LOCATION: Ho Chi Minh City AKA Saigon
APPEARING:
APPEARING:
It's been just over two years since I've visited Southeast Asia. The last time had been part of a 7-month period of transition in which I lived in Northern Thailand. This time it was different, I was here on assignment... though not until the evening.
That first morning, I was a bit apprehensive. What if I hated it? What if everything had completely changed--or if I had?
The fears vanished within about 5 minutes. Simply walking through the awakening alley where my guesthouse was (first two images) put a smile on my face. This is one of my favorite aspects of Vietnam: the warren of alleyways filled with vendors, and open living rooms, and people in pajamas, and food, and kids running around, and motorbikes in need of an oil change, and all those smells (sweet, savory, oily, musty). Each time I come to Southeast Asia, very early on in the trip, there's a moment when I take a deep breath, feel my body un-tense, and experience a sensation I can only describe (as wildly incorrect as it is/sounds) of being home.
I spent the day walking around Saigon-- District 1-- getting myself reacquainted. The smell of pig organs and gaminess and blood, but fresh. Chilis. Fish.
In the afternoon, I had a special mission: to find a food vender known as "The Saigon Lunch Lady." I had seen her on an episode of Anthony Bourdain's show, and did a little Internet research to narrow down where she should be: At one of the little streets near the intersection of Hoang Sa and Nguyen Thai Minh Khai. After a 15-minute moto-taxi ride to the area, and another 15 minutes wandering through the unmarked streets, I spotted her. There was the spot, nestled under two large frangipani trees and colorful umbrellas, inhabiting the small triangular area where two streets meet; there was here face, round, smiling, and bursting with color.
And there was the soup, of which she only makes 80-100 bowls each day, served from 11 am until she runs out, usually within about 2 hours, made from ingredients she picked up in the morning. Unlike many vendors in Saigon, who make the same dish each day, the Lunch Lady rotates through a schedule of roughly 9 options, 1 per day with two alternates. Today's was a crab-broth soup with udon style noodles, crab, shrimp, fried pork, fresh and pickled greens, fish cakes, and wild, exploding flavors. Bourdain called her food the center of the culinary universe; I agree. Top 3 or so meals of my life. Good enough that I will periodically think of her food until the next time I get a chance to eat it (much like the Burmese Lady in Chiang Mai, just off of Nimmanhamin) no matter how many months, or years. Do yourself a favor: Google her, look up her location, find a time to experience epicurean bliss.
I'm glad I had my camera, because when I stumbled upon these two girls dressed identically, I wasn't sure if I was merely in the afterglow of miraculous food-- hallucinating fantastical images. Turns out they were real. (Yes, the food was that good.)
That first morning, I was a bit apprehensive. What if I hated it? What if everything had completely changed--or if I had?
The fears vanished within about 5 minutes. Simply walking through the awakening alley where my guesthouse was (first two images) put a smile on my face. This is one of my favorite aspects of Vietnam: the warren of alleyways filled with vendors, and open living rooms, and people in pajamas, and food, and kids running around, and motorbikes in need of an oil change, and all those smells (sweet, savory, oily, musty). Each time I come to Southeast Asia, very early on in the trip, there's a moment when I take a deep breath, feel my body un-tense, and experience a sensation I can only describe (as wildly incorrect as it is/sounds) of being home.
I spent the day walking around Saigon-- District 1-- getting myself reacquainted. The smell of pig organs and gaminess and blood, but fresh. Chilis. Fish.
In the afternoon, I had a special mission: to find a food vender known as "The Saigon Lunch Lady." I had seen her on an episode of Anthony Bourdain's show, and did a little Internet research to narrow down where she should be: At one of the little streets near the intersection of Hoang Sa and Nguyen Thai Minh Khai. After a 15-minute moto-taxi ride to the area, and another 15 minutes wandering through the unmarked streets, I spotted her. There was the spot, nestled under two large frangipani trees and colorful umbrellas, inhabiting the small triangular area where two streets meet; there was here face, round, smiling, and bursting with color.
And there was the soup, of which she only makes 80-100 bowls each day, served from 11 am until she runs out, usually within about 2 hours, made from ingredients she picked up in the morning. Unlike many vendors in Saigon, who make the same dish each day, the Lunch Lady rotates through a schedule of roughly 9 options, 1 per day with two alternates. Today's was a crab-broth soup with udon style noodles, crab, shrimp, fried pork, fresh and pickled greens, fish cakes, and wild, exploding flavors. Bourdain called her food the center of the culinary universe; I agree. Top 3 or so meals of my life. Good enough that I will periodically think of her food until the next time I get a chance to eat it (much like the Burmese Lady in Chiang Mai, just off of Nimmanhamin) no matter how many months, or years. Do yourself a favor: Google her, look up her location, find a time to experience epicurean bliss.
I'm glad I had my camera, because when I stumbled upon these two girls dressed identically, I wasn't sure if I was merely in the afterglow of miraculous food-- hallucinating fantastical images. Turns out they were real. (Yes, the food was that good.)
