Bột Chiên

After a 13 hour flight and a half an hour long bus ride, my grandparents and I finally arrive to my great-grandpa’s house in Saigon. The unpaved streets and dust storms forming as we get off the bus with our suitcases brings an immediate sense of nostalgia. I can remember my grandpa and his father getting Vietnamese iced coffee at the end corner of our street at around 4 A.M. everyday. The neighbors dogs bark through the gates as we walk down the street, towards my grandma’s childhood home. It’s a storm of emotions as we walk in, getting hugged and cried on by relatives I haven’t seen in ages. My Vietnamese is a little rusty, but I try my best to show them that I, too, cherish this reunion. Just as I’m about to express my appreciation, my stomach lets out an almost thunderous grumble. The last time I had an actual meal was two days ago, as I doubt airplane food can be counted on for nutritional encompassment. “You’re hungry, huh?” asked my grandma. I sheepishly nod yes in response while asking her the same. “Let’s go find some food then,” she suggested. With that, we were off. Considering it was the dead of night, one might think it would be impossible to encounter a vendor open for business. But that’s not really how Vietnam works. Walking back down the street we came, night time street food joints line the main road, lighting up the otherwise barren boulevard with fluorescence and the sounds of family gossip. We go to the closest one, a street vendor, selling a dish called bột chiên from a cart. Little plastic tables and chairs surrounded him, and my grandparents took a seat as they waited for him to cook up the food. I, however, was almost entranced by the way he was handling all of the ingredients with such ease. I watched as he added the small rice cakes to the already sizzling pan, then as he cracked not one but two eggs into the pan with them. After frying them to a perfect golden brown, he flipped them onto the plate, adding a bit of cracked black pepper to the top. With such minimal seasoning, you’d think that this dish would be plain and flavorless, but that couldn’t be more wrong. The vendor then sprinkled a pinch of scallions on top of the dish, as well as a hefty handful of papaya slaw, consisting of pickled carrots, daikon, and, you guessed it, green papaya. I help him bring the three full plates back to our table, and I can feel myself already salivating. Before I dig in, I make sure to add copious amounts of the signature red vinegar and soy sauce dressing over top. The first bite hits you like a freight train of flavor, confusing your taste buds as to where to focus first. The rice cakes crispy exterior is contrasted by the soft, chewy interior. The almost creamy center is complemented by the tartness of the pickled vegetables, which also happen to add another layer of texture to the equation. The refreshing papaya slaw adds the perfect amount of both sweetness and acidity, which cuts through the savory, spongy egg and thick rice cakes. Just when you thought the dish couldn’t get any better, the tangy sauce you practically soak the dish in marries all of the different flavors beautifully. The sauce doesn’t take away from the texture of the dish either. More often than not, people actually put more sauce than they think they need so that the rice cakes can soak in and absorb the vinegary taste. It’s almost miraculous how light the dish is as well, considering the majority of it is dough fried in oil. All of the aspects of the dish blend impeccably well, showing why it’s one of the most popular street food dishes offered. It’s simple, yet extremely flavorful without being overbearing. Needless to say, I was extremely satisfied.