Bánh Mì Version 2.0

Meatball bánh mì  at Bánh Mì Saigon in New York

I remember when no one in New York knew what a bánh mì was. This was a time before Instagram and Top Chef, when food porn was limited to Saveur and the weekly dose from the New York Times Dining section.  Unless you were Vietnamese or had backpacked in Vietnam, the sandwich of cold cuts, pate, and pickled vegetables was a complete unknown. 

When was this long ago time, you ask?  Only about ten years ago, actually.  My how things change.

I was in the backpacker category of the bánh mì knowledgable, though I can't say my first experience was a positive one.  Rushing to pack and get out of Saigon for an overnight bus trip, I persuaded my brother we should buy two uncertain looking sandwiches from a street vendor.  Unbeknownst to us, Ho Chi Minh was the perfect place to be picking up the sandwich, as it was there that the bánh mì, in its classic form, was invented.

Unfortunately, my brother and I broke the cardinal rule of bánh mì: eat immediately. These are not sandwiches designed to be packed away for late night snack on a long bus ride.  Most of our soggy, smelly sandwiches were left behind in a rest station trash bin.

Mackerel Bánh Mì at Num Pang

While I was living in California a few years back, I came to New York for a visit and was surprised to find the bánh mì had taken the city by storm. It seemed shops devoted to the sandwich were popping up everywhere, as with the mini-chain Baoguette.  And it appeared every Chinatown coffee shop had signs placed in the window advertising bánh mì alongside pictures of dark tapioca pearls bobbing in plastic cups of bubble tea.  (How the Taiwanese sweet milk tea drink became companions with a Vietnamese sandwich is an investigation for another time.)

A Laotian bánh mì shop opens in Tribeca

Coming back to New York a couple of years later it seemed the bánh mì had so quickly moved from obscurity into the mainstream it was already on to Phase Two: reinvention.  While walking through the Village I stumbled upon a small shop front near Union Square, Num Pang.  A look at the menu revealed a list of sandwiches that appeared similar to bánh mì but, well, different. “Pulled Duroc Pork with Honey” and “Peppercorn Catfish with House Made Sweet Soy Sauce” sounded innocuously Asian, but the rest of the sandwich ingredients- cucumber, pickled carrot, cilantro and chili mayo- put these squarely in the traditional bánh mì category.

Num Pang’s Cambodian-style bánh mì clearly hit a nerve with New Yorkers. Now, living back in the city, there are so many Num Pang locations I only need to walk two blocks from my West Village apartment when I get a craving for their Khmer sausage sandwich piled high with pickled carrot and slicked with a sheen of chili mayo.

French Dip Duck Confit bánh mì from Khe-Yosk

With Cambodian versions and Vietnamese versions it was just a matter of time before that other border country, Laos, chimed in with a version of the bánh mì.  Enter Khe-Yosk in Tribeca, a window counter opening onto the street, an offshoot of the attached fine dining Laotian restaurant. A couple weeks after the “khe-yosk” opened I stopped by for a duck confit “French dip” bánh mì.  The foie gras spread was lost to me between the rich shredded duck and bright pickled vegetables.  And though dipping the enormous sandwich into a small container of au jus was challenging, I found the unusual addition to be a nice accompaniment for the crusty loaf of French bread.

I remember when there was no bánh mì.  Now, just ten years on, I live in a New York era of so many kinds of bánh mì and restaurants that serve them, I could eat a different version every day months.  When it comes to this sandwich none was bad, some was good, and more is definitely better.

Amy Powell is a food and travel writer based in New York City. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell

From the Slanted Door to Your Front Door

Cooking Fish for "Halibut Vermicelli with Dill"

It is rare I cook four recipes from a book in a year, let alone a week.  Yet since the moment I received Charles Phan’s new cookbook, Vietnamese Home Cooking, I have only been able to put it down long enough to pick up my chef’s knife and start chopping. 

It is no secret I love Vietnamese food (my blog is named after the country’s most famous dish). And The Slanted Door, Phan’s deservedly popular San Francisco restaurant, has also long been one of my favorites in that city.

However, I will admit I was skeptical the first time I pulled up a stool at the sleek and sunny restaurant bar with its sweeping bay views.  How could this chic space possibly remain true to the food I had devoured on roadside plastic stools and make shift restaurant shacks? 

Then came the crepe.  The Slanted Door may have boasted central air conditioning and walk-in refrigerators, but the golden pan-fried crepe presented to me, stuffed with bean sprouts, pork and shrimp, was a near perfect replica of one I had eaten some years before in Saigon on an oppressively humid day sitting outdoors on the dirt floor of restaurant tucked down a narrow alley. 

Ever since I have been wondering how to make that crepe at home.  Would it ever be possible to form that perfect golden batter tinted with turmeric and scented with coconut milk in my own kitchen?

Crepe with Pork and Shrimp

Thanks to Vietnamese Home Cooking I can now definitively answer “yes”.  To be sure, this book is not Vietnamese cooking lite.  Phan’s recipes sometimes require upwards of fifteen ingredients.  But they are the sort of Vietnamese pantry staples- tamarind, rice flour, fish sauce- that once stocked, will keep you in good supply long enough to work through much of this book.

As devoted as he is to creating authentic recipes, Phan remains a sympathetic teacher.  In a recipe for “Hue Rice Dumplings” he demonstrates creating the batter and forming the dumplings in six beautiful, full color photos accompanied by nine, clear-cut steps.  For “Bánh Cuón: Rice Crepes with Pork and Mushrooms”, he explains how to make the proper steaming contraption (a pot that would be sold specifically for this purpose in Vietnam) using a common pasta pot with steamer insert, fabric, and a 16-inch hose clamp easily purchased from Home Depot.

I have already worked my way through a few of the simpler, everyday recipes (Lemongrass Chicken, Halibut Vermicelli with Dill) as well as some more time consuming (Pork Clay Pot with Young Coconut Juice).  As for the crepe, or Bánh Xèo, it was as I had always hoped.  Thanks to an excellent teacher and his well written book, my crepe emerged as an authentic taste of Vietnam, cooked simply, at home. 

Amy Powell is a food and travel writer based in New York City. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell

Cookbook Obsession: “Secrets of the Red Lantern”

Southern Vietnamese Fish Cakes

 About once a year a cookbook comes my way that for a period is the object of my culinary obsession.  The latest, “Secrets of the Red Lantern”, arrived a few weeks back via Amazon, a gift from a friend halfway around the world. 

For a cookbook to captivate me, it must add something novel to my kitchen repertoire.  And no, I’m not talking about “50 Ways with Mac N Cheese”, or “Halfway Homemade with Packaged Foods”.  A good cookbook will teach me.  It might teach me technique, as in the case of Jennifer McLagan’s book “Bones” which continues to provide everything I might want to know about cooking meat on the bone.  Or, more often these days, the book goes deep into a particular cuisine of which I have only some familiarity but a lot of curiosity. 

“Secrets of the Red Lantern” is a bit of a hybrid book.  Two parts family history, one part recipes, it is Pauline Nguyen’s story of her family’s flight from Vietnam and settlement in Australia told in words, pictures, and food. 

Tom Rim- Shrimp in Tomato Sauce

This is not the sort of book you take down all in one sitting.  But it is beautiful enough to take a place on the coffee table allowing me to dip in a dip out to read tales of Pauline and her brother Luke’s childhood, drool over the beautiful pictures of some of the favorite family dishes, and dream up which recipe I wish to try out next.

Favorites so far have included Luke’s recreation of one of his mom’s signature dishes at his parents’ restaurant opened when they resettled in Australia.  Tôm Rim, shrimp sautéed with tomato, fish sauce, and black pepper, was assembled with ingredients I can find these days at any American supermarket- tomato paste, shrimp, fish sauce, cilantro.  But the wide range and nuance of flavors from sweet to spicy to tart to bitter, were pure Vietnam.

These days Pauline along with Luke and Mark Jensen, her partner in life and love, make up the team behind the popular Sydney restaurant Red Lantern.  In addition to sharing family recipes these three also manage to break down some better-known Vietnamese dishes into step-by-step instructions simple enough to replicate at home.  Fish cakes, one of my favorite Vietnamese appetizers, appear shockingly easy in this book.  Even though the recipe can be done entirely in the food processor, I took the chef’s recommendation to work the fish sauce into the paste of mackerel, garlic, and green onion by hand.  The work was tough but satisfying.  I could see and feel the texture change to the non-sticky consistency described in the book that signals it is ready to form into cakes and fry. 

Pauline writes in reference to the name of their restaurant, “To raise a red lantern outside your home is a symbol of honoring good company.”  I don’t know when I will have the pleasure of visiting Sydney, but until I do “Secrets of the Red Lantern” is poised to keep me excellent company in the kitchen for sometime to come.

Amy Powell is a food and travel writer based in New York City. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell

Annals of Addictive Condiments: Lok Lak

Continuing on the themes of “spices making great souvenirs” and “addictive condiments from other countries”, I was giddy with excitement last weekend when my friend Elsa handed me two small containers from her recent trip to Cambodia.  Inside container one: kampot black pepper, my favorite.  Inside the other was a spice mixture labeled “lok lak.”

Elsa, though relatively new to traveling in the developing world, has seen a lot in just the past few years.  She admits to not being much of a cook so it is was all the more surprising to hear her gush about her love for lok lak, one of the better known dishes of Cambodia. 

Admittedly, I can’t remember eating lok lak either of the times I have been in Cambodia, getting hung up instead on spicy pork stir fries and fish amok.  But as Elsa described the dish of seared, sliced beef with a peppery lime juice dipping sauce, I realized it sounded quite a bit like Vietnamese “shaking beef”. 

Bu Luc Lac, or "Shaking Beef"

Indeed, a bit of research revealed that that lok lak was most likely a variation bu luc lac, brought over to Cambodia from Vietnam by colonialists sometime in the mid twentieth century.   

But even if the origin of the dish is not truly Khmer, at least the ingredients can be.  Equal parts salt, palm sugar, and Cambodian black pepper mix together with lime juice and minced garlic to form and condiment that (yes, Elsa) is really addictive. 

Cambodian recipes call for stir-frying beef or chicken with soy and ketchup but I decided to stick to the traditional Vietnamese roots with a variation on Shaking Beef I’d done in the past.  But it wouldn’t have been the dish it was without that purely Cambodian spice mixture.  All that separates these two deeply loved dishes from two neighboring countries are a couple of letters and the world’s best black pepper.  

Shaking Beef

Time: 30 minutes

Serves: 4

2 lb. rib eye or filet of beef, fat trimmed off

2 T. vegetable oil

½ large onion

3 cloves garlic

2 T. soy sauce

1 ½ T. rice wine vinegar

1 ½ T. white wine

2 tsp. fish sauce

1 tsp sugar

Cooked rice

Heat a wok over high heat.  Trim fat off beef and cut into bite sized pieces about 1 inch by 1 inch. Season beef with salt and pepper.  Thinly slice red onion and garlic then toss with the beef. In a small bowl mix soy sauce, rice wine vinegar, rice wine, fish sauce and sugar.  Heat vegetable oil in the sauté pan until smoking.  Add beef in 3-4 batches, careful not to crowd the pan. Let sit on one side without touching for 1-2 minutes until browned.  Flip to the other side and brown for an additional minute.  Remove to a plate and repeat with remaining meat.  When all meat is browned, add reserved beef and any juices back into the wok along with soy sauce mixture.  Saute for an additional two minutes until meat is warmed and liquid reduced slightly.  Garnish with cilantro leave or sliced green onion.  Serve with steamed rice and lok lak.

Lok Lak Dipping Sauce

1 tsp salt

1 tsp ground black pepper

1 tsp palm sugar

1 garlic clove

3 T. fresh lime juice

Mix ingredients together and serve with stir fried beef, chicken, pork, or shrimp.

Amy Powell is a food and travel writer based in New York City. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell

Hey Ramen Head! More Ways to Get Your Soup Noodle On

Spicy Cumin Lamb Noodles in Broth, Xi'an Famous Foods

Hey there, Noodle Heads, great news: there is more to the world of noodles in soup than just ramen. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m all for ramen.  But there seems to be a ramen shop on every corner these days.  And after so many meals of heavy pork broth and curly wheat based noodles sometimes I’m looking to switch it up a bit.  Lucky for me, in New York at least, there are plenty of other joints where I can pull up a stool, grab a set of chopsticks, and starting slurping noodles in aromatic broth whenever a craving hits.  Here are just a few:

Soba:  I wish I could clone Cocoron in the LowerEast Side.  I love soba, I love their health conscious menu, and I love that they are open until the wee hours of the morning.  (My soba cravings seem to intensify the later and later I’ve pushed my bedtime.)  Of course, I like to balance health with, well, pork.  So I take my gluten free buckwheat soba and ask the cheery folk at Corcoron to ladle on bonito broth, sprinkle on some seaweed for green, and pile on sliced pork and kimchee for extra flavor.  Moderation in everything.

Pork and Kimchi Soba at Cocoron, NYC

Pho: New York is no Los Angeles when it comes to Vietnamese pho.  Vietnamese restaurants in New York seem to throw more of their weight behind well-executed banh mi leaving the bowls of rice noodles and rare beef that is the national dish of Vietnam as an afterthought.  But with much research, I’ve found a few places worth seeking out if only for the pho.  V33 Golden City in midtown does a respectable pho complete with fragrant, star anise laced broth.  What’s more, they score points for doing it well even on delivery.  Pho Bang is worth the Chinatown trek.  For less than $8 one can feast on a large bowl of the stuff with all the trimmings and spice it up to taste with the many condiments laid out on the table.

Xi’an Noodles: This might not be a category of noodles anywhere outside the city of Xi’an in China, with the exception of Xi’an Famous Foods in New York City. This mini chain of restaurants pays homage to the city for which the restaurant is named, mixing the spices of the Middle East that arrived in Xi’an via the Silk Road, with the wide hand pulled wheat noodles common across Northern China.  The spices with the noodles in rich both makes for one satisfying bowl of Asian noodle soup.

Cocoron                                  61 Delancy St., New York

V33 Golden City                    14 E. 33^rd St., New York

Pho Bang                               157 Mott St., New York

Xi’an Famous Foods             Multiple locations, New York


Amy Powell is a food and travel writer based in New York City. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell

NYC Asian Eating Weekend, In Pictures

A long weekend of eating in NYC.

Clockwise from top left corner.

1. Spicy Regular Ramen (pork) with thin noodles at Kambi.
2. Crispy Szechuan Lamb at Chinese Mirch.
3. Crispy Spring Rolls at Omai.
4. Lemongrass beef rolls at Omai.
5. Me eating Thelewala Chicken Roll at Thelewala- fried eggs, onions, spices, lime.
6. Spicy Cumin Lamb Noodles in Soup at Xi'an Famous Foods (eating while drinking Negro Modelo at The International Bar in the East Village).
7. My brother, Paul, eating the Chapli Roll at Thelewala- minced lamb, spices, lime.
8. Center- Miso Ramen with shredded chicken and fried garlic at Rai Rai Ken. 


Amy Powell is a food and travel writer based in New York City. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell

Why British Food Doesn't Suck

What is British food exactly? And while we are at it, what is French food or American Food? When the best food in the United States is often a Californian take on Italian, a Texan take on Mexican, or a New York take on French, even American food is hard to define. British food, long maligned for bland tasting meat pies, soggy chips, and mushy peas, has developed over the years, just like the United States and even France.

With the long history of colonialism and now influx of immigrants, Britain has picked up a cosmopolitan mix of peoples and their foods along the way. That Brits have long loved Indian curries is no secret, but upscale South East Asian, Italian-style wine bars, and even artisanal Japanese noodle making are infiltrating the heart of the British dining scene.

With that in mind, on a recent trip to London I set out to discover some new British restaurant arrivals drawing inspiration and menus from different parts of the globe. If my research is any indication, the world continues to shrink and the food in London is better for it. One can only imagine what “British” food will pop up next.

Koya: There is nothing like long, hot, homemade noodles bathed in rich miso broth on a cool London day. Koya, in Soho, is a narrow and brightly lit enclave of traditional Japanese udon in the heart of the theater district. It would be an understatement to say my bowlful of handmade noodles in miso with ground pork and green onion was a mouthful. But I was up for the challenge, taking the noodles one dip of the chopsticks at a time, slurping up the umami rich both between bites. Koya also succeeded with an unusual and gamey miso cured venison special and crisp green salad topped with fried lotus, all washed down with homemade ginger tea.

Bocca di Lupo: If the difficulty in getting a reservation is any indication, Bocca di Lupo is no secret to Londoners. Known best on the West side of the pond as the author of 2010’s “The Geometry of Pasta” cookbook, chef Jacob Kenedy is turning out the sort of consistently excellent Italian fare that makes you want to finish your plate and order again because each successive course seems to get better and better. On my recent visit, the much-lauded fried balls of mozzarella were the least interesting dish if not bad at all. A plate of crudo- sea bream, red prawn, and creamy scallop- came drizzled in rosemary oil. Herbaceous and yet distinctly of the sea, it was as if the fish had taken a stroll through a pine forest and emerged delicately scented on the plate. Orchiette pasta was tossed with crumbled spicy homemade sausage and arugula. While sausage of pork and foie gras, rustic in presentation, was nothing but decadent in the mouth.

Cay Tre: Perhaps it has yet to figure out food costs, but Cay Tre, a classy Vietnamese newcomer, is loading their pho with beef. In the classic Vietnamese noodle soup, rare slivers of beef normally act as more of a garnish than a focal point. At Cay Tre, the bowl is all about the beef. Loaded with sirloin, tendon, and brisket, their pho is a meatier version of the classic while still redolent with star anise and filled with the biting grassiness of greens and the licorice of torn basil tangled together with just cooked rice noodles. Two elegantly fried head-on prawns embedded in a cake of grated sweet potato was a tasty starter when rolled in lettuce and dipped in a classic sauce of vinegar, chilies, and sugar.

Polpo: Polpo, part of a hip 18 month-old mini-chain of London wine bars, is the one that started it all. Even though Polpo is Italian, don’t come expecting pasta, because you might not find it. But do come open to a raucous dining scene that might well be going off into the ten o’clock hour on a Monday night, unusual in this city. Pizzettas are small and thin crusted with a nice chewy interior and crisp edge. Faro might star in lieu of risotto as it did on a recent night paired with rich braised lamb. Asparagus was in peak season on that visit, served simply and deliciously blanched and smothered in anchovy butter. Wine is delight to drink at Polpo as many options come by the quarter, half, or full bottle. And should you arrive early or come without a reservation, a speakeasy hidden in the basement appropriately called The Campari Bar is a delightful way to spend the wait over an aperitif. Or linger late take in a nightcap downstairs. That is if you didn’t close down the joint over dinner like I did.