realfilf

slinging banh mi

A couple of weeks before I left for Vietnam, my buddy, Mike, and I visited the acclaimed Saigon Sandwich in San Francisco. I hadn’t tried a Vietnamese sandwich before. After washing down my first “banh mi” with a couple of red beers, Mike suggested that I write a follow up post reporting on any sandwich findings in Vietnam.

Armed with a camera, notebook, map, and full cache of imodium, I toured Vietnam on a mission for authentic sandwich experiences. Here’s what I found: There’s no right way to fix a bahn mi. All the street sandos  in Vietnam had a couple of hallmark staples – a crunchy French roll, cilantro, pickled vegetables, and some variety of pork – oh, and some secret sauces too.  But, each vendor also offered their own tricks, separating their sandos from the guy’s down the street. Whether it’s a splash of fish sauce, a slathering of mayo, a squirt of chili sauce or a slice of pate, every sandwich is unique.

Since I was never really sure what I was going to get, I’d order and then hover closely as each sandwich was made, asking questions, snapping pictures, trying to exact the ingredients.   The folks making the bahn mi always embraced my enthusiasm, freely sharing their specialties with a warm smile, which very much represented the welcoming nature of the Vietnamese culture and people.

So here it is, the Realfilf Vietnamese street sandwich recap.

Banh My Van

Banh My Van, Hanoi: I’d done a little research on banh mi before visiting Vietnam. Coincidentally, the NY Times published a snippet on street eats in Hanoi 3 weeks before I left.  This is how I learned about doner kebabs, the newest variation of bahn mi sweeping Hanoi. Against, KU’s repeated warnings, I ordered a doner kabab with all the fixins’: uncooked vegetables, mayo, all of it.  How could I resist? Slices of roasted pork cut from a spit, pickled slaw, chili sauce, cilantro, cucumber and mayo all tucked into a crunchy baguette and then heated in what resembled a panini press. A Western preparation adjusted to Vietnamese tastes, the doner kabab reminded me of a South East Asian version of a sandwich from Mr. Hero. Dirty.

banh mi from the cart lady, Hoi An

The Cart Lady, Hoi An:  After fighting throngs of Western tourists and pushy locals, I was ready for a snack. Just then she appeared – the cart lady – pushing her mobile sando unit towards me as if I were the only one on the street. As she got closer, she grabbed a long torpedo shaped baguette, split it and started filling it: a smear of chicken pate,  a layer of mayo, a couple of squirts of chili sauce, slices of roasted pork, a handful of shredded cabbage, cilantro, and a couple of spoonfuls of fish sauce. Bam! Wrapped up to go in a square of newspaper, the cart lady’s street sando was everything I could’ve hoped for -savory, spicy, rich and satisfying.

banh mi from Phuong, Hoi An

Phuong, Hoi An: There are two universal indicators of a good sandwich shop – a good supply chain and good ingredients. Phuong is the real deal. Watching the three person assembly line work with a medley of fresh ingredients is like going to the Cirque de Sole de bahn mi.

The sandwich artists at Phuong fill their crunchy torpedoes with an incredible variety of delicious ingredients.  I ordered what amounted to the Godfather, the torta con todos, the supreme combos of combos: a pat of pork pate, a slice of ham,  pieces of roasted duck and pork, a spoonful of garlic sauce, a squirt of chili sauce, a squirt of mayo,  a few pickled cucumbers, a couple of sprigs of cilantro and a ladle of fish sauce.  This was  hands down the best street eat I had in Vietnam. I went back three times to make sure I was accurate. And, yes, Phuong’s banh mi are the bomb.