Fine Dining?: The Most Delicious Illicit Market (VIETNAM - post 1 of 1)

Written March 31

The author's sister inadvertently forgot to post this - apologies!

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I've arrived at a point in my travels, now in my tenth country, where I've come to the realization, "Holy monkeys, I am tired." My ability to organize and articulate my thoughts has regressed to the level of monosyllabic descriptions, and the flow of conversation around the dining table consistently returns to the safest topic of what my friends and I have eaten or plan on eating in port that day. Accompanying my fatigue was a strong desire to leave the company of our massive touring group (over 700 strong) and the sculpted metropolis of Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City) for a quieter setting. Destination: Dalat and Nha Trang. But first, a quick plug for Vietnamese food.

I will be the first to admit that my views are entirely biased, but I believe Vietnam to be the motherland of the freshest, most appetizing and innovative cuisine in the world. Street vending is a more casual affair here compared with the disciplined structure of Thailand. Vendor-ladies shouldering two woven baskets hung from either ends of a wooden pole can be seen ambling amongst the perplexing traffic of motorbike scooters (xe may), autos, and fearless pedestrians. Miniature open air "restaurants" pop up in every conceivable location, decked out with colorful, toddler-sized stools and low, plastic tables. Airy French baguette sandwich carts display sliced, spiced meatloaf, creamy pate, julienned pickles, egg, and shredded dry pork from cramped window fronts. Everything is advertised in the Romanize Vietnamese script. Despite my illiteracy, I was smugly amazed by my knowledge of nearly every food term I came across. Language would not be a barrier to my feasting; I ate like a Queen.



DALAT
Dalat is a mountainous city six to seven hour away from Saigon by bus. Due to its higher elevation it escapes the overwhelming heat permeating the majority of the country and was even a bit chilly in the evenings. Street vending, which has tapered down severely in the commercial hub of Saigon, maintains a strong presence in the center of Dalat. By nightfall, hundreds of vendors amble out to the main market "Cho Da Lat" with baskets of steamed rice noodles covered in scallion oil, chewy steamed tiny rice flour cups sprinkled with dried shrimp, pot after pot of steaming soups and noodles in countless varieties, and steamed, baked, and grilled mollusks in half a dozen specie varieties. Traveling out of a backpack for a couple of months now gave me some perspective on the daily existence of vendors, with their livelihoods packed into a cart or two woven baskets.



LEGITIMACY
On the first evening touring the market in Dalat, I became curiously distracted when several vendors suddenly sprinted without warning to drag tables and cooking pots from the central plaza into alleyways and out of sight. It was almost as if someone had stopped the music for musical chairs and everyone was scrambling to find an empty seat; only in this case racing to remove the seats rather than occupy them. Moments later, a white police truck rolled belatedly into the plaza, as though it had been granting the vendors time to conceal their illicit businesses and casually block from view the lone remaining stove, still glowing with charcoal. My question of the legitimacy of the evening food market was immediately addressed.

The street vendors that flood the streets with vats of bubbling beef broth for hot "pho" noodles, or yellow oceans bobbing with enormous pork, crab, and shrimp meatballs of "bun rieu" likely all operate illegally. It is impossible to enforce a minimum standard for the cleanliness of food eaten inches above gut-scattered asphalt. However, the popularity of Vietnamese street food amongst locals, and increasingly international travelers as well, has brought street techniques into small, formal kitchens as an alternative venue.

VENDING TYPES
Street food can be divided into three types based on the mobility of the operations. Highly mobile vendors compete on novelty, convenience, and economies of scale, contrasting with stationary, (regional) specialty outlets. The former sector is dominated by middle-aged women working independently out of crude baskets balanced across their shoulders. They are recognizable from their conical bamboo leaf hats and are seen soliciting tourists and locals one-by-one for their penny-snack foods: coconut wafer pancakes (freshly griddled infront of you), crispy rice cracker wheels dotted with sesame and dried shrimp, and small sweet egg-cakes. On the slightly more futuristic (though no less chaotic) end of the spectrum, vendors have formalized into permanent, sit-down "restaurants", typically featuring one famous dish, which the restaurant is also usually named for. "Banh Xeo 46A," tucked off a cramped side street in Saigon, was one of such local hotspots. The same plastic stools and tables, quartet of chili and salty condiments, and toilet paper tissue dispensers resembled street-eats to the T (though on a larger scale), but more importantly the food was of the same delicious, authentic quality. I even forgave myself for being exploited by the taxi driver who delivered me to the hidden joint after my first mouthful of the crispy, hot, herb-wrapped roll of shrimp, fatty pork, and beansprout-stuffed coconut crepe.



The majority of street food vendors function in between these two vending types. They carry with them all the essentials needed to set up shop for the day (chairs, chopsticks, condiments, stove etc.) until they find a promising location where they'll stay to complete their shift or are else evicted by local authorities. It is from these countless vendors that most people eat their meals; breakfast, lunch, dinner, midnight snack, and the scene of some of the most exquisite dining in the world.



Note: Although I never had any problems myself, it is inadvisable to eat the ice from street vendors or in small local eateries. Judge the sketchiness of the foods for yourselves.