WRITING PROMPT RESPONSE

It Doesn’t Get More Authentically Vietnamese than a Roadside Noodle Stall

Accompanied with a side of pouring rain and toddler-sized furniture

I love exploring the local cuisine wherever I travel and the food on the streets of Southeast Asia are some of the best hidden gems in the world.

Put away your Yelp reviews. To find good authentic food, all you have to do is follow your nose, keep your eyes peeled for locals, and maintain an open mind. A strong stomach doesn’t hurt either.

One of my favorite travel food memories was in Vietnam. Like many of my fondest food memories, it was an unexpected discovery that I stumbled upon by chance.

My two girl friends and I were wandering the streets of Ho Chi Minh City in search of dinner and might have gotten ourselves a little bit lost.

We’d gone “old school” without cellphones or data. I know I’m setting myself up for jokes about women and maps, so let’s just say our map reading skills were a bit rusty.

We’d walked past a few restaurants that looked like tourist traps with their oh-so-helpful picture menus and telltale American backpackers. Wrinkling our noses, we decided to continue looking for something authentically Vietnamese.

That’s when we spotted the noodle stall set up at the intersection of two roads.

It wasn’t like the other noodle stalls we’d seen.

Instead of a handful of lonely folding tables and chairs, there were about 20 toddler-sized tables. Picture those Fisher-Price kids tables that are about knee height on the average adult. Add four footstools around each table, fill them with full-grown adults, and then pack them together like sardines in a can.

This “restaurant” easily spilled over two sidewalks and encroached without care onto the road. Plastic tarps were haphazardly strung overhead as if this noodle stall was marking its territory.

At first, I was skeptical. I was still a bit scarred from needing the tourist police’s assistance to cross through the motorbike traffic. Did I really want to eat dinner half on the road too?

We did another loop around the block but something about this one particular noodle stall kept beckoning to us. Then it started to rain and we decided those plastic tarps looked pretty welcoming.

When we approached the noodle stall, we were wordlessly pointed to the back. Just as we stuffed our adult-sized bodies into the kid-sized furniture, the rain intensified and we had to strategically position ourselves to stay relatively dry.

We waited, wondering how we were supposed to order. It didn’t look like menus were being brought to individual tables. We looked around to see if there was a menu board but didn’t find anything.

So we logically concluded that the noodle stall lady must just bring out food automatically to the tables. Content with our conclusion, we continued to wait patiently like the nice Canadians the world thinks we are.

A taxi pulled up and four businessmen in suits exited. They ran under the tarps for shelter and grabbed a table for themselves. We figured if this place was good enough for businessmen to taxi here to eat, it would be good enough for us.

Whenever the food came, that is. We were still waiting.

Eventually, a lady sitting at a nearby table spoke to us — in English. “Are you trying to order?”

Surprised and feeling rather sheepish, we nodded. I guess it was kind of silly to think that food would automatically be brought to our table.

“Noodle soup for everyone is okay?” she asked.

Again, we nodded and thanked her. She waved down the noodle stall lady, pointed to us, and said a few words in Vietnamese.

Seconds later, three steaming bowls of noodle soup were delivered to us.

In the hot, humid, Vietnamese summer, you might think a hot bowl of noodle soup is the last thing you want to eat … but you’d be wrong.

It woos you from the first instant.

The warm, savory aroma of the broth. The seemingly careless array of sliced meat and vegetables poking artistically out above the broth. The glistening globules of flavor, sparkling in the street light that filtered through the rain and the tarp.

Then you dig your chopsticks into the bowl and disturb the bed of noodles underneath. Mixing it together, you feel a little guilty destroying this piece of artwork but it’s the only way to eat it the way it’s meant to be enjoyed.

In your first bite, you enjoy the supple bounce of the noodles paired with the contrasting, flavorful broth. It’s a match made in heaven and hits all the spots you didn’t even know you had.

In your second bite, you add in a bit of meat and it’s a beautiful accompaniment to the noodles and broth. The distinct flavors of star anise and lemongrass peek through.

In your third bite, toss in some bean sprouts and basil for freshness and crunch. It adds yet another layer to the already complex flavors and textures.

It didn’t take long for the three of us to devour our bowls. Unanimously, we each wanted a second bowl.

The helpful lady that ordered for us initially had unfortunately departed and it didn’t seem like anyone around us knew English. Emboldened by our first bowls of noodle soup, we flagged down the noodle cart lady and attempted to order seconds.

She looked at us confused. Unashamed, we persevered on — pointing to our now empty bowls, then our open mouths, and holding up two fingers in an attempt to explain that we were ready for round 2.

Eventually, she understood — though she appeared perplexed as to why three girls needed to devour six bowls of noodle soup.

As she left to prepare Round Two for us, we pondered if there were different types of noodle soup or if everyone was served the same dish. We tried to glance nonchalantly at the other tables but couldn’t distinguish differences.

Regardless, it wasn’t like we knew how to order, and we were more than happy with what we’d received in Round one.

When Round Two of noodle soup arrived, we were pleasantly surprised to discover it was different. The broth was just as hearty and aromatic, and the toppings were just as carelessly artistic.

But this time, we each had a chicken foot sticking up at us!

Unfazed, we embraced it and dug in. The second bowl of noodle soup was just as delicious as the first one.

To be honest, I have no clue what kind of broth we had or what cuts of meat (besides the chicken foot) were in those two heavenly bowls of noodle soup.

I don’t even know if I should be calling it pho but it’s nothing like the pho I’ve had at my local Vietnamese restaurants. To this day, I haven’t found anything like it and, given the variety of Vietnamese-style noodle soups, it might only exist in the street food scene.

There’s something enchanting about the power of a roadside noodle stall. It’s not just a bowl of noodle soup that they serve up.

It’s a representation of their local culture and cuisine — a seemingly contrasting combination of simple ingredients transformed into something beautiful, intoxicating, and delicious. It speaks to a nation that’s humble in nature with a lot to be proud of.

#localdelicacies

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