Banh mi Doner Kebabs, Hanoi

Over the last year or so, the Vietnamese banh mi sandwich has taken New York by storm, elevating the once humble pork and pickled vegetable sandwich to heights of gastronomic chic. In Hanoi, however, the typical banh mi (which translates simply as “bread” in Vietnamese and is written in English as banh my in Hanoi) is a pedestrian fried egg or pâté sandwich with a few slices of cucumber or a light smearing of chili sauce.

Banh My Van's baguette is filled with an array of fresh and pickled vegetables and tender pork flavored with Vietnamese spices, generously doused with both a chili and a creamy white sauce.

An unlikely variation on the sandwich is thriving in the Vietnamese capital: the banh mi doner kebab, which incorporates elements of a doner kebab, the Turkish staple, tucking shaved pork, pickled vegetables and chili sauce inside a warm baguette. Turkish doner kebabs are usually halal, meaning pork-free. Is this version culinary sacrilege? Perhaps, but a tasty one.

Saigon's Banh Mi

Booming Saigon, a city on the move, lays claim to a specialty that Vietnamese-American writer Monique Truong, author of "The Book of Salt" and the coming "Bitter in the Mouth," calls "the ultimate on-the-go fare": the extravagantly stuffed banh mi sandwich.

Saigon signature sandwich David Hagerman for The Wall Street Journal

The most popular form is banh mi thit ("thit" means "meat"), a warmed baguette spread with mayonnaise and pâté and filled with ham, headcheese and sausage. Cucumber, tomato, cilantro, chilies, and do chua, a bracing radish-and-carrot relish, add characteristic Vietnamese freshness. Optional condiments include chili sauce, Maggi (a bottled sauce of Swiss origin) and soy sauce.

Ordered to go, banh mi comes wrapped in scrap paper secured with a rubber band, a portable meal epitomizing Saigon's "insatiable appetite and deep desires, for better or worse, to keep moving," says Ms. Truong, who was born in Saigon, now officially called Ho Chi Minh City.

For the love of durian

Prickly. Heavy. "Oh, please don't let it fall on my foot." This was the thought that entered my mind the first time I held a durian. Noble as it is ugly, this expensive fruit definitely stands alone. The Durian is seen as the king of all fruits and is highly sought after in Asia as I was informed by my good Vietnamese friend.

Durians on sale in France

Nathalie Girod holding her new favorite fruit

Praised for its exorbitant nutritional value, it is known to be eaten by pregnant Oriental women. High in iron, it is also rich in vitamin B-complex and vitamin C, minerals, potassium and essential amino acids. Amazingly your energy level stays at a nice constant rate with its great composition of fructose, sucrose and some cholesterol free fats. My friend swore by its nutritional benefits and ate it throughout her pregnancy.

So why is this incredible fruit banned in certain establishments in Asian countries? Apparently for its infectious smell which I did not understand until I had my first personal whiff. Amazingly, I found this aroma to be neither foul nor disgusting as most would expect. At first I thought I had left a great piece of cheese in the fridge, since I live in France, it happens often enough. For the next few days, this odor invaded my space, lingering long enough for me to judge for myself. The smell has an unusual mixture of fresh vomit mixed with a lush creaminess. A perfect melange of love or hate. For me, it was love at first smell. I just could not wait to taste it!

A local classic

Pho might be the darling of Vietnamese cuisine, and perhaps, bun cha is the people’s favourite ‘underdog’, but there’s another dish which is closer to the heart of less carnivorous Hanoians.

Bun dau mam tom is basically chunks of tofu served in a hot soup on a bed of rice noodles with a dollop of shrimp paste. It’s an extremely popular meal that’s often overlooked by guidebooks and seldom-tried by tourists or even long term residents of Hanoi.

Swine by the sea

Ninh Hoa pork roll: Nha Trang’s beach front delicacy

Nha Trang boasts stunning beaches, soft white sands, and spectacular bays. While ambling along the town’s lively beach front promenades, tourists will no doubt revel in the abundance of local seafood specialties. You can’t go wrong with old standbys like bun sua (jellyfish noodle soup) or bun cha ca (rice vermicelli broth spiked with fried fish paste).

But if you find yourself tiring of fish flavors, give the town’s nem Ninh Hoa (Ninh Hoa pork rolls) a go.

The charcuterie-like dish originated in Ninh Hoa, a district of Khanh Hoa Province, not far from Nha Trang. They are traditionally served around Tet (Lunar New Year). But, in Nha Trang, they can be eaten and enjoyed all year round.

Champions of the rolls are split into two camps: those who go for the funky tang of nem chua (fermented pork roll) and those who favor the classic salty-sweet nem nuong (grilled pork roll).

The process of making the fermented roll is simple, but somewhat labor intensive.

First you have to get your hands on a choice piece or pork (thigh or cutlet).

Boil the meat, briefly, to separate the skin - if there is any. Set the skin aside to dry.

Then, remove the fat, and grind the meat.

If the meat is ground by machine, it tends to lack an essential springiness. A little extra work with a mortar and pestle goes a long way. Season with salt and sugar, to taste, as you grind. Apply constant even pressure to the meat as it turns into a smooth, springy paste. Once the desired texture is achieved, add a few whole peppercorns.

Shred the skin (once dry) into small threads and combine with the ground pork.

To prepare nem chua (fermented pork roll) take a small piece (two fingers’ length) and wrap it with chum ruot (otaheite gooseberry) leaves.

Wrap the mixture a second time in banana leaves. To make large rolls, you only need concern yourself with the banana leaves, rolling them into a cone and pinching down both ends. As an alternative, you can mold the meat mixture, sausage-style, in plastic wrap.

Leave out for three or four days for prime fermented funk. For a subtler flavor, ferment the wraps in the fridge. You’ll know they’re finished when the fermented pork is somewhat dry (e.g. not sticking to the leaves). The meat should retain a fresh, pink color. They should smell and taste sour and vaguely sweet.

Garnish with chopped onion, cucumber, and carrot. Discard leaves before eating.

To make nem nuong (grilled pork roll) separate the fat from the meat. Cut the meat into one-inch cubes. Skewer the pork between bits of fat and grill over hot coals. Roll the grilled pork roll with a mix of basil, ice berg lettuce, cucumber, green banana, sour star fruit, and julienned green mango. Wrap it all up burrito-style in a piece of banh trang (rice paper) then dip in the sauce of your choice.

Vietnam for foodies

Hoi An boasts some of the best food I've eaten on my trip thus far. For whatever reason, this little town claims a few delectable dishes as unique to their town alone. The first is White Rose, a simple but outstanding meat and shrimp dumpling steamed in a rice dough that somewhat resembles a white rose.

White Rose dumplings

Second is Cao Lau, a noodle and beef soup with bean sprouts and fresh herbs mixed in when it arrives at the table. The noodles are only available in Hoi An because they are made from a particular water source that gives them their unique texture. The noodles are a bit doughy but the dish is truly delectable because the meat is marinated and tastes a bit of cinnamon. And the fresh herbs are amazing...mint and basil, I believe.

Cao Lau served with rice crackers.

Finally, crispy rice pancakes, known as "Banh Xeo", which consist of a fried pancake, kind of like a rice crepe, with bean sprouts and shrimp inside. The dish is served with all sorts of fresh herbs which you put inside the pancake and then wrap in a thin piece of rice paper. It's topped off by dipping in an amazing spicy peanut sauce. To die for.

Crispy rice pancake with fresh herbs, ready to be rolled

A rolled pancake, ready for dipping!

Hoi An also makes a delightful fried won ton, showing the Chinese influence on this old port town. I for one am glad, because they are darn good.

Okay, they look a bit funky, but are basically fried yumminess wrapped around a meat center with veggies and sauce on top

During this trip I've also grown a slight obsession for squid, which I eat nearly every day. I've tried just about every type of squid you could imagine and my favorite thus far came from a food stand in Hoi An called "Mr. Hung." I ordered squid grilled in a banana leaf with onions, garlic and lemongrass. It was so tender and delicious that I ate the entire thing. The ladies cooking the food made fun of me and said, mostly through sign language, that if I ate squid like that everyday I'd get fat!!

My squid is somewhere in that banana leaf, which is in a wire basket being grilled on an open flame....heaven.

The final dish...

Both Betsy and I agreed that Morning Glory was the best restaurant we visited in Hoi An. The food was simple, fresh and absolutely amazing. The proprietress of the restaurant cooks family food the way her mother taught her. I want to live at her house! She said that fresh herbs are such a strong cultural influence that many Vietnamese will start to feel homesick if they cannot have fresh herbs everyday. It's true that most food comes with a plate of herbs which makes a huge difference in the quality of the dish.

Betsy ordered this interesting dish at Morning Glory...a shrimp coconut curry actually cooked in a young coconut. The sauce was slightly sweet and unbelievably flavorable.

The Vietnamese do not eat sweet breakfasts like we do in the states. One staple of their diet is "congee" which is a rice porridge with either fish, chicken or pork. It's savory and quite good! The coffee here is also fantastic, albeit a little strong. It will seriously put hair on your chest so they dilute it with sweetened condensed milk! And it comes with a little coffee filter perched on the cup. Seriously delicious.

Congee for breakfast with a cup of coffee in the background. I love the little coffee filter so it can brew right at the table!

Another item that is everywhere in Vietnam is "pho," pronounced "fer." This is a simple noodle soup, traditionally with beef but you can get it with chicken or veggies, that is once again served with a pile of bean sprouts and fresh herbs you mix in at the table. Fantastic.

"Pho", aka noodle soup, with a plate of fresh herbs and some fresh coconut water. You can't get much healthier than that!

Finally, I tried a traditional Vietnamese dessert called "Che" which is basically a sweet green bean soup. It's actually made with mung beans and is only slightly sweet but quite good! No wonder the Vietnamese are so slender! They even eat veggies for dessert!!

Eating my sweet green bean soup, served cold in a glass

I reluctantly leave the food of Vietnam behind...and will seek out Vietnamese restaurants in the states as soon as I return!

Vietnamese food: Lively, lighthearted, lovely

Last fall, I was in Hong Kong, Vietnam and Cambodia, but my heart belonged to Vietnam, especially its food. (Hong Kong’s food is pretty well represented in Vancouver and as for Cambodia ... well, it’s not known for its gustatory delights.)

Inflated rice balls make a big impression.

A market in Hanoi.

Vietnam’s Can Tho market offers an amazing array of fruits and vegetables.

A woman in Hanoi hawks pho from gigantic cooking pots.

I’ve always yearned for more exciting Vietnamese food in Vancouver, but knew I’d have to follow it to its source for the thrills.

Vietnam confirmed my belief that Vietnamese food is a lot like its people — lively, light-hearted, lovely. And good-humoured. (How else would you describe a giant, golden, inflated rice balloon with a rice pattycake hiding inside?) Somehow, that buoyant nature has survived in the people and the food through the bloodiest of wars. A grandmother toothily laughs. A translator tells us she’s asking if we understand her babbling baby grandson in English because he’s sure not speaking Vietnamese.

I was smitten. Even the city traffic, which seems more like a national suicide pact (motorbikes, bicycles, cars, people, tuk-tuks darting in every conceivable direction without the logic of lanes, traffic lights, or rules of the road) won’t deter me from going back.

Going from Hanoi in the north to Central Vietnam and down to Ho Chi Minh City (still referred to as Saigon by most locals) and the Mekong Delta, the food changed with the geography and climate which morphs from temperate to tropical.

Vancouver’s Vietnamese restaurants only skim the surface of regional variations of food in that country. We don’t see the amazing produce or taste the intensity of herbs or variations of the nuoc nam , the fermented fish sauce, a signature taste in so many Vietnamese dishes.

In Hanoi, we had to try the one-dish restaurant, Cha Cha La Vong. The dish? It’s called cha cha — monkfish fried with dill, turmeric, rice noodles and peanuts. They bring a charcoal hibachi to the table and you cook the fish and a pile o’ greens yourself. The restaurant has been there for several generations and the staff is said to be gruff (unusual in Vietnam, but the matriarch took a shine to us and came and cooked ours for us in between counting out dongs (Vietnamese currency) at the next table, their evening’s take. It’s grungy (Molly Maids would have heart attacks), but it’s so famous that copycat restaurants have sprung up, messing with your mind. The cha cha was delicious.

It would be unforgivable to wimp out on trying street food for fear of gut-wrenching illness. We searched for ones that came recommended (my neighbour, who’d been to Vietnam a year earlier, recommended a pho seller, for instance).

One night, we went to a place that sold great pork patties and shrimp spring rolls. Gratefully, we sat at a table, not on the plastic toddler stools that Westerners look ridiculous on, at some of these places. The food was good and my stomach inflated like that rice balloon.

My husband, however, didn’t want to miss out one chance to try the street pho that our neighbour, Karen, had recommended. I watched in amazement as he went in search of it, sat down with the locals and slurped back a heaping bowl of pho. Mom and son threw enormous cuts of meat to each other, sliced off thin slices and threw slices into steaming bowls. Locals looked astonished when they thought a stranger reached out for my husband’s pho (it was me) and took a big, noisy slurp. It was, despite the optics, delicious.

Wild Lotus, in Hanoi, is in a gorgeous French colonial building. (The French left behind beautiful buildings and A something of their food culture, unlike the Americans, who left bomb craters.) We followed a marble staircase and passed by a fountain en route to the second-floor restaurant with a modern tropical feel. Slender female servers (they’re all small and pretty) wore ao dai (those silky, side-slit tops) and males wore suits. Astonishingly, main dishes were an average $6 Cdn. Deep-fried prawns bundled in vermicelli, served with plum sauce; grilled sea bass; morning glory leaves, sauteed in garlic; pork loin with cashews, mushrooms, dried chili, spring rolls in shredded rice noodles — and the bill came to about $60 with wine.

You should use a guidebook because you’ll run into horrid food just like anywhere. We ducked into a nice-looking place for breakfast one morning and “shirred eggs” turned out to be an eggy sauce with a lid of goopy cheese and bits of ham. Yech!

In Central Vietnam, at Hoi An (where my husband had the equivalent of a Zegna suit tailored for $350), we ate at a string of food stalls along the Thu Bon River, returning to “Mr. Dong’s” a few times for the “white rose,” a regional specialty of shrimp dumplings in clear rice dough. But the banana pancakes and noodles were just as good. (Dong is also the word for Vietnamese currency, a challenge to say for an inhibited North American.) Breakfast was included at the hotels we stayed in and at Hoi An, we could have had a sumptuous Vietnamese buffet every morning with dim sum-like dishes that changed daily.

Cafe des Amis came recommended in guide books and was a heck of a deal with seven courses for about $12, but it was most memorable for the owner, a Mr. Kim, decked out in black leather pants and jacket, a smoking bon vivant, strutting among guests, telling stories he must have told a thousand times.

A young couple we met from London led us through the dark alleys of Hoi An and to their discovery, a restaurant called Secret Garden, not in guide books. We ended up taking group photos with the friendly staff after a meal of star anise soup, pork and fish tamarind hotpot and pork skewers.

In Ho Chi Minh City, I’d stand, each morning, at the fourth-floor window of our hotel, looking down at a woman who made rounds on her bicycle, draped with bags and bags of produce, eggs, fish, meat. Women from shops would saunter out, leisurely check out the fare and buy a little bit of this and a little bit of that. (And no, it wasn’t refrigerated.) Then she’d move on, plastic bags rustling.

Vietnamese supermarkets don’t exist. Food is bought at markets or vendors on the street. The floating markets are very cool. We put-put-putted around the boats early one morning before taking off down the Mekong on a “Heart of Darkness” journey to an eco-lodge.

At Ho Chi Minh City, my all-time favourite spot was Quan An Ng, a brilliant idea. Cooking stations circle the perimeter of an elegant French colonial-style restaurant; each one is a stall with cooks making street foods from all over Vietnam. You can walk around, check out all the regional specialties at the stations and point and order or order off the menu. Can they please open one in Vancouver?

The most modern Vietnamese meal was at the sleekly modern Xu restaurant in Ho Chi Minh City. A four-course tasting menu was about $27; an eight-course went for $44. The menu features dishes like tuna spring roll and black sesame seared tuna; steamed rice flour roll with fish, bean shoots and roasted shallots; tamarind-braised beef cheeks with pumpkin mash and pumpkin flower; crab soup with boiled quail egg, peanut and chili; scallops with green mango noodle salad and lemongrass dressing. Desserts? Durian cream puff and chocolate caramel tart.

I had a dramatically memorable dish from along the Mekong Delta. On a bike trip, we had a lunch of elephant ear fish which was deep-fried whole and mounted like a trophy on a wooden stand, dramatic as heck.

What I won’t dwell on here is the part of Vietnamese cuisine I can’t bear. Even the thought of a snake farm at one of the towns we biked was enough to send me on a detour. At an outdoor coconut candy factory, I bought some of the taffy-like confections, trying not to look into the eyes of the coiled vipers, trapped in bottles of rice wine, said to invigourate libidos.

In the same shop, lots of alligator purses, perhaps siblings of the ones we saw in a muddy pond?

But getting back to the good stuff, another unforgettable Vietnamese culinary tradition is their insanely good coffee. It’s intense and delicious, dripped slowly into condensed milk if you don’t want it neat. We brought a few bags home, but I think you have to be Vietnamese to make it so good.

And dare I say, I think that to be true of the food, too.