Observing A Vietnam Milestone With Tuyet Mai's Bun Mang Vit (Duck and Bamboo Shoot Noodles)

It was the 40th anniversary of the Fall of Saigon (or the unification of Vietnam, depending on where you sit) and I decided to mark the occasion with some Vietnamese noodles. The event that ended the war nobody loved had a salubrious side effect hereabouts: the enriching of the Bay Area's cuisine by an influx of Vietnamese immigrants who brought their food with them. San Francisco may not be San Jose, the city with the largest Vietnamese population outside of Vietnam itself, but our city contains well over 50 sit-down Vietnamese restaurants within its borders, not to mention countless banh mi shops.  The victor in the Vietnam War may have gotten the spoils, but we got the pho.

For my commemoration I chose Tuyet Mai, my favorite Vietnamese mom 'n' pop restaurant and one of the gems of the Tenderloin.  The symbolism was appropriate, too; the owners are from Hue which, though technically part of what was South Vietnam, is very close to the part of Vietnam's narrow waist where the two halves of the Republic were sewn together. For my noodles, I was leaning toward one of the Hue beef soups I have yet to try, but with the weather trending toward  a very toasty 90° F, I decided to go with the lighter bun mang vit, duck with bamboo shoots noodles.

Bun mang vit is listed on Tuyet Mai's menu in the Hue specialties category, but it is easy to see it as popular in any part of Vietnam, and having analogues throughout SE Asia. It could have come from a Hakka or Chaozhou inspiration, and the duck and bamboo shoot combination is a familiar one as far north as Shanghai, albeit with fresh bamboo shoots.

The Tuyet Mai bun mang vit consists of bone-in duck pieces, reconstituted dried bamboo shoots, and round bun ("vermicelli") rice noodles in  a salty, gingery and slightly tart broth. As can be seen in the above photo, there is a generous amount of duck pieces; almost every piece has bone in it, and the meat is not exactly falling off the bone, so it requires you to work for your reward and get two hands greasy.  (It would be nice to have this dish with one of Hai Ky Mi Gia's duck legs!)

There seemed to be a minimal amount of bamboo shoot slices, probably intentionally, as the dried version tends to flavor the broth much more aggressively (and with a different profile) than fresh bamboo. The bun mang vit also came with a little side dish of  Nuoc mam gung, a rather sweet but pungent ginger fish dipping sauce. Tuyet Mai's version had three jalapeno slices floating in it, which eventually found their way into my soup. Topping the soup were crispy fried shallots, onion, garlic, and flavorful Vietnamese greens which I have yet to learn to recognize, but greatly appreciate.

In the end it's duck soup, which you might expect to be a comfort food, but that implies blandness, and Tuyet Mai's broth is far too sharp  to be considered bland. On top of that, the work required to get the meat off the bone will keep you from getting too comfortable there.

Where slurped: Tuyet Mai, 547 Hyde St., San Francisco

Tuyet Mai's Nice Buns (Continued): A Festive Bowl of Bun Rieu

A random craving for the tomato and crab soup known as bun rieu (or more precisely bún riêu cua) took me to my New Best Friend in the Tenderloin, Tuyet Mai. I'm a relative newbie when it comes to bun rieu (usually distracted by the other bun, bun bo Hue), having previously only had a sensationally crabby-eggy version at a pop-up by The Soup Junkie at Vinyl Wine Bar, and a lesser version at a sidewalk pop-up by the Rice Paper Scissors collective.

When I got my bowl of bun rieu, along with a side order of cha tom (shrimp patties) I had an inkling of a subliminal factor that may have steered me towards this noodle soup -- its festive colors. The red tomato segments and the bright green coriander leaves in a reddish broth gave it a downright Christmas-y mien; The Vietnamese mint leaves I added with abandon added to the greenery, and made visions of candy canes dance in my head, too.

There are apparently several variants of bun rieu. Tuyet Mai's menu has it listed under "Specialties from Hue City" so it's presumably a Hue version they serve. Tofu, tomato wedges and shreds of crab, along with delicate bun noodles of the thinnest grade inhabited a broth with a prominent shellfish note. Unlike The Soup Junkie's version, it had no visible egg, and tasted less of crab and more of shrimp, presumably from shrimp paste. It also came with a degree of tartness which I enhanced with a squeeze of lemon.  Unlike Tuyet Mai's other notable buns, bun bo hue and bun mam, this is a subtle, contemplative broth, presumably meant to be enjoyed as such, since it came with a garnish  plate that included no jalapeno slices.

And enjoy it I did.

It was good to see Mom Tuyet in the house, bouncing and beaming as she commanded her kitchen. If they'd hung up mistletoe I'd have kissed her.

Where slurped: Tuyet Mai, 547 Hyde Street, San Francisco
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Ducking Thanksgiving Turkey With Tuyet Mai's Bun Mang Vit

Continuing my Thanksgiving tradition of having alternative fowl (whether I also fall into turkey or not), I headed for the Tenderloin on a duck hunt. I had no plan in mind, armed with the knowledge that at least Hai Ky Mi Gia (it of the shapely duck leg fame) would be open for lunch, based on past experience. But not to worry: I bagged my prey with my first shot, at Tuyet Mai, open for the day on Thanksgiving.

I didn't have to look far down the menu for my canard du jour: there at Number 4 in the Hue City's specialties section was "Bun Mang Vit, duck with bamboo shoot noodles soup."  For good measure, I ordered an appetizer, Cha Hue, "pork patty." Cha Hue is sometimes described as "Vietnamese ham" but actually is more like the pâté used in banh mi.

The marriage of duck and bamboo shoots is one I'm very familiar with from my Shanghai sojurns, but the Vietnamese seem to have turned it inside out.  Instead of "old" (salted) duck and fresh bamboo shoots, bun mang vit brings fresh stewed duck and rehydrated dried bamboo shoots. The broth is a subtle, gingery chicken-based broth, not too different from a pho ga broth, though the bamboo adds a slight funkiness. Using all the Vietnamese mint leaves and lime wedges provided as condiments brightened the broth considerably. There was a veritable mountain of duck in my bowl, though it was on the bone, which made for a messy experience. (I haven't crossed the cultural boundary of spitting out bones on the table, but clean fingers and a generous supply of napkins saved the day). There was a plentiful quantity of noodles, which, as the dish's name implies, were rice vermicelli, more suited  for slurping than chewing.

I can't say bun mang vit is the most exciting bowl of noodles I've had at Tuyet Mai (or Ngoc Mai in its previous life), but it filled the bill as the un-turkey I was seeking and left me contentedly full without feeling stuffed. The cha Hue I ordered as a side was tasty and a generous portion for $3.70, but it too had an unctuous character and I found myself wishing I had ordered something that contrasted more with the noodle soup.

Thanksgiving 2014, painlessly done.

Where slurped: Tuyet Mai, 547 Hyde Street, San Francisco

Return To Tuyết Mai II: Bún Mắm, Hot Damn!

On my visit documented below to newly gussied-up Tuyết Mai (nee Ngoc Mai) to reaffirm the excellence of its bun bu Hue, I noticed bún mắm on the menu.  A little research confirmed that it had been there all along. This came as a surprise for me, as I had labored under the mistaken impression that the shoebox-sized Mong Thu, three blocks down the street, was the only place in town that served this delicacy. This discovery was excuse enough (as if I needed one) to return to Tuyết Mai a mere five days after my previous visit.

I ordered a "small" bun mam.  Although Tuyết Mai's menu only lists a single price for its bowl of soups (the "small" size), a large size is also available. The  smaller bowl is plenty for lunch, even for Generation XL types like me.

Bun mam is akin to a gumbo or a chowder; the broth is flavored with fermented fish paste (its tare, so to speak, to use a ramen analogy).  Its toppings are primarily seafood, with the addition of pork of one form or another.  The overall flavor profile is sour, spicy and fishy, in a positive way.

Tuyết Mai's bun mam came with a broth that seemed a bit less fishy than Mong Thu's but with more tartness and spiciness; in short, balanced in a way that seemed more multi-dimensional -- the three slices of jalapeno and the squirt of lime I added from the obligatory condiment dish were all but superfluous.  I was especially surprised (and pleased) by the degree of peppery heat; it was nearly as spicy as the house bun bo Hue. Toppings included prawns, octopus, fish (possibly catfish), thin slices of pork pate and sliced eggplant. The robust rice noodles were not mushy, as had been Mong Thu's. In sum, it was a bpwl of noodles that was both comforting and exhilirating, and one I'll gladly repeat.

The word is that Mama Tuyết's "retirement" will include her hanging around the kitchen for another three years, as she was today and on my last visit.  Bún mắm. thank you ma'am!

Where slurped: Tuyết Mai, formerly Ngoc Mai, 547 Hyde Street, San Francisco

Ngoc Mai Re-Emerges As Tuyết Mai, Its Bun Bo Hue Reputation Unscathed

Those of us who mourned the apparent loss of Ngoc Mai and its superb bun bo Hue have cause to rejoice; it recently re-emerged from behind its papered-over windows as Tuyết Mai.  There's been a bit of a makeover, but it's the same owners, same staff (including kitchen staff), and basically the same menu. So why the name change?

It's quite simple, really. "'Tuyết' is my mother's name," said the young woman who seated me, when I asked her the question.  It turns out that the elders in this multi-generation family restaurant are retiring, and the younger generation who are taking over the business have renamed it to honor the matriarch.

The family that runs the restaurant hails from Hue, in Central Vietnam, and and their version of Hue's namesake noodle soup bun bo Hue is considered by many (including me) to be the best in town, or at least the best everyday version. (I've yet to catch up with Ha Nam Ninh's near-mythical Friday-only version, which may or may not still exist.) Ngoc Mai was also known for its ban xeo (Vietnamese crepes)  but it was the Tuyết Mai era bun bo hue that I was there to vet.

"With everything." I said, "including the blood." I wasn't about to get the round-eye runaround that I had the first time, when I neglected to specify. Sure enough, the traditional cubes of congealed pig's blood were present when my bowl arrived a few minutes later. It may have been a side effect of my insisting on "the real thing" but my broth was also spicer than I remembered on my first try at the dish at Ngoc Mai and required no augmentation, heat-wise. The soup with its riot of flavors held medium rice noodles, and was chock-full of lean beef slices, pork pate, and a ceremonial pig knuckle.

The Tenderloin's best bun bo Hue is baaaaaack, and thank you, Tuyết!

Where slurped: Tuyết Mai, formerly Ngoc Mai, 547 Hyde Street, San Francisco

Classy Pho From Little Green Cyclo For Half The Price Of A Lap Dance At The Hall On Market St.

I've been a fan of the Little Green Cyclo food truck(s) since the early days of Off the Grid, and therefore was pleased to see they snagged one of the spots at The Hall, the new temporary food market in the space that once embraced lap dance palace L.A. Girls and billiard palace Hollywood Billiards.

I hit the grand opening of The Hall on Tuesday without a food plan, thinking, perhaps, I would go for some wacky Moroccan-Peruvian fusion from Cassia, but Quynh Nguyen of Little Green Cyclo collared me and persuaded me to try a bowl of her pho. Little Green had never peddled pho from their trucks before, due to the logistics, and she was eager to see how it went over. They were offering two versions, a sirloin pho bo and a pho tai nam with brisket (both also came with beef balls), $10 each.  I went for the pho tai nam.

from You might think $10 a little steep for a smallish bowl (I'm thinking of you, Yelper!) but nothing could be further from the truth, given the venue's location (proximity to tech moola), the provenance of the ingredients, and the care that went into its making.  The broth is from a pot with equal volume of beef bones and water, simmered all night, in order to achieve its depth of flavor without MSG, which Quynh eschews. It certainly achieved its purpose, coming to me as a deep beefy broth that stood well up to bold traditional spicing.  The beef brisket was good, but the beef balls were an absolute marvel, all beef and no evident fillers, unlike any you've ever seen in a bowl of pho or  fished out of  a huo guo pot. Add to that extra wide fresh rice noodles, and you've got a bowl of soup that's a keeper.

And for only half the price of a lap dance.

Where slurped: The Hall, 1028 Market St., San Francisco

Gambling On Pho At Boathouse Asian Bistro

The other day my wife cajoled me into joining her on a trip to the glitzy new Graton Casino in Rhonert Park. It was a deal I couldn't refuse: free round trip transportation, $25 free slot machine play credit and a $10 food voucher. It was the latter, plus the proximity of Graton (only an hour by bus from Chinatown) that sealed the deal.

When I had burned off my gambling credit, my stomach was growling. I eschewed the M.Y. China anchor tenant (been there, done that) and headed for the food court area, which includes Boathouse Asian Bistro, a sister restaurant to Santa Rosa's Kettles Vietnamese Bistro.

Boathouse Asian Bistro features phở and bún, with a few Chinese-y steam table dishes for aficionados of "combination plates." The noodle soup choices included "Chicken Phở Soup," "Beef Phở Soup," and "Spicy Beef Soup." I ordered the last, guessing it to be Boathouse's take on a Bún bò Huế.  If so, it was a dumbed down version, with no pork blood cubes, pig knuckle, or pork of any kind. The only meats present were  steak and brisket, and it lacked the lemon grass background flavor of BBH.  On the other hand, it did seem to have a more northern-style broth, without pronounced medicinal overtones of star anise or 5-spice, though it came with a southern-style array of add-in garnishes on the side.

Overall, it was not a bad almost-free ($10.95, or a buck more than my voucher) rice noodle soup by any name, considering the environs. The broth was clean, with a mildly spicy bite to it, the rice noodles neither over-cooked nor under-cooked, and the beef fresh and of decent quality.

Now about those slot machines.....

Where slurped: Boathouse Asian Bistro, Graton Casino, Rhonert Park CA

A Well-endowed Bun Bo Hue At O'Mai Cafe, Oh My!

The recent opening of O'Mai Cafe stuck in my head on account of early Yelp reports that they were offering a Kobe beef banh mi. I was about to meet Andrea Nguyen at a book signing of her new Banh Mi Handbook, and it was a bit of intelligence I knew she would be interested in. The Yelpers had also mentioned a Bun Bo Hue at O'Mai, but I didn't give that a second thought.

I've been craving a good Bun Bo Hue since Ngoc Mai closed down and Ha Nam Ninh apparently stopped offering it as a Friday-only special. But a hip new place in Burma Superstar territory pushing a Kobe beef banh mi would be serving up a gueilao-friendly, toned-down version, right?

Exactly. Except, as I learned from a posting by Rachel Khong on SFGate.com this morning, the accessible version was the "regular" Bun Bo Hue.  For a buck more, they offered a "Special" version, made the old-fashioned way. I was on it immediately.

O'Mai Cafe, in the space that recently held Cafe Barley and before that Java Source, has a simple lunch menu that includes "Salad Rolls," a couple of Banh Mi sandwiches (including the aforementioned Kobe beef), "Crepes"  and "Vermicelli Bowls" but seems to want to put Bun Bo Hue at the center of attention. In addition to the entry level and full monte BBHs, a (gasp!) vegetarian version is also offered.

According to O'Mai's menu, their basic Bun Bo Hue includes thin slices of marinated and boiled beef shank, pork shoulder,  oxtail and Vietnamese ham along with the luxuriant vegetation that goes into the broth. The "special" version adds the requisite cubes of congealed pork blood and "pizzle," (a. k. a. bull penis) and at least all of the above were present in my soup.  (Online dinner menus and some accounts refer to "Rocky Mountain oysters" but not pizzle, but the naughty bits in my soup were definitely the latter.) The udon-esque rice noodles were nicely al dente.  With Ms. Khong, I found the broth a little under-spiced, and requiring augmentation beyond addition of the jalapenos from the garnish dish (they, too, seemed to lack heat.).

Along with wishing for a more aggressive broth, I'd hope for the oxtail to be cooked a bit longer, as the meat didn't separate from the bone easily enough.  Other than those two shortcomings, my Bun Bo Hue was a pretty ballsy bowl of soup to find in the midst of hipsterland, and one that I will gladly return for.


Where slurped: O'Mai Cafe, 343 Clement St., between 4th and 5th Aves., San Francisco

A Spicy Beef Noodle Week Continued: Bun Bo Hue From Tin Vietnamese Restaurant

It was Friday and that Pavlovian bell rang, but I recalled again that the reputedly peerless "only on Friday" bun bo Hue at Ha Nam Ninh may be becoming a dim memory, so I went to my bucket list and picked off Tin Vietnamese restaurant on Howard Street. Tin's location (and suspected gentrification role) as well as its menu descriptors suggested that this was a "gateway" restaurant, but it had ended up on my bucket list based on the recommendations of two people whose knowledge of Vietnamese food I highly trust. I only had to jump on the #30 Bus and I would be right there, and they had bun bo Hue on the menu. 

Tin's menu is laudably modest, suggesting that they stick to dishes they know they do well. From the eight-item "Noodles With Broth" section of the menu, I ordered my BBH and a mini-pot of Red Blossom Tea's excellent Tung Ting oolong tea to accompany it. While I was waiting for my soup, the little garnish dish arrived containing, in this instance, jalapeno slices, bean sprouts and shredded cabbage. Why do they always bring the garnishes well ahead of the soup, I wondered. Do people munch on them? I was; in fact, gnawing at some cabbage shreds as these thoughts went through my mind.

When the soup arrived I inventoried the contents. It seemed a classic broth, red with chili and containing chopped cilantro and spring onions, onion slices and Vietnamese flora that I am not on a first name basis with. It tasted meaty with lemon-grassy undertones, and a little shy of spicy (though addition of the jalapeno slices brought it to the nasal drip-inducing stage).  As I expected, there were no blood cubes adorning the bowl (hard to come by, even in the Tenderloin).  As advertised, there was both rare, thinly sliced beef, and equally thinly sliced beef shank. Instead of a pig's knuckle, however, there were slices of pork pate (pork "bologna" on the menu).  No blood nor bones were to be found in my bun bo Hue.

Overall, there were generous portions of the proteins, and everything (both meat and veggies) appeared to be fresh. the only thing that marred a strong, if slightly eccentric, bun bu Hue were the noodles. They were the right size, and in the right proportion to the broth, but on this occasion overcooked and too soft for my taste -- a fault easily avoided with due diligence.

Where slurped: Tin Vietnamese, 937 Howard St. nr. 6th St., San Francisco

In The Soup -- Hu Tieu Nam Vang Remix At Ha Nam Ninh

Friday morning sent me to the TL to vet the Bun Bo Hue at Ha Nam Ninh, which is only offered on Fridays and has reached legendary status. I was hankering for some good BBH since the lamentable closure of Ngoc Mai and got there early (for me), at 12:15 with high hopes. Alas, it was already sold out, and it didn't take me long to improvise a Plan B.

Ha Nam Ninh's everyday landmark dish is Hu Tieu Nam Vang, especially the "dry" version (broth on the side), which is as elegant in appearance as it is tasty. I've always wondered, though, if the dry version, local foodie fetish that it is, was really the preferred version. Vietnamese food authority Andrea Nguyen, in her Viet World Kitchen blog, says she's seen a dry version of hu tieu but never tried it. Why not order it in soup?

When my hu tieu Nam Vang in soup arrived, it deceptively resembled pho ga, presenting a face of a pale broth with bright green islets, the proteins lurking below the surface. (The photo above was after I had added garnish and stirred it.)  A taste of the broth revealed otherwise, though.  It was a very round, slightly sweet southern style broth with a touch of heat even before I added jalapeno slices (the bottom of the bowl, which yes, I always see, revealed some black pepper). I checked off the proteins, which seemed to be the same in amount and number as in the dry version I'd previously enjoyed: shrimp, fish cake, slices of pork, ground pork chicken and some unadvertised cuttlefish.  The broth seemed fuller than supplied on the side with the dry version of HTNV, but that may be because the protein ingredients had already been bathing in it and the fish sauce accounted for.  The shrimp and other ingredients seemed as fresh as in the dry version, as near as could be determined, so fully infused with broth.

In one significant aspect, the "in soup" version of hu tieu Nam Vang trumps the "dry" version: slurpability.  There was no need for decorum, I wasn't in Des Moines. I hunched over the bowl and sucked down the noodles, slurping like a pro. And when there was nothing left but the dregs of broth, I picked up the bowl and drank it down.

And that, my friend, is whay I love noodles. And why I'll return to Ha Nam Ninh.

Where slurped: Ha Nam Ninh, 337 Jones Street, San Francico

Christmas Comfort And Joy From Joy Hing's Pho Ga? Phogeddaboudit.

It was Christmas day and of course I could think of nothing more festive for lunch than a good bowl of noodles, so I headed for Chinatown. According to the grapevine,  Oolong Noodles had finally opened and featured a woman making noodles in the big picture window facing the street. When I got there, Oolong was open but looked deserted and the red bagnio drapes in the window were drawn shut.  I decided to defer my vetting of Oolong Nooodles until such time I could watch the goods being made, and headed around the corner to Joy Hing B.B.Q. Noodle House on Kearny St.

Joy Hing B.B.Q. Noodle house, like its erstwhile neighbor San Sun Restaurant, was displaced by Muni's Chinatown Subway station project on Stockton St. and used its relocation settlement money to upgrade its amenities, though definitely not on rent, as it moved to the Kearny St. wasteland between Clay and Washington Streets. As its name implies, Joy Hing has a wide ranging menu of noodle (and some non-noodle) dishes, though "Phở" is prominent on its new signage and now leads off its longish menu, with pho ga (chicken pho) seemingly highlighted as a specialty. I ordered No. 2 on the menu, pho ga long, quaintly labeled as "chicken noodle soup with organs."

Heaven and Nature did not sing about my pho ga long.  When it arrived at my table (a little too quickly, I felt), the broth was salty and oily.  It was chicken-y enough, but had little character otherwise, as if it had been made from canned chicken stock or bouillon. There were large shreds of mostly white chicken meat, and little evidence of giblets. Worst of all were the wide rice noodles, which had been seriously overcooked and had no chew to them at all. If there was anything outstanding apout my pho, it was the two slices of fresh jalapeno pepper that came in the little condiment dish. They packed serious heat, and by themselves added a little depth to the broth. Even so, for once I didn't empty my bowl of broth once the noodles were gone; that's how phogettable my noodle soup was.

To be fair to Joy Hing, pho is just a small part of its many offerings and, in fact, was historically buried deep in the restaurant's menu.  It may not be Joy Hing's best asset. Something has been keeping this vintage restaurant afloat for a long time; I'll find out what it is, and report back.

Where slurped: Joy Hing B.B.Q. Noodle House, 710 Kearny St, San Francisco

Finding Something Exotic Is As Easy As Dick Soup At Quan Pho Viet

An earlier attempt to score a bowl of pho featuring bull pizzle, um, fizzled when I ordered the Pho Bo Ngau Pin Dac Biet at Quan Bac in the inner Richmond and  was told "We don't have that today" by the server. I suspected at the time they were holding it back from a presumably clueless guilao, avoiding the need to delicately explain what those chewy thingies in the soup were. Not wanting to be a dick about it by accusing them of culturally profiling, I meekly accepted the alternative suggested by the server, Pho Bo Dac Biet -- combination of well-done, rare beef and beef ball noodle soup

Fast forward to today, when, thanks to a Yelp advance scout, I got wind of the newly opened Quan Pho Viet Restaurant on Ocean Avenue. It was also reputed to have a bull pizzle pho and I jumped on the K car to check it out for lunch.  The decor and the menu both had a familiar look to them, and the server confirmed that they indeed were related to Quan Bac on Geary. Here, though, in the more hardnosed Ingleside, they took my order for No. 32 "Pho Bo Ngau Pin Dac Biet - combination beef noodle soup with bull pudendum" without batting an eyelash.

When my bowl of noodles came -- a little too quickly, I felt -- it did resemble (special ingredient aside) the pho dac biet I remembered at Quan Bac.  The generously sized "regular" bowl held a copious amount of fresh brisket, rare beef and beef balls, but there were some glaring faults. I don't know if it was because the restaurant is still in its shakedown period, having just opened, or because my timing was bad, arriving just after the lunchtime peak and just before the staff break for lunch, but the broth was less than piping hot when served and there seemed too low a ratio of noodles to broth.

What about the ngau pin a.k.a. bull pudendum?  The end to my quest was anticlimactic, you might say. I found a couple of two-inch longitudinally-sliced dense cartilaginous strips lurking at the bottom of my bowl; they were difficult to maneuver with chopsticks, even more difficult to chew, and had no taste of their own at all.  At least I got to cross an exotic ingredient off my list.

Bully for me.

Where slurped Quan Pho Viet 1031 Ocean Avenue, San Francisco

The Bun Mam is Fishy at Mong Thu Cafe, But That's All Right With Me

Having had my fill, for the moment, of the robust hand-made wheat noodles I love so much, thanks to near neighbors Xi'an Gourmet and To Hyang at Geary & 2nd, I resumed my Tenderloin quest for outliers in the Vietnamese rice noodle firmament. This took me back to Mong Thu Cafe, which I found closed on a previous visit, for my quarry, bún mam.

Bún mam, sometimes referred to as Vietnamese gumbo, is a specialty of the Mekong Delta. Bun, of course, refers to the thin rice noodles, and according to this article in the Chicago Reader, "mam, as in mam ca loc (fermented fish paste)... provides the elusive element of deep rounded flavor that puts the mam in umami." Noted Vietnam blogger "Noodle Pie," currently writing a book about Vietnamese street food, once dubbed bun mam as the best noodle soup in Vietnam.

As far as I have been able to determine, the modest little Hyde Street noodle and sandwich shop known as Mong Thu Coffee Shop (on its awning) or Mong Thu Cafe (on its menu) is the only place in the San Francisco proper that serves bun mam.  According to Mong Thu's menu, what I had to look forward to was "Fish based soup with boiled pork, shrimp, and fish served with thin rice noodles."

The woman who took my order, in a routine already documented on Yelp, asked me if I'd had it before, and advised me that it was a little bit "strong" in flavor, intimating that I might not like it. I assured her I knew what I was getting into, and loved a good fish flavor.

When my bowl came, it was heavenly fragrant.  The deep rich broth held thin rice noodles (which were a little on the soft side), six prawns, and a melange of bits of fish, fish cake, BBQ pork, beef and whatnot.  A friend says that he gets the impression that Mong Thu cleans out their refrigerator with this dish, but it might be that the pungent aroma just reminds him of the inside of his own refrigerator. It's possible the protein add-ins might make use of leftovers, but the real star of this dish is the broth. It's fishy, in the best possible way.

I've never quite understood people who don't want their fish to taste "fishy." It's like wanting your pork not to taste "porky," or your chicken not to taste "chicken-y" (well, maybe that's what bonelesss, skinless chicken breasts are for). If you're in that category, you might not want to try the bun mam at Mong Thu.  But if you are one of those people who, like me, always feel like drinking the leftover dipping sauce for your Imperial rolls, the broth in bun nam might be the nectar of the gods for you.

Where slurped: Mong Thu Cafe, 248 Hyde Street, San Francisco

Catching Up: Turtle Tower's Phở Bò Ðặc Biệt and some Festival Noodles

It had been  a couple of weeks since I'd had noodles in a proper bowl (not counting the Ju Ju Woman's home-cooked offerings) so I set out for the Tenderloin on a noodle quest.  My destination was yet another lesser-known hole-in-the-wall with a rarely found item on its menu but I found the restaurant (TBA) closed. (Closed on Wednesday, will I never learn to check?) At the urging of my growling stomach I abandoned my search for the new and exotic and headed for the safe haven of the recently relocated Turtle Tower.

Deep Fried Cuttle Fish Patty

At Turtle Tower I doubled down on pleasing my belly by choosing the Phở Bò Ðặc Biệt, along with a side order of Chả Mực, deep fried cuttle fish patty, for extra protein. Pho Bo Dac Biet is, essentially, the "house special" combination beef pho wherever you co, and I knew Turtle Tower, with its reputation, wouldn't put that tag on something it was ashamed of.  Turtle Tower's combination for dac biet consists of rare beef, "well-done" beef and tripe, arrayed on top of wide rice noodles along with the greens, as can be seen in the photo atop this post.  True to Turtle Tower's northern Vietnam orientation, the accompanying condiment dish contained only a lime wedge and some jalapeno slices (which I am always happy to use all of). The beef appeared to be good quality brisket, and the tripe was as tender as the beef.  The tripe seemed to add an extra flavor dimension to the subtle northern pho broth, something that probably would not be discernible in a more aggressively aromatic southern-style broth. Overall, it was a bowl of goodies that my previously complaining stomach gave two thumbs up to, if that is anatomically possible.

Penang Prawn Noodles

The previous weekend saw the annual La Cocina Night Market and San Francisco Street Food Festival, two must-do, if not noodle-rich, events.  At the Night Market I eschewed the chewy hand-pulled noodles from M. Y. China's chief noodle puller, having had them on several occasions in house at M. Y. China, but found a tasty (albeit disposable) bowl of Penang Prawn Noodles by Chef Alex Ong, late of Betelnut-Hutong-Betelnut.  These were not your father's Hokkien Prawn Mee, but a subtler dish consisting of a generous quantity of prawns in a mildly spicy broth with bean thread noodles. It was a very tasting and pleasing dish, but I found myself wishing for a condiment caddy with some  chili oil or chili flakes to add.

Cold Noodles in Kim Chee Sauce

Saturday's San Francisco Street Food Festival featured more than 80 food vendors, but amazingly few instances of Asian noodles. In fact, outside of a ramen vendor which I'd previously tried,  I was only able to find one noodle offering to tempt me, but a good one it was: Bibim Guksoo (Spicy Cold Noodles in Kim Chee Sauce) from To Hyang, the celebrated home-style Korean restaurant on Geary Boulevard. It was only a "small bite" option but had me wishing for a hotter day and a larger order of the stimulating noodles.

Adding Another Notch To My Vietnamese Noodle Belt: Mi Quang at Ngoc Mai

Mi Quang at Ngoc Mai

I finally got back to Ngoc Mai in the Tenderloin to try out the Central Vietnam noodle specialty known as Mi Quang, after being thwarted on  a previous attempt when the restaurant was closed for a month-long vacation.  Ngoc Mai is a family run jewel of a hole-in-the-wall which I earlier reported on for its Bun Bo Hue, considered by many to be the best in town.  The restaurant's owners are from Hue in Central Vietnam, so it figures that it may have the best (or possibly the only) version of Mi Quang in San Francisco.

Mi Quang is named for Quang Nam Province, and in fact means "Quang noodles."  It's fairly well described by Wikipedia as follows:

The dish is made with rice noodles tinted yellow with the use of turmeric. The proteins are usually shrimp, pork, chicken, or even fish and beef. The broth is made by simmering the meat in water or bone broth for a more intense flavor, seasoned with fish sauce, black pepper, shallot and garlic. Extras include hard-boiled egg, crushed peanuts, chả (Vietnamese steamed pork sausage), chili pepper or chilli sauce, fresh vegetables.... and pieces of toasted sesame rice crackers called "banh trang." Ingredients may vary, but peanuts and bánh tráng are most commonly found in Mì Quảng and make the dish unique amongst other noodle dishes.

It is served semi-"dry,"  with the noodles and toppings sitting in a shallow pool of the intense broth and a small bowl of broth on the side to be added as desired after stirring or tossing the ingredients. In some respects, mi Quang is similar to hu tieu Nam Vang and overall, the experience of constructing and eating my mi Quang was similar to that I described for the latter dish when I enjoyed it at Ha Nam Ninh; in the case of the mi Quang, I found the toppings less luxuriant but the broth more compellingly intense than for the hu tieu Nam Vang. On balance, both noodle types make for a very rewarding midday repast, especially for those of us in our second childhood who like to play with our food.  

The DayGlo yellow noodles are rice noodles colored with turmeric

Where slurped: Ngoc Mai, 547 Hyde Street, Tenderloin, San Francisco

Generic Name, Generic Menu, But Golden Lotus Debuts with Larkin-Worthy Pho

When last at the corner of Larkin and Willow Streets in the heart of Little Saigon, I had just finished initiating the new Turtle Tower Restaurant location with a bowl of pho ga long and was sidewalk superintending the progress of the venue that would fill the vacuum left at TT's original location, something to be called "Golden Lotus" (and pondering how how many Chinese  or Vietnamese restaurants in the US must bear that name). Today I figured it must be done and returned stick a fork, er, a pair of chopsticks in it.

Golden Lotus opened about a week ago (based on Yelp review-dating techniques).  It's been spiffed up from its closing days as Turtle Tower, and boasts a menu that's almost as generic as its name, with the usual South Vietnam style pho, bun and com dia suspects and the like. I went for the pho dac biet, (essentially the house "with everything" special), a useful benchmark.  Golden Lotus' dac biet includes rib eye steak, well-done flank steak, tripe, beef tendon and beef meatballs in a sweetish broth with fresh rice noodles and a standard condiment dish (bean sprouts, jalapeno slices, basil leaves and lime wedge).  The beef cuts all seemed of good quality and generous quantity, and the add-ins fresh and crisp (props to the jalapeno slices, they were as hot as I've encountered in any pho emporium).  The broth was reasonably complex, though a touch too sweet for my tastes, until rectified with a healthy squeeze of the lime wedge. The one surprise was the noodles: the wide, flat version appears to be the default here, though the skinny ones can probably be requested (with beef pho it's usually the other way around). No complaints came from me on this, since I generally prefer the wide noodles, and they were cooked well, not over- or under-done.

There's nothing apparent to me that sets Golden Lotus apart from other proletarian-priced ($6.15-$7.15 for the "small" and a buck more for the  "large" here) pho joints of the Tenderloin, but by the same token there's nothing there to scare you away.  Base on the house special pho, at any rate, it's a solid new option for dropping in and grabbing a bowl.

Where slurped: Golden Lotus Vietnamese Cuisine, 631 Larkin St., Tenderloin, San Francisco

Turtle Tower Adds A Level To Its Restaurant, And I Add A Level Of Enjoyment To My Pho Ga

Back in February, I rang out the tenure of Turtle Tower Restaurant in its original Larkin St. location with a ceremonial bowl of TT's iconic pho ga (chicken soup). It recently re-opened in its new digs a couple of doors up the street from its old location, and today I got around to ringing in its return.  While the new Turtle Tower venue doesn't quite tower over the old one, it has literally raised itself up a level, adding an upstairs dining area, so I raised the level of my chicken pho a level, ordering it with giblets, a dish known as phở gà lòng.

On my grandparent's farm, my grandma liked to serve visitors a dish she called chicken and giblets, as if a giblet were a separate creature from a chicken.  When I was very young, I think I even believed in creatures called giblets (probably punked by my two older sisters in this regard). As far as pho ga long is concerned, they might as well exist as separate creatures, since the addition of giblets to the chicken pho brings a dramatic new dimension to it. The gaminess of the giblets adds an entire layer of flavor onto the unctuousness of the chicken flesh; likewise, the extra chewiness of the giblets greatly expands the whole range of textures in the satisfying bowl. I don't know what took me so long to discover this, as I  have no fear of offal, but I cannot conceive of ever ordering pho ga  again without the giblets.

The relocated Turtle Tower Restaurant, seen below with a blue facade, has yet to have a sign erected to identify it, but needless to say its legion of regulars have no trouble finding it.

Where Slurped: Turtle Tower Restaurant, 645 Larkin St., Little Saigon, San Francisco

Slurp du Jour: Pho Bo Dac Biet (Hold The Ngau Pin) At Quan Bac

Pho Bo Dac Biet at Quan Bac

As I pondered the (hopefully imminent) re-opening of Turtle Tower in its new digs, I recalled some Chowhound.com posts about inner Richmond restaurant Quon Bac, which I'd never visited, also being a Northern-style Vietnamese restaurant of some repute. To add to my interest, Quan Bac's pho menu led off with Pho Bo Ngau Pin Dac Biet, or "combination beef noodle soup with bull 'pudendum'," an ingredient I've never caught up with in a bowl of noodle soup.

Settling into a seat at the comfortably appointed Quan Bac at Geary and 5th, I confidently ordered #38, Pho Bo Ngau Pin Dac Biet.  "We don't have that today," said the server, steering me to #41, Pho Bo Dac Biet, "combination of well-done, rare beef and beef ball noodle soup." Dac Biet is a term familiar to pho-goers, basically meaning house special, though to me today it meant "hold the ngau pin" and I wondered if they would have had it if I were not Caucasian. To accompany my noodles, I ordered an appetizer Cha Ca Chien,  or deep fried fish cake.

I've read comments in some quarters (which shall remain nameless) about Quan Bac being a little "pricey" but that's a canard, or in this case, bull bleep. My huge "regular" size bowl was $7.50. Imagine a bowl of, say, ramen anywhere at that price, especially one as huge as my bowl of pho, with as great a richness of animal flesh, residing in a delicately fragrant broth that you don't get mugged by. The fish cake appetizer might seem a dollar or two high in price at $7.25, but it came beautifully plated with a small mountain of vermicelli and enough shrubbery to feed a hungry rabbit; by itself, it would have made a light lunch for a finicky eater.

I thought both my pho (bull pecker or not) and my fish cakes were excellent. The pho's broth seemed perfectly balanced with no need for adding flavor-enhancing condiments (though I can never resist throwing in all the jalapeno slices), the meats were fresh and tender, and the flat rice noodles done just right. The fish cakes, though described as deep fried, were entirely greaseless and delicately flavored, and I much preferred them to the Thai version I had recently at House of Thai.

Quan Bac is a notch "nicer"in ambience and marginally pricier than the proletarian hole-in-the-wall Vietnamese restaurants in the Tenderloin that occupy a special place in my scheme of things; combining this with Quan Bac's value and authenticity, another question comes to mind: who needs places like The Slanted Door?

Where slurped: Quan Bac, 4112 Geary Boulevard at 5th Street, San Francisco

A Farewell Pho Ga at Turtle Tower Restaurant

Turtle Tower Restaurant, that little bit of Hanoi in Little Saigon, closed today, but don't panic -- it  isn't exactly turning turtle. It will reopen in a few weeks just a few doors up the block. But will it be the real Turtle Tower or simply the mock? I pondered this question tonight over a ceremonial bowl of pho ga, or chicken noodles, if you will, at the original premises .

Turtle Tower is considered by many as the best pho joint in town, and is one of the few that specializes in pho bac, or northern style pho. Its soups are outstanding across the board, but its pho ga is considered iconic, and that is what I contented myself with tonight.  The northern style, which is said to be the original pho, uses a clear, less-seasoned broth than its southern Vietnamese counterpart, which makes for cleaner, less muddled flavors. To me, the broth in pho bac is evocative of the best Lanzhou la mian broths in China, with cilantro, scallion tops and the meat of your choice providing the flavor profile.  Pho Ga is especially good for highlighting the delicate savor of northern-style pho, on account of the subtle contribution to the broth of the lean chicken flesh. Although you can generally choose a noodle style for pho ga, the noodle of choice is usually a flat, wide rice noodle, the default at Turtle Tower. This style of noodle is never al dente enough for my tastes, but the very softness of the noodle adds an appropriate unctuosness to the chicken soup, especially since Turtle Tower's spare broth runs counter to the fattiness that chicken soups of the world are generally known for.

Overall, I'd have to rate Turtle Tower's pho ga as one of the best noodle soups of any Asian persuasion in San Francisco (or anywhere I have eaten noodles). Unfortunately, we'll have to live without it for a few weeks, or make do at one of the less highly regarded offshoot Turtle Tower branches.

Where slurped: 631 Larkin Street, San Francisco (RIP).

Slurping with the other half -- Lemon Grass Pork Vermicelli at Charles Phan's Out the Door

I found myself in the not-so-hospitable confines of the Ferry Building this afternoon hungering for something of a noodle-ish mien for a late lunch.  The options were the (seemingly moribund) Imperial Tea Court with its signature spicy IMPORTED from Taiwan (emphasis theirs) noodles for about 12 bucks, or a rice vermicelli plate from Out the Door for a bit less. Since I was sure that OTD's noodles hadn't been imported from anywhere further than San Jose, and a cold noodle dish sounded good on an 80° day (which it was, believe it or not), I went with the Vietnamese option.

I was half kidding (or maybe three-quarters kidding) about "the other half" in the title of this post. It might be a fair characterization of hipster patrons of Out the Door's big sister, The Slanted Door, which features "gateway" cuisine with designer ingredients and designer prices, accompanied by pricey designer cocktails.  Out the Door, however, is at least halfway out the Slanted Door onto the street where real food might be found, and its prices, while not at Little Saigon levels, won't make one blink.  A basic vermicelli bowl with pork, chicken or shrimp toppings will set you back about as much as a bowl of ramen without extras at an aspiring new ramen-ya.

I chose the "Lemongrass Pork With Vermicelli" (which I'm guessing would be called bun thit nuong in the hood).  Chicken and shrimp versions are also available. In toto, the bento-like plastic container amounted to a fairly light lunch (something I looked forward to after a couple of gut-buster noodle lunches at Shandong Deluxe recently.  However, I was struck by the generous quantity of savory grilled pork, as much good lean pork as one would have the right to expect in a noodle bowl of any denomination. The pork had a nice char, the cold rice noodles ere refreshing, and the veggie greens rounded out the dish nicely. In the past I've found myself disparaging Out the Door, largely on account of its kinship with The Slanted Door, which I'm not a fan of, but I found today's lunch satisfying and even reasonable, by Ferry Building standards, and can see myself returning. Perhaps the mini-empire of Out the Doors is Charles Phan's attempt to Keep it Real, which he does, kind of.

Where slurped: Out the Door, 1 Ferry Building #5, San Francico