Stickyrice: The Grinning Fish

When this fish grinned at me the other morning, it was the breakfast hour. There was no hesitation. In fact, I considered the smile an invitation to squeeze in to this crack in the wall and order myself a bit of him. Ample green leafy veg, a pot of simmering broth, basins of fishy flesh and my new mate and his school on a tray looked like the makings of a fine bowl of brekkie.

The women who run the show start falling over each other, half trying to get out of my way and half wandering what the bloody hell to do when one has a big blonde bloke in one's crack in the wall! Their problem! I park on the stool, dry-clean my chopsticks with a bit of dunny paper and listen to them discuss the issue of how much to charge me. Yes, really, before I've even put fish to lips!

I clear my throat, order an iced tea in my most fluent Vietnamese (one of the few simple phrases I don't stuff up!) and pray to Buddha, reclining in splendour on the little family altar at my feet, that I've got enough dong to pay. Instantaneously, the flap stops and the soup shop starts. The portioning, ladling, spooning and scattering assembly line cranks into action and the product which pops out at the end is delivered to my blue table.

It's bun ca qua or snakehead fish noodle soup. The fish is present in filleted chunks and crunchy battered twists of other bits. There's a great winter season green dealt to the top of this dish called rau can ta, a bit like celery in taste but sweeter. The stock is of the pig.

I squeeze the juice of a cumquat, drop in a bit of ot tuoi (fresh chili), spoon it down and escape for the same price as a local.