Depression

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Mark Mahnich has left the building. We spent our last day together drinking Bia Hoi, eating exotic flavors of ice cream, and doing some very last minute shopping. At our final meal together, I feel nauseous from too much beer followed by too much sugar, and Mark's running off looking for deals on silk. It seems very appropriate to end his leg of the journey like this. The last three weeks seemed like such a hurried mess, but it always ended up paying off in the end, even when we had physically abused ourselves. Too much sun, too much climbing, too many beers. It's the recipe for a good time.

We wave a tearful good-bye as the taxi whisks Mark off to the airport. Suz and I feel rather empty as we wave by the side of the street and we retire to our room to drown our sorrows in some really bad TV. There was a lot of anticipation in having Mark join us in our travels, and just when we got used to having a 3 person team, it turned back into the two of us again. It feels strange, like when we had first started this whole affair. Alone in a place we didn't understand, no familiar faces. Suz and I needed to hide out for awhile, re-adjust and pig out on some comfort food.

Hanoi is supposedly known for it's pho - that wonderful beefy noodle soup that is accompanied by a plate full of fresh herbs- but I have to say that we didn't see it. On our first panicked night here, we walked in circles until a kind restaurant owner flagged us down and brought out bowls of delicious pho ga (chicken pho), but after that we had issues finding a place worth mentioning. Many places would give us a watered down version with no herbs, and the street places had such, um, interesting proteins that we didn't even bother to pull up a stool. I would say that out of 6 or 7 tries, we only ate one really delicious bowl. It was our last try of course, but it came packed with slices of beef, tendon, and shin that were so soft you hardly had to chew. A little kick and plenty of herbs made all our searching worth while, and even with the trouble we had finding it, it's the dish that will always stand out in my mind as essential Vietnamese cuisine.

Once Mark left we kind of give up the search for a while. Instead, we focus our attention to all the French bistros and cafes that we have been walking past the last 3 days. Those expensive delicacies back home are much cheaper here, and they call our name form the menus displayed on small wooden stands posted at the front door. The French left behind quite a heavy influence on food over their decades of occupation in Vietnam. Even without walking through the doors of a French restaurant you see it everywhere. Piles of fresh baguettes lie in glass cases and roam the streets in woven baskets. They are eaten for breakfast with jam and butter and stuffed with pate for evening snacks. Thick coffee drips from small filters over glass cups into a rich layer of condensed milk. When your spoon swirls the mud and milk together, it makes a sickeningly sweet and heart-palpitating twist to the European method of French press. We snap our eyes awake in anticipation every morning, and it only draw us closer to the wooden doors of the cafe around the corner.

Walking into the Cafe Des Amis we are not disappointed. Posters of the jazz greats adorn the small wooden bar and it's half empty bottles of flavored digestifs. A chalkboard suggest in French that we have one of their many selections of buckwheat crepes. We sit down at strong wooden tables and are presented with set menus ranging from 3 to 7 courses, full of braises, roasts, and sautes. We've missed this. There's not a single item involving coconut milk and I'm not the least bit upset about it. A mushroom tart, duck confit, and roasted rack of lamb are quickly devoured, and Suz and I fight over finishing off the roasted vegetable terrine. It's all the prelude for our cheese and port, and we take 2 hours to finish it off. Little nibbles, little sips, each of us letting the flavor linger as long as possible before moving to the next bite. It's heaven.

The next night we walk through the doors of La Salsa; its tall, skinny windows drawing us into it's classic bistro interior. Suz saw cassoulet on the menu outside and never looked back. We teased ourselves with a course of simple tapas, then got right to work. Its a simple country dish; a mix of white beans, bacon, and sausage with a perfect crispy duck leg perched on top. I found myself longing for cold weather again, any excuse to eat this everyday.

A high-class Italian joint proved just as nice (especially with a cheese plate the size of a hubcap), but we were starting to feel disconnected. These meals and the ones inbetween had us lounging around in our hotel room, focusing all our energy on digesting and watching movies. So enough of the nostalgia. Time to get back to our adventure.

Walking through the markets with Mark, we had come across dog a little too often (once is more than enough). This eliminated a lot of our street food options, as many of them consisted of that "what's in the pot?" game served over rice noodles. Turns out the Vietnamese consider it lucky to eat dog for 15 days out of the month. We didn't feel good with a 50/50 chance so we stuck to restaurants. Our first selection was a cha-ca joint (on cha-ca street of course) that's been around for 3 generations. It was a little dank and dirty, but we knew it wuld be good whe we received our menu on the back of a small card that read:

"We serve only 1 one dish in this restaurant. Cha-Ca. 80,000 dong."

Any family owned restaurant that's stayed open long enough to have their grandkids work there, serving nothing but 1 dish for $5 a pop, had to be good.

A young girl came out to clear a spot in the middle of the table, right before her sister arrived wearing asbestos mitts and carrying a heavy clay pot full of glowing charcoal. She dropped it before us with a menacing "thud". Next came a long handled pan which fit perfectly over the coals, full of slices of fish dressed in a yellow spice the color of sunflowers. Other bowls of rice noodles and condiments were ushered around us, as well as a large plate of scallions, dill, watercress, and holy basil. As the fish began to sizzle and pop, our young server grabbed Suz's chopsticks and did her brief demo.

"So you add vegetable to fish like this." She dumped half the plate on top of the fish and mixed everything quickly with the chopsticks. "When you want more you put more on top. Okay?" She was out the door before the "th" of our "ank you" came out of our mouths.

It was good. I mean really good. We ate the whole pan at 2 in the afternoon and could have ordered more. It was a blast getting to play with our food: adding a handful of veg; whisking the mixture around with the chopsticks; being the first to pick out the fish and get it onto our bowl of noodles. We even managed not to embarass ourselves in front of the owner's family who were chatting away at the table behind us. The heat from the charcoal pit had us sliding our chairs farther and farther from the table, and at one point I had to hold the pan away from it to prevent the oil from burning. You enjoy a meal so much more when you have to get involved with it.

Feeling bolstered by such a great experience, we chose something a little stranger the next night. Much like the rest of Southeast Asia, Vietnam is a little behind in trying to jump in the market for wine production. Even though the climate has promise, it will be decades before anything worth exporting can be produced by the vines here. So in the meantime, Vietnam is sticking to what it know best; rice whisky. Similar to the gut-rotting favorite of Laos, son tinh is produced by fermenting rice in barrels, then filtering and distilling it into a clear, potent liquor. Higher in alcohol than sake, but smoother than vodka, it's a very versatile drink that promises to cure a variety of illnesses.

Highway 4 is a restaurant that has taken upon itself to promote son tinh as Vietnam's national liquor (every other country has it's own beer and liquor, why not Vietnam?). They offer a serious range of flavors and remedies, all available by the glass or to take home in bottles. With so much to choose from, we decided to go with samplers; Suz with fruity dessert flavors, and me with exotic animals (for health of course). With apricot, mulberry, passionfruit and mountain apple, Suzie's selection was a bit too sweet, but very delicious. Delicious would not be a good word for my selection of animals steeped in son tinh. It tasted like the pickling brine of these poor creatures. The snake whiskey ( 5 different snakes, one being cobra) had a bite that made me shiver with every sip. The ghecko/starfish/seahorse combo tasted like seawater. Black bee was interesting, but not something I'd ever purposely choose to drink. Silkworm was surprisingly the most palatable, and I used it as a chaser for the other more horrible varieties.

The food was definetely the highlight of our visit to Highway 4. A bowl of minced clams and herbs made for a perfect dip with shrimp chips. Suz wasn't a big fan of our fried frog legs, but I devoured them like a plate of chicken wings. They tasted like chicken actually, only with a lot less meat that was of of a darker, gamier flavor. The batter was buttery and a little sweet, perfect for the chili sauce I continuously dipped them in. Our banana flower salad was really delicious, and it's an ingredient I will surely miss back home.

We could have gone on and on like this in Hanoi, switching between favorites and trying new things for weeks, but the arrival of Tracy and Ryan meant that we would be getting ready for another sightseeing marathon. It also meant that we would have to start the difficult task of finding vegetarian options in a population famous for being voracious omnivores. At least we had enough time to eat through our depression.

Sorry these photos don't match up too well, it's all we had. We were too busy eating.

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Photos

Ice Cream Sampler
A splurge at Fanny's

Writing
I got my ear to the streets

Produce Ladies
Wherever they sit, it's a market.

What's Inside?
Suz explores the Temple of Literature

Frog Legs and Snake Whiskey
They go together like peanut butter and chocolate

Auditions
I just love Kelly Quoc Son's new album

Comments

[todd]

pork!
...but pork stock makes vegetarian soup taste so much better!