red chili peppers, tomatoes and fermented chili sauce.

Brown fried shallots, fried fish, and fish cake.

Light green chives, chopped onions, and cilantro.

And dark green morning glory and betel leaf-wrapped sausages.

The swirl of colors fills my first bowl of bánh đa cua Hải Phòng, the first of many to come.

Trays of toppings.

Molasses is the ingredient that makes bánh đa stand out amongst bins of bún and miến, creating that signature brown color. That, and compared to bún, miến, and other noodles I’ve at least tried, bánh đa left me feeling noticeably more filled afterward. It’s more like eating fettuccine than spaghetti, except instead of dousing your plate with butter and cheese, bánh đa is engulfed in a seafood-based broth.

Bánh đa cá comes with heaps of dill.

One item in all our bowls left us perplexed to the point of asking the owner for clarification: the betel leaf-wrapped pork and mushroom sausages that we originally presumed to be bò lá lốt.

Bánh đa thập cẩm.

At Triển Chiêu Quán, I ordered the bánh đa thập cẩm (VND55,000), while my colleagues went with dry bánh đa trộn (VND65,000) and bánh đa cua (VND45,000). In between bites, I drank trà đá, while our editor went for nước sấu Hà Nội, a northern classic. The owner of the shop told us her mother pickled the sấu fruit herself and flew it down to Saigon, seemingly bringing together north and south in food and drink.

The homemade nước sấu at Triển Chiêu Quán.

To date, I have yet to make the journey to Hải Phòng to indulge in their local specialty, so for now, I’ll settle for reveling in the next best option: returning again and again to Triển Chiêu Quán to enjoy a delightful bowl of bánh đa cua Hải Phòng while I daydream, gaze at the photo on the wall and plan my future escape to its source.

The rustic shopfront of the eatery.

Triển Chiêu Quán is open from 6:30am to 8:30pm.

Triển Chiêu Quán

666/74 3 Tháng 2, Ward 14, D10, HCMC

Pizza 4P's to Expand to the US With First Flagship Location in New York

2025-10-03T12:00:00+07:00

If you’re roaming around New York but suddenly hanker for a bite of familiar salmon miso pizza taste, you might be in luck this year.

Pizza 4P’s, Saigon’s own homegrown pizza brand, is reportedly in the process of expanding to the US market. According to Insider Retail, the Japanese-Italian fusion pizza chain will open its first US location in Brooklyn, New York. An exact address has not been made available at the time of writing.

To facilitate the launch, Pizza 4P’s has put up a job posting seeking a General Manager to oversee the Brooklyn restaurant’s operations.

This move will mark the first time the chain ventures outside of Asia, after having branched out in several countries in the continent, including Cambodia, Japan, Indonesia, and India.

At the moment, 4P’s is running 35 locations in Vietnam, 2 in Cambodia, and 1 each in Indonesia, India, and Japan.

Beginning in 2011 with a cozy location in District 1 of Saigon serving homemade pizzas with unique flavors, Pizza 4P’s quickly gained a following for its farm-to-table ingredients and higher-end pizza experience, a different offering to the city’s fast-casual pizza chains at the time.

[Photo via Dân Trí]

A Culinary Celebration of the Watermelon That Would Make Mai An Tiêm Proud

2025-09-30T10:00:00+07:00

I never imagined there could be more than one way to eat a watermelon. Yet here it was, transformed beyond recognition, via a bold experiment and a deeply personal story, challenging everything I thought I knew about such a simple fruit. Only later did I realize it was part of Sonó’s new tasting menu, “Tales & Tastes.”

The dish — named Mai An Tiêm after the main character in a famous folk tale — begins with watermelon on the grill. Fire draws out flavors we rarely associate with the fruit: smoky, savory, caramelized sweetness. To this, Chef Kiên Phan pairs a chilled cheese sauce, his playful take on gazpacho where vegetables are replaced with cheese. The contrast is striking, hot and cold, sweet and creamy, familiar yet unfamiliar. The classic trio of watermelon, cucumber, and feta is then elevated with lemon gel, finely chopped makrut lime leaves, and crisp prosciutto, creating a perfect balance of textures and tastes.

The inspiration comes from memory. Years ago in Vinh, Kiên once stopped at a roadside stall and tasted sticky rice served with a simple pickle of cucumber and lime leaves. That humble pairing lingered with him, sparking a curiosity to push lime leaves into new territory. Countless trials later, the memory returned in the shape of “Mai An Tiêm.” The dish embodies his philosophy of delivering comforting food rooted in French technique, with a gentle modern twist, and a touch of Vietnam. Something refined yet familiar, inventive yet grounded.

It is also the dish he’s most eager to share. The idea of grilled watermelon alone challenges expectation, asking us to see a familiar fruit differently. For me, Mai An Tiêm is more than a course in a menu. It’s a story of memory and imagination, and a quiet reminder of how extraordinary the ordinary can become.

The Tales & Taste menu which includes the Mai An Tiêm is accompanied by Petey Majik's entertainment show.

Sonó’s Facebook

Bimbim, Snack and Oishi: A Brief History of Vietnam's Regional Terms for Packaged Snacks

2025-09-26T11:00:00+07:00

The differences between regional dialects across Vietnam is a fascinating field of research that can spawn days of discussion, but no other pairs of words has the power to mystify the internet like the dichotomy between bimbim and snack, both used in the Vietnamese language to describe bags of crackers made of rice, corn, or wheat flours. In today’s Snack Attack feature, Saigoneer is digging into the surprisingly recent history of why northern Vietnamese use the term “bimbim” while it has always been “snack” in Saigon and southern provinces.

From glass noodles to bimbim

Today, if one were to hit the streets of Hanoi and head to the nearest tạp hóa asking for “bimbim,” the most likely response from the owner would be “what kind?” because it is now recognized in the northern dialect as a generic term to describe all types of crunchy crackers coated in flavor powders, sweet or savory. There is, however, one specific brand of cream-filled cookie stick called Bimbim, produced by the Haiha-Kotobuki confectionery company, that holds the key to today’s etymological discovery.

Snacks are an indispensable part of tạp hóa. Photo by Alberto Prieto.

This sweet Bimbim snack would appear foreign to most Vietnamese adults today, as they likely grew up with a savory version called Snack Tôm Bimbim, the first widely known packaged chip in northern Vietnam, manufactured by none other than Haiha-Kotobuki.

Before becoming the established confectionery brand today, the company had its start as a state-run glass noodles workshop. In December 1960, under the directive of the northern government, Xưởng miến Hoàng Mai was founded to diversify the local food supply by producing glass noodles from mung beans.

Across the 1960s, the facility also developed soy sauce and corn starch until 1966, when it was turned into the Hải Hà Factory for Experimental Foods, and worked on other edible products like malt sugar, bouillon cubes, and fermented soy beans. In 1970, it took over the candy facility of Hải Châu and became the Hải Hà Food Factory. After reunification in 1992, the entity was officially registered as HAIHACO, a confectionery enterprise, until 1993, when it entered the Haiha-Kotobuki joint venture with a Japanese F&B firm, based at 25 Trương Định in Hanoi.

One of the earliest packaged snacks in the north.

Haiha-Kotobuki's only remaining snack with the Bimbim brand.

The new company made use of Hải Hà’s established brand recognition in the local market and Japanese production technologies. One of their new products that hit Hanoi was Bimbim shrimp-flavored crackers. “When it came time to make a snack, [we] thought about how to name it,” Nguyễn Thị Lệ Thủy, then-CEO of Haiha-Kotobuki, shared in the company’s archive footage. “I said: ‘Children love automobiles, they like to press on the horn so it beeps, so we should use the name Bimbim.”

Following the same creative direction, Bimbim’s earliest television commercials in the 1990s featured cars that made noise. This association has mostly faded today, as the snack brand underwent genericization. Bimbim was the first packaged cracker in the north, made a mark in the culture, and now all snacks are called “bimbim.”

Vinabico and the legendary green crab snack

If you have ever engaged in cyber fights on whether “bimbim” or “snack” is the right way to call these bags of 80% air, 10% monosodium glutamate, and 10% crunch, you might be stunned to learn that their origin stories are almost identical. Southern Vietnamese, especially Saigoneers, all refer to these as “snack.” Of course, with certain degrees of Vietnamese bastardization, we’ll also accept bánh snack, xì nách, sờ nách, or just simply nách.

Illustration by Vent Hoang.

How this came to be was directly linked to the introduction of the legendary green bag of crab-shaped rice crackers known simply amongst snack disciples as “Snack Cua,” produced by local company Vinabico.

Vinabico was a confectionery enterprise founded in 1974, widely recognized by a logo featuring a swan. It was nationalized in 1978. In 1993, the company entered a joint venture with Japanese firm Kotobuki, similar to that of Hải Hà.

Employing rice flour and a new technology to make durable aluminum wrappers, it launched the first snack product in the southern market called “Bánh Snack Cua” in the same year. Each piece was made of rice and corn starches, puffed into the shape of a crab complete with two pincers, and tossed in an umami flavor powder. The bag was brightly colored using a palette of turquoise and red. An orange boiled crab was featured at the bottom. The word “snack” in red was the most prominent in the center of the packaging, so it has stuck around in the collective consciousness as the common term to refer to packaged snacks.

A newspaper ad promoting Snack Cua when it first launched in the 1990s. Image via Instagram user nikoskhanh2022.

The original packaging of Snack Cua.

In 2003, Vinabico bought out the shares of Kotobuki and performed well in the confectionery market across the 2000s. Still, in 2012, Kinh Đô took over the control of the company with 51% of its shares and eventually bought it out. In 2015, Vinabico ceased to exist, absorbed completely into Kinh Đô. Snack Cua fell out of the popularity race during this period due to tough competition from local and foreign brands, but has since resurfaced under the Kinh Đô umbrella, albeit with a modified package design.

Oishi, the dark horse from the East

Much of the discourse surrounding bimbim versus snack tends to focus on Saigon and Hanoi, as they have always been the biggest markets of consumer goods in Vietnam. There exists, however, another contender in the race: Oishi. If you grew up outside of the two biggest metropolises, especially in more rural areas in Central Vietnam or the Mekong Delta, it’s likely that you’ve been calling packaged snacks “oishi.”

“Oishi” is a Japanese word meaning tasty, so it’s natural to assume that the brand hailed from Japan, yet few know that this household name today had origins in the Philippines.

Some of Oishi's most iconic snacks of our childhood.

In 1974, Carlos Chan, a Filipino entrepreneur of Chinese descent launched the Oishi brand in the Philippines, putting snack foods produced using Japanese technologies in the national market. Oishi expanded to China in the late 20th century and, in 1997, reached Vietnam for the first time. Vietnam has long regarded Japanese-made products as superior, so the name Oishi serendipitously was well-received by local snackers.

Oishi strategically made a move to enter the market via small-scale retailers like mom-and-pop shops and public school canteens, entrancing Vietnamese children one salty finger at a time. It worked, and today Oishi remains one of the country’s most prevalent snacks, especially in the countryside and second-tier municipalities, whose residents will use the term “oishi” to refer to packaged snacks.

Hẻm Gems: Bánh Canh Nam Phổ, Huế's Hearty, Homey Afternoon Snack

2025-09-18T14:00:00+07:00

There’s a commonly acknowledged nugget of folk wisdom amongst foodies that hole-in-the-wall eateries almost always have the best food. In the context of Vietnam’s street food landscape, this concept could extend to cart on the pavement, table in the hẻm, coffee on a bike, and even wackier contexts. The star of today’s Hẻm Gems feature, however, is a true-blue hole-in-the-wall, both in physical manifestation and in spirits.

As an avid bánh canh enthusiast, I have long wondered about the mysterious bánh canh Nam Phổ, Huế’s contribution to the country’s pantheon of noodle royalties. There’s something about that intense shade of orange dominating the broth that contributes to the air of enigma, coupled with the fact that it’s very rarely seen or talked about in Saigon. It’s almost comical for me to have constructed this myth surrounding this dish just to finally arrive in Huế this summer and see that bánh canh Nam Phổ is everywhere.

At a corner of Phó Đức Chính Street, just a short walk from the Huế University of Education, Quán Hằng peeks out in between wedding parlors, groceries shops, and a particularly smokey cơm bình dân place grilling meat on the street. It’s just past 4pm on a Saturday, so the city center is perhaps still unwinding from its afternoon nap to sleep away the stuffy heat. The streets barely have anyone out and about. It’s the perfect occasion for me to stay ahead of the crowd and make a beeline for Quán Hằng before the limited seating capacity is filled up.

It's so crispy I'm gonna die!

Arriving at Quán Hằng, the first things that will capture your attention are several giant bags of crispy pork cracklings and fried shallots perched atop the glass display. Conventionally, these are to be sprinkled as garnish on bánh bèo nậm lọc, but to me those scream party-sized snack bags. It turns out I’m not the only person with this idea, because our photographer ends up buying one whole bag of pork crackling during his visit as a travel gift for the team. He knows us too well.

Quán Hằng fits the hole-in-the-wall stereotype to a tee: while-tiled walls, plastic tables and stools, a Coca-Cola-brand glass fridge repurposed for ingredient storage, and staff comprised entirely of family members. Inside the tiny dining space behind the prep station, there are four sets of tables, each can fit a group of three snugly or four uncomfortably. Usually, with just one person assembling the food at Quán Hằng, hopeful patrons might have to wait for a little while for a table.

Quán Hằng is a family business, so on any given day, one can be served by different members of the family.

There are only two things on the menu here: bánh canh Nam Phổ and bánh bèo nậm lọc, both at VND20,000 a portion, extremely affordable snacks compared to the galloping inflation rates in Saigon. After we make our order and settle down at a table to kill time, delivery drivers and locals on bikes start popping up one after another, ferrying away big bags of bánh canh and bánh bèo — a reassuring sign that the food is excellent. Ah, Huế has woken up from its siesta and is now hankering for something to ăn xế.

Our plates of bánh bèo nậm lọc land on the table first, of course, with a generous sprinkle of fried shallots and pork cracklings. All three are made from rice flour batter and steamed; the latter two are wrapped in leaves while bánh bèo are in tiny shallow dishes. Delicate is the one adjective I would use to describe these little morsels of silky bánh. Each bánh bèo is spread thinner than typically seen in Saigon, but holds its shape surprisingly well. Bánh nậm and bánh lọc are both soft in texture and light in taste, allowing the subtly sweet nước mắm to seep in, perfuming every bite. While they have fierce competition in Huế, where making bèo nậm lọc is a municipal sport, these exceed any version I’ve had in Saigon by a wide margin.

Bánh nậm lọc (left) and bánh bèo (right).

Bánh canh Nam Phổ arrives on our table in small bowls, filled to the brim with a viscous orange sauce that encases nubs of meatballs and bits of bánh canh noodles. Everything is petite and snack-sized. According to Huế conventions, this noodle dish is almost always enjoyed in the late afternoon. Firstly, because cooks need to source the freshest seafood in the morning; and secondly, because it’s just meant to be a little bite before the proper dinner later.

Bánh canh Nam Phổ has shorter strands and a thicker broth compared to other versions.

Like most Vietnamese delicacies with a geographical location in the name, bánh canh Nam Phổ is believed to have originated from a real place: Nam Phổ, a village northeast of the Imperial City that’s now part of Phú Vang District. If most typical bánh canh noodles are prized for their distinctive chew thanks to a high percentage of tapioca flour, the noodles in bánh canh Nam Phổ are often made with a mix of rice and tapioca flours with a heavy lean on the latter, resulting in a supple texture. When cooked alongside the broth, chunks of noodles break off, so the dish is commonly eaten using a spoon instead of chopsticks. The meatballs are made of a combination of pork and shrimp meats, cooked in a ruốc Huế-based broth (shrimp paste). To get that distinctive shade of orange, Huế residents blend in crab and shrimp tomalley, or annatto oil.

The chili fish sauce adds an edge to an otherwise-mellow noodles soup.

After just a few spoonfuls of bánh canh at Quán Hằng, I realize why this is the perfect post-nap snack. It is umami and hearty, no doubt, but it’s also incredibly easy to eat compared to other noodle dishes: everything is soft and scoopable and there is no need to wrangle with pork hock, pick vegetables, or manage big chunks of topping. It is a child-safe treat, but children won’t be able to fully appreciate the full range of bánh canh Nam Phổ’s flavors, because they can’t eat the chilies. These are thinly sliced, bright green chilies mixed with fish sauce, readily available on the table. I’m already convinced by just the bánh canh, but upon spooning a few slices of chilies on top, I’m surprised by how much their citrusy bright heat brings to the table. They are like light sabers cutting right through the viscosity of the noodle broth, lifting everything up. For me, the chilies have become a must when having bánh canh Nam Phổ, even though I’m not generally a fan of spiciness.

Tiny eatery, big bags of pork cracklings.

It’s easy to romanticize travel destinations. You’re in vacation mode, untethered from the tendrils of work and life obligations, so everything tastes great and everybody you meet seems extraordinarily wise and lovely. There’s a possibility that I’m romanticizing the magic of Quán Hằng’s bánh canh Nam Phổ and Huế residents would scoff at my naivety, but you have to be there. The weather is not sweltering for the first time. The neighborhood is quaint. At a tiny table looking out into the street, I sit with my bowl of bánh canh, hands warm from hugging the bowl and mouth stinging from spicy chilies. You have to be there.

To sum up:

Opening time: 6am–8pm
Parking: Bike only
Contact: 0702 151 869
Average cost per person: $ (Under VND100,000)
Payment: Cash, Transfer
Delivery App: N/A

Quán Hằng

9 Phó Đức Chính, Phú Hội Ward, Huế

After Coconut and Salt, Is Peanut Butter Coffee Saigon's Next Drink Trend?

2025-09-15T10:00:00+07:00

After egg coffee, coconut coffee, and salt coffee, is the next coffee trend going to be peanut butter coffee?

Probably not, but it should be!

The concept is evident in the name: add rich and creamy peanut butter to a familiar cà phê sữa đá, or cà phê sữa tươi. The earthy oils of the peanut cut through some of the sugar while adding a bit of complexity.

Given peanut butter and peanut milk’s general presence here, it’s a bit surprising one doesn’t see cà phê đậu phộng more often. I had never encountered it until earlier this year, at Suối Tiên, of all places. While delicious, that version was made with an extra-heavy pour of sweetened condensed milk that led to a severe sugar crash. Since then, I’ve been scouring menus for a version that might fit my preferences a bit more.

After one disastrous rendition at a cafe I won't name, Saigoneer got targeted by an Instagram ad for a place named Mardoll Coffee. We ordered from Grab and were pleasantly surprised to find the cà phê đậu phộng was smooth, milky and subtly nutty without being cloyingly sweet. Luscious and refreshing, it warranted an in-person visit.

“I don’t know if the coffee is any good, but people keep coming to that shop to take pictures,” we overheard an elderly neighbor exclaim in Vietnamese when she saw us outside Mardoll, located down a busy District 3 hẻm. The apparent trend of people visiting Mardoll to take photos is baffling, because it's not really a coffee shop; it's a nail salon that happens to have a barista counter that makes terrific peanut butter coffee. There is no possible way to drink it there comfortably amongst women getting butterfly and flower gel designs, but it’s certainly worth ordering for delivery or takeaway.

As Grab orders pinged in on the barista’s phone, we watched him make our cà phê đậu phộng. The process is simple, with the ubiquitous Golden Farm peanut butter applied around the edges of the cup and allowed to seep into the milk before the coffee is added on top. He said he wasn’t sure why it appeared on the menu recently or where the shop’s owner had gotten the idea. While I will likely order from here again, the true takeaway was that the recipe is one worth experimenting with. What’s stopping me, or you, from having peanut butter with your fresh milk and sweetened condensed milk for sapid start to the day?

Mardoll Cafe

399/2A Nguyễn Đình Chiểu, Ward 5, D3, HCMC

ONVIT’s Warm Light: A Korean Culinary Journey Through Vietnamese Terroir

2025-09-12T08:46:00+07:00

Hanoi’s fine dining landscape has long been shaped by European and Japanese influences. But in August 2025, ONVIT, the first Korean fine dining restaurant in Vietnam, opened inside the Grand Plaza Hanoi Hotel. It reinterprets Korean culinary traditions through the richness of Vietnamese terroir.

The name itself holds the key to this vision. In Korean, ONVIT means “Warm Light,” suggesting gentle guidance, warmth, and presence. The restaurant’s design embodies this spirit. Its dining room glows softly, blending minimalist Korean sensibility with understated Vietnamese touches. Natural textures, muted colors, and carefully orchestrated lighting create a calm, luminous space that feels both elegant and welcoming. The atmosphere mirrors the philosophy behind every dish.

At the heart of ONVIT is Chef Owner Chi Joon Hyuk, known simply as Chef Joon. His culinary journey has spanned Japan, Canada, and the Philippines and included the co-founding of LABRI – Oriental Neo Bistro, a Michelin-selected restaurant in Hanoi. Vietnam is where he found clarity about his identity as a chef, a distinctly Korean voice, shaped by international experience and translated through the soul of Vietnamese terroir. “Fermentation is the depth of Korean cuisine,” he explains to Saigoneer. “Gochujang, doenjang, Nabak kimchi—they all express our culture’s roots. At ONVIT, we craft Nabak kimchi from Vietnamese vegetables for our Mu Ni lobster dish. It’s a way of keeping tradition alive while honoring this land’s produce.”

Chef Owner Chi Joon Hyuk.

Unlike fine dining models built on imported luxury, ONVIT draws inspiration from Vietnam’s markets and landscapes. Vegetables from Đà Lạt and Măng Đen, Tam Đảo beef tongue, seafood from Đà Nẵng and Cát Bà, and even Vietnam’s award-winning ST25 rice all find their way into the menu. In one standout dish, Korean abalone porridge is reimagined with ST25 rice, enriched with abalone liver sauce and soy. The result feels unmistakably Korean, yet deeply connected to Vietnam.

ONVIT’s approach also challenges stereotypes. For many diners, Korean food conjures images of sizzling barbecue and fiery kimchi. Chef Joon doesn’t deny these traditions, but offers them in unexpected, refined forms. “Barbecue and kimchi are essential parts of Korean culture,” he says. “But here, they surface in subtle, surprising ways across the course menu. Guests discover them differently, and that’s part of the charm.”

Nabak kimchi and Mu Ni lobster using nabak kimchi.

In doing so, ONVIT reveals the diversity of Korean cuisine beyond its well-worn clichés. Instead of heat and intensity dominating the palate, the restaurant emphasizes balance: layers of flavor that are savory, delicate, and nuanced.

Just one month after opening, ONVIT will underscore its ambitions by hosting a four-hand dinner on September 13 with Chef Yew Eng Tong, Former Head Chef of Alma by Juan Amador, 1 Michelin-Starred restaurant of Singapore. The collaboration will bring together Vietnamese, Korean, and Singaporean culinary traditions. A highlight dish will be Vietnamese golden pomfret, transformed into a cold curry tartare wrapped in potato, paired with apple, roasted-cilantro pesto, mustard seeds, and chili oil. “For me, it was about how a Vietnamese ingredient could be seen through a Singaporean lens, while still carrying the elegance of Korean taste,” says Chef Joon.

The collaboration will also be a statement: ONVIT may be young, but it intends to be part of Vietnam’s evolving fine dining conversation. And for Chef Joon, that means more than personal expression. “As a Korean chef, I cook Korean dishes through Vietnamese ingredients,” he reflects. “My hope is that young Vietnamese chefs will also look at their own produce with fresh eyes, with deeper thought, and with even more pride in their rich food culture.”

Abalone porridge and its humble yet valuable ingredients including ST25 rice.

In the end, ONVIT’s “warm light” is a guiding idea. Fine dining here is not defined by distance or extravagance, but by respect for place, innovation rooted in tradition, and hospitality that feels genuine. As the restaurant settles into Hanoi’s culinary scene, it illuminates a new horizon where food is understood as a language of culture, connection, and quiet transformation.

ONVIT 's website

ONVIT 's Email

+84 234 3695 800

117 Đ. Trần Duy Hưng, Trung Hòa Nhân Chính, Cầu Giấy, Hanoi

Hẻm Gems: The Legendary Miến Trộn That Feeds Saigon's Architecture Students

2025-09-09T15:00:00+07:00

Upon finding out that I’m a student at the University of Architecture HCMC, people tend to bombard me with a barrage of questions: if my coursework is tiring, if my school fees are skyhigh, and what my plans for after graduation are. These curiosities are understandable, but in the past years, one peculiar query has popped up more frequently: “I heard there’s a really good miến trộn place outside your school, is it true?”

Yes, it is true. The place has no name, known simply as “the miến gà place.” Miến gà is poached chicken meat served with glass noodles, either in a soup or as a mixed noodle dish. Netizens refer to it as “that miến place outside the architecture uni,” while students would use the shorthand “go eat miến” on sleepy mornings or sunny noons.

With a rudimentary setup of one cart hailing chopped vegetables, noodles, and chicken, alongside a handful of tiny plastic stools, this food cart has become an unexpectedly famous lunch spot at the intersection of Pasteur and Nguyễn Đình Chiểu streets, a location I once thought to be ill-suited to open an F&B place. How can one attract customers at the meeting point of two one-way roads, because once you’ve missed it, you can’t turn back easily?

Even so, throngs of people still show up and the staff members continue to assemble noodle bowls at lightning speed every midday. This miến gà place has an undeniable allure, helping it stand out right in the heart of busy central Saigon.

The first appeal is that special feeling that comes from watching your own bowl of miến taking shape. It’s quite a simple process, but optimized into a smooth rhythm by staff after years of practice: one person arranges the veggies, one quickly blanches the miến and chicken, while another ladles on the sauce and sprinkles some fried shallot and herbs. Once an order is made, no matter how tricky the requests are — from no spring onion to non-spicty — the noodles will arrive on your hands quickly and precisely. Figuring out the seating arrangement is an art in itself. There are no tables, and the stools are very low, so patrons are welcome to take their noodles to any corner that fits their fancy on the pavement.

At Miến Gà Kiến Trúc, people-watching is a built-in feature of the dining experience. Depending on the day’s needs, each person can choose a personal view while eating. If you enjoy the “kitchen view,” you can pick a seat near the cart to watch the owner assemble noodles. Those who feel like chatting with friends should snap up a corner along the university fence on the Nguyễn Đình Chiểu sidewalk. Some might opt for a view of the school gate to observe students rushing in and out. Others might only be here purely for some sustenance in between classes and don’t care for the dining experience.

Miến trộn gà, essentially, is a simple but balanced noodle salad. There are all the main food groups in one bowl: al dente strands of glass noodles; tender chicken strips; the richness of chicken gizzards and skins; refreshing greens like beansprouts, morning glory, spring onion and cilantro; and last but most importantly, crunchy fried shallot and a harmonious sweet-and-sour sauce.

Still, those are not the only reasons why this humble cart has achieved a cult following amongst Saigon’s food enthusiasts.

The main appeals of this miến gà can be described in two S’s: the first stands for “substantial.” Depending on how much each customer wants to eat, the owner will scale up or down the toppings to match it. Whether you’re hankering for a VND30,000 portion to snack on, or a big VND50,000 bowl to satisfy a craving after weeks of absence, the server can always provide a balanced meal based on their “secret” ratio.

The other S stands for “special,” which is how I view the mixing sauce. I’ve heard many raving comments about the bucket filled with that mysterious dressing. It’s always sparkling with the golden shade of fish sauce and floating with chunks of garlic, ginger, and tiny but powerful green chilies.

The dressing’s base flavor is the salty umami of fish sauce with a touch of sweetness common to southern cuisine. I can’t take my eyes off the ladle as it coats the noodles with a layer of savory sauce. It is this enigmatic flavor profile that turns a run-of-the-mill bowl of chicken and glass noodles into an irresistible delicacy.

As a freshman just getting my bearings in a new college, I used to treat the miến gà as yet another fast food proprietor. I admit to not really seeing what was special about a noodle salad back then, but after a while away from that familiar stretch of Pasteur Street leading up to the school gate, I could feel a palpable sense of emptiness inside me.

There could be a plethora of reasons compelling someone to stop by this noodle cart in front of my university. They could have bumped into a short video about tasty noodles or heard the word of mouth from an acquaintance. Perhaps they were curious about the crowds gathering around a steamy vat of broth while walking on the pavement, or it was simply hunger that lured them here. No matter what the reason is, a bowl of flavorful miến trộn gà is a guaranteed result. It can be relished alone or with friends, with fewer noodles or more noodles, on a plastic stool or as takeaways. It’s often those slivers making up a personalized, cozy experience that entice people to come back.

To sum up:

Opening time: 6am–2pm
Parking: Bike only
Contact: N/A
Average cost per person: $ (Under VND100,000)
Payment: Cash, Transfer
Delivery App: N/A

Miến gà trộn

196 Pasteur, Xuân Hòa Ward, HCMC

Hẻm Gems: In Huế, Cơm Hến Bé Liêm Is Breakfast With a Side of Warm Hospitality

2025-08-20T15:00:00+07:00

One of the small joys in life is having a favorite dish readily available whenever you crave it. Ever since I discovered the little hẻm in Saigon where Cơm Hến O Thu lies, my life has been ever so uplifted by the comfort that, every fortnight or so, I can hop on my motorbike, sit for 15 minutes, and have cơm hến on the table in a blink of an eye for gulping pleasures. Cơm hến is one of my favorite things, so naturally, when I got a chance to visit Huế, the dish’s hometown, there was no way I could miss out on this small joy that packs big flavors.

There is very little you can say about the decoration or interior design of Cơm Hến Bé Liêm, because very little attention has been paid to it — which, in this case, is a good thing, because it means the proprietor cares more about the food they serve than where they serve it. The eatery is located in a convenient spot on Nguyễn Công Trứ Street. The family lives on one side of a nondescript yellow house, while on the right, a semi-open space serves as the dining and kitchen for their thriving cơm hến operation. Walking past a peacefully napping dog and under a verdant vine-covered pergola, you will be greeted by rows of low plastic chairs and tables that have definitely seen better days.

Cơm Hến Bé Liêm is open from 6am, just in time for an early breakfast.

I’ve been Pavlov-ed by Vietnamese street food places so much that I practically start salivating whenever I see light blue plastic chairs, not because I’m hankering for a bite of that greasy plastic, but for the culinary orgasm that they often herald. It was a Monday morning, so the dining space wasn’t crowded. There was an air of subdued routine amongst diners, who were mostly Huế residents catching a quick bite before heading to work — we were the only rowdy tourists sitting on the edge of our tiny stools, humming with anticipation.

Usually, eating in casual street food settings like this, I’m not one to police the attitude of staff. F&B, especially in this economic climate, is back-breaking, hernia-inducing work, so as long as they don’t punch me in the face or slash my tires, we’re cool. However, I feel the need to point out that the people at Cơm Hến Bé Liêm were really sweet and accommodating, especially to a party of seven people of varying ages and dietary finickings. The fact that, according to multiple online reviews, local taxi drivers and xe ôm uncles keep recommending this place to visitors is a testament to its service and the tastiness of its food.

The people who run the place are some of the nicest people I've come across during my travesls across Vietnam.

Like hundreds of other cơm hến eateries in Huế, Bé Liêm serves only the star dish, though one can opt to switch out rice for bún or instant noodles — all for just VND15,000 a portion. On each table, there is a plate of 10 banana leaf-wrapped chả for diners to fortify their bowl if needed; these morsels of pork sausage are chewy and perfectly seasoned, but I personally think they fit clumsily in a cơm hến bowl as they are too chunky compared to the other perfectly chopped toppings. After a few minutes of us sitting around trading complaints about the Huế heat, our portions of cơm hến arrived.

Freshly assembled cơm hến.

Of every step involved in the dining experience, this is perhaps one of my favorite parts: when the food lands in front of me, putting a temporary suspension on the anticipation and hunger and showing off its glamorous bells and whistles. This is the best that any given dish will look on your table, so take it all in, waft the palpable aroma into your nostrils, feast your eyes on the freshness of the herbs, and enjoy it in any other senses because your palate does its job. A bowl of cơm hến is always a visual treat — on a bed of white fluffy rice grains, snippets of different shades of green peek out in between golden puffs of pork crackling and nubs of baby hến. Chopped Thai basil leaves, shreds of yellow young mango, slices of starfruit, and spongy stalks of dọc mùng form a luxuriant undergrowth just waiting for your spoon to dig in.

Made from cold rice and other simple veggies, cơm hến is a surprisingly balanced meal.

Cơm hến can be eaten any time of the day, but to me, it is the perfect breakfast with a balanced nutrient profile to fuel a busy day at work or school: just enough carb in the form of rice for energy, plenty of fiber from a diverse array of fresh vegetables, protein from the clams, fat from pork crackling, and heat from the chili oil to dispel any lingering lethargy. Bé Liêm has managed to evade some common setbacks that can sully the cơm hến experience, like sandy cold rice, clams that are past their prime, or fishy broth. Add in a teaspoon, or half if you’re a wuss like me, of chili oil, some shrimp paste, mix everything together with vigor — and your bowl of cơm hến is ready to be snacked on. I say “snack” because one bowl is never enough for me. My palate yearns for that comforting mix of savory shrimp paste, tingling heat, and crunchy veggies, so much so that I always get two, or even three on a hot day, bowls in one sitting.

Bún hến and cơm hến.

Every Vietnamese dish has a story behind it. Even right in Huế, nem công chả phượng is a living remnant of the grandiose court cuisine that past emperors enjoyed. Cơm hến, however, hails from much humbler origins on the submerged low-tide stretches along the Hương River, especially around Cồn Hến, a patch of land formed by river sediments and the ideal habitat for baby clams to thrive. Leftover rice, hến caught right from the water, and unripe fruits from the backyard are the simple ingredients that have allowed cơm hến to stay affordable and, over time, spread to all corners of Huế, becoming a satisfying snack for anyone, any time of the day.

To sum up:

Opening time: 6am–until stock runs out
Parking: Bike only
Contact: 0795538330
Average cost per person: $ (Under VND100,000)
Payment: Cash, Transfer
Delivery App: ShopeeFood

Cơm Hến Bé Liêm

64 Nguyễn Công Trứ, Phú Hội Ward, Huế