Stickyrice

My Fritter Frier

Amidst bubbling cauldrons of cooking oil, she sits under the wide canopy of a tree in these shivering early days of Hanoi's short winter. I see her every day. I've known her for years, not in any deeply personal way - more a wave of recognition and a smile or a nod. My knowing of her is limited to observations and snippets of conversation. She rides a bike. She writes sentimental poetry. She is a spinster.

And, most importantly...

She is my fritter frier. By the roadside, this one woman operation is transforming what is essentially healthy food into artery-busting sin food. Thankfully, my lapsed Catholic leanings no longer curtail a bit of gluttony, even on a Sunday!

My fritter frier takes bananas, sweet potato chips and corn kernels, produce ordinarily rich in vitamins, minerals, fibre and energy, before drowning them in that evil obesity-friendly substance known as batter. A messy trail of the stuff follows the uncooked fritter from batter drenching bowl to frying pan, where it is gently dunked so as to avoid permanent scaring from flying oil. I do note on this day, though, that my fritter frier has just such an injury on her wrist and has patched herself up with a bit of cloth tied on with the handle of a pink plastic bag!

Upon emerging from the oil, the dripping fritters are placed on a rack to drain, where they remain warm for the next round of customers. From a distance, even up close, it's not unlike the local fish'n'chip shop back home. The banana fritters resemble pieces of deep fried fish, the sweet potato ones kind of look like a lattice potato cake made from chips. All are edged with crisp batter.

All that's left now is the final step. I grab a neatly cut sheet of newspaper and select my own fritter from the rack. The paper absorbs a pitiful amount of the oil.

The rest is now clogging my arteries and adding kilos to my arse!

The Pinch

Two fritters - 6000VND (USD34c, AUD48c)

Banh Chuoi, Banh Khoai, Banh Ngo 
Yen Phu St
Sheraton end
Nghi Tam

In summer, my fritter frier serves che.

Doughnut Skewers

All kinds of food vendors traverse the streets and alleys of Hanoi. Bread vendors balance baskets on their heads, fruit vendors resemble human scales with their basket on each side, sticky rice and hot corn cobs are pedalled around on run-down bicycles and, occasionally, I see a bowl of noodles being delivered on two wheels.

It’s a hard life, pounding the footpath for much of the day for not so much money in the pocket.

This banh ran vendor bailed me up as I was negotiating with the custard apple seller below. Her thinking was “if he’s spending on fruit, if he’s got his hand in his pocket, if he’s parting with 20,000 for custard apples, what’s another 1000 for one of my sugary doughnut skewers?” It’s a sophisticated marketing technique used at supermarket checkouts all over the world.

She thought she’d nab me on the impulse buy.

Rainbow Rice

A special food sighting occurred in the hill station town of Sapa. We alighted from the dawn train and weaved our way up the mountain road, a snake through a green landscape of rice terraces and corn fields. Bleary eyes greeted hotel manager after hotel manager. We hadn't booked and it was the weekend. The trip had been character-building, by way of a hard sleeper cabin with no air-conditioning on the evening of a 39C day.

After a third dose of no vacancy, we recruited the services of an eight year old black H'mong girl -traditionally dressed in hemp, bejewelled with silver, shoed in brown plastic - to lead us to accommodation. Little darling took us via the Saturday morning market, where my day took an immediate turn for the better. I love a good market. I think I might have mentioned that on a prior occasion...once or twice!!

I especially love it when I have to break into a huddle of money grabbing, puffs of steam and packages being secreted away. This market vendor was digging out rainbow rice.

What a way to start the day!

Sapa Market
Cua May St

"Two Ladies and a Duck..."

I squatted in a market street gutter between a fishmonger and a butcher and chopsticked this heap of shiny sheet into me this Sunday morning just past.

The market was a peak hour frenzy of pushing, shoving and shouted negotiations and, at one point, the hot fumey breath of a motor scooter exhaust pipe blew in my ear. Chickens pecked their way past. Every few minutes, the banter amongst the vendors dissolved into giggles. There's an expression in Vietnamese: "two ladies and a duck make a market." Multiply this scenario a few hundred times and you've got one deafening, heaving ball-buster of a market...

... in which I thrive. It's a live documentary of human, animal and vegetable transactions. It's better than going to the movies.

But it didn't distract me from the task that was at hand - feeding my face with banh cuon, big banh cuon, big fresh banh cuon. These are a simpler version of something I've posted about before, a steamed rice pancake dappled with brushstrokes of really finely chopped tree ear mushrooms.

There's no spattered buckets of rice flour batter, no steam on the spot process and no filling or rolling required. A basket full of already prepared membranes lies before Pancake Lady who, ably assisted by her two secondary school-aged daughters, separates and peels up a layer before setting to it with the blades in a fashion reminiscent of Edward Scissorhands. With my pancake a twisted pile of ribbon on a plate, the finishing touches are added - half a bush of mint and a fair scattering of deep fried shallots. The dipping sauce is standard nuoc cham crowded up with blocks of cha com (a pressed sausage thingie) and more dried shallots.

As I bolted the product into me, younger daughter of Pancake Lady rather interestingly started teaching her mother a range of numbers in English, first three thousand, then five, then seven and eight. Of course, I knew what all this was leading to and started throwing the food down quicker before the lesson reached double digits. To the left, wild silver flashes of scales were coming at me from the fishmongers. There was one on the loose. It was time to POQ!

A breakfast of fresh clean flavours, good crunch and slide texture and with all kinds of entertainment on offer on the stages around, this meal amounted to one of my best so far in Hanoi.

The Gutter Grab

One serve of banh cuon - the highest number she learned, 8000VND (USD50c, AUD68c) but a serve of this should be 3000VND.

Banh Cuon Gutter Basket
Trung Yen St
Old Quarter
Hanoi

Truncated Cone of Custard

This little nuclear reactor of a creme caramel blew my socks off today. Before it slid down, I admired it for a full five minutes, from every angle, its shape and sheen, the buildings opposite reflected in its glassy brown, the ridges on the red plastic like ripples on a still lake. This truncated cone of custard had me mesmerized. It had me re-writing my personal definition of perfection. It had me thinking I was stoned! I almost couldn't eat it.

And then I stabbed it with the spoon, it bled caramel and was remorselessly spaded in.

A cold, clinical end, no doubt, but OH MY GOD that wobbly dessert thing was the finest of its ilk to ever pass my lips. Served at room temperature (how does that work when you're seated outside?), the silky texture and subtle burnt caramel flavour had me seduced. So, too, did the pavement position, backs to the wall of an old temple and across from a row of cake shops of a different kind.

The cake cabinet in front of this creme caramel cave was being delved into with regularity, bags being filled with iced sponges, log jam rolls and little eclair-like imposters. A cup of fresh yoghurt could be had, too. I'm not sure how the creme caramel got to be so good in Hanoi but it possibly had something to do with the French. As for this place, I'm pretty sure it isn't the schoolboy helpers who concoct this fine example, yet they can be sure that I'll be back for more.

The Drum

Three creme caramels (2000VND each), one yoghurt (3000VND) - 9000VND (USD55c, AUD75c)

Duong Hoa Kem Caramen
29 Hang Than St

Crack-in-the-Wall-Balls

Wrapped in some government department periodical with references to China and former Japanese Foreign Minister, Nobutaka Machimura, these rice dough balls were being sold out of a crack in the wall opposite one of my regular lunch haunts in Hanoi's culinary Daigon Alley. I've been watching them roll around in their blackened wok for three years and today, while I was waiting for my mate to get his noodles in him, I got bored and went cakeball crazy!

I think the reason I'd been slow on the uptake with the balls here is that, via some osmotic telepathy, the grey cells had knowledge of such snacks as heavy and torpor inducing. Upon receipt of the cakeball order, kindly placed by my noodle mother, this inkling proved correct, though I must give credit where it is due. I scored hot balls, not those where the oil has solidified somewhat to form a product that Kookaburra would be proud of.

My hot balls are filled with a sugary mix of shredded coconut and yellow bean but the weight is all in the pounded rice cover, which browns up nicely. The sesame seeds are a sexy touch, too. There's a savoury oval ball on offer as well, filled with a salty mystery mix which includes smashed up pig bits and tree ears, the same as that housed in the steam buns sold a stone's throw away.

The young lady crack-dweller is a ball-rolling, patting, dipping, frying, turning expert. And a thankless crafting it is, at 1000VND a pop! Her ball-handling would want to be considerable to pay the rent and get herself a racy pair of shoes.

Ball Money

Two sweet balls (banh ran ngot), one salty (banh ran man) - 3000VND (USD18c, AUD25c), the high five entry in Extreme Cheap Street Eats.

Crack-in-the-Wall-Balls
Ngo Dong Xuan ( directly opposite here)
Old Quarter Hanoi

Banh Dap Snack Shack

In Nha Trang recently, after an early morning hour of 'hit and giggle' tennis, our team of mixed ability hacks hit this banh dap snack shack for some championship eating. A few forehand drives and approaches to the net for a volley do wonders in activating the appetite. Racquet-wielding and ravenous, the five of us practically commandeered the joint and started ordering up big.

"Just keep them coming until we say stop", I believe, was the call!

The dish in this 'ma and pa' eatery, in amongst the sleepy inner-district streets of this big seaside town, is a pancake arrangement called banh dap. Dap means slap in English and these numbers were being slapped on tables at a furious pace the morning we dropped in. A close relative of banh cuon, these rice batter membranes are steamed on a cloth plate over a pot of boiling water, peeled off and flung on a plate. Showered with shrimp dust (tom kho) and sweated, chopped spring onions, they are ready for despatch.

Problem is, the skins keep getting skirted around our table, sometimes directly under our snouts, to other bloody customers! It seemed that the system here was 'shout loud, get served' and my team was up for it and, we had tennis racquets for back up! Suddenly, the plates started stacking up...literally. No clearing dirty dishes here, as the method for calculating the bill is to count the plates.

But we weren't done yet. My companions were astounding me with their vigilance, at getting what seemed like an unfair share of the cakes being churned out to our table. I am no longer agape, however, at the Vietnamese' capacity to put nosh away. If there were Wimbledons for eating, for enjoying food, for gourmandising or whatever - as a nation, the Vietnamese would be holding up the golden plate. They can eat!

Banh dap is a winner, too. Served with a fermented shrimp sauce called mam nem (a browner, less pongy version of mam tom) loaded up with more of the green onion tops, these rice crepes are great as they are, even better slapped between two halves of a crunchy rice cracker.

Plate Count

15 plates of the crepe, 15 plates of crackered crepe, iced tea all round - 38,000VND (USD$2.40, AUD$3.20) - a dirt-cheap fourth entry in Extreme Cheap Street Eats.

Soft, Hot and Stuck on Paper

They're soft, hot and stuck on paper. White and perfectly shaped like a dairy whip ice-cream, these swirls of bread are known in the local lingo as banh bao. Misted up in the hot fog of a metal steamer R2-D2, they emerge sweaty and ready for the eating.

My sunglasses got a vapour shot too, as the lid was lifted, me with my big scone too close to proceedings. Visually impaired for a sec, I grapple with the plastic bag to get at the dough ball. Tearing the slip of paper from its bottom end is a frustratingly futile exercise so I end up chomping around it. The bread is light and fluffy, slightly sweet and rather devoid of filling. Aunty Steamer has bagged up the wrong one.

In the bun cupboard, there are a few different varieties, some denoted with pink spots. The local bun of choice is filled with minced up fatty pork and a fungus known as tree ears but sometimes the fat gag factor kicks in for me so I give them a wide berth. Quail eggs and pink Chinese sausage (lap suon) pack the centre of others, though anything bird is totally off the Hanoi menu map for now.

Just up from the Jazz Club and the stuffed toy stalls on Luong Van Can, there are half a dozen or so of these bun cupboards and R2-D2 steamers to choose from, their doughy numbers available morning, noon and night.

Extreme Cheap Street Eat (3)

2000VND (USD12c, AUD17c) a pop.

Banh Bao Dac Biet, 16 Luong Van Can St, Old Quarter

Extreme Cheap Street Eats (2)

Cassava (san) is a root vegetable. It sustained much of Vietnam during war and famine. It's used in the production of starch and that controversial fifth flavour, MSG, and to make textiles and paper. That doesn't say much for either its nutritional value or its taste now, does it? Oh, and cassava's fed to pigs, its propogation causes erosion and it can and has killed humans.

I ate some last night.

At dusk, convoys of blanket head-banded cassava merchants wheel it out, their bike boxcarts hauling coal braziers, giant aluminium pots and kilos of the root, all lit by battery powered fluoro-tubes. During the peak hours, in packs they shrewdly ply their tubers parallel to traffic jams where the ride-by trade is rapid. Later on they pedal solo, often the only bright glow in a dark street.

Eaten raw, cassava can put one six feet under. Cooked, scattered with shredded coconut and salty peanut dust, it's not a bad belly filler, satisfying like a spud. It certainly put fire in the belly of Vietnam's soldiers in the wars they waged against the French and Americans.

Cassava is a quick carbo fix, a worthy thu hai (number two) extreme cheap street eat, at 5000VND (USD31c, AUD42c) a bagful.

Extreme Cheap Street Eats (One)

It's a plain fact that street eats are dead cheap in Hanoi. For under a buck, all manner of noodle nosh is available. A big old bog-standard lunch of rice, meat, veg and soup is another option. Blocks of sticky rice topped with chicken, cut up pork spare ribs or egg will line a hungry stomach and add a layer of winter pad. In fact, seeking out feeds beneath the 15,000 dong mark is not much of a challenge. I'm going in search of the extreme cheap street eat.

Whatever I can find for under 5000 dong, provided it aint a dog's knacker sandwich, I'll give a whirl. I'll follow fellow penny-pinchers to their meals, snacks and arvo teas and blog on the bargains.

Extreme Cheap Street Eat numero uno is a skinny little Haiphong bread roll, slit up the middle, smeared in grubby brown pate, whacked in the honeycomb coal fueled tin box oven for a warming, squirted with chilli sauce and wrapped in last week's news. It's nothing to write home about but the breadsticks are different. Much smaller than Hanoi's banh my, they'd be frightened by a hot dog. They're denser too, no doubt to sustain all those burly wharfies in Haiphong.

I wash this one down with a glass of soy milk (sau dau nanh) and, all up, I part with 2000VND (USD12c, AUD17c).