In the Phu Quoc airport I grab some disappointingly weak kim chee flavored crisps to fuel us on our Hanoian expedition. Once we arrive, we do the requisite bathroom stop and Brian notes a guy in line donning a beret, undoing his belt and trouser zipper, dangerously close to the guy unloading at the urinal. Brother was ready to roll. Welcome to Hanoi.
Arriving in Hanoi at night feels so different than Saigon. I’d read about the French-Viet vibe and architecture but being here is completely remarkable and beautiful. Foggy, misty, chilly in that romantic way, we see why the French didn’t want to leave.
I’ll skip the boring meal at Hanoi’s “best” restaurant Verticale. It was served in a gorgeous, 1930s colonial home, but if I’m not sitting on little plastic chairs, the food is probably over priced and not so tasteeee, bro.
We’re staying on the fourth floor of a serviced apartment, and it’s the coolest, best-designed place we’ve been. The building across has French steeples and a little lady sweeps the balcony when I wake up. I space out, hoping she can’t see me, and I just stare at the beauty until it’s time to hit the street.
Fueling up at Highlands Coffee, which seems like the Viet Starbucks, we discuss the plans. Pasa lubong? (Filipino phrase which means, small gifts you bring back from travels.) Go big or go home with some expensive textiles for our new-ish home back in NYC? Spa afternoon? We take on all three.
Breakfast first, our premier attempt at pho. So different than pho in the South of Vietnam. Subtle, less chilies. We eat overlooking the Catholic cathedral. I forget, then re-learn how to say “Fresh Milk” rather than the thick condensed milk from a can that Viets like. They like their business cavity-sweet, and I can’t roll with that.
The center of town is a great place to wander with the exception of a sprinkling of backpacker $5 hostels in the area. We see Aussies with a donut box and are hot on their trail. In the shop we ask the dudebro behind the counter what’s his favorite.
I am useless at translating this question, so a tall Italian film maker (we learn) appears out of no where. I think he’s going to bust out with his Viet translating skills, but instead he asks the dudebro very slowly, If you had to PICK, WHEEECH ONEEE you LIKE? JUSSS pick ONEEE? Dude at counter points to the almond.
Not even a full block later, we hit a Coffee Boy: Malaysian buns shop. Intrigued, we ask again what their fave flav is and are recommended the salted butter. Let’s just say we now plan on franchising these amazing hot buttered buns and starting the chain in the States. Ima gonna be rich like Jay Z when he bought Beyonce every Birkin bag. People will flip over these salty, buttery, fresh bunz.
After requisite banyan tree pics (they’re everywhere in the middle of sidewalks), we hit a famous place with bun cha, basically spring rolls and pork patties with noodles and tons of herbs. It’s so fresh and delicious. Black shiso is popular here. Makes me want that drink at Angel’s Share in NYC with gin and shiso.
Then we have a spa afternoon. The cab we hop into to go to the spa takes us about 2 blocks, before he stops the car and nods. He took us for a ride. Ignorant Americans! He could have told us to walk, but he took our fare instead. Whatever, he can have his fiddy cent USD.
Asian spas, man. It’s awesome and easily addictive here. Cheap as hell for way better service than the west. I get a blow out from the Vietnamese Heath Ledger. Not complaining. It’s a look.
We head out in the drizzle for dinner at Cha Ca la Vong, the famous joint that serves turmeric grilled fish and dill. I am waiting for this moment. I love this dish. Never even had it until about 2008 when our pals opened their restaurant, An Choi, in the Lower East Side.
This dish has been prepared basically the same way for over a hundred years. A server shows us how to put together the ingredients from a small clay pot with a frying pan. On it, the turmeric fish was already being cooked in hot oil. Cilantro, mint, onions, rice noodles, peanuts and fermented shrimp paste (Belacan) mixed with water goes on the table. Rice noodles go in your bowl, top with the grilled ingredients, add in the peanuts and the sauce and then you’ve got your Cha Ca.
I’ve been calling it CHACA VONG and making it sound like Chaka Khan. A favorite SBL.
The owner ceremoniously takes a dropper full of something that looks freaky, and gingerly puts a single drop, with his pinky out, into the fermented shrimp paste mixed with water. The shrimp paste smells funky enough but this gives the food a kick beyond all weird, stinky smells imaginable. Sewer, rotten Durian, just awful smells. I think it is the juice of a beetle which is supposed to sexify you and make you whip off your clothes. Or just pair the whole with a slightly bitter but perfect Bia Hanoi (Hanoi Beer).
Tomorrow we head to Hoi An, which has great reviews from my Danish friend. She tells me that she had some clothes made, but they were just too Vietnamese to wear everyday. I think they must have been a little busted.
