Flavor Boulevard

It was a warm, cloudy day. Few cars were on the road and every store was closed. So were restaurants, but not Vietnamese restaurants. We drove all the way down FM 1960 to Veteran Memorial, and pulled in the parking lot of Phở Danh (with the helpful hand signal of a Vietnamese gentleman, who just happened to stand there for no reason and apparently noticed my clumsy parking skill). But we went next door for Bún Bò Huế Cố Đô, since my mom spotted it out and we were in adventurous mood. There were as few people inside as cars on the road today. Everyone in the neighborhood seems to go to Phở Danh, cuz it’s bigger and more noticeable. We weren’t deterred. So how is Cố Đô?

My dad got the house specialty: bún bò Huế (Hue beef noodle). Rice noodle, beef, beef broth, (sounds like phở so far, isn’t it?), congealed blood, cha lua, a thick side cut of pig leg (not foot), and some good spicy hot pepper. I suppose it wasn’t spicy enough for my dad, so he put in some satay, which makes the broth colorfully pretty. And the whole side of greens (that has more than green):

Bean sprouts, a slice of lemon, plants whose English names I have no idea, and a purplish bundle of thinly sliced young banana flower. The meat was tender and generous, but I’m not so sure if this bowl has everything an authentic Hue beef noodle soup would have. For some reason I had never gotten the crave for it, I must have had it at some point and just can’t remember. It certainly looks good, perhaps a little busy. The noodle is thicker and rounder than the noodle in pho, so bún bò is more filling. The pig leg meat is just all too common pork with a bit of thick skin, pig foot is better and more interesting for the teeth. According to my dad, the soup didn’t quite live up to his expectation, except for being tenderly meaty. But the rest of the crew was actually quite pleased with the other dishes we got:

Hủ tíu mì

Hủ tíu Nam Vang.

Address: Bún Bò Huế Cố Đô
13480 Veterans Memorial Suite P3
Houston, TX
(281) 537-6760

Today it snows…
… in Texas. Yep, College Station… It was 70°F yesterday, and this morning I went outside at 10:30, seeing shrubs, lawns, cars, and the roof of the All Faiths Chapel covered in white. But I didn’t have my camera with me then. And it is snowing outside my window right now, for hours, but little Kodak can’t capture this momentous event through 2mm thick and dirty glass, so that I have no hope of disproving people who laugh at Texas for not having snow. Not that it will be long. AccuWeather says Sunday may reach record high of 82°F set in 1921. Aw… you mean I can wear my gloves only one day a year?

That’s what you get for living in the South your whole life (so far). Have some snow white food instead. (Presented to you by Eistube with limited commercials, production of Gio Cha Duc Huong, Houston, TX.) I have faith in sausages. I’ll try haggis when I find a place in America that has it. Meaty, seasoned, high in calorie, compact, preservable, easy for cooking, efficient, what more can you expect from a food? It is tofu for meat-eaters. I’ve never come across a type of sausage that makes me cringe and run away. But if you think about it, it comes from the black sheep of the meat production line, it’s bits and scraps stuffed in an intestine. Is there any kind of sausage with a cleaner background? Yes. There is. At least one that I know of. This is the purest form of sausage in my list, and possibly in the world.

Just lean pork (no fatty allowed, sorry) and a little fish extract (nuoc mam).

“…The pork has to be pounded until it becomes pasty; it cannot be chopped or ground as the meat would still be fibrous, dry, and crumbly…” (Wikipedia – Cha lua)

No intestine. No skin. No liver or kidney. No congealed blood. Usually people eat it right after they got it out of the banana leaf wrap. But my mom, having her own way of doing things, boils it. That lessens the flavor of nuoc mam and keeps the cha lua 1-2 weeks longer.

Did you know sausage is lighter than water? It floats.
And it’s still snowing outside…

The Hong Kong Market IV complex in Bellaire is always busy. At least during the days I go there. And I’ve been there an awful lot of times. No matter what time it is, the closest parking spot we could get was about 20 rows away from the door. Makes me wonder whose cars those 20 rows are, cannot be just the market’s employees’, can it? On the other hand, across from the artificial minipond and fountain, Tay Do restaurant looks so quiet we didn’t know if it was opened.

This is lunch hour, guys. The place is clearly so packed we had to wait to be seated. The only visible person in charge was talking on the phone and to a waitress behind the kitchen counter, and only spotted our unexpected visit after 10 minutes. Feeling welcome?

Except for the wait, we got more attention from the waiters the rest of our visit. Of course, the service here is about as indifferent as many other Vietnamese eateries, but at least we got our water, our food, and our bill in a timely manner. After all, we came to eat, not to chat and find companionship. And eat we did. A lot. Starting with appetizer: cua lột chiên bơ (butter-fried soft shell crab), eaten with fresh xà lách xoong (watercress). This is simply a must-have. I don’t like crabs because it’s too much work for too little meat, but when the crustaceans are caught shedding their exoskeleton to grow, the shell is soft enough to be edible, and among various possible recipes one of the best is you deep fried ’em. My taste buds like it, but thinking of the weak unprotected crab being thrown into a vat of boiling oil is, you know, unnerving. I wouldn’t be able to do it myself.

As we stuffed the last crab legs down our throat, the array of main course was brought out. From top to bottom: vịt chiên khoai môn (fried duck with taro), bò xào sate (stir fried beef in sate), and bánh hỏi tôm thịt nướng (banh hoi with grilled pork and shrimp).

The taro is the purplish layer underneath the duck meat. I like duck, and I like taro. But somehow the combination wasn’t spectacular. The taro was too sweet and the duck was too dry. Overall score: 2.0/10.0 for innovative idea.

The beef is a tongue trigger. It might have been a tad salty, but was great with steamed rice. I know it’s not spicy because my mom could eat it. 6.5/10 for taste and oldschoolness.

When I wrote this wikipedia article about bánh hỏi I couldn’t find any picture of just banh hoi by itself, without the oodles of meat and condiments atop. Why, you may wonder. Because banh hoi is simply fine thin rice noodle. It’s simply white. It doesn’t look appetizing on pictures by itself. And it doesn’t taste amazing by itself either. Much less because this is downtown Houston and the best banh hoi we can get is the dried prepackaged type imported from Vietnam. Things change after a long voyage. Was it an enjoyable dish with the company of grilled pork and shrimp, though? Oh yes. Don’t forget spoonfuls of nuoc mam either. The best thing is this dish is so light. I was not miserable after finishing it. 6.5/10 for satisfaction.

The whole bill came out $57.26. There were a few other customers coming in as we were leaving. The manager/main waiter informed us that this place has been mentioned in several American reviews (didn’t say which ones), and since they’ve been here since I first went to Bellaire in 11th grade, I suppose their business is decent. The red lanterns hanging at the front door enhance the Chinese look, the menu is littered with kung pao chicken and chow mein, the restaurant is named Tay Do (West Capital) after the common name for Cần Thơ, Vietnam. But that’s ok. How should I sum this up? Shania Twain’s song comes to mind.

Address: Tay Do Restaurant (next to Hong Kong Mall)
11201 Bellaire Blvd
Houston, TX 77072
(281) 988-8939

Lee’s sandwiches has different kinds of banh mi on their menu, and although I’m a stingy about chances to try out varieties (after finding out my favorite, of course), my mom often surprises me by how open-minded she is on a few things. For example, despite my usual fondness of banh mi thit nuong, this time she got me an extra: banh mi ba chi pate, the new and only item on Lee’s menu that has pate in it. I’m not sure if I would even have seen that on the menu myself. “Ba chỉ” literally means “three threads,” which I loosely understand as three layers, because there’s one really thin layer of skin, then there’s fat and meat. That’s right, sometimes words reflect great imagination of whoever made up the word originally. Just to confuse you, this type of meat is also called “ba rọi” in the south, and I have no clue what a “rọi” is, maybe a mispronunciation of “loại” – “type”? I digress. The meat is so thinly sliced that skin and fat can almost go unnoticed in your mouth. My gut instinct (well… not quite, just something I feel like I know but can’t remember from where or how I knew) tells me that the fatty pork is smoked Update: the pork is cured, but I don’t know if that explains the almost-too-attractive-to-be-natural red colour, which reddened the edge of the baguette as well. What is a banh mi with lipstick? Should you vote for it? Anyhow, I could taste little pate in there, and it would take a lot more pate to overpower the sour bickering of the shiny red slices. My loyalty with good ol’ grilled pork banh mi remains.

It’s a very simple name: banh it (it literally means “few” or “a little”, banh in Vietnamese is a term used for anything made of any kind of flour, in any shape and size, cooked in any way imaginable, so “cake,” “pastry”, “pie,” “bread,” and similar terms are not equivalent translations, in fact I’m still looking for a correct corresponding term). I digress. This banh it we got from Gio Cha Duc Huong (Bellaire Blvd, Houston) has a pyramid shape, similar to the ones I’d had in Saigon. Once again I don’t know how the banh maker can shape these things up in banana leaves, and an American bonus, cling wrap.

They’re certainly not ancient world’s wonder, but they’re quite resilient, at least against my attempt to dissect and take a picture of the interior.

It is as simple as a child’s treat can be. A clump of mung bean paste concealed by a layer of sticky rice flour. I believe brown sugar is added to the dough to make the color. (Update: indeed there is sugar, but I’m pretty sure there is no la gai in this little one.) The mung bean paste is also a little sweetened, but dry and scrumptious to the extent of powdery (so yeah, not really a “paste”). The dough coat is, you guess it, sticky. And a little plain if, at all possible, eaten without the bean paste. I enjoyed the mixing of texture in my mouth, mostly because of the filling’s nuttiness. The pyramid is only about 4 inch high and at most 9 square inch at the base, but it hits you hard and sound in the tummy. It is powerful. It makes me wonder about Vietnamese children. If these are their snacks, how come they’re so skinny? I suppose because it’s just sticky rice, bean, and very it sugar. Last note: if you want to savour food with your hand like a good traditional Indian, be prepared for some meticulous finger rubbing with soap and water, it sticks with you.

Instead of choosing among a few dozen types and brands of cereal, the traditional Vietnamese children choose among a few dozen kinds of stuff made of rice flour and often containing meat for the morning energizer. Meat and rice in the morning, what? You must be be kidding… Well… we have breakfast croissant, breakfast burrito, breakfast sausage and cheese biscuit, sausage and cheese kolache, pancake with sausage and/or bacon and definitely butter, and probably more things out there with meat and dairy. The only difference is rice and wheat, but unless you count your calorie intakes and all, grain is grain.

Banh cuon certainly doesn’t have any cheese or butter in it. I’m still waiting for the day McDonald comes up with MacBanhCuon (MaCuon, maybe?), then banh cuon will have cheese, egg, sausage, and bacon, probably pickles too, but I think the flour sheet is too delicate to be mass produced like the buns. Anyway, I digress. My schooldays back then often started with pho, hu tiu (a noodle soup with pork instead of beef and slightly sweet broth), banh cuon, and occasionally when I was young we had banh gio. There’s not much I could remember about it because it was rare to find a street vendor with trustworthy cleanliness, and it was rare, if ever, to find a store selling banh gio. Yes, it is almost exclusively street food, until it gets to America.

We got our banh gio from a small food shop in Bellaire, downtown Houston, named Gio Cha Duc Huong. A triangular cylinder is its basic shape, a thick coat of rice flour with ground pork and minced woodear mushroom inside, with a little bit wandering too close out to be visible. In all splendor the banh gio is a coarser, thicker, chubbier, more stern and fulfilling version of a roll of banh cuon. I know what it is made of, and I know it is boiled, but I have no idea how they put the liquid mixture of rice flour and water outside a few spoonfuls of meat stuffing to form a pudding wrapped and cooked in banana leaves. The flour coat is bland, but the stuffing makes up for it just right. No condiment is needed, and I don’t know if it has ever been eaten with any kind of condiment. The whole package is somewhat like a student who just pulled an allnighter, rather easily shattered and just collapses in your mouth. A spoon would be much more useful than a fork, and I can’t imagine using chopsticks with this. But its endurance is remarkable: it was made and cooked the same day we bought, it stayed good in the fridge three days later, and its twin brother stayed good one day later at room temperature.

Banh gio is a kind, guileless meal. Unless you eat 3 in one sitting or something oversize like that, it won’t make you feel like carrying a stone around the rest of the day. Its lightness will never betray you.

Sold at most banh mi stores in the States.

My roommate is eating dinner, I haven’t had anything since 9am, and I’ve vowed to stay on this chair until I get a plot to show my advisor, so I can’t grab anything to eat yet (except the cookies within reach). The best solution to satisfy the saddened tummy is to blog about food. Above is a bottle of nuoc mam pha, and a jar of chilly sauce if you’re in the mood for crying.

We come here frequently when I’m in Houston. It’s Banh Cuon Tay Ho #18, belonging to the franchise Banh Cuon Tay Ho (but apparently not on the website, which is good, because the website, oddly enough, is quite Chinese influenced, when banh cuon is as Vietnamese as it can get). I’ve blogged about this chain before, in San Jose, but the restaurant in Houston is quite different. It’s a lot more spacious (you don’t have to worry about accidentally flicking your chopstick, or worse, nuoc mam, over to the other table). In all fairness, it’s Texas. You can’t blame California for being mostly inhabitable. It’s also a lot less Vietnamese-looking, minus the fact that the staff and all customers are Vietnamese. Nicer tables, less noisy, doesn’t have the smell of food, doesn’t have a TV with some beauty contest going on. Anyway, just go to the one in San Jose, then come here, then you’ll like it here better.

Asians like fish, don’t they? I never understand why…

Most of the time I get the to-go box. It’s just more comfortable slurping at home. The plastic box may look flimsy, but I admire it for not spilling out anything during the long drive (with various sudden hitting-the-brake instants).

Three pieces of shrimp tempura, a lone deep-fried shrimp (recall there was no such thing at the San Jose place), a small cup of nuoc mam pha, a bag of quick-boiled bean sprouts and greens whose names I have no clue, slices of cha lua (the ones with yellow curd are cha chien, or fried cha lua). Digging through the jungle, and the heart of goodness is…

…5 rolls of banh cuon. Five! Who can be full after 5 rolls of steamed carbon paper thin rice flour sheet gently stuffed with ground pork and finely chopped wood-ear mushroom? Each was just a little longer than my index finger. They’d make nice body pillows for a mouse. I dipped the rolls into the nuoc mam and they went down too quickly. Perhaps 10 rolls would have sufficed. (That’s why it’s breakfast food in Vietnam.) But making these flimsy pieces of woot requires a bit of skill. With a little less than $6 (cash only), it is a much healthier, more customer-cared meal than a burger or the bully version of a roll, a burrito. The wait was also fairly quick.

Address: Banh Cuon Tay Ho #18 (inside Hong Kong Mall, near Ocean Palace)
11209 Bellaire Blvd
Houston, TX 77072

Lunch today, at Pie Are Square:

Yes, that was my lunch in its entirety (minus a bite).

Name: I have no idea what kind of muffin it is, although it reminds me of Thanksgiving, with pecan, pumpkin color, and raisins, and some red thing I can’t make out.
Pleasing to the eye: Hmm… Nice color, I’d say.
Taste: First bite: not bad. Second bite: like Thanksgiving, October-November-ish, when all the leaves fall and, well, dry. See what I’m getting at? It tastes like sun-dried leaves. Now where did my water go?
Filling: Yes. After I drank a lot of water.
Satisfaction: Com’on, Pie Are Square, where did your good meals go?
Price: $1.49.

On the other hand, here’s lunch yesterday, at home. And made in home (by little mom, actually):

Name: goi cuon (salad roll).
Pleasing to the eye: what do you expect me to say?
Taste: crunchy lettuce, tender chicken, firm shrimp, soft rice vermicelli, thin and moist rice paper. But really, the taste of a goi cuon comes from the dipping sauce in the little bowl. Meat sauce, in this case, flavoured with garlic, sugar, salt, and onion. Hard to explain, you just have to take a taste for youself. But no worries, you can’t find this sauce anywhere but my mom’s kitchen and my fridge. And you’ll have to step over my dead body to get this out of my fridge.

Not the best shot, but try to take a picture with one hand that isn’t your right hand, when the button is on the right hand side of the camera. Bon appetit!

Is it filling? What do you think?
Satisfaction: Hold on, let me lick my fingers… Ok… Hey, I’m trying to be objective here, please don’t make it any harder.
Price: being a good and obedient child.

The pho was good. The broth was beefy and the noodle was brothy. Every twirl you manage to pick up with the pair of disposable bamboo chopsticks was worth inhaling a deep breath for the flavor to soak your taste buds and dally with your turbinate. The tripe and the sweet onion rings texture-wise taste about the same to me (see, tripe tastes just fine!), which is good, since I’m soft-tongued and those little zings of spiciness can easily bring me to tears. Tendon and Flank were, frankly, tender, but still a good change of texture from the lean brisket consistency and the rice noodle naivete.

Rosie’s Pho does not serve just pho. It serves a whollota things. Mudpie once amusedly predicted that one day its menu will include pizza and hamburgers. But no, it has stopped expanding, at a menu large enough that I had to carouse over for 5 minutes to find my order amidst various noodle and rice dishes. But my dad didn’t take that long, and he didn’t even have glasses on. So here’s his order:

Grilled beef chunk steak served over rice. Don’t you just love the colorful display? I have no idea what the sauce to the side was, he didn’t have it with his rice, and I was busy snouting in my soup, so I didn’t remember to chopstick a taste, until now. My take is soy sauce with ground peanuts, but please let me know if you have a guess at what it is.

Another shot close up. I just really like the colours, the flowery arrangement, the inviting variety. We see fresh cucumber, tomato, lettuce, onion; we see stir fried bell pepper, more onion; and we see grilled marinated beef, and very little rice. The Vietnamese dishes here are so Americanized that meat overpowers everything. Anyway, dad said he remembered the beef here used to be more tender. Maybe the chef was a little occupied with my humongous USS Pho, and chunky beef got overcharred. Sorry for the hype over the colours.

But we have desserts to make up for it. 🙂

I know, that is not the most dazzling presentation. We had to ask for to-gos, because we sat there too long to let the dust food settle before ordering dessert, and ended up running out of time. In the plastic cup is green tea ice cream, which tastes extremely like banyan pandan leaf (lá dứa) to me. My favorite. I can come here just for this ice cream. Avocado bubble tea and chocolate Capuccino bubble tea were pleasant endings as well. What else can you expect?

Lunch for three with desserts costs a total of $36, tip and tax included. (I kinda miss dining in Vietnam, no tip and tax there.) And we were rolling out filled to the brim.

Address: Rosie’s Phở – Asian noodle soup
2001 Texas Ave S #300
College Station, TX 77840
(979) 680-8580

There is no Hong Kong Market or Bellaire (or 99 Ranch Market or Bolsa, if you are Californian) in College Station, but there is Vietnamese food here. Rosie’s Pho (noodle soup) opened about two years ago. We were among their first customers, and the owner of the place, Ms Hồng, even remembered me when I came back a few months later with my friends. Talk about hospitality. (Guess how we know she’s the owner: hồng means rose in Vietnamese.)

We came early for lunch. When we finished our meal at around 12:30, the place was a whole lot more crowded. It’s good to sit again at the familiar booth we always sit, close to the entrance and far away from the kitchen’s action. It’s also good to see the same ole expression on the cashier’s face, definitely not unfriendly, but so contemplative that makes me wonder if he has important exchange going on at the stock market or something of sort. It feels casual, and you don’t need to put up big smiles here for a show of warmth. The warmth comes to you in a bowl.

I ordered a the-more-the-merrier karnival of beef brisket, tendon, flank, and tripe phở. Large bowl. Huge mistake. No, WAIT. No. Don’t leave. Let me explain. The mistake is mine, not the pho’s or the cook’s. I had no idea what I was up against (I don’t remember it being like this before). For all its goodness and meatiness and brothiness, as you can see above, look at the size of the bowl! I could take a bath in there. And I would drown. But before I do, shall we take a minute to spot the white bundle at 4-5 o’clock of the bowl? It’s Tripe. Tendon and Flank were camera-shy and hidden under Brisket. If you are grossed out by the thought of eating anything animalia, muscle, but non-flesh, offensively commonly known as offals, and think that they taste gross, let me beg to differ that they are texture food, and they do have their unique charms. If you chew gum, why not give tripe a try?

The herb plate accompanying the USS Pho here has the basics: cilantro, rau hung, rau ram, bean sprout, interestingly-cut pieces of lime, and (the American substitution for cayenne pepper) jalapeno. I eat my pho without any condiments or herbs, but little mom likes the greens and the bean sprout…

… which makes her bowl look so much prettier than mine.

(To be continued)

Address: Rosie’s Phở – Asian noodle soup
2001 Texas Ave S #300
College Station, TX 77840