So full I couldn’t read another thing

Yesterday, in its own automated way, @vietnamblogs churned out six newly written blogs posts on Vietnamese street food.(1,2,3,4,5,6)

That was without the assistance of one or two Vietnam-based bloggers who write exclusively on the subject.  One of the articles came from The Word and highlighted its recent Hanoi poll.

When it asked what we like best about Vietnam, the survey said:

…a huge 98.8% of the votes, no doubt motivated by an absent lunch and a rumbling stomach, went to Hanoi’s street food…

It followed a similar poll in Ho Chi Minh City where the results were remarkably similar with streetfood getting 94% of the vote.

I do recall a tweet sometime ago (from @thecomicalhat perhaps) referring to expats who  “say they love street food but really really only eat bun cha a couple of times a year” – or something similar.

Certainly, it’s easy to be a cynical when your average pho store isn’t exactly knee deep in foreigners.

So what’s the truth, is eating street food as popular as blogging about it and taking instagram pics?  Just how trendy is VN food right now?  Is it still on an upswing or have the hardcore foodies moved on?

Update: It occurs to me that the reason eating, photographing and blogging Vietnamese streetfood is so popular is that it’s a fad, within a fad, within a fad – and you can add another layer to that if you consider Vietnam to be a newly trendy place to visit.

Full disclosure:

  • I enjoy street food whenever I have it and yet probably only do eat it half a dozen times a year.
  • I voted “people”.

Dinner and drinks with the inlaws

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Lobsters, oysters and five star hotels

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The pic is of the oysters at yesterday’s Lobster Buffet at the Sheraton Hotel.

Despite living literally in the shadows of the place we probably only actually visit it a couple of times a year – in particular for this buffet which is chronically expensive by local standards and internationally pretty cheap. Eat as much as you like lobster, oysters etc for $50 a head.

That’s thirty quid each. That’s not much more than a decent British pub lunch.

Eating there is odd, despite the incredible food, it has all the atmosphere of a work canteen. While eating I become very aware that for us, paying for our own food, we’re very keen to stomach our money’s worth of oysters. But for those passing through on business it’s all expenses. Watching them pick at the food, at that price, it seems an unforgivable waste.

I soon become a little embarrassed at the number of return trips to the buffet we make as compared to them.

Nearby, in the smoking section, there is always a table of loud whiskey-faced businessmen drinking copious amounts when it’s $5 for just a small glass of beer.

Despite the fact that our visits are rare these big five star hotels seems to be an unavoidable part of expat living. My home city in the UK has a Hilton but I’ve never been there and I don’t recall friends ever mentioning visits either.

But here if you work for an NGO or Embassy then these hotels are the go-to places for events. An NGO-working friend recently told me of his despair at his employer hosting an event in a five star hotel despite requests to cut costs. But that’s how it is.

Recently we received a catering order at The Cart for lunchtime sandwiches for an NGO. Reading from the bottom the email started with two colleagues musing – “We can’t just ask the Sofitel to provide lunch like we used to – it doesn’t look right any more – does anyone know somewhere that’s cheap?”

The expat community also includes those who manage and market the hotels. Sooner or later, whether you want to or not you’re liable to get on their email list.

Yesterday when we left the Sheraton, a loud, extravagant wedding was taking place. The Aston Martin pictured below was in the car park. You couldn’t help but think it wasn’t just a wedding car, it was a wedding present.

Wedding Car or Wedding Present?


The perfect lunch

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Football from here.

Food (mulligatawny soup and meat and potato pie) from The Cart (obviously).


The Chicken Feet

My wife’s taste for chicken feet is, more often than not, something she indulges when I’m not around.

She knows not only can’t I stomach the things, I cringe just watching her eat them. With some Vietnamese food I feel the challenge of actually finding protein between skin, gristle and bone is more the point than actually filling your belly or even enjoying the taste.

Occasionally when chicken feet are craved, but I’m in the house, the concession is I get to ring for a pizza. The implied deal is she won’t mention the fact that it’s both expensive and unhealthy. Then we both silently stuff ourselves with our mutually-repulsive food.

One of my wife’s closest friends lives a few alleys down and she too is married to a Brit. Recently, when he was not around, they met, chatted and munched chicken feet without anyone to disapprove.

She came back with a tale of another Anglo Vietnamese union where the pair had moved to the UK. After several months the wife craved chicken feet so much she overcame her shyness and asked her local butcher if he could supply them.

“The butcher said she could have as many chicken feet as she liked,” she tells me, “for free!”

Truly a promised land.


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