Chiu on This

Revisionist history, or, how I started the NYC banh mi craze

In the fall of 1999, I slogged over to the Manhattan Bridge from my office on Broadway and White Street with two of my colleagues in tow. Our mission: get our hands on some banh mi.

I was thirty years old, and I'd never had a banh mi sandwich in my life. The subject somehow came up during one of my many conversations with my sister and mom about food (or one long conversation with occasional interruptions). Maybe my sister was reminiscing about the sandwiches she'd had back home in Honolulu. Anyhow, they sure sounded good, even though I'm normally not a fan of sandwiches. But where to find some in the city?

I think my mom was the one who tipped me off to Saigon Banh Mi, which was somewhere in the eastern part of Manhattan's Chinatown, under the Manhattan Bridge near the pick up and drop off locations of the cheap Chinatown buses. How I got my co-workers Nick and Liza interested in doing a lunch excursion, I cannot remember. It was a bit of hike, particularly when we didn't know the most efficient route to get to our destination. On the way over, I believe Liza told us that her dad was about to get his second novel published.

Finally, we found the tiny sandwich shop storefront. You had to scuttle in sideways like a crab to get into the narrow space, and, if I remember right, the only variation you could request to the one sandwich on order was whether you wanted it spicy. No room to sit and eat, just carry out. Did I get a grass jelly drink there, too?

My life, thankfully, is filled with moments of great enjoyment brought on by eating delicious things. In some cases, I sour those moments by wondering, "Why the hell has it taken me so long to learn about this?" Like the first time I had xiao long bao or portobello mushrooms (in my mid- and early twenties, respectively) - how'd I live all those years without such great food? Banh mi did that to me in 1999. Now, it's everywhere, but so many versions just suck. I was lucky to get introduced to an excellent version of the sandwich - the baguette crispy enough to shred the roof of my mouth; the luscious pate and carmelized grilled pork providing complex tastes and textures, and, of course, delectable meatiness; and the mayo, jalapeno, hot sauce, cilantro, and pickled daikon and carrots bringing liveliness and piquancy and crunch (well, not the mayo and hot sauce; don't make me re-write this for clarity). The flavors were bold and harmonious; this sandwich had lots of things going on in there!

Maybe two or three weeks later, I got a call at the office. The woman on the line cut to the chase: "This is Gail Green. Liza told me that you had a great sandwich recently. Can you give me the address to the place?" Yeah, okay. I hung up and turned to ask Nick, whose desk was near mine, "Who's Gail Green?" In this small world, it turns out to be Gael Greene, who knows Liza's dad, who's not only a novelist but a journalist and worked with her (I think), so word of the banh mi "discovery" didn't take long to get to the right ears and, I believe, out to the eating public.*

Banh Mi Saigon has moved to what I think are more spacious quarters in Chinatown; I haven't been to the "new" location. When we moved further away to offices in the Woolworth Building, my colleague Jon would kindly take orders from banh mi craving co-workers and bike over to pick up sandwiches for us. Nowadays, I will occasionally get a banh mi from some place nearby, but they seem either way overpriced (my friend Arnold would refuse to buy a banh mi that cost more than $4.50) or just disappointingly blah.

I fear like I sound like an old codger ("back in the day I could get a great banh mi!"), and I'm sure I could enjoy a perfectly lovely banh mi if I actually got out of my chair and looked for one. In fact, I may just try the Lin-sanity banh mi one day soon. The craze continues.

* I can't recall or verify what happened after that call - I assume Greene wrote something about Saigon Banh MI but can't find traces on the interwebs. Maybe I should have titled this post "speculative history," as I'm perfectly happy to speculate rather than verify my role in popularizing banh mi. Actually, I could care less about getting any "credit"; I just think this is a funny story. What I really want to know is how my mom or sister found out about Saigon Banh MI in the first place. To be continued...

Paris Sandwich

Did I write about this already? Nothing beats Saigon Banh Mi in Chinatown, but it never hurts to find more options. Earlier in the year, our willing courier Jon went to pick up sandwiches for 5 or 6 of us at Paris Sandwich at 113 Mott Street (Canal Street), (212) 226-7221. They've got lots of options - including a vegetarian version (but why?), sardine, tuna fish, ham and cheese (how is this Vietnamese?), and Vietnamese meat ball - and the basic sandwich is massive, cheap, and slightly better than average. Although if you're up in the area, you may as well go to Saigon Banh Mi for a greater flavor punch.

From the West Coast field office

One of my best-est eating buddies, Rob, was kind enough to provide this review/inquiry, following up on the previous banh mi postings:

Lee's Sandwiches, the local (California) chain of Vietnamese sandwich shops, also carries a number of Vietnamese drinks and desserts. The other day, I picked up a curious-looking drink with my order of bahn mi.

Out of ignorance, and for lack of a better name, I'll call this drink "The Pond." Like many sweet drinks from SE Asia, The Pond blurs the texture line between drink and dessert. Do I sip it with a straw, or eat it with a spoon? 

Here's what is in The Pond:

• Sugar water

• Frog eggs: the frog eggs are basil seeds, which develop a fuzzy, jelly-like coating when soaked in water. If you remember the extinct Orbitz, the short-lived drink with (floaty) balls, you get the idea. The basil seeds have exactly neutral buoyancy, so they stay put, neither floating to the top nor sinking. They don't taste like anything.

• Algae: a brown, slightly crunchy mass. I'm not exactly sure what this is, but it reminds of white fungus (the crunchy stuff in sweet Chinese soups)

• White chunks: Coconut?

• Red chunks: hmmm. Dried papaya?

How does it taste? The Pond is sweet, and a bit earthy--perhaps from the brown stuff--but it's not bad. In any case, The Pond has vast visual appeal!

Pork, pork, and pork on a roll

Well, it's not all pork.  There are also pickled carrots and radishes, cilantro, hot sauce, and some form of butter or mayonnaise in this banh mi house special sandwich from Saigon Banh Mi So 1, 369 Broome St. near Mott (212-219-8341).  $3 gets you a large and yummy sandwich that includes what my colleague Van refers to as "Vietnamese baloney."  Take the J or M to Bowery for a quick lunch take-out trip from the office.

This is the second banh mi I've had this week, thanks to Van, who took a group of us over to Sau Voi on 101 Lafayette and Walker.  Talk about efficient counter service; it looks like 75% of the store is devoted to DVDs, with a sliver of space left over to assemble sandwiches and Vietnamese iced coffee, and to lay out some prepared foods.  I had a pork sandwich made with fish sauce that was savory, but don't get it if you're afraid of fish sauce; Gloria and Roohi recommended the chicken sandwiches, which were advertised as sate (I don't mean sauteed) but looked fried (nothing wrong with that).

But neither of these places beats Saigon Banh Mi, which Jon W. favors even though the wait  is interminable and the location is out of the way (near the Manhattan Bridge and the informal depot of the Chinatown buses).  Their sandwiches are flavor bombs, with bread so crusty it'll tear up the roof of your mouth.  There's sure to be a field trip to their store soon - 88 E. Broadway Mall, Unit #108, 212-941-1541.  Call ahead to make sure they're open.

None of these places have seating.