One of the aspects that I appreciate most about Vietnamese cuisine is that nothing goes to waste. From bones to meat to blood and guts, each and every part of an animal is put to good culinary use. Cháo lòng turns piggy odds and ends that most butchers would toss out with the garbage into hearty and soothing rice porridge.
Cháo Lòng is one of the rare offerings in Saigon that is served from morning until evening. The dish is hot, satisfying and easy on the pocket at only 6,000 VND a bowl. Street vendors dishing up cháo lòng can be easily spotted with their giant metal vats and glass display cases filled with piles of offal and stacks of golden fried dough (giò cháo quẩy).
I woke up super-duper early this morning to witness a very special tradition—the making of Bánh Tét. With the Lunar New Year days away, my grandma’s sister and her two daughters-in-law gathered for their annual ritual of making this holiday specialty.
At first glance, I thought the woman was frying up some bánh tôm tây hồ—battered and deep fried julienned sweet potatoes with shrimp. Upon closer inspection, I came to realize I did not recognize what was bubbling away in her oil-filled wok.
It is truly a red letter day in Saigon when I stumble upon a food that I have not heard of or tried before, and my encounter with bánh cóng on Vuon Chuoi Street (toward Dien Bien Phu Street) in District 3 was no different.
After six months of living in Saigon, I haven’t even come close to sampling all of the fruits and vegetables available. I love how every "season" brings a plethora of new delights to try. Sugar apples have been my favorite fruit for quite some time, but they may soon be replaced by vú sữa.
In English, vú sữa kinkily translates to "milky boob." Hubba hubba. The fruit earned its name based on its appearance and the process by which it is consumed. After the fruit has properly chilled in the fridge, one needs to massage it thoroughly before eating. When the milky juice and flesh are ready, the vú sữa feels pliable to the touch.
"Nguyen Thi Tinh draws a sample of her 2006 vintage from a wooden vat, inhales deeply, and dips her finger into the golden-brown liquid. The verdict? A sharp nose. Nice warm hues. And the taste is, well, sour, salty and unmistakably fishy. What cognac is to France, the pungent, fermented fish sauce in Tinh's vats is to Vietnam: A national treasure that shouldn't be produced anywhere else." The Christian Science Monitor's Simon Montlake visits the island of Phu Quoc, where Vietnam's best fish sauce is made.
