nakji

Thanks DG! I loved Binch as well, though my favourite was Chic Choc. And I could never look at a box of Coque d'Asse without giggling. Sometimes I splurge and buy Chic Choc here in Vietnam. They were cheaper in Korea! I confess to missing Yangpa rings. Speaking of which, will I be seeing any appearance of my namesake? Is there any octopus in your future? Nakji Bokkumbap, maybe? (I called myself nakji because I love octopuses, and I consider eating raw live octopus the height of adventurous eating. My avatar is from a sign in Osaka) The "love" stick. Your soup looked a lot like what I might see here. Is fish sauce a common condiment in the Philippines?

Hey Caitlin! Welcome to eGullets! I'm glad you had a great time here in Vietnam. It sounds like you got to try some authentic eats, which is always great when you travel. Eating rolled pho by Truc Bach lake is one of my favourite things to do in Hanoi. I think you had fried pho (pho chien) - the stuff with the brown gravy? My husband loves it. Did you try pho when you were in Hanoi? Any Hanoian will tell you Hanoi is the best place to eat pho! If you want to post photos, you need to upload them to ImageGullet first, then copy and paste the location into your post using the IMG tags in the post screen. I've never tried Cha Ca La Vong, because my husband hates fish, but I should definitely make a point of going.

I remember how militarized it was! There was a local base that used to transfer its tanks from one base to another at 4 in the morning. The first time they did it, when I had only been there for a month or so, I was scared out of my wits. I thought we were being attacked. And I remember what a hardship it was for all the young college-aged guys who had to do their two years military service. One of things I miss the most about Korea is its convenience stores. Ministop, Family Mart, LG 25 - I always felt you could accomplish anything in those places. Wine, Onigiri (samgak gimbap in Korean, of course!) yogurt drinks, underwear, shower kits, and of course, 36 kinds of cold beverage, and at least three kinds of banana milk. Do you ever eat in gimbap restaurants, like Gimbap Nara? I always liked going there for lunch, for a big hot dolsot bibimbap, usually the most expensive thing on the menu at around $4.50. I notice your stove is just the right height for your eight-year-old son to cook! I remember our sink being similarly low, a fact which my 6-foot husband always tried to use to get out of doing the dishes!

Oh Boy! It's soooo exciting to see pictures from Korea again. Cutting garlic! I was never without a bag of that in my fridge. Chilsung Cider! Hagwons! Oh my! I lived in Incheon from 2002-2006, and every once in a while, I get a pang for it. I went hiking on the mountain behind our house almost every day there, and on the weekend, we'd take the subway to Bukhansan or another mountain in town and hike there. One of my favourite things was coming off the mountain and having samgyeobsal next to a mountain stream. I can't believe McDonald's finally introduced the breakfast menu! We missed that so much, especially when we'd travel through Korea - I could never face kimchi jigae for breakfast, i don't know why, but I just couldn't. But then, I guess with the trend of all the "toast" places in Seoul (eggs and ham on fried bread) it was only a matter of time until the McMuffin was brought out there. I have so many questions for you - where do you shop - Carrefour, Grandmart, or Homeplus? Do you have to take special runs into Seoul to get some ingredients? Have you ever tried the Indian food shop in Itaewon - they all sorts of great produce, sauces, and mixes available, as well as the cheapest selection of ground and whole spices in the city. What's your favourite boxed cookie? Do you have an oven? Where do your children study - in a Korean public school, or at an International school? So many questions! Oh, I'm getting homesick for Korea!

Chayote is huugggggeee in Northern Vietnam. It's considered "clean", as it doesn't grow in soil, but is grown on trellises. They grow a lot of it in the mountains near Sapa. If you want to serve it like they do here, boil or steam it, then serve plain with ground roasted rice powder for dipping. Alternatively, you can serve it with chili/lime/salt/pepper dip. Both are great. I'm not sure what was on the lake fish - I mean, I'm assuming it was lake fish, as we were several hundred km from the coast, and there's not exactly what you'd call "distribution" here. Actually, now that I think about it, I think the fish are probably raised in the rice fields. Anyway, I'm not sure what exactly was on it. To be honest, I'm not even sure I could make a guess. It was like a dry rub, and it was red, and it had obvious traces of pounded herbs and spices. Let me check at work, and I'll see what I can find out. Okay, the next day we went to Mai Chau, which is more touristy than the other places we'd visited thus far. It was a welcome break for us, as we got fresh coffee and banana pancakes for breakfast. Hallelujah! That night, though, on our way there, we got separated from our group and ended up heading 15 km past the village, towards the Laos border. We only stopped when we ran out of gas, thinking we had fallen too far behind our group. Fortunately, Michel, one of our group members was with us, and gave us some gas. We proceeded to the next village to fill up. There, we asked for directions to our guesthouse, only to be told it was 15 km behind us! Of course, our cellphones had no coverage, but before we could panic, a woman came running out of the shop across the street from the gas station, shouting "Muscova! Muscova!". Turns out she was fluent in Russian, having been sent there as a labourer in the eighties. Of course, the three of us, having only English, French and Flemish between us (doesn't it always end up that way?) (Michel being Belgian), we communicated in hand signals. She dragged us across the road, into her home, where before we could count to ten, she had her husband's cellphone out, dialing our guide's number. God only knows who her carrier was, but I plan to switch before my next bike trip! Anyway, once we'd assured our guides we weren't dead in a ditch somewhere, and they had been dispatched by Fredo to retrieve us, the Moscow photos came out, along with the family's Tet candy and cookie selection, mounds of fresh bananas, and big tubes of sugar cane. She wouldn't rest until we had a banana in one hand and some sugar cane in the other. Michel turned helplessly to me and asked, "How do I eat this?", and if you've ever seen sugarcane, you'll know what he meant. "Just crunch and suck on it until it isn't sweet anymore, and then try to ditch the pulp discreetly." I replied. I was eying a pile of watermelon seeds for just such a purpose. She guided us through her Russian journey, proudly showing us all of the photos, some of which featured the christmas tree which was now standing in their living room, presumably raised for Tet. "It's a different mentality, isn't it?" Michel marvelled. "These people who have nothing - they'll give you everything they have!" Just then, Minh and Ha roared up on bikes to drag us back, but addresses were exchanged and photos were taken to be sent back in thanks. That night we had a delicious dinner, featuring more nem. These are unlike the spring rolls I ate growing up, which had much different tasting wrappers. These are translucent, light, and melt in your mouth. We also had thin-fried pork filet, with sesame seeds in the coating. These are served with chili sauce - tuong ot - which I cunningly call ot sauce, ot being the word for chili. Killer, right? There was more boiled chicken and fried cabbage with garlic, but my favourite dish was this cucumber salad with pineapple and lime-cilantro dressing. I could eat this everyday of my life and be happy. That night, we saw traditional dancing and drank (no! how is it possible?!) yet more rice wine. Mai chau has a lot of rice paddies between the mountains. We saw everyone out in the fields, as it was planting season. Everything is done by hand. Minh told me that "..one grain of rice is equal to eight drops of sweat." The next day, we drove into a nature reserve for our last night. It was 20 km of off-roading, and took us almost three hours to complete. The track was so rough, both Peter and I were thrown off at one point, and I got a wretched tailpipe burn through my jeans. I've still got it, as a matter of fact. They're so common here, they're nicknamed a "Vietnam visa" by local ex-pats. We travelled up the side of one mountain, through many small villages. Of course, it had no guard rail, and the valley was several hundred metres below us. As our friend said, "If you have to dump it, dump to the right." Some parts were so steep, pillion riders had to get off and walk. It was exhilarating. We stopped for a pack lunch that had been prepared for us that morning at our guesthouse in Mai Chau. I have no idea how they had the time to make up thirty of these, considering I was up with them when the roosters started crowing (no, really), and watched them make us all breakfast as well. The lunch, entirely packed in banana leaves (and then superfluously cased in small pink plastic bags) consisted of a grilled marinated pork kebab (succulent), sticky rice cake, a duck egg, a cucumber, an orange, and two bananas. Small plates of MSG and pepper were passed around for egg and cucumber dipping. We descended into a hidden mountain valley, and into a small village that was out of some Asian version of Tolkien. Everything was hand-hewn from wood, and there were even flour mills that were run by water - bamboo poles siphoned water off the stream, into a see-saw, with a bucket on one end, and a hammer on the other, which pounded a bowl of rice into flour. When the bucket filled with water, it would sink and dump the water out. Then when it was empty, it would fly up, send the hammer into the rice. Engineering! We rolled into the village, and up to a optimistically-signed "Eco-tourism Resort". Considering the effort it took to get there, I'm not sure tour buses will be pulling up any time soon. The next morning, for breakfast, I watched the matriarch cook 20 banana pancakes crouched next to a fry-pan over an open flame - her only tool, a pair of mis-matched bamboo chopsticks. Incredible women. There was no power, so I didn't get a shot of dinner, but that night, after we ate, I got a shot of the other traditional liquor we drank (a lot of). Ruou Can - The jug holds lightly fermented corn liquor - the beginnings of bourbon, I guess? It's drunk through thin bamboo straws for reasons I never found out. The next day, we drove back out of the valley, had lunch in Mai Chau, and then drove back to Hanoi. Where we immediately had bacon and cheeseburgers at the R&R Tavern.

From one of my favourite blogs: What Not To Cook in Asia

I think it might depend on what you order and the size of the group you're with. In Korea, when we would go out to galbi-jibs (barbecue rib houses), we would order a first round; cook it, eat it, drink some beer; then order a second round; cook it, eat it, drink some soju; order some rice and eat it with the soup - you could keep the meat coming as long as you liked, and the bottles of soju as well, the staff didn't seem to mind. In Vietnam, for example, if we go to a beer hoi or a lau (hotpot) house, we'll order some fried corn first, with maybe some fried nem and some roll-your-own spring rolls. We'll eat those, and then order a hotpot. We order more tofu; meat; or noodles as required...it goes on for quite a long time. Is it possible to order (what we would consider) appetizers first, and then add to your order later on? I think maybe if I went into a restaurant here and ordered some nem and the lemongrass chicken, it would be over fairly quickly as well. Since they probably speak English (a luxury I rarely enjoy) why don't you just be direct, and let them know you're going to order in courses? And bring lots of friends and family along with? I really enjoy this manner of dining at length, as it's how I was brought up, but my husband finds it a little freaky. Even when we lived in Canada, he viewed having a meal as something you do quickly, and then leave. At home, his whole family would eat as quickly as possible, and then immediately desert the table to go watch tv. In my family, we're known for staying at the table for several hours at a stretch, chatting, eating and drinking wine. The only problem with doing this here in Asia is that my legs still cramp up from sitting on the floor. I should take up yoga.....

Day three, after our 2km hike back to our bikes, we were going to Phu Yen. Although we would stay this night in a hotel, we were having dinner with Black Thai people. Our distance to cover was 230 km, but mostly on highways. Nevertheless, we were forecasting 7 hours of driving. The day started inauspiciously, when we saw a terrible crash. Three Honda Waves (small scooters used to transport almost everything in Vietnam - including families of four or more) collided dramatically in front of us, taking the front wheels off of two of the bikes. Women and children were in the ditch, men were limping across the road - blood was everywhere. Sadly, there was nothing we could do. Before we could help, bodies were dragged off the road, irrespective of head or spinal injuries. In Vietnam, it's not the accident that kills you - it's the medical care (or lack of) that you get after. It seemed to be serious, but not fatal, and surprisingly, an ambulance screamed by later as we were gassing up several km down the road. If there was anything I could change about Vietnam, it would be to have the government enforce existing helmet laws, educate people on the necessity of wearing them; and subsidise helmet purchase for poorer families. Shaken, we continued on. We passed through some glorious mountain passes and stopped for lunch in Yen Bai. From the bottom, clockwise: Lake fish fried with spices; pickled onions; barbecued pork ribs; steamed veg; and stir-fried pork with onions. Chili-lime dip and shrimp sauce in the middle. Serv ed later and not photographed was fried preserved pork (nem chua ran) which we devoured - nothing like deep-fried pork fat! We got a break from rice wine at lunch for once. We passed through some beautiful territory, with many ethnic minorities - I snapped a pic of this Hmong woman as we drove by. We had one dramatic mountain pass to conquer before finishing - we got to the top, only to find the road down washed away. Rains had destroyed it three months previously. We descended instead on a dirt track that locals had worn through. I clung to the back of Minh, who switched me off my husband's bike, as he was worried about going down on the dirt roads. We made it safe! Yay Minh! That night, we dined with Black Thai people. We were now in Son La province, which according to Vancouver Dan's students (upper management from the Ministry of Customs and Excise) was "famous for its heroin." How can you not be excited about that? Fredo told us that the family we would be having dinner with was a lot poorer than previous families we had met, as it was harder to make a living in Son La without growing opium. Although their stilt house was very worn, and clearly shabbier than many of the others, they put on a magnificent feast. They very smoothest of rice wine was offered, and they had roasted several whole goats in anticipation of our arrival. All parts of the goat were laid out for consumption, but I must admit, my favourite was the marinated kebabs. We also got parcels of sticky rice to go along with it, which I love. We drank a lot here, so much so that Minh couldn't drive back. Fortunately the supply bus driver that followed us drank coca-cola the whole night. When we were chatting with the family, I asked Vancouver Dan to ask them how they met Fredo (I don't speak Vietnamese). He began to translate, "It all started when one of Fredo's students met him in Hanoi and asked him to come here and eat a 80 kilo pig..." I never got the end of the story, as we were called away to do more toasting. You must drink at least three shots for hospitality's sake, but anything drunk after that is an indication you plan to drink yourself into a stupor. Curiously, the three shots rule coincides with the number you need to drink before you can get over the taste of it. Coincidence? A tribute to the grain.

So the next day, we loaded everybody up, including one of the Dzao ladies, who wanted to see the world outside her village, and drove 80km to lunch. We were aiming to do more than 100 km per day, but as it was the main Tet day, we took it easy. We saw many beautiful sceneries (as my students would say). This girl was herding ducks. We stopped for lunch at the house of some Tay ethnic people (whom I unforgivably forgot to take a photo of - sorry Kerry!). I think this was the most delicious food of the trip. Fredo told us that this family was fairly wealthy, because it was easy for families to make a living in this area. From the bottom right hand corner, clockwise: Shredded pickled bamboo shoots; spring rolls (nem); boiled chicken; crunchy cucumber and carrot salad; fried chicken drumlets; banh trung; chayote soup in the back; bacon wrapped quail's eggs (genius!); spiced lake fish, shredded pork and mushrooms wrapped in cabbage leaves. That Tiger Beer bottle is filled with rice wine. In the upper left-hand corner, you can see Minh wiping his bowl a napkin, something all Vietnamese people seem to do whenever they encounter dishes in restaurants or public eating venues. They also scrub at their chopsticks with them. I think they're trying to clean them. I'm not sure what good paper towel will do in the fight against germs, but it's a pre-eating ritual I've adopted. We lingered there for a few hours, napping and drinking warm beer. Then Fredo announced that we would be staying with a Red Dzao family in the mountain behind us. The road to their house was too steep, so we would have to walk it instead of ride the 2 km. What a way to earn your dinner! These girls seemed skeptical that I would make it. But I did! I didn't snap a picture of dinner - I think it was roast pork and cabbage with garlic, as I was too busy dodging the drinking. I was ill, as they had lead us through the pitch-black rice paddies by the light of flaming torches to another stilt house, where they performed a tri-annual blessing ceremony for the fields - we drank a lot of rice wine here - rice bowls full - as toasts, which I couldn't refuse. But all that moonshine on an empty stomach, coupled with the 2km hike up the side of the mountain made me more interested in sleep than in food. The Red Dzao people are matriarchal, so the women led the drinking. The rice wine here had me seriously worried I would go blind. The next morning, we had instant noodles with a fried egg on top for breakfast. If you've never tried this as a hangover cure, I strongly recommend it. Walking back down the mountain in the morning air was restorative, as well.

Thanks for the replies! Hey, you're from Maine, I'm from Nova Scotia - how the heck did I end up traipsing around the Lao/Viet border? Life is funny! We were only about 130 km out, but that's seven hours driving on these roads. If you look at the picture, you'll see there's tin roofing underneath. I'm not sure why they still live in these houses - this set we stayed in was new, and well looked-after. It could be a combination of tradition, and government support. We saw them all over the provinces we travelled through, so its not like they're disappearing, at least up north. One thing is for sure, though, you don't have to get very far out of Hanoi to meet people who live on very little a day. But these are ethnic minority people, not Viet people, and they maintain a very traditional lifestyle - I'm not informed enough to tell you whether that's by choice or not, though.

The first day, we drove up to meet the rest of the group, which had been travelling near the Chinese border for the three previous days. We had taken a short trip to Singapore for shopping, exposure to public transit; and good Indian food. We shared the trip up with a junior guide, Minh, and a young British lady, who was, like every other young British lady I meet in Hanoi, vegetarian. "You do know where we're going?" I asked "Well, yes of course. I'm sure they'll have something for me to eat" she replied, "I'll just eat the vegetables, if I need to. Or there'll be tofu" I quelled the urge to roll my eyes. Tofu? Where we're going, there won't be any tofu. Farm ladies in rice planting season don't have time to sit around making tofu. Or rice noodles, for that matter. Those are city foods. I also sighed for the inevitable squalling that would come when all the vegetable came fried with pork bits and fish sauce. Who are these people? Why do they ship themselves to rural Vietnam and turn their nose up at food? Where is Anthony Bourdain when I need him? We ended up missing our first assigned lunch spot, and had to tool around a small village looking for a restaurant that would cook for us on Tet eve, at the ungodly hour of 3 o'clock in the afternoon, when Vietnamese people don't think about cooking, not even for money. Minh managed to talk a small place into cooking for us. "Is chicken okay?" asked Minh. Chicken sounded fine, but the vegetarian requested vegetables. "Erm, yes." said Minh. What we got were twelve whole quails fried with heads intact, brain cracked open for easy access, and water spinach fried with pork liver- the "vegetables'. It was too dark for a photo, my regrets. That night, we stayed in a stilt house with Dzao Quan Trang people, with whom we were to share "Tet Eve". A big party was planned. We ate on the floor, as we would in all stilt houses. From the bottom, clockwise, fried pork with wood-ear mushroom; pork kebab pieces, marinated in lime, chili, sesame and black pepper; more pork and mushroom; stir fried vegetables with garlic and fish sauce; more pork; fried potatoes; in the centre - nuoc cham dipping sauce. Rice is on the side, and served at the end of each meal with broth and chayote, "for those who do not like their rice dry," as was translated for me by Minh. The mysterious looking bottle in the back is homemade rice wine, which displayed its own terroir as we travelled from region to region. This one had light notes of gasoline, with a finish of kerosene. The ladies checked out my wrist girth, which, according to them, compared favourably with their legs. Happy New Year! The photo is blurry due to massive consumption aforementioned rice wine. The next morning, the stilt house looked cheerful, despite the previous night's depredations. Chickens here are fresh and free-range. Breakfast was prepared over the hearth, a very sacred place in the Vietnamese home. I forget the story exactly, but three "ghosts" live in the hearth, a woman, and her two husbands. It's a long story. Anyway, the woman prepare all of the meals here, which boggled my mind - no mod cons like fuzzy logic rice cookers here. We brought frying pans for them as part of our Tet gifts, which were received gratefully. Breakfast is served! Since it was Tet, we were served the traditional Banh Trung, rice cakes stuffed with green beans, then pan fried. Dipped in fish sauce, the perfect thing for a rice-wine hangover. There was also pork with onions, and fried potatoes. Banana leaves were steamed with a sticky rice paste.

We knew it was going to be a good trip. When anyone asked us what we were doing for Tet (Lunar New Year), we told them we were going on a motorcycle trip with the Compagnie Bourlingue, through some of the northern provinces of Vietnam. Reactions varied - but always started - "With Fredo?" (the name of the company owner). This was immediately followed by (choose one): an incredulous eye-pop; sucked-in breath and a head shake; a long sigh. Our French teacher summoned a "Fredo...oui, je lui connais...." followed by a long blank stare that I assume was accompanied by a flashback in his head. We drove Minsks; the infamous Belo-russian motorcyles which are nick-named "the Mules of the Mountains" for their ability to get up just about anywhere. No Vietnamese person in the city would be caught dead on one; considered the ne plus ultra of peasant rides. Only foreigners are mad enough to ride them in Hanoi, where their belchy smoke is an early warning system for incoming foreigners. They're invaluable in the country, able to go down any road, climb any rutted mountain, and fixable with any material at hand - a claim proved on day 3 when our friend, Vancouver Dan, replaced his broken clutch pin with a twig. I called ours "the wasp" for the high whining noise it made as my husband tried to slam it into gear. I didn't drive: rather; I clung to the back pillion and spent a lot of time thinking about upcoming meals. I didn't take exhaustive photos, spending most of the time careening through sheer terror to sodden drunkeness (the hospitality of our hosts not allowing me to refuse their many cups of rice wine - even at lunch!). The stunning hospitality of the people we stayed with humbled me and renewed my desire to explore this country more. Our itinerary called for 6 days in the mountains 150 km west of Hanoi, near the Laotian border. The places we stayed are barely on the map, and don't grace the pages of the Lonely Planet. The people we stayed with were various friends and ex-students of our guide, Fredo. In many instances, they offered us all they had, materially. The food was amazing, and made invariably in small kitchen over open fires. I hope I can present a little of what we saw.

I'm coming in late, having just gotten back from my "Tet" holiday. What a great read this has been. It's interesting to see what parallels there are here in Vietnam. Blossoming trees have been for sale here for the last two weeks, as well as the mandarin trees (transported maniacally around town on the back of Honda scooters, strapped and wobbling precariously at every red light), although they were translated to me as peach blossoms, not plum. Red watermelon seed carnage is all over the streets as well, and red envelopes litter the desks at my office. So I say, "Chuc Mung Nam Moi!" to you, and I lift a glass of rice wine!

OMG yes, there was a vendor next to Incheon Station who would make a sandwich from three pieces of bread, and on the first layer put ham and American cheese, and on the second layer spread potato salad about a half inch thick. The whole thing was fried monte-cristo style. With a can of Pocari Sweat, that was some fine hangover recovery food there.

I saw a sliding scale for (what I and my friends called) "creamy salad" in Korean restaurant banchan. Top-end quality meat places had both sweet potato and regular potato salad - often served with attractive garnishes, such as on a perilla leaf, with chopped gochu on top. (I adore sweet potato salad) Slightly cheaper places had either regular or sweet potato salad. Slightly cheaper places still, like all-you-can-eat meat buffets, served apple salad - essentially chopped apples in mayonnaise. Which was weird, because generally apples were more expensive than potatoes in Korea. Despite the rather abhorrent sound of it - apples coated in mayonnaise - I developed quite the taste for this. It really cut the heat of all the chilis. Cheap, college student type places, like the ddalk galbi places with self-serve banchan, usually had macaroni with chopped cucumber and corn, dressed with the ubiquitous mayonnaise-ketchup dressing that I christened "mayochup". The cheapest of cheap served shredded cabbage with mayo-chup. This was often a side dish for tonkatsu or cheapest of the cheap - we're talking $3 a head - all-you-can-eat ddalk galbi joints. I went through a LOT of creamy salad in Korea.

What about a cherry-blossom viewing party, like they have in Japan and Korea? A picnic under the cherry blossoms, drinking soju/shochu...in Korea everyone ate gimbap and other picnic foods- maybe in Japan they have bento? Where's Torakris when you need her? Of course, you would need cherry blossoms....

[]Smacks head[/] D'uh. I totally forgot that thread! It's great to come back online (shakes fist furiously at ISP - NetNam) and see your kitchen. Mine really doesn't measure up! I remember my Dad cooked exclusively Southern Chinese and Indian food when I was growing up, (Mum hardly cooked) and snotty child that I was, I refused to eat any of it. How do your kids handle your experiments in Asian cuisine? With enthusiasm? Or do they fill up on cucumbers?

Wow, your chicken and lemongrass looked great. I've never had it with coconut milk and curry here in the North. It's worth noting I have THE EXACT SAME BRAND of coconut milk sitting on my kitchen counter right now. Is it a small world, or what? I'm travelling down the coast in April, and I'm going to take copious notes about the differences in North/South cuisine - for the edification of myself and all eGulleteers. Have we started a Vietnamese home cooking thread yet? We need to do that. I've made a date to do a cooking exchange with one of my co-workers - she wants to learn how to make banana bread, after I brought some into the staff room. It's such a healthy and great cuisine - and points-friendly, too! Thanks for letting us in to see your cooking and your life.

Yay! I look forward to it. As for Vietnamese coffee, I'm not sure if you have access to the same Trung Nguyen blends I do, but the "Passiona" blend is my favourite - it tastes like dark chocolate. The "Legendee" is pretty good as well, and bills itself as weasel coffee, but I doubt that, what with the volume of it that they sell. Their straight-up orange/brown bag simply marked arabica is fine as well. I don't find French Roast tastes anything like Vietnamese roasts - Vietnamese roasts taste sweet and buttery, especially when the roast is fresh. Currently I'm getting all my coffee from an independent roaster here in town who makes all of her coffee taste like dark chocolate. I keep meaning to take pictures. Some of the really hard-core old fashioned coffee shops roast their own coffee - in a wok on the street. And try as I may, I still can't hit the correct tone over the "sua" in cafe sua da. Those biscuits look like they're so light, they're about to float right off of the plate.

I've been dying to get my hands on "Into the Vietnamese Kitchen", especially after reading her description on how to make caramel. I'd like to hear from anyone who has bought it and used it.

[excited]ohboyohboyohboy[/excited] I see you have a copy of "Into the Vietnamese Kitchen". I'd love to get my grubby hands on one of those, but it's not available here (for obvious reasons, I guess - the people of Vietnam already know how to cook their own food.) I'm going to look for a copy when I go to Singapore for Lunar New Year, but I'm not holding my breath. What have you cooked from it? Are you planning to make any of the recipes this week? Pancakes were the one food I never allowed myself when following weightwatchers, as I can't stand to eat them without gobbing great heaps of syrup and butter.

I can't wait to see what you cook - Those flavours look Vietnamese, too! Have fun blogging!

Well, now, I'm certainly craving those foods. It all looks scrumptious. Especially the egg yolk porn!

After staring long and hard at the listings for "shrimp" in my Laos and Cambodia phrasebooks (the only Vietnamese word I could understand with clearly legible text below it), I'm going to definitively say Khmer. I'm so glad Vietnam uses a romanized script! I forgot how hard it is to first train your eye to see the script; then to sound out a meaning.

I love how your idea of fun activities on a trip involves going around to various supermarkets to see what kind of food they have on offer, because this exactly the sort of thing I enjoy. I think it shows a lot about a culture. For example, I've never even considered turning a strawberry into a goggle-eyed face, but people in Taiwan do, apparently. My friends usually think I'm nuts because I want to see how many cheeses are available at, say City Super, in Hong Kong, instead of shopping on Hollywood road, or whatever, but to me, it's the most fascinating thing. There are a lot of Marie Brizard products available in Hanoi, as well. They must have a good distributor.