Flavor Boulevard

This is Vietnamese clay pot rice at Saigon Express. The pot comes sizzling hot, and after 5-10 minutes, we have a nice rice crust at the bottom, while the top is flavored with the sauce from the meat and vegetable. I wish there were more rice just because the sauce is so good, but I already get quite full with this portion every time.

The closest resemblance I can think of is the Korean dolsot bibimbap. In this Vietnamese case, there’s no kimchi, no gochujang, you don’t have to add anything to the already well seasoned toppings. I like this completeness of the rice bowl, as they say about the donburi (watch this Shokugeki no Soma episode for the donburi reference – ignore the sexy stuff, though, just focus on the food).

It’s amazing how much a restaurant can change over the years, or how much dining with a companion can change your perception of the restaurant (did they even have this clay pot rice back then?). I was not so impressed before. This time, it’s a change for the *much* better.

Side details: the hosts are nice, welcoming aunt-like ladies, who are more than willing to customize your order (cut the broccoli, not too much carrots, etc.). Each bowl costs around $9.

Address: Saigon Express
2045 Shattuck Ave
Berkeley, CA 94704
They close on Sunday (T__T)

Near our hotel is a shopping center, where we regrettably spent more time than we should have, eating overpriced fried rice (P.F. Chang’s, no less, T__T) and okonomiyaki. The reason is just that it was hot. Unbearably, relentlessly, suppressively hot. We couldn’t walk for five minutes without perspiring like the underside of the lid of a cheap rice cooker right after the rice is cooked. Being the indoor sloths we are, we ditched the inner foodie, became the very tourists lounging out at American chain restaurants while on vacation whom we cannot understand, and dined at the mall. It was actually satisfying.

Meatball pho at Pho Factory in Royal Hawaiian Center (9.10).

Oxtail pho at Pho Old Saigon (14.60). I haven’t seen oxtail pho in the mainland, but it’s strangely and pleasantly everywhere in Oahu’s pho menus. Pho Factory also serves it. The oxtail is meaty, softer (fattier) than the usual rare steak/brisket option.

Pho Old Saigon is your typical Vietnamese pho shop in the States: rectangular dining room with the cashier in the back, no frills, laminated menu, plastic chopsticks.

Pho was a light, easy-to-eat, good-at-all-time meal on those hot days.

Address: Pho Old Saigon Vietnamese Restaurant
2290 Kuhio Avenue
Honolulu, HI 96815

These days I keep craving noodle soups. There’s just no end to it. Plus, it rained this morning. If I were in Houston, I would go downtown to get this: a crab noodle hotpot (lẩu riêu cua đồng).

The crabs are tiny freshwater paddy crabs, pounded into a paste and strained to make the broth. Throw in some crab meat and fried tofu, some light seasoning, and you get a bubbling soup to dunk your noodles and vegetables. The size of the hotpot in this shop is enough for two, you have to pay a few dollars extra for some chrysanthemum greens (cải cúc or tần ô) and some thin rice vermicelli (they absorb the broth better than the flat kind), but the package doesn’t taste complete without them.

What does this hotpot taste like? Imagine yourself in a remote area on a mildly hot day (not blazing though), sitting on a low chair under the shade, looking out to some green rice paddy in Can Tho, a canal in Giethoorn, or some other kind of open field with flowing water. You’re hungry but not famished, it’s hot enough that you just want something light and sweet but not ice cream. Something that goes down with no effort on your end (and requires little effort on your stomach later too). That’s what this hotpot tastes like.

To spice things up a little, there are skewers. Organ meats and grilled fish. A brief trip to the countryside for $35.67. Slightly overpriced compared to other Houston restaurants, but worth it.

Now where can I get something like this in the Oakland-Berkeley area though…

Address: One Hot Pot and Grill
12148 Bellaire Blvd, Suite 111
Houston, TX 77072
(281) 564-4063
Light dinner for 3: 1 crab hotpot ($15.99) + 1 saffron grilled goby fish (cá kèo, $4.99) + 1 lemongrass grilled pig heart and kidney ($4.99) + 1 chrysanthemum greens ($3.99) + 1 rice vermicelli ($2.99) + tax = $35.67
The service is also nice.

Bitter melon is another thing that you either love or hate. Among my friends and relatives who have tried bitter melon, 42 percent(*) find it too bitter to try a second time. My mom is a special case. She used to shun it, then little me got a bad fever and had to eat it to help lowering my temperature (bitter melon has medicinal effects), mom was so worried that I wouldn’t eat it (like every toddler, I didn’t like food), but I chowed it down at first try, mom got curious, tried and started liking it too. That’s the story she told me, but I think she started liking it because she started making it, and everything she makes tastes great.

Even in the Bay Area, bitter melon is somewhat rare and expensive. The only restaurant I know of that has bitter melon is China Village on Solano, and a plate costs 10.95 with 70% egg and 30% bitter melon. Sushi California used to have it as an Okinawan specialty but had to cut it due to low demand. 🙁 Chinese and Vietnamese markets have them, but they can be far. Thankfully, today Berkeley Bowl has a small box of maybe 40 counts, so I grabbed a few.

Stir-fried bitter melon with eggs (in Vietnamese: Khổ qua xào trứng)

INGREDIENTS (8 servings):
– 5 bitter melons (less green ones with fat stripes, i.e., the East Asian variety, are much less bitter than the skinny ridged subcontinent counterpart)
– 5 eggs (or however many you like)
– 12 cloves of garlic (I just happen to like garlic a lot)
– Salt
– 1/3 cups of olive oil

PREPARATION:
– Wash the bitter melons, cut off both ends of each fruit.
– Cut each fruit length-wise in half.

– Use a spoon to scoop out the seeds (along with the fluffy white part). Redder seeds mean riper and less bitter melons. The red film outside the seeds are edible (I’ve eaten them while prepping the melons), but their mildly sweet taste is not much to talk to about.
– Slice each half into crescents of ~ 3-4 mm (1/8 inch) thick

– Soak the slices in water (with a bit of salt) for ~ 30 minutes to partially remove the bitterness.
– Peel and slice garlic, set aside.

COOKING:
– Put oil in a skillet, medium heat, wait for oil to get hot and throw in the garlic to brown.
– Drain and add the bitter melon into the skillet.
– Lightly mix so that the melon slices at the bottom don’t just sit in oil while the top ones hang out.
– Cover and cook for ~ 5 minutes.
– Uncover, stir.
– Add 5 eggs as you would make scramble eggs.
– Scramble the eggs with the melons until the eggs are fully cooked.
– Sprinkle salt to taste.

For colors, add pizza. 😉

Foodnote:
(*) This is not a fabricated statistics. I counted 12 people (excluding me) who have tried it and given me confirmed opinions on bitter melon. Five of them grimaced when the word was mentioned. If you’ve tried it and decided to be on either side, let me know so I can update my statistics.
(**) Total cost: bitter melons: 2.06 lb x $2.59/lb = $5.34; box of 12 cage-free large eggs: $3.19; prep time + waiting time: 40 minutes; cook time: 10 minutes; cleaning time: 10 minutes.

My love for these will never cease.

I’ve written way too much about banh cuon (Vietnamese steamed rice rolls) over the years, and if we’re friends, it’s highly probable that I have made or will make you try them the first chance I get. How much you like them kinda determines how much I like you.

Bánh Cuốn Thiên Thanh focuses on the northern-style(*) bánh cuốn Thanh Trì, where small, flat steamed squares (banh uot) are served with cha lua (silk sausage) and/or shrimp flakes on the side. They also serve 2 other types: rolls with pork and mushroom – banh cuon thit (pictured above), and rolls with grilled pork – banh cuon thit nuong. The owner told my mom that the younger kids (pointing at me) often liked the third type the most. I always stick to the second.

Compared to Tay Ho (which is inarguably the best places to get banh cuon in America – just what In ‘n Out’s fans claim about their favorite burger, only more factual), Thien Thanh’s rolls are much bigger, have more stuffings, taste just as good, and because they’re so big and flat, they can be rolled again (doubly rolled!) for easier handling. The only (personal) downside: the dipping sauce (mixed nuoc mam) has too much chili pepper. My lips were burning.

Address: Bánh Cuốn Thiên Thanh
11210 Bellaire Blvd. Suite 140
Houston, TX 77072
(281) 564-0419
Dinner for one: $7

Foodnote:
(*) – Technically, all banh cuon are northern. Banh cuon originates from the North.

Quite possibly the cheesiest name of a store I’ve ever seen: Bánh Canh Quê Anh & Quê Em – “bánh canh [from] your hometown and my hometown” (it doesn’t sound cheesy translated into English, but trust me, it’s like Twilight’s Edward Cullen in noodle soup form). Which is actually fitting, since banh canh is commoner’s grub, not a bourgeois lunch. You won’t find a classy madame dressing up just to go out for banh canh. The poor thing will never be elevated to the level of pho. I love it.

I grew up eating it before I was born (literally). Backstory can be told in person, but despite eating so many bowls, I never knew that there was so many types of banh canh. Que Anh & Que Em offered 30 types (see menu at the bottom), 14 of which are no more traditional than the Spider Roll, but the other 16 are attached to geographical regions in Vietnam, and thus, in this case, more meritable.

Banh canh is a thick, chewy, slippery rice noodle (with tapioca starch). It’s similar enough to udon in appearance and texture (as the shop aptly translates it to “Vietnamese udon”), but also entirely different (udon is made from wheat).

Close-up of my order: banh canh Tra Vinh – pork, pig trotter, quail eggs, pig blood in a clear, light broth. The classic when people think of banh canh. I can do without pig blood, which I transferred to Dad’s bowl, and the quail eggs (fresh quail eggs are great, but these taste like the canned version). In fact, the noodle and the broth alone are sufficient.

From left: Dad’s and Mom’s orders: banh canh 3 mien (“banh canh of all three regions”) and banh canh hoang gia (“royal banh canh”). Both names are only meant to illicit interest, the same way “Pho Dac Biet” is really not all that special. The broth of both bowls is thickened, yellow (with turmeric?) and taste richly of seafood, as both are loaded with crab meat and shrimps.

Desserts, of course. che long nhan hat sen – longan and lotus seed che… (I got the same thing at Danh’s Garden too, it’s gently sweet, fruity, and hard to get tired of.)

… and che khuc bach – lychee, some chewy tapioca thing, some chewy milky jello thing, and some nuts. A popular che in Vietnam these days.  Here’s a video to make che khuc bach, which the author loosely calls “almond panna cotta lychee dessert”.

I miss Vietnamese food. It’s been only three days since I left for the mountain on another observing run. Every time I’m in the mountain I’m reminded of what a privileged life I have. I miss being a stone’s throw away from darling nigiri, banh mi, mordin, etc. There’s no Asian restaurant in Big Pine, the nearest congregation of human from the observatory. Then again, it’s already a huge privilege to stay at CARMA, with a private bedroom and bathroom, eating juicy fresh apples and having nutritious meals hot and ready twice a day…

Address: Banh Canh Que Anh & Que Em
11210 Bellaire Blvd, Ste 133
Houston, TX 77072
(281) 416-5316

Pub foods for Vietnamese are pretty diverse (**). The menu at Danh’s Garden in San Jose is basically a book, plus some handwritten ones on the wall. I single-handedly narrowed down our choices by a page when I refused anything goat or lamb (I often wonder why my friends can be so kind and still go to eat with this oddball).

We picked 5 dishes at first, thinking it should be enough for a party of 5 – Vietnamese pub foods are no tapas or izakaya, things are not served in dainty palm-sized saucers, they’re entree-portion. With them come a plethora of dipping sauces and salt-and-pepper mix for who knows what. Honestly I don’t think we even used all of those sauces. The food were plenty seasoned already.

Mực dồn chạo tôm – squid stuffed with shrimp paste. Light on the seasoning. Rating: 8/10. (It’s tasty and I can’t think of any flaw, but will I crave it? Probably not.)

A dish of freshwater snails that I can’t for the life of me remember the ingredients. I’m so embarrassed. And I didn’t even have a drop of beer for an excuse of braincell loss. It’s sweet and savory, lemongrassy, a tidbit spicy, the snails are crunchy-chewy, small, addicting. Rating: 7/10. (Again, no apparent flaw, but snails are something I can live without. Also, for some time now I just feel bad eating little creatures, shrimp included…)

Ếch chiên bơ – butter-fried frog leg. Bland. Too dry. 2/10.

Giò heo giả cầy – braised pig trotters with galangal. The meat is doused in a tad curry-like sauce, some steamy white rice would be perfect. 9/10.

Bò lá lốt – grilled beef sausage wrapped in piper lolot. Served with rice paper with bún (rice noodles) and fresh herbs to make into little rolls that are dipped into a pineapple-anchovy dipping sauce (mắm nêm). My mouth is watering. 9/10. (We ordered this beef midway through the meal because we felt the previous four were just appetizers and I was dying for some starch.)

The greens to go with the bò lá lốt. Most of us were thrilled to see slices of green bananas and good old homey herbs of the motherland that I can’t name… I was thrilled too, but my general enthusiasm for herbs is about the amount of homework a normal student is eager to do everyday.

Lẩu lươn bắp chuối – hot pot with eel and banana flower. Also served with rice noodle. I only started to like eel because of Japanese food (unagi don… I might want it for my last meal…). I used to hate eel after the first time I ever had eel: I eagerly bit into a plump round of meat and nearly broke the roof of my mouth with the hidden eel bone. Well. This eel hot pot is perfectly seasoned, the julienned banana flower has a nice crunch, the eel is fine but kinda… unnecessary? 7/10.

Desserts. Chè thập cẩm đậu – mixed bean chè (left) and chè long nhãn hạt sen – longan and lotus seed chè (right). The mixed bean one has coconut milk topped with peanuts, looks pretty filling and interesting. Mine (longan and lotus) is more of a sweet drink with longan and lotus seeds, which I like, but it was too loaded with ice to do anything. :-/ 5/10.

Most online reviews complain about the rudeness of the waitressed at Danh’s Garden. To be honest, they weren’t the friendliest people I’ve met, but they weren’t rude. They were just cold. Their responses were terse and they didn’t refill my water because they were busy tending the full house. Now, they were laughing and joking with some of the regulars, but that’s just a perk of being regulars. Who goes to a pub and expects bistro service? Yelp dummies who classified this place under “Chinese”, that’s who.

Address: Danh’s Garden
2635 Senter Rd
San Jose, CA 95111
(408) 293-3990
(No reservation)
Dinner for 5: roughly $150. Average score: 6.7/10 (the frog legs’ fault).

** FOODNOTE: I used the word “pub” to loosely describe the type of food here – food to eat while downing alcohol – but Danh’s Garden and all Vietnamese pub food establishments are not pubs, they’re just restaurants that make that kind of food and cater to middle-aged men going out for drinks.

From Mom: hủ tíu bột lọc.

Hu tiu is a common type of rice noodle in Southern Vietnam, often served in noodle-soup form, the noodle soup dish is of course also called “hu tiu“. The usual hu tiu noodle is characterized by its thin shape and chewy texture. Vietnamese love chewy noodles just as much if not more than any other country, so people began using various methods to make hu tiu (*) chewier (the soaking time before grinding, the grinding, washing the rice flour, the mixing ratio with water and other types of starch, the thickness to spread the mixture into a film, the temperature and time to steam it). Bánh bột lọc(**), a type of savory snack, is made with tapioca starch (cassava flour), so I guess hủ tíu bột lọc also contains tapioca starch.

I spent an hour googling but expectedly found little and contradicting information about hu tiu bot loc – nobody in the business would reveal their secret. What I found online is hu tiu bot loc originated from Cần Thơ, and what I found in my bowl are fat (and flat) strings, whose color is clearer and texture is chewier than both the normal (and thin) hu tiu and hu tiu dai (“chewy hu tiu”).

Mom’s hu tiu bot loc: (good luck getting a more detailed recipe than this one from Vietnamese moms!)
– boil dry hu tiu (sold at stores), immediately wash in cold water to preserve chewiness and prevent them from sticking together, set aside
– simmer pork bones to make broth, add salt to taste
– eventually, add pork, beef balls and eggs
– finally, add hu tiu and cilantro

Foodnote:
(*) – That link is written in Vietnamese but the pictures are instructive enough to get an idea of the hu-tiu making process.
(**) – What does “bột lọc” mean? Literally, “bột” is flour, and “lọc” is to distill, so “bột lọc” means “clear flour”.

My junior year of high school was my first year ever in America, and I was still learning the rope of living here, high school dance among other things. A friend invited me to Homecoming. For the pre-dance dinner, he talked about going to a Vietnamese restaurant named Mai in Houston. I didn’t know exactly where it was or what it was (this was 2002, Google Maps and Yelp didn’t exist), but I thought that was considerate of him. In the end, we went to a steakhouse instead, I thought it was because Mai was a bit too far away, and I was left wondering what Mai was like.

A few years later, my host parents mentioned Mai again in passing conversation, and suggested we went together sometime. The place, dated back to 1978, is known as the very first Vietnamese restaurant in Houston, and pretty much every Houstonian knows at least its name. My parents and I were interested, but again, days passed and we forgot. One day in early 2010, news came that the restaurant had been destroyed by a fire. We sighed, somewhat regretful.

Luckily, it reopened. I forget how and when we came to know of its re-opening, but this summer, we decided that as Houstonians, it’s about time we should check this off the list.

As usual, my mom told me to order anything I want, and I did. But I overdid myself, and we struggled to finish a few plates fast enough to have room on the table for the next plate. It was a marathon. The portion was dinosaur-mongous. The three of us packed half of the food home.

APPETIZERS:

Fried shrimp with garlic butter sauce

This plate was the first to be move out of the way. Guess what I poured on my dress? The garlic butter sauce. I smelled “good” for the rest of the day.

Chao long – rice porridge with “dau chao quay” (youtiao) and pork offals.

Yes, this is an appetizer, although the bowl can probably fit me in it.

ENTREES:

Breaded fried catfish steaks – Crunchy and not too oily, but I wish they were not breaded and simply pan fried.

Canh chua – sour soup with fish, tomato, pineapple, okra and celery. So refreshing for the summer!

Banh hoi – thin rice noodle mesh with lemongrass grilled beef

This one is to be wrapped in rice paper, which my mom artfully put on her bowl like a mini table cloth (the first picture).

DESSERTS:

Green tea ice cream

Banana tapioca pudding

One of those extremely common desserts in Vietnam that you never see in American Vietnamese restaurants. This one is good (but I like my version better ^_^).

Mai’s menu has a lot of stuff, but nothing strayed from the usuals that you would see at any Vietnamese restaurant in town. Although few things jump out at me, anything that we ordered tastes exactly how we want them to. They make traditional Vietnamese food in the honest, straightforward traditional manner, with abundance to boost, which is also characteristic of Vietnamese food. Their home-styled comfort delivered, and we wouldn’t ask for anything better.

Mai’s Restaurant is at 3403 Milam Street, Houston, TX 77002 – (713) 520-5300

Good ol’ tomato and crab noodle soup from Southern Vietnam: bún riêu (pronounced |boon rhee-oo|). The broth looks alarmingly spicy but this soup is actually never spicy. The orange red color comes from tomato and annatto seeds, and if you’re lucky, crab roe (if fresh crabs are used for the soup).

The sweetness of the broth comes from freshwater paddy crabs, where the whole crab (meat and shell) is ground to a paste and strained for the juice. It’s a delicate, distinctive sweetness that can’t be reproduced with dashi no moto, meat bones or mushroom. To deepen the flavor, the cook adds some mắm ruốc, fermented krill paste, to the broth.

Traditionally, bun rieu has crab meat and tofu for the protein part, but bun rieu at Ba Le Sandwich is ladened with cha lua, pork and shrimp.

Traditionally, it’s one of those commoner’s noodle soups that every other street stall sells in Vietnam, nutritious, filling, unrefined, a richness of everyday life and earthy pleasures. Somehow I grew up not thinking much of it and was never impressed by it. In the bustle of North Cali, bun rieu is still nothing more than a commoner’s noodle soup, never elevated to the level of party food, but the more I think about it, the more I find it romantic. In one bowl, I was tasting the unctuous harmony of wetland and freshwater, of simple vegetables and grains and crustaceans that grow up together in one environment and end up together in one pot, or at least that’s how the noodle soup was originally designed. Do things taste best in the company of what they grow up with? I’m inclined to think so.

Back to a matter-of-fact viewpoint, the inside of Ba Le Sandwich in East Oakland, has been renovated earlier this year into a neat little diner enough to sit 12-14 people, since most customers come for to-go banh mi and on-the-counter goodies such as mungbean milk and sesame beignet. They have hand down the best banh mi in the East Bay north, but everything else tastes good because they know how to season things.

Address: Banh Mi Ba Le (Ba Le Sandwich)
1909 International Blvd
Oakland, CA 94606
(510) 261-9800

One bowl of delta romanticism: $6.50. Another awesome thing about this place: they open at 6:30 am.

Banh cuon – steamed rice rolls stuffed with pork and mushroom (the white things), and accessories.

Banh canh – It’s supposed to be tapioca noodle soup with short fat noodle made from tapioca and rice flour, but Ba Le uses Japanese udon instead. The broth is kept original, though.